On the pallid bust of Pallas

Just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming
Of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him. streaming
Throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow,
That lies floating on the floor,

NOTES.-Pallas, or Minerva, in ancient mythology, was the goddess of wisdom.

Plutonian, see note on Pluto, page 242.

Gilead is the name of a mountain group of Palestine, celebrated for its balsam or balm made from herbs. It is here used figuratively.

Aidenn is an Anglicized and disguised spelling of the Arabic form of the word Eden: it is here used as a synonym for heaven.

CX. A VIEW OF THE COLOSSEUM.

Orville Dewey, 1794-1882, a well known Unitarian clergyman and author, was born in Sheffield, Massachusetts, graduated with distinction at Williams College in 1814, and afterward studied theology at Andover. For a while he was assistant to Dr. W. E. Channing in Boston, and later, was a pastor in New Bedford, New York City, and Boston. He made two or three voyages to Europe, and published accounts of his travels.

"Discourses on Human Life," "Discourses on the Nature of Religion," "Discourses on Commerce and Business," are among his published works. His writings are both philosophical and practical; and, as a preacher, he was esteemed original, earnest, and impressive.

ON the eighth of November, from the high land, about fourteen miles distant, I first saw Rome; and although there is something very unfavorable to impression in the expectation that you are to be greatly impressed, or that

you ought to be, or that such is the fashion; yet Rome is too mighty a name to be withstood by such or any other influences. Let you come upon that hill in what mood you may, the scene will lay hold upon you as with the hand of a giant. I scarcely know how to describe the impression, but it seemed to me as if something strong and stately, like the slow and majestic march of a mighty whirlwind, swept around those eternal towers; the storms of time, that had prostrated the proudest monuments of the world, seemed to have left their vibrations in the still and solemn air; ages of history passed before me; the mighty procession of nations, kings, consuls, emperors, empires, and generations had passed over that sublime theater. The fire, the storm, the earthquake, had gone by; but there was yet left the still, small voice like that at which the prophet "wrapped his face in his mantle."

I went to see the Colosseum by moonlight. It is the monarch, the majesty of all ruins; there is nothing like it. All the associations of the place, too, give it the most impressive character. When you enter within this stupendous circle of ruinous walls and arches, and grand terraces of masonry, rising one above another, you stand upon the arena of the old gladiatorial combats and Christian martyrdom; and as you lift your eyes to the vast amphitheater, you meet, in imagination, the eyes of a hundred thousand Romans, assembled to witness these bloody spectacles. What a multitude and mighty array of human beings; and how little do we know in modern times of great assemblies! One, two, and three, and, at its last enlargement by Constantine, more than three hundred thousand persons could be seated in the Circus Maximus!

But to return to the Colosseum; we went up under the conduct of a guide upon the walls and terraces, or embankments, which supported the ranges of seats. The seats have long since disappeared; and grass overgrows the spots where the pride, and power, and wealth, and beauty of

Rome sat down to its barbarous entertainments. What thronging life was here then! What voices, what greetings, what hurrying footsteps upon the staircases of the eighty arches of entrance! And now, as we picked our way carefully through the decayed passages, or cautiously ascended some moldering flight of steps, or stood by the lonely walls-ourselves silent, and, for a wonder, the guide silent, too-there was no sound here but of the bat, and none came from without but the roll of a distant carriage, or the convent bell from the summit of the neighboring Esquiline.

It is scarcely possible to describe the effect of moonlight upon this ruin. Through a hundred lonely arches and blackened passageways it streamed in, pure, bright, soft, lambent, and yet distinct and clear, as if it came there at once to reveal, and cheer, and pity the mighty desolation. But if the Colosseum is a mournful and desolate spectacle as seen from within-without, and especially on the side which is in best preservation, it is glorious. We passed around it; and, as we looked upward, the moon shining through its arches, from the opposite side, it appeared as if it were the coronet of the heavens, so vast was it-or like a glorious crown upon the brow of night.

I feel that I do not and can not describe this mighty ruin. I can only say that I came away paralyzed, and as passive as a child. A soldier stretched out his hand for "un dono," as we passed the guard; and when my com panion said I did wrong to give, I told him that I should have given my cloak, if the man had asked it. Would you break any spell that worldly feeling or selfish sorrow may have spread over your mind, go and see the Colosseum by moonlight.

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NOTES. -The Colosseum (pro. Col-os-se'um) was menced by the Roman emperor Vespasian, and was completed by Titus, his son, 79 A. D. Its construction occupied but three

years, notwithstanding its size; a great part of its walls are standing to-day.

The Circus Maximus was an amphitheater built by Tar quin the Elder about 600 B. C.

Constantine. See note on page 175.

The Esquiline is one of the seven hills upon which Rome is built.

Un dono, an Italian phrase meaning a gift or alms.

CXI. THE BRIDGE.

I STOOD On the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church tower.

I saw her bright reflection

In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters

The wavering shadows lay,

And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide,

And, streaming into the moonlight,

The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,

A flood of thoughts came o'er me
That filled my eyes with tears

How often, oh, how often,

In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, oh, how often,

I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide.

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.

Yet, whenever I cross the river
On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,

Each bearing his burden of sorrow,

Have crossed the bridge since then.