{"id":"01KG8AMZ1TZ9KXRXZNKXPYY9ZN","cid":"bafkreic3oq3t3rlelkmnlwc3uv7fpa22ri75fkxx3wb23w2m7m7vdrs3vi","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":1493,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:52.918Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1JSYKSGCE149MH9HF6A","start_line":1424,"text":"IV.\r\n\r\nBut Love has more to do with his own possible and probable posterities,\r\nthan with the once living but now impossible ancestries in the past. So\r\nPierre's glow of family pride quickly gave place to a deeper hue, when\r\nLucy bade love's banner blush out from his cheek.\r\n\r\nThat morning was the choicest drop that Time had in his vase. Ineffable\r\ndistillations of a soft delight were wafted from the fields and hills.\r\nFatal morning that, to all lovers unbetrothed; \"Come to your\r\nconfessional,\" it cried. \"Behold our airy loves,\" the birds chirped from\r\nthe trees; far out at sea, no more the sailors tied their bowline-knots;\r\ntheir hands had lost their cunning; will they, nill they, Love tied\r\nlove-knots on every spangled spar.\r\n\r\nOh, praised be the beauty of this earth, the beauty, and the bloom, and\r\nthe mirthfulness thereof! The first worlds made were winter worlds; the\r\nsecond made, were vernal worlds; the third, and last, and perfectest,\r\nwas this summer world of ours. In the cold and nether spheres, preachers\r\npreach of earth, as we of Paradise above. Oh, there, my friends, they\r\nsay, they have a season, in their language known as summer. Then their\r\nfields spin themselves green carpets; snow and ice are not in all the\r\nland; then a million strange, bright, fragrant things powder that sward\r\nwith perfumes; and high, majestic beings, dumb and grand, stand up with\r\noutstretched arms, and hold their green canopies over merry angels--men\r\nand women--who love and wed, and sleep and dream, beneath the approving\r\nglances of their visible god and goddess, glad-hearted sun, and pensive\r\nmoon!\r\n\r\nOh, praised be the beauty of this earth; the beauty, and the bloom, and\r\nthe mirthfulness thereof. We lived before, and shall live again; and as\r\nwe hope for a fairer world than this to come; so we came from one less\r\nfine. From each successive world, the demon Principle is more and more\r\ndislodged; he is the accursed clog from chaos, and thither, by every new\r\ntranslation, we drive him further and further back again. Hosannahs to\r\nthis world! so beautiful itself, and the vestibule to more. Out of some\r\npast Egypt, we have come to this new Canaan; and from this new Canaan,\r\nwe press on to some Circassia. Though still the villains, Want and Woe,\r\nfollowed us out of Egypt, and now beg in Canaan's streets: yet\r\nCircassia's gates shall not admit them; they, with their sire, the demon\r\nPrinciple, must back to chaos, whence they came.\r\n\r\nLove was first begot by Mirth and Peace, in Eden, when the world was\r\nyoung. The man oppressed with cares, he can not love; the man of gloom\r\nfinds not the god. So, as youth, for the most part, has no cares, and\r\nknows no gloom, therefore, ever since time did begin, youth belongs to\r\nlove. Love may end in grief and age, and pain and need, and all other\r\nmodes of human mournfulness; but love begins in joy. Love's first sigh\r\nis never breathed, till after love hath laughed. Love laughs first, and\r\nthen sighs after. Love has not hands, but cymbals; Love's mouth is\r\nchambered like a bugle, and the instinctive breathings of his life\r\nbreathe jubilee notes of joy!\r\n\r\nThat morning, two bay horses drew two Laughs along the road that led to\r\nthe hills from Saddle Meadows. Apt time they kept; Pierre Glendinning's\r\nyoung, manly tenor, to Lucy Tartan's girlish treble.\r\n\r\nWondrous fair of face, blue-eyed, and golden-haired, the bright blonde,\r\nLucy, was arrayed in colors harmonious with the heavens. Light blue be\r\nthy perpetual color, Lucy; light blue becomes thee best--such the\r\nrepeated azure counsel of Lucy Tartan's mother. On both sides, from the\r\nhedges, came to Pierre the clover bloom of Saddle Meadows, and from\r\nLucy's mouth and cheek came the fresh fragrance of her violet young\r\nbeing.\r\n\r\n\"Smell I the flowers, or thee?\" cried Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"See I lakes, or eyes?\" cried Lucy, her own gazing down into his soul,\r\nas two stars gaze down into a tarn.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJS0928G0P7MJBH462X5C","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1JSYKSGCE149MH9HF6A","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AMZ28BH7QY8Q606SA2NSM","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:54.330Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:49:02.942Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}