noon
`` And who art thou ? '' said Fayzenheim , with the air of a hero . `` I am the last lingering wanderer of the race which the Romans worshipped ; hither I followed their victorious steps , and in these green hollows have I remained . Sometimes in the still noon , when the leaves of spring bud upon the whispering woods , I peer forth from my rocky lair , and startle the peasant with my strange voice and stranger shape . Then goes he home , and puzzles his thick brain with mopes and fancies , till at length he imagines me , the creature of the South ! one of his northern demons , and his poets adapt the apparition to their barbarous lines . '' `` Ho ! ''