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THE GREAT STONE FACE.
55
and Ernest talked together. Often had the poet held
intercourse with the wittiest and the wisest, but never
before with a man like Ernest, whose thoughts and feel-
ings gushed up with such a natural freedom, and who
made great truths SO familiar by his simple utterance of
them. Angels, as had been SO often said, seemed to
have wrought with him at his labor in the fields; angels
seemed to have sat with him by the fireside; and, dwell-
ing with angels as friend with friends, he had imbibed
the sublimity of their ideas, and imbued it with the sweet
and lowly charm of household words. So thought the
poet. And Ernest, on the other hand, was moved and
agitated by the living images which the poet flung out
of his mind, and which peopled all the air about the
cottage-door with shapes of beauty, both gay and pensive.
The sympathies of these two men instructed them with
a profounder sense than either could have attained alone.
Their minds accorded into one strain, and made delight-
ful music which neither of them could have claimed as all
his own, nor distinguished his own share from the other's.
They led one another, as it were, into a high pavilion of
their thoughts, SO remote, and hitherto SO dim, that they
had never entered it before, and SO beautiful that they
desired to be there always.
As Ernest listened to the poet, he imagined that the
Great Stone Face was bending forward to listen too. Ile
gazed earnestly into the poet's glowing eyes.
"Who are you, my strangely gifted guest?" he
said.
The poet laid his finger on the volume that Ernest
had been reading.
" You have read these poems," said he. You know
me, then, - for I wrote them."
Again, and still more earnestly than before, Ernest
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"ocrText": "THE GREAT STONE FACE.\n55\nand Ernest talked together. Often had the poet held\nintercourse with the wittiest and the wisest, but never\nbefore with a man like Ernest, whose thoughts and feel-\nings gushed up with such a natural freedom, and who\nmade great truths SO familiar by his simple utterance of\nthem. Angels, as had been SO often said, seemed to\nhave wrought with him at his labor in the fields; angels\nseemed to have sat with him by the fireside; and, dwell-\ning with angels as friend with friends, he had imbibed\nthe sublimity of their ideas, and imbued it with the sweet\nand lowly charm of household words. So thought the\npoet. And Ernest, on the other hand, was moved and\nagitated by the living images which the poet flung out\nof his mind, and which peopled all the air about the\ncottage-door with shapes of beauty, both gay and pensive.\nThe sympathies of these two men instructed them with\na profounder sense than either could have attained alone.\nTheir minds accorded into one strain, and made delight-\nful music which neither of them could have claimed as all\nhis own, nor distinguished his own share from the other's.\nThey led one another, as it were, into a high pavilion of\ntheir thoughts, SO remote, and hitherto SO dim, that they\nhad never entered it before, and SO beautiful that they\ndesired to be there always.\nAs Ernest listened to the poet, he imagined that the\nGreat Stone Face was bending forward to listen too. Ile\ngazed earnestly into the poet's glowing eyes.\n\"Who are you, my strangely gifted guest?\" he\nsaid.\nThe poet laid his finger on the volume that Ernest\nhad been reading.\n\" You have read these poems,\" said he. You know\nme, then, - for I wrote them.\"\nAgain, and still more earnestly than before, Ernest"
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