When he reached its southern boundary he flung himself down in a grassy corner of the fence where another lilac bush grew , with ferns and wild blue violets at its roots . From where he now was he got a glimpse of a house about a quarter of a mile away , its gray gable peering out from a dark spruce wood . It seemed a dull , gloomy , remote place , and he did not know who lived there . He had a wide outlook to the west , over far hazy fields and misty blue intervales . The sun had just set , and the whole world of green meadows beyond swam in golden light . Across a long valley brimmed with shadow were uplands of sunset , and great sky lakes of saffron and rose where a soul might lose itself in colour . The air was very fragrant with the baptism of the dew , and the odours of a bed of wild mint upon which he had trampled . Robins were whistling , clear and sweet and sudden , in the woods all about him . `` This is a veritable ` haunt of ancient peace , ' '' quoted Eric , looking around with delighted eyes . `` I could fall asleep here , dream dreams and see visions . What a sky ! Could anything be diviner than that fine crystal eastern blue , and those frail white clouds that look like woven lace ? What a dizzying , intoxicating fragrance lilacs have ! I wonder if perfume could set a man drunk . Those apple trees now -- why , what is that ? '' Eric started up and listened . Across the mellow stillness , mingled with the croon of the wind in the trees and the flute-like calls of the robins , came a strain of delicious music , so beautiful and fantastic that Eric held his breath in astonishment and delight . Was he dreaming ? No , it was real music , the music of a violin played by some hand inspired with the very spirit of harmony . He had never heard anything like it ; and , somehow , he felt quite sure that nothing exactly like it ever had been heard before ; he believed that that wonderful music was coming straight from the soul of the unseen violinist , and translating itself into those most airy and delicate and exquisite sounds for the first time ; the very soul of music , with all sense and earthliness refined away .
It was an elusive , haunting melody , strangely suited to the time and place ; it had in it the sigh of the wind in the woods , the eerie whispering of the grasses at dewfall , the white thoughts XXXXX the June lilies , the rejoicing of the apple blossoms ; all the soul of all the old laughter and song and tears and gladness and sobs the orchard had ever known in the lost years ; and besides all this , there was in it a pitiful , plaintive cry as of some imprisoned thing calling for freedom and utterance .
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