and showed them its white stormless vales, and the glimmering light with which it tranquilizes man.—"Mother! look up," said Eugenius, "there is thy son—behold upon the moon, the white blooming groves in which our boy is wandering."—The father felt a burning fire consuming his inmost heart—his eye, from gazing upon the moon, grew blind to every thing which possessed no light—lofty images placed themselves in shining streams before him, and there arose within him, thoughts above the level of humanity, and too mighty for the grasp of memory,—he heard in bis ear, melodies like those which charm us in our dreams, melodies which cannot be created when awake. Death and delight pressed his weary tongue: "Rosamond, wherefore sayest thou nothing? Seest thou thy child?—I look over the wide extended earth, even till I reach the moon: there my son flies amid angels—fair flowers are his cradle, the zephyr of Spring plays over him—children lead him—angels teach him—God loves him—oh the darling cherub, thou smilest too, the silver light of Paradise flies around thy little mouth,—thou knowest no one, and callest for thy parents—Rosamond, give me thy hand, we will go,—we will die.—
The weak corporeal chain became longer. His rising spirit fluttered higher on the boundaries of life.
