- Project Runeberg -  America of the Fifties: Letters of Fredrika Bremer /
137

(1924) [MARC] Author: Fredrika Bremer
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flowers; dark-green, solemn magnolias lifted up
their snow-white blossoms toward the light, beautiful
and pure as it. I noticed sycamores, amber-bearing
poplars, tulip trees with their splendid
yellow and red flecked blossoms, mulberries, many
kinds of oak, elms, and willows as I went along,
and high above all towered cypresses, with their
long, depending mosses, spreading their vast
arms abroad, like patriarchs over the low tribes
of vegetation. Not a human dwelling was to be
seen on these shores, not a trace of human activity.
There was neither the sight nor sound of animal
life, and although alligators are numerous in the
Savannah River, I did not see one; not a bird sang,
and all was silent and hushed, even the wind itself.
It was a desolation full of fantastic beauty, and just
now in the pride of its splendor. At length I saw,
sitting on the naked boughs of a dead fir-tree, two
large birds of prey, reminding the beholder that
“death was come into the world.”

Thus we sped on, in a high-pressure boat, the
Oregon, with its two reeking chimneys, up the
river, mile after mile, hour after hour, while
the morning and the evening, the sun and the moon,
seemed to contend which should most beautify the
scene. And I sang in my soul, as the earliest colonists
of Georgia had done before me, “How beautiful
is creation, how glorious the Creator!” and

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