You wish to die because you do not care to live: she will not open her door to you, for no one can die who does not long to live." "It ill becomes your youth to mock a friendless old man.

Pray, cease your riddles!" "Did not then the Mother tell you something of the same sort ?" "In truth I believe she did; but I gave little heed to her excuses." "Ah, then, sir," I rejoined, "it is but too plain you have not yet learned to die, and I am heartily grieved for you.

Such had I too been but for the Lady of Sorrow.

I am indeed young, but I have wept many tears; pardon me, therefore, if I presume to offer counsel:--Go to the Lady of Sorrow, and 'take with both hands'* what she will give you.
Yonder lies her cottage.

She is not in it now, but her door stands open, and there is bread and water on her table.