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MORNING AND FAREWELL TO AN OLD HOME.
Brother and sister were about to leave the mountainland for England.
They had not gone to bed overnight, and from the windows of their deserted home, a little before dawn, they saw the dwindled moon, a late riser, break through droves of hunted cloud, directly topping their ancient guardian height, the triple peak and giant of the range, friendlier in his name than in aspect for the two young people clinging to the scene they were to quit.

His name recalled old-days: the apparition of his head among the heavens drummed on their sense of banishment.
To the girl, this was a division of her life, and the dawn held the sword.

She felt herself midswing across a gulf that was the grave of one half, without a light of promise for the other.

Her passionate excess of attachment to her buried home robbed the future of any colours it might have worn to bid a young heart quicken.