They have not seen me . I must shrink behind this rock and steal away again . In honest truth , vowed to solitude as I am , there is something in this encounter that makes the heart flutter with a strangely pleasant sensation . I know these girls to be realities of flesh and blood , yet , glancing at them so briefly , they mingle like kindred creatures with the ideal beings of my mind . It is pleasant , likewise , to gaze down from some high crag and watch a group of children gathering pebbles and pearly shells and playing with the surf as with old Ocean 's hoary beard . Nor does it infringe upon my seclusion to see yonder boat at anchor off the shore swinging dreamily to and fro and rising and sinking with the alternate swell , while the crew -- four gentlemen in roundabout jackets -- are busy with their fishing-lines . But with an inward antipathy and a headlong flight do I eschew the presence of any meditative stroller like myself , known by his pilgrim-staff , his sauntering step , his shy demeanor , his observant yet abstracted eye . From such a man as if another self had scared me I scramble hastily over the rocks , and take refuge in a nook which many a secret hour has given me a right to call my own . I would do battle for it even with the churl that should produce the title-deeds . Have not my musings melted into its rocky walls and sandy floor and made them a portion of myself ? It is a recess in the line of cliffs , walled round by a rough , high precipice which almost encircles and shuts in a little space of sand . In front the sea appears as between the pillars of a portal ; in the rear the precipice is broken and intermixed with earth which gives nourishment not only to clinging and twining shrubs , but to trees that grip the rock with their naked roots and seem to struggle hard for footing and for soil enough to live upon . These are fir trees , but oaks hang their heavy branches from above , and throw down acorns on the beach , and shed their withering foliage upon the waves . At this autumnal season the precipice is decked with variegated splendor . Trailing wreaths of scarlet flaunt from the summit downward ; tufts of yellow-flowering shrubs and rose-bushes , with their reddened leaves and glossy seed-berries , sprout from each crevice ; at every glance I detect some new light or shade of beauty , all contrasting with the stern gray rock . A rill of water trickles down the cliff and fills a little cistern near the base . I drain it at a draught , and find it fresh and pure . This recess shall be my dining-hall . And what the feast ? A few biscuits made savory by soaking them in sea-water , a tuft of samphire gathered from the beach , and an apple for the dessert .
By this time the little XXXXX has filled its reservoir again , and as I quaff it I thank God more heartily than for a civic banquet that he gives me the healthful appetite to make a feast of bread and water .
churl crag fishing-lines fro nook pilgrim-staff right rill rose-bushes sea-water