The Golden Hope

ATHENS was rousing herself from sleep. The beams of the morning sun bathed the rugged sides of Mount Hymettus and lightened the dark foliage that clothed the nearer wooded slopes of Lycabettus. The low, flat-roofed houses of the city were still nothing more than blurred masses of gray in the shadow; but presently a ray touched the point of Athene's spear, and the flood of orange light flowed over the Acropolis. Its temples and statues were enveloped in a radiance which fused the rich, harmonious colors of column and cornice and melted the massive outlines into a resplendent whole, rising immortal from the gloom at its base.