convinced that in this struggle of light and darkness it is the shadows
of night which are to yield. Raising our eyes to the Dome of lead above
us, we feel that it weighs less heavily upon us, that it has already
lost its fatal stability.

Little by little the long gray lines of light increase, they stretch
themselves along the horizon like fissures into a brighter world. They
suddenly enlarge, they gain upon their dark boundaries, now they break
through them, as the waters bounding the edge of a lake inundate in
irregular pools the arid banks. Then a fierce opposition begins, banks
and long dikes accumulate to arrest the progress. The clouds are oiled
like ridges of sand, tossing and surging to present obstructions, but
like the impetuous raging of irresistible waters, the light breaks
through them, demolishes them, devours them, and as the rays ascend, the
rolling waves of purple mist glow into crimson. At this moment the young
dawn shines with a timid yet victorious grace, while the knee bends in
admiration and gratitude before it, for the last terror has vanished,
and we feel as if new born.

Fresh objects strike upon the view, as if just called from chaos. A
veil of uniform rose-color covers them all, but as the light augments in
intensity, the thin gauze drapes and folds in shades of pale carnation,
while the advancing plains grow clear in white and dazzling splendor.

The brilliant sun delays no longer to invade the firmament, gaining
new glory as he rises. The vapors surge and crowd together, rolling
themselves from right to left, like the heavy drapery of a curtain moved
by the wind. Then all breathes, moves, lives, hums, sings; the sounds
mingle, cross, meet, and melt into each other. Inertia gives place to
motion, it spreads, accelerates and circulates. The waves of the lake
undulate and swell like a bosom touched by love. The tears of the dew,
motionless as those of tenderness, grow more and more perceptible, one
after another they are seen glittering on the humid herbs, diamonds
waiting for the sun to paint with rainbow-tints their vivid
scintillations. The gigantic fan of light in the East is ever opening
larger and wider. Spangles of silver, borders of scarlet, violet
fringes, bars of gold, cover it with fantastic broidery. Light bands of
reddish brown feather its branches. The brightest scarlet at its centre
has the glowing transparency of the ruby; shading into orange like a
burning coal, it widens