I believe I may at last flatter myself with having found the end of my
wanderings. The hopes of being united with thee—or, I should rather say,
my dreams, for hopes have been justly termed the waking dreams of
men—have remained unfulfilled. God has suffered me to find a place, such
as has often flitted before our imaginations; for that which fancy has
shown us from afar is now made manifest to me. A high mountain, clothed
with thick woods, is watered to the north by fresh and everflowing
streams. At its foot lies an extended plain, rendered fruitful by the
vapors with which it is moistened. The surrounding forest crowded with
trees of different kinds, incloses one as in a strong fortress. This
wilderness is bounded by two deep ravines; on the one side the river,
rushing in foam down the mountain, forms an almost impassable barrier,
while on the other all access is impeded by a broad mountain-ridge. My
hut is so situated on the summit of the mountain, that I can overlook
the whole plain, and follow throughout its course the Iris, which is
more beautiful, and has a more abundant body of water than the Strymon,
near Amphipolis. The river of my wilderness, which is more impetuous
than any other that I know of, breaks against the jutting rock, and
throws itself foaming into the abyss below—an object of admiration to
the mountain wanderer, and a source of profit to the natives from the
numerous fishes that are found in its waters. Shall I describe to thee
the fructifying vapors that rise from the moist earth, or the cool
breezes wafted over the rippled face of the waters? Shall I speak of the
sweet song of the birds, or of the rich luxuriance of the flowering
plants? What charms me beyond all else is the calm repose of the spot.
It is only visited occasionally by huntsmen; for my wilderness nourishes
herds of deer and wild goats, but not bears and wolves.
What other spot could I exchange for this? Alcmæon, when he had found
the Echinades, would not wander farther.
_Letters of_ ST. BASIL, 329–379.
When I see every ledge of rock, every valley and plain, covered with
new-born verdure, the varied beauty of the trees, and the lilies at my
feet decked by Nature with the double charms of perfume and of color,
when in the distance I see the ocean, toward which the clouds are borne
onward, my spirit is overpowered by a sadness not wholly devoid of
enjoyment. When in autumn the fruits have passed away, the leaves have
fallen, and the branches of the trees, dried and shriveled, are robbed
of their leafy adornments, we are instinctively led, amid the
everlasting and regular change in Nature, to feel the harmony of the
wondrous powers pervading all things. He who contemplates them with the
eye of the soul, feels the littleness of man amid the greatness of the
universe.
ST. GREGORY _of Nyssa_, 396.