"From Eden's bowers the full-fed rivers flow,
To guide the outcasts to the land of woe:
Our Earth one little toiling streamlet yields.
To guide the wanderers to the happy fields."

After leaving this village, where I had rested for nearly a
week, I travelled through a desert region of dry sand and glittering
rocks, peopled principally by goblin-fairies. When I first entered their
domains, and, indeed, whenever I fell in with another tribe of them,
they began mocking me with offered handfuls of gold and jewels, making
hideous grimaces at me, and performing the most antic homage, as if they
thought I expected reverence, and meant to humour me like a maniac. But
ever, as soon as one cast his eyes on the shadow behind me, he made a
wry face, partly of pity, partly of contempt, and looked ashamed, as
if he had been caught doing something inhuman; then, throwing down his
handful of gold, and ceasing all his grimaces, he stood aside to let me
pass in peace, and made signs to his companions to do the like. I had no
inclination to observe them much, for the shadow was in my heart as well
as at my heels.

I walked listlessly and almost hopelessly along, till I
arrived one day at a small spring; which, bursting cool from the heart
of a sun-heated rock, flowed somewhat southwards from the direction I
had been taking. I drank of this spring, and found myself wonderfully
refreshed. A kind of love to the cheerful little stream arose in my
heart.