warmth gave some vigour to his frame, the energy of life became more suffused, a soothing languor stole upon him, and on opening his eyes rushed neither the images of death or the rites of witchcraft, but the soft, the sweet, and tranquil scenery of a summer’s moon-light night. Enraptured with this sudden and unexpected change, Sir Gawen rose gently from off the ground, over his head towered a large and majestic
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oak, at whose foot, by some kind and compassionate being he concluded he had been laid. Delight and gratitude dilated his heart, and advancing from beneath the tree, whose gigantic branches spread a large extent of shade, a vale, beautiful and romantic, thro' which ran a clear and deep stream, came full in view; he walked to the edge of the water, the moon shone with mellow lustre on its surface, and its banks fringed with shrubs, breathed a perfume more delicate than the odours of the (illegible text)ast. On one side, the ground,
