Page:Female Prose Writers of America.djvu/411

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369
ELIZA L. SPROAT.

to battle, that we are placed in this world of pleasure—it is only to live and to love.”

“Mira,” said her sister earnestly, “try them once again.”

“Not again,” said Mira; “I have found my life.”

“But I thought, when you touched the last sweet chord, that a note still sweeter fell upon my ear; try it, Mira!”

But Mira heard her not—her heart was filled with the music of love; she had chosen her lot, and over her the untried chords had power no more.

The hour had passed, and the Night Angel was departing. As he retired, he rolled away the soft dark mists in which he had tenderly enveloped the sleeping earth. The violets opened their eyes in time to catch a glimpse of the brighter eyes which all night long had watched their slumbers; the birds waked too, and looked out from their nests;—but the Night Angel stood with his finger on his lip, and all the world was silent.

Speeding through the dim air came the Angel of the Morning. With a pencil of flame he silently streaked the eastern sky, and fringed the clouds for the reception of the monarch.

The morning breezes grew uneasy in their hiding-places; the hushed waters trembled with eagerness; the flowers held their breath; the birds seemed bursting with long-pent melody;—but still, the Night Angel stood with his finger on his lip, and all the earth waited in silence.

Silence!

The Sun! the Sun! with a warm sudden kiss he greets the earth—the spell of the night is broken; all nature rises with a shout, and from a thousand thousand tongues bursts forth the imprisoned melody. How the trees wave their arms! how the singing waters glance and sparkle! how the forest gossips nod their heads to one another, and the busy happy breezes hurry to and fro with sweet gratulations borne from flower to flower! All motion—all happiness; every nook and corner of the great earth filled with life and love.

“Ernesta,” said her sister, “art thou still faithless? Does not