’SothinktheyoungphilosophersoftheGarden，’repliedtheEgyptian；’theymistakelassitudeformeditation，andimaginethat，becausetheyaresatedwithothers，theyknowthedelightofloneliness。ButnotinsuchjadedbosomscanNatureawakenthatenthusiasmwhichalonedrawsfromherchastereserveallherunspeakablebeauty：shedemandsfromyou，nottheexhaustionofpassion，butallthatfervor，fromwhichyouonlyseek，inadoringher，arelease。When，youngAthenian，themoonrevealedherselfinvisionsoflighttoEndymion，itwasafteradaypassed，notamongstthefeverishhauntsofmen，butonthestillmountainsandinthesolitaryvalleysofthehunter。’
’Beautifulsimile！’criedGlaucus；’mostunjustapplication！Exhaustion！
thatwordisforage，notyouth。Byme，atleast，onemomentofsatietyhasneverbeenknown！’
AgaintheEgyptiansmiled，buthissmilewascoldandblighting，andeventheunimaginativeClodiusfrozebeneathitslight。Hedidnot，however，replytothepassionateexclamationofGlaucus；but，afterapause，hesaid，inasoftandmelancholyvoice：
’Afterall，youdorighttoenjoythehourwhileitsmilesforyou；therosesoonwithers，theperfumesoonexhales。Andwe，OGlaucus！strangersinthelandandfarfromourfathers’ashes，whatisthereleftforusbutpleasureorregret！——foryouthefirst，perhapsformethelast。’