Night. Otherwise the same scene. Our miner sits in his tent door, meditating
on the novel beauty of the scene before, below him. A north breeze has rolled the
smoky sea silently away and left no sign. Beneath the tent outspreads a vast abyss,
dark, silent, "the night's Plutonian shore." Our miner's fancy fills it with golden
phantoms. Only the stars, "night's tall tapers," lighten the gloom. But far away
east, over ranges of lesser mountains, dim shapes couched in the darkness, far away,
miles real as well as seeming, familiar shadowy shape of vast, uncertain size appears
to shut from sight vision of some awful conflagration. Look! It grows, it brightens,
till on the charmed eyes bursts a sudden, intense spark, then a full flame in Ieka's
side--'tis the moon at its roundest! And now Ieka's snows glow in its ray like molten
silver, the dark abyss before, beneath the tent lightens, the phantoms flee, while
over all, sublime, glorious, supreme, rises Shasta's argent image.
Keep this website alive, a Donation will be highly appreciated
Please consider a donation supporting our efforts.
Please report broken links to the
This is a Non-Commercial Web page, © 1998-2011 L.C.Geerts The Netherlands all rights reserved.
It is strictly forbidden to publish or copy anything of my book without permission of the author, permission is granted for the recourses, for personal use only.