What can it mean that they are so quiet there?
_Andre_. That spy did not return a second time.
_Mor_. The rogues have made sure of him ere this, I fancy. They may have
given us the slip,--who knows?
_Andre_. I would like to venture a stroll through that shady street if I
thought so. A dim impression that I have somewhere seen this view
before, haunts me unaccountably.
_Mor_. How I hate that sober, afternoon air, that hangs like an
invisible presence over it all. You can see it in the sunshine on those
white walls, you can hear it in the hum of the bee from the bending
thistle here.
_Andre_. Of the mind it is. This were lovely as the morning light, but
for the shade it gathers thence, from the thought of decline and the
vanishing day. 'Tis a pretty spot.
_Mor_. Yes, but the quiet goings-on of life are all hushed there now.
_Andre_. Ay, this is the hour, when the home-bound children swing the
gate with a merry spring, and the mother sits at her work by the open
window, with her quiet eye, and the daughter, with the beauty of an
untamed soul in her's, looks forth on the woods and meadows, and thinks
of her walk at even-tide.
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