150 On the Shores of Longing
Now when the first hunger of longing had

been appeased, and the year wore round,
and the swallows gathered in the autumn,
and every bush and tree was crowded with
them while they waited restlessly for a moon-
light night and a fair wind to take their
flight over sea, Bresal began to think ten-
_derly of the home on the Spanish cliffs over-
hanging the brink of the sunset.

Then in the brown days of the autumn
rains; and again in the keen November
when the leaves were falling in sudden
showers — but the highest leaves clung the
longest — and puffs of whirling wind set the
fallen leaves flying, and these were full of
sharp sounds and pattering voices; and sixes
of sparrows went flying with the leaves so
that one could not well say which were leaves
and which were birds; and yet again through
the bitter time when the eaves were hung
with icicles and the peaks of the blue slieves
were white with snow, and the low hills and
fields were hoary — the memory of the Prior
and of the beloved house prevailed with him
and he felt the dull ache of separation.

As the days passed by his trouble grew the
ereater, for he began to fear that his love of