LXIX.
But he went on in gladness—that fair child!
Save when at times his bright eye seem’d to dream,
And his young lips, which then no longer smiled,
Ask’d of his mother! That was but a gleam
Of memory, fleeting fast; and then his play
Through the wide Llanos[308] cheer’d again our way,
And by the mighty Oronoco stream,[309]
On whose lone margin we have heard at morn,
From the mysterious rocks, the sunrise-music borne: