midnight
Did our time or space admit of it , we would gladly loiter in that pleasant spot , gazing from that graceful bridge on the ivy-clad towers , the tall and stately abbey , or the rich woods of that proud demesne , which in every tint of foliage encircles the picture . That `` vale and winding river '' were scenes of some of our boyhood 's happiest hours , and even years -- those stern teachers -- have not obliterated the memory ! Our task is not , however , with these recollections , and we would now ask our reader to stand with us beneath the shadow of the tall elms , while the little village is locked in slumber . It is past midnight , -- all is still and tranquil ; a faint moonlight flickers through the leaves , and plays a fitful gleam upon the river . One man alone is abroad , and he is seen to traverse the bridge with uncertain steps , stopping at moments as if to listen , and then resuming his solitary watch . A light , the only one in the village , twinkles from a window of the little inn , and the door lies open , for in his impatience he has quitted his chamber to walk abroad in the night air . As the hours wear on , his anxiety seems to increase , and he starts and pauses at every sound of the wind through the trees , and every cadence of the rushing river .