At the morning hour, when the half-awakened sun, trampling down the lingering shadows of the west, spreads his ruby-tinted tresses over jessamines and roses, drying with cloths of gold Aurora’s tears of mingled fire and snow, which the sun’s rays converted into pearls.
Its brightness, mighty divinity! has a fleeting empire over the day, giving gladness to the fields, color to the flowers, the season of the loves, harmonious hour of wakening birds.
No virtue can be real that has not been tried. The gold in the crucible alone is perfect; the loadstone tests the steel, and the diamond is tried by the diamond, while metals gleam the brighter in the furnace.
