LXIX.

But he went on in gladness--that fair child! Save when at times his bright eye seem’d to dream, And his young lips, which then no longer smiled, Ask’d of his mother! That was but a gleam Of memory, fleeting fast; and then his play Through the wide Llanos[308] cheer’d again our way, And by the mighty Oronoco stream,[309] On whose lone margin we have heard at morn, From the mysterious rocks, the sunrise-music borne: