Мхи старой усадьбы
Roger Malvin's Burial
Whendeath,likethesweetsleepwhichwewelcomeafteradayofhappiness,cameoverhim,hisfardescendantswouldmournoverthevenerateddust.Envelopedbytraditioninmysteriousattributes,themenoffuturegenerationswouldcallhimgodlike;andremoteposteritywouldseehimstanding,dimlyglorious,farupthevalleyofahundredcenturies.
Thetangledandgloomyforestthroughwhichthepersonagesofmytalewerewanderingdifferedwidelyfromthedreamer’slandoffantasy;yettherewassomethingintheirwayoflifethatNatureassertedasherown,andthegnawingcareswhichwentwiththemfromtheworldwereallthatnowobstructedtheirhappiness.Onestoutandshaggysteed,thebearerofalltheirwealth,didnotshrinkfromtheaddedweightofDorcas;althoughherhardybreedingsustainedher,duringthelatterpartofeachday’sjourney,byherhusband’sside.Reubenandhisson,theirmusketsontheirshouldersandtheiraxesslungbehindthem,keptanunweariedpace,eachwatchingwithahunter’seyeforthegamethatsuppliedtheirfood.Whenhungerbade,theyhaltedandpreparedtheirmealonthebankofsomeunpollutedforestbrook,which,astheykneltdownwiththirstylipstodrink,murmuredasweetunwillingness,likeamaidenatlove’sfirstkiss.Theysleptbeneathahutofbranches,andawokeatpeepoflightrefreshedforthetoilsofanotherday.
