CHAPTER IV.
“Obedient to the light
That shone within his soul, he went, pursuing
The windings of the dell. The rivulet,
Wanton and wild, through many a green ravine
Beneath the forest flowed.”
Shelley.
Within the tropics the sun lights up the earth or leaves it, with scarcely any of the mysterious greeting or farewell, with which in more northern climates he loiters on his way, dyeing the landscape with subtle gradations of colors, from the fullest display of his mingled glories in a yellow and purple blaze, to the faintest hues of every shade, delicate and aerial, like the gossamer robes of spirit land. His coming is punctual and his welcome hearty. Objects take their hue and shape from out of the night almost instantaneously, changing from black to golden brightness, as by the touch of magic. There is loss of beauty to the eye in this, though the earth may gain in fertility from not having to wait so long for the fruitful warmth.