Not a cloud appeared in the immense
heavens; only, low down in the west, purple and rose-coloured vapours
were beginning to form, staining the clear, intense white-blue sky
about the sinking sun. Over all reigned deep silence; until, suddenly,
a flock of orange and flame-coloured orioles with black wings swept
down on a clump of bushes hard by and poured forth a torrent of wild,
joyous music. A strange performance! screaming notes that seemed to
scream jubilant gladness to listening heaven, and notes abrupt and
guttural, mingling with others more clear and soul-piercing than ever
human lips drew from reed or metal. It soon ended; up sprang the
vocalists like a fountain of fire and fled away to their roost among
the hills, then silence reigned once more. What brilliant hues, what
gay, fantastic music! Were they indeed birds, or the glad, winged
inhabitants of a mystic region, resembling earth, but sweeter than
earth and never entered by death, upon whose threshold I had stumbled
by chance? Then, while the last rich flood of sunshine came over the
earth from that red, everlasting urn resting on the far horizon, I
could, had I been alone, have cast myself upon the ground to adore the
great God of Nature, who had given me this precious moment of life.
For here the religion that languishes in crowded cities or steals
shame-faced to hide itself in dim churches flourishes greatly, filling
the soul with a solemn joy.
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