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A FAERIE ROMANCE. 275 |
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XXII.
Niemand hat meine Gestalt als der Ich.
Schoppe, in Alas Paul's Titan,
No one has my form but the /. |
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Joy's a subtil elf. I think man's happiest when he forgets himself.
Cyril Tourneur.—The Revenger's Tragedy.
On the third day of my journey, I was riding gently along a road, apparently little frequented, to judge from the grass that grew upon it. I was approaching a forest. Everywhere in Fairy Land, forests are the places where one may most certainly expect adventures. As I drew near, a youth, unarmed, gentle, and beautiful, who had just cut a branch from a yew growing on the skirts of the wood, evidently to make himself a bow, met me, and thus accosted me : " Sir knight, be careful as thou ridest through this forest; for it is said to be strangely enchanted, in a sort which even those who have been witnesses of its enchantment, can hardly describe."
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