At fifteen I became a resident in a country village morethan a hundred miles from home. The morning after myarrival—a September morning， but warm and bright asany in July—I rambled into a wood of oaks with a fewwalnut trees intermixed， forming the closest shade abovemy head. The ground was rocky， uneven， overgrown withbushes and clumps of young saplings and traversed only bycattle-paths. The track which I chanced to follow led meto a crystal spring with a border of grass as freshly green ason May morning， and overshadowed by the limb of a greatoak. One solitary sunbeam found its way down and playedlike a goldfish in the water.
From my childhood I have loved to gaze into a spring.
The water filled a circular basin， small but deep and setround with stones， some of which were covered with slimymoss， the others naked and of variegated hue—reddish，white and brown. The bottom was covered with coarsesand， which sparkled in the lonely sunbeam and seemedto illuminate the spring with an unborrowed light. In onespot the gush of the water violently agitated the sand， butwithout obscuring the fountain or breaking the glassinessof its surface. It appeared as if some living creature wereabout to emerge—the naiad of the spring， perhaps， in theshape of a beautiful young woman with a gown of filmywater-moss， a belt of rainbow-drops and a cold， pure，passionless countenance. How would the beholder shiver，pleasantly yet fearfully， to see her sitting on one of thestones， paddling her white feet in the ripples and throwingup water to sparkle in the sun！ Wherever she laid herhands on grass and flowers， they would immediately bemoist， as with morning dew. Then would she set abouther labors， like a careful housewife， to clear the fountainof withered leaves， and bits of slimy wood， and old acornsfrom the oaks above， and grains of corn left by cattle indrinking， till the bright sand in the bright water were likea treasury of diamonds. But， should the intruder approachtoo near， he would find only the drops of a summer showerglistening about the spot where he had seen her.
Reclining on the border of grass where the dewygoddess should have been， I bent forward， and a pair ofeyes met mine within the watery mirror. They were thereflection of my own. I looked again， and， lo！ another face，deeper in the fountain than my own image， more distinctin all the features， yet faint as thought. The vision hadthe aspect of a fair young girl with locks of paly gold. Amirthful expression laughed in the eyes and dimpled overthe whole shadowy countenance， till it seemed just whata fountain would be if， while dancing merrily into thesunshine， it should assume the shape of woman. Throughthe dim rosiness of the cheeks I could see the brownleaves， the slimy twigs， the acorns and the sparkling sand.
The solitary sunbeam was diffused among the golden hair，which melted into its faint brightness and became a gloryround that head so beautiful.
My description can give no idea how suddenly thefountain was thus tenanted and how soon it was leftdesolate. I breathed， and there was the face； I held mybreath， and it was gone. Had it passed away or faded intonothing？ I doubted whether it had ever been.
My sweet readers， what a dreamy and delicious hour didI spend where that vision found and left me！ For a longtime I sat perfectly still， waiting till it should reappear， andfearful that the slightest motion， or even the flutter of mybreath， might frighten it away. Thus have I often startedfrom a pleasant dream， and then kept quiet in hopes towile it back. Deep were my musings as to the race andattributes of that ethereal being. Had I created her？ Wasshe the daughter of my fancy， akin to those strange shapeswhich peep under the lids of children’s eyes？ And did herbeauty gladden me for that one moment and then die？ Orwas she a water-nymph within the fountain， or fairy orwoodland goddess peeping over my shoulder， or the ghostof some forsaken maid who had drowned herself for love？
Or， in good truth， had a lovely girl with a warm heart andlips that would bear pressure stolen softly behind me andthrown her image into the spring？
I watched and waited， but no vision came again. Ideparted， but with a spell upon me which drew me backthat same afternoon to the haunted spring. There wasthe water gushing， the sand sparkling and the sunbeamglimmering. There the vision was not， but only a great frog，the hermit of that solitude， who immediately withdrew hisspeckled snout and made himself invisible—all except apair of long legs—beneath a stone. Methought he had adevilish look. I could have slain him as an enchanter whokept the mysterious beauty imprisoned in the fountain.
Sad and heavy， I was returning to the village. Betweenme and the church-spire rose a little hill， and on itssummit a group of trees insulated from all the rest of thewood， with their own share of radiance hovering on themfrom the west and their own solitary shadow falling to theeast. The afternoon being far declined， the sunshine wasalmost pensive and the shade almost cheerful； glory andgloom were mingled in the placid light， as if the spiritsof the Day and Evening had met in friendship underthose trees and found themselves akin. I was admiringthe picture when the shape of a young girl emerged frombehind the clump of oaks. My heart knew her： it was thevision， but so distant and ethereal did she seem， so unmixedwith earth， so imbued with the pensive glory of the spotwhere she was standing， that my spirit sunk within me，sadder than before. How could I ever reach her？
