SUNSET. 97 



There is something I would grasp and retain, but 

 cannot — would speak, but have not the power to utter 

 it. The soul is powerless to act and, 



" Dizzy and drunk with beauty, reels 

 In its fullness." 



Just look at the glorious orb of day as it rolls down 

 that distant mountain slope, into the gorge which 

 seems made on purpose to receive it. Lower and 

 and lower sinks the fiery circle, till at last it disap- 

 pears, leaving an ocean of flame where it stood, while 

 dark shadows begin to creep over the lake and shores. 

 On the mountains, there is a bright line of light 

 which slowly ascends as if striving to linger around 

 the loveliness below. Inch by inch it creeps upward, 

 growing brighter as it rises, till at length the highest 

 summit is reached— irradiated and forsaken. Its last 

 baptism was on that bald peak which blazed up a 

 moment like an altar-fire to G-od, then sunk in dark- 

 ness — and now the pall of night is slowly drawn over 

 all. 



Thus, my friend, did this July evening pass with 

 me, and with a sigh over the gorgeous dream that had 



vanished, I turned away. Though the night was 

 



