nude oil painting

poacher might discover me. If a gust of wind swept the waste, I looked
up, fearing it was the rush of a bull; if a plover whistled, I
imagined it a man. Finding my apprehensions unfounded, however, and
calmed by the deep silence that reigned as evening declined at
nightfall, I took confidence. As yet I had not thought; I had only
listened, watched, dreaded; now I regained the faculty of reflection.
What was I to do? Where to go? Oh, intolerable questions, when I
could do nothing and go nowhere!- when a long way must yet be measured
by my weary, trembling limbs before I could reach human habitation-
when cold charity must be entreated before I could get a lodging:
reluctant sympathy importuned, almost certain repulse incurred, before
my tale could be listened to, or one of my wants relieved!
I touched the heath: it was dry, and yet warm with the heat of
the summer day. I looked at the sky; it was pure: a kindly star
twinkled just above the chasm ridge. The day fell, but with propitious
softness; no breeze whispered. Nature seemed to me benign and good;
I thought she loved me, outcast as I was; and I, who from man could
anticipate only mistrust, rejection, insult, clung to her with