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lulling melody more divine than that of the harp of Aeolus-sweeter than
all save the voice of Eleonora. And now, too, a voluminous cloud, which
we had long watched in the regions of Hesper, floated out thence, all
gorgeous in crimson and gold, and settling in peace above us, sank, day
by day, lower and lower, until its edges rested upon the tops of the
mountains, turning all their dimness into magnificence, and shutting us
up, as if forever, within a magic prison-house of grandeur and of glory.
The loveliness of Eleonora was that of the Seraphim; but she was a
maiden artless and innocent as the brief life she had led among the
flowers. No guile disguised the fervor of love which animated her heart,
and she examined with me its inmost recesses as we walked together
in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass, and discoursed of the mighty
changes which had lately taken place therein.
At length, having spoken one day, in tears, of the last sad change
which must befall Humanity, she thenceforward dwelt only upon this one
sorrowful theme, interweaving it into all our converse, as, in the songs
of the bard of Schiraz, the same images are found occurring, again and
again, in every impressive variation of phrase.
She had seen that the finger of Death was upon her bosom--that, like the
ephemeron, she had been made perfect in loveliness only to die; but
the terrors of the grave to her lay solely in a consideration which she
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