`` Not here , '' cried old Walter Gascoigne . `` Here , long ago , other mortals built their temple of happiness ; seek another site for yours . '' `` What ! '' exclaimed Lilias Fay . `` Have any ever planned such a temple save ourselves ? '' `` Poor child ! '' said her gloomy kinsman . `` In one shape or other every mortal has dreamed your dream . '' Then he told the lovers , how -- not , indeed , an antique temple , but a dwelling -- had once stood there , and that a dark-clad guest had dwelt among its inmates , sitting for ever at the fireside and poisoning all their household mirth . Under this type Adam Forrester and Lilias saw that the old man spake of sorrow . He told of nothing that might not be recorded in the history of almost every household , and yet his hearers felt as if no sunshine ought to fall upon a spot where human grief had left so deep a stain -- or , at least , that no joyous temple should be built there . `` This is very sad , '' said the Lily , sighing . `` Well , there are lovelier spots than this , '' said Adam Forrester , soothingly -- `` spots which sorrow has not blighted . '' So they hastened away , and the melancholy Gascoigne followed them , looking as if he had gathered up all the gloom of the deserted spot and was bearing it as a burden of inestimable treasure . But still they rambled on , and soon found themselves in a rocky dell through the midst of which ran a streamlet with ripple and foam and a continual voice of inarticulate joy . It was a wild retreat walled on either side with gray precipices which would have frowned somewhat too sternly had not a profusion of green shrubbery rooted itself into their crevices and wreathed gladsome foliage around their solemn brows . But the chief joy of the dell was in the little stream which seemed like the presence of a blissful child with nothing earthly to do save to babble merrily and disport itself , and make every living soul its playfellow , and throw the sunny gleams of its spirit upon all . `` Here , here is the spot ! '' cried the two lovers , with one voice , as they reached a level space on the brink of a small cascade . `` This glen was made on purpose for our temple . ''
`` And the glad song of the brook will be always in our ears , '' said Lilias XXXXX .
Fay Forrester Gascoigne Lilias gleams kinsman left playfellow precipices spake