A fantasy novel by George MacDonald

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From Eden's bowers the full-fed rivers flow, To guide the outcasts to the land of woe: Our Earth one little toiling streamlet yields, To guide the wanderers to the happy fields.
After leaving this village, where I had rested for nearly a week, I travelled through a desert region of dry sand and glittering rocks, peopled princi­pally by goblin-fairies. When I first entered their domains, and, indeed, whenever I fell in with another tribe of them, they began mocking me with offered handfuls of gold and jewels, making hideous grimaces at me, and performing the most antic homage, as if they thought I expected reverence, and meant to humour me like a maniac. But ever, as soon as one cast his eyes on the shadow behind me, he made a wry face, partly of pity, partly of contempt, and looked ashamed, as if he had been caught doing some­thing inhuman; then, throwing down his handful of gold, and ceasing all his grimaces, he stood aside to let me pass in peace, and made signs to his
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