leaves of the iris. At this hour the breeze, as sweet as the sweetest
poetry, rises up from a valley bathed in light, bearing on its wings
the richest fragrance. On the horizon I could see a golden city like
the Heavenly Jerusalem--a city whose name I may not speak. There, too,
a river winds. But that city and its buildings, that river of which
the lovely vistas, and the pools of blue water, mingled, crossed, and
embraced each other, which gladdened my sight and filled me with love
--where are they?

"At that hour the waters assumed fantastic hues under the sunset sky,
and seemed to be painted pictures; the stars dropped tender streaks of
light, the moon spread its pleasing snares; it gave another life to
the trees, to the color and form of things, and a new aspect to the
sparkling water, the silent hills, the eloquent buildings. The city
spoke, it glittered, it called to me to return!

"Columns of smoke rose up by the side of the ancient pillars, whose
marble sheen gleamed white through the night; the lines of the horizon
were still visible through the mists of evening; all was harmony and
mystery. Nature would not say farewell; she desired to keep me there.
Ah! It was all in all to me; my mother and my child, my wife and my
glory! The very bells bewailed my condemnation. Oh, land of marvels!
It is as beautiful as heaven. From that hour the wide world has been
my dungeon. Beloved land, why hast thou rejected me?

"But I shall triumph there yet!" he cried, speaking with an accent of
such intense conviction and such a ringing tone, that the boatman
started as at a trumpet call.

The stranger was standing in a prophetic attitude and gazing