Across the
rainbow the sun throws its rays in the form of giant wheel-spokes
tinged with a beautiful pink. The Eastern sky is mantled with a purple
flush that picks out the forms of the hazy Desert and the sharp-cut
Hills. Language is a thing too cold, too poor, to express the harmony
and the majesty of this hour, which is as evanescent, however, as it is
lovely. Night falls rapidly, when suddenly the appearance of the
Zodiacal Light[FN#2] restores
[p.209] the scene to what it was. Again the grey hills and the grim
rocks become rosy or golden, the palms green, the sands saffron, and
the sea wears a lilac surface of dimpling waves. But after a quarter of
an hour all fades once more; the cliffs are naked and ghastly under the
moon, whose light falling upon this wilderness of white crags and
pinnacles is most strange-most mysterious.
Night.-The horizon is all darkness, and the sea reflects the white
visage of the night-sun as in a mirror of steel. In the air we see
giant columns of pallid light, distinct, based upon the indigo-coloured
waves, and standing with their heads lost in endless space.
