He saw at once that it was so.
A child, a bird, a monkey, might have climbed to reach it. A
rude hand might have felled the whole tree; but the full-grown
man, the weary man, the gentle-hearted, religious man, was no
nearer to its nourishment for being close to the root; yet he
had not force to drag himself further, and leave at once the
aim of so many fond hopes, so many beautiful thoughts. So he
lay down amid the inhospitable sands. The night dews pierced
his exhausted frame; the hyena laughed, the lion roared, in
the distance; the stars smiled upon him satirically from their
passionless peace; and he knew they were like the sun, as
unfeeling, only more distant. He could not sleep for
famine. With the dawn he arose. The palm stood as tall, as
inaccessible, as ever; its leaves did not so much as rustle an
answer to his farewell sigh. On and on he went, and came, at
last, to a living spring. The spring was encircled by tender
verdure, wild fruits ripened near, and the clear waters
sparkled up to tempt his lip. The pilgrim rested, and
refreshed himself, and looked back with less pain to the
unsympathizing palm, which yet towered in the distance.
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