And on the distant sky-line, above the low strip of fields, gleamed, like
a point of fire the golden cross on the white bell-tower of a Christian
church.... That cross the goddess had caught sight of.
I heard behind me a long, broken sigh, like the quiver of a broken string,
and when I turned again, no trace was left of the nymphs.... The broad
forest was green as before, and only here and there among the thick network
of branches, were fading gleams of something white; whether the nymphs’
white robes, or a mist rising from the valley, I know not.
But how I mourned for those vanished goddesses!
_Dec. 1878._