The natural carol woke an echo.

She did not repeat it.
'And we will not forget our home, Chillon,' she said, touching him gently to comfort some saddened feeling.
The plumes of cloud now slowly entered into the lofty arch of dawn and melted from brown to purpleblack.

The upper sky swam with violet; and in a moment each stray cloud-feather was edged with rose, and then suffused.

It seemed that the heights fronted East to eye the interflooding of colours, and it was imaginable that all turned to the giant whose forehead first kindled to the sun: a greeting of god and king.
On the morning of a farewell we fluctuate sharply between the very distant and the close and homely: and even in memory the fluctuation occurs, the grander scene casting us back on the modestly nestling, and that, when it has refreshed us, conjuring imagination to embrace the splendour and wonder.

But the wrench of an immediate division from what we love makes the things within us reach the dearest, we put out our hands for them, as violently-parted lovers do, though the soul in days to come would know a craving, and imagination flap a leaden wing, if we had not looked beyond them.
'Shall we go down ?' said Carinthia, for she knew a little cascade near the house, showering on rock and fern, and longed to have it round her.
They descended, Chillon saying that they would soon have the mists rising, and must not delay to start on their journey.
The armies of the young sunrise in mountain-lands neighbouring the plains, vast shadows, were marching over woods and meads, black against the edge of golden; and great heights were cut with them, and bounding waters took the leap in a silvery radiance to gloom; the bright and dark-banded valleys were like night and morning taking hands down the sweep of their rivers.