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CHAPTER X. THE PARTING.
 It was now that season of the year, which an old English writer calls the amiable1 month of June, and at that hour of the day, when, face to face, the rising moon beholds2 the setting sun. As yet the stars were few in heaven. But, after the heat of the day, the coolness and the twilight3 descended4 like a benediction5 upon the earth, by all those gentle sounds attended, which are the meek6 companions of the night.  
Flemming and the Baron7 had passed the afternoon at the Castle. They had rambled8 once more together, and for the last time, over the magnificent ruin. On the morrow they were to part, perhaps forever. The Baron was going to Berlin, to join his sister; and Flemming, drivenforward by the restless spirit within him, longed once more for a change of scene, and was going to the Tyrol and Switzerland. Alas9! he never said to the passing hour; "Stay, for thou art fair!" but reached forward into the dark future, with unsatisfied longings10 and aimless desires, that were never still.
 
As the day was closing, they sat down on the terrace of Elisabeth's Garden. The sun had set beyond the blue Alsatian hills; and on the valley of the Rhine fell the purple mist, like the mantle12 of the departing prophet from his fiery13 chariot. Over the castle walls, and the trees of the garden, rose the large moon; and between the contending daylight and moonlight there were as yet no shadows. But at length the shadows came; transparent14 and faint outlines, that deepened into form. In the valley below only the river gleamed, like steel; and here and there the lamps were lighted in the town. Solemnly stood the leafy lindentrees in the garden near them, their trunks in darkness and their summits bronzed with moonlight; and in his niche15 in the great round tower, overhung with ivy16, like a majestic17 phantom18, stood the gray statue of Louis, with his venerable beard, and shirt of mail, and flowing mantle; and the mild, majestic countenance19 looked forth20 into the silent night, as the countenance of a seer, who reads the stars. At intervals21 the wind of the summer night passed through the ruined castle and the trees, and they sent forth a sound as if nature were sighing in her dreams; and for a moment overhead the broad leaves gently clashed together, like brazen22 cymbals23, with a tinkling24 sound; and then all was still, save the sweet, passionate25 song of nightingales, that nowhere upon earth sing more sweetly than in the gardens of Heidelberg Castle.
 
The hour, the scene, and the near-approaching separation of the two young friends, had filled their hearts with a pleasant, though at the same time not painless excitement. They had been conversing26 about the magnificent old ruin, and the ages in which it had been built, and the vicissitudesof time and war, that had battered27 down its walls, and left it "tenantless28, save to the crannying wind."
 
"How sorrowful and sublime29 is the face of that statue yonder," said Flemming. "It reminds me of the old Danish hero Beowulf; for careful, sorrowing, he seeth in his son's bower30 the wine-hall deserted31, the resort of the wind, noiseless; the knight32 sleepeth; the warrior33 lieth in darkness; there is no noise of the harp34, no joy in the dwellings35, as there was before."
 
"Even as you say," replied the Baron; "but it often astonishes me, that, coming from that fresh green world of yours beyond the sea, you should feel so much interest in these old things; nay36, at times, seem so to have drunk in their spirit, as really to live in the times of old. For my part, I do not see what charm there is in the pale and wrinkled countenance of the Past, so to entice37 the soul of a young man. It seems to me like falling in love with one's grandmother. Give me the Present;--warm, glowing, palpitating with life. She is my mistress; and the Future stands waiting like my wife that is to be, for whom, to tell the truth, I care very little just now. Indeed, my friend, I wish you would take more heed38 of this philosophy of mine; and not waste the golden hours of youth in vain regrets for the past, and indefinite, dim longings for the future. Youth comes but once in a lifetime."
 
"Therefore," said Flemming; "let us so enjoy it as to be still young when we are old. For my part, I grow happier as I grow older. When I compare my sensations and enjoyments40 now, with what they were ten years ago, the comparison is vastly in favor of the present. Much of the fever and fretfulness of life is over. The world and I look each other more calmly in the face. My mind is more self-possessed. It has done me good to be somewhat parched41 by the heat and drenched42 by the rain of life."
 
"Now you speak like an old philosopher," answered the Baron, laughing. "But you deceive yourself. I never knew a more restless, feverishspirit than yours. Do not think you have gained the mastery ............
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