“Continually, indeed, as it stole onward, the streamlet kept up a babble, kind, quiet, soothing, but melancholy, like the voice of a young child that was spending its infancy without playfulness, and knew not how to be merry among sad acquaintance and events of sombre hue.
«O brook! O foolish and tiresome little brook!» cried Pearl, after listening awhile to its talk. «Why art thou so sad? Pluck up a spirit, and do not be all the time sighing and murmuring!»
But the brook, in the course of its little lifetime among the forest-trees, had gone through so solemn an experience that it could not help talking about it, and seemed to have nothing else to say.”