Birds in hot rooms, covered up close and dark, felt it was morning, and chafed and grew restless in their little cells; bright-eyed mice crept back to their tiny homes and nestled timidly together; the sleek house-cat, forgetful of her prey, sat winking at the rays of sun starting through keyhole and cranny in the door, and longed for her stealthy run and warm sleek bask outside.

The nobler beasts confined in dens, stood motionless behind their bars and gazed on fluttering boughs, and sunshine peeping through some little window, with eyes in which old forests gleamed--then trod impatiently the track their prisoned feet had worn--and stopped and gazed again.
Men in their dungeons stretched their cramp cold limbs and cursed the stone that no bright sky could warm.

The flowers that sleep by night, opened their gentle eyes and turned them to the day.

The light, creation's mind, was everywhere, and all things owned its power.
The two pilgrims, often pressing each other's hands, or exchanging a smile or cheerful look, pursued their way in silence.

Bright and happy as it was, there was something solemn in the long, deserted streets, from which, like bodies without souls, all habitual character and expression had departed, leaving but one dead uniform repose, that made them all alike.