Nashville union and American. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1853-1862, 1857-08-29
MORNING ON THE HILL.

A correspondent of the N. Y Times, writing from
the Hill near Thebes, says:
1t was glorious morning. What need to write it.
Since we left Cairo there has not dawned on us a
morning that not worthy of the first Sabbath in
Eden The valley wakes after each last nights re-
pose with smile that makes one believe that Eden
was somewhere here away, and that we daily ap-
proach it, and shall see long, the flashing sword
The stars shrink back reluctantly. Theirs has
been a long, steadfast, may it not well be called a
loving vigil this ancient land. The dust of the
Nile valley the dust of the Libyan DESERT the dust
of Araby the Blessed, is all dear to the stars. No
cloud intercepts their calm communion. No wailing
storm disturbs the harmony of their nightly meet
ings. thousand years, nay, thousands of years,
the silver light has slept the sand each night and
gone home in the morning to the radiance that
dWells beyond our vision in the glazing sunli ght
and sand and plain, mountain and river, sun and
stars here of old-are here as when the first
footsteps of weak tottered along the river bank
AS When for the first time, the rock opened to
ceved into its embrace the dead dust of humanity.
Could the morning dawn coldly, or otherwise than
gloriously, in such country?
We have not seen a cloud since we set sail from
Cairo-eXcept only in the evening, when few light
eecy clouds have gathered to mantle the descending
grandeur of the sun, and disappear when he is gone
We never sleep while it is light. We wake at the
earliest dawn, open all windows, and see the day
approach. Profound stiffness reigns everywhere-
The flow of the Nile is swift and strong, but silent
Our voices echo from the opposite bank, though it is
mile away and we speak to each other in ordinary
tones. Occasionally heavy plunge is heard
part of the undermined bank falls into the stream
but this is momentary sound, serving to make the
silence appear more solemn. There is but brief
morning twilight. 1t is dark, the shine steadi
ly and brilliantly the horisen is invisible, but the
river CLEANS in her light. Suddenly the stars re-
cede, swiftly but if sorrowfully, and you think
they have but yelled their faces for a moment. You
havei grown accustomed in Egypt to see bright and
starke eyes disappear cOyly, and you have learned
to look for their temperance more clearly and
brighter than before, and so you look But no
They are gone, and now you that the horizon is
no longer invisible. On the contrary, the sharp,
clear line on the Eastern sky surprises you, aud
while you are wondering that you had not before
observed its exquisite delcscy and beauty out starts
the mountain, and every ragged rock and broken
HILL and lofty precpics stands up to meet the COM
ing sun, and he comes. Then palms and villages
suddenly before you, and green fields fash in the
light and waving corn and grain, and cane fields
pet the valley and the yellow river rushes thro
all So comes the day. From every hollow in Il Q
bank of the river from the front of every vii ages
from small side branches of the stream, the boats
that have been lying by for the night push out and
come down cheerily with the current, the boatmen
filing the air with their long chorus, which they al
ways sing when at the oars.