And the golden and silver fish swam down through the gorge at the
lower end of our domain and bedecked the sweet river never again.
And the lulling melody that had been softer than the wind-harp of
Aeolus, and more divine than all save the voice of Eleonora, it died
little by little away, in murmurs growing lower and lower, until the
stream returned, at length, utterly, into the solemnity of its
original silence. And then, lastly, the voluminous cloud uprose,
and, abandoning the tops of the mountains to the dimness of old,
fell back into the regions of Hesper, and took away all its manifold
golden and gorgeous glories from the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass.
Yet the promises of Eleonora were not forgotten; for I heard the
sounds of the swinging of the censers of the angels; and streams of
a holy perfume floated ever and ever about the valley; and at lone
hours, when my heart beat heavily, the winds that bathed my brow
came unto me laden with soft sighs; and indistinct murmurs filled
often the night air, and once- oh, but once only! I was awakened
from a slumber, like the slumber of death, by the pressing of
spiritual lips upon my own.
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