'Fancy spangled every scene, and his soul was dissolved in a sea of dreams.'

In a few days Waldorf once more quitted a solitude which offered no charms to a disposition such as his; with tears he quitted the Recluse. ‘My son,’ said the good old man, with tears in his eyes, ‘I part from you / with pain, when I think of the precipice you continue to advance upon. Here, in obscure retreat, you might calmly breathe the remnant of your days.’