Aurora, who had witnessed Memnon’s defeat, told his brothers, the Winds, to bear his body to his home in the far East. There in the evening Aurora came to weep over the body of her son. The Hours, the rosy sister goddesses, joined in her grief, and the shining Pleiades veiled their faces in sorrow.
Aurora still laments the untimely death of her son, and her tears you may find in the early morning as dewdrops upon the bending grass and flowers.
A WALK AT SUNSET.
When insect wings are glistening in the beam
Of the low sun, and mountain tops are bright,
Oh! let me by the crystal valley stream,
Wander amid the mild and mellow light;
And while the wood thrush pipes his evening lay,
Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day.
O sun! that o’er the western mountains now
Go’st down in glory! ever beautiful
And blesséd is thy radiance, whether thou
Colorest the eastern heaven and night mist cool,
Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high
Climbest and streamest thy white splendors from mid-sky.
Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,
Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues
That live among the clouds, and flush the air,
Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews.
Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard
The plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird.
Leader (modern).
Copyright, 1894, by Photographische Gesellschaft.
Sunset.