CHAPTER XVI.
"Ev'n the Styx, which ninefold her infoldeth Hems not Ceres' daughter in its flow; But she grasps the apple--ever holdeth Her, sad Orcus, down below." SCHILLER, Das Ideal und das Leben.
Ever as I sang, the veil was uplifted; ever as I sang, the signs of life grew; till, when the eyes dawned upon me, it was with that sunrise of splendour which my feeble song attempted to re-imbody.
The wonder is, that I was not altogether overcome, but was able to complete my song as the unseen veil continued to rise.

This ability came solely from the state of mental elevation in which I found myself.

Only because uplifted in song, was I able to endure the blaze of the dawn.
But I cannot tell whether she looked more of statue or more of woman; she seemed removed into that region of phantasy where all is intensely vivid, but nothing clearly defined.

At last, as I sang of her descending hair, the glow of soul faded away, like a dying sunset.

A lamp within had been extinguished, and the house of life shone blank in a winter morn.