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echo of dashing and gurgling water never dies, and the
ferns, long grasses and ash sprays wave and quiver
everlastingly in the pulsing air; and as, looking up, he
sees the slender line of bridge spanning the upper fall, he
ought to know of the mournful legend which belongs to this
place, and which Wordsworth has preserved:- In the olden
times, a knight who loved a lady, and courted her in her
father's tower here, at Greystoke, went forth to win glory.
He won great glory: and at first his lady rejoiced fully in
it: but he was so long in returning, and she heard so much
of his deeds in behalf of distressed ladies, that doubts at
length stole upon her heart as to whether he still loved
her. These doubts disturbed her mind in sleep: and she began
to walk in her dreams, directing her steps towards the
waterfall where she and her lover used to meet. Under a
holly tree beside the fall they had plighted their vows, and
this was the limit of her dreaming walks. The knight at
length returned to claim her. Arriving in the night, he went
to the ravine to rest under the holly until the morning
should permit him to knock at the gate of the tower: but he
saw a gliding white figure among the trees: and this figure
reached the holly before him, and plucked twigs from the
tree, and threw them into the stream. Was it the ghost of
his lady love? or was it herself? She stood in a dangerous
place: he put out his hand to uphold her: the touch awakened
her. In her terror and confusion she fell from his grasp
into the torrent, and was carried down the ravine. He
followed and rescued her; but she died upon the bank; not,
however, without having fully
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