The clouds are oiled like ridges of sand, tossing and surging to present obstructions, but like the impetuous raging of irresistible waters, the light breaks through them, demolishes them, devours them, and as the rays ascend, the rolling waves of purple mist glow into crimson.

At this moment the young dawn shines with a timid yet victorious grace, while the knee bends in admiration and gratitude before it, for the last terror has vanished, and we feel as if new born.
Fresh objects strike upon the view, as if just called from chaos.

A veil of uniform rose-color covers them all, but as the light augments in intensity, the thin gauze drapes and folds in shades of pale carnation, while the advancing plains grow clear in white and dazzling splendor.
The brilliant sun delays no longer to invade the firmament, gaining new glory as he rises.

The vapors surge and crowd together, rolling themselves from right to left, like the heavy drapery of a curtain moved by the wind.

Then all breathes, moves, lives, hums, sings; the sounds mingle, cross, meet, and melt into each other.