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es at the upraised trophies and lofty masts；memorials of power that is gone。 The flags hang down like mourningscarves。 A girl rests there： she has put down her heavy pails filledwith water； the yoke with which she has carried them rests on one ofher shoulders； and she leans against the mast of victory。 That isnot a fairy palace you see before you yonder； but a church： the gildeddomes and shining orbs flash back my beams； the glorious bronze horsesup yonder have made journeys； like the bronze horse in the fairy tale：they have e hither； and gone hence； and have returned again。 Do younotice the variegated splendour of the walls and windows？ It looksas if Genius had followed the caprices of a child； in the adornment ofthese singular temples。 Do you see the winged lion on the pillar？The gold glitters still； but his wings are tied… the lion is dead； forthe king of the sea is dead； the great halls stand desolate； and wheregorgeous paintings hung of yore； the naked wall now peers through。 Thelazzarone sleeps under the arcade； whose pavement in old times wasto be trodden only by the feet of high nobility。 From the deepwells； and perhaps from the prisons by the Bridge of Sighs； rise theaccents of woe； as at the time when the tambourine was heard in thegay gondolas； and the golden ring was cast from the Bucentaur toAdria； the queen of the seas。 Adria！ shroud thyself in mists； letthe veil of thy widowhood shroud thy form； and clothe in the weedsof woe the mausoleum of thy bridegroom… the marble； spectral Venice。〃
EIGHTEENTH EVENING
〃I looked down upon a great theatre；〃 said the Moon。 〃The housewas crowded； for a new actor was to make his first appearance thatnight。 My rays glided over a little window in the wall； and I saw apainted face with the forehead pressed against the panes。 It was thehero of the evening。 The knighly beard curled crisply about thechin； but there were tears in the man's eyes； for he had been hissedoff； and indeed with reason。 The poor Incapable！ But Incapables cannotbe admitted into the empire of Art。 He had deep feeling； and loved hisart enthusiastically； but the art loved not him。 The prompter's bellsounded； 'the hero enters with a determined air；' so ran the stagedirection in his part； and he had to appear before an audience whoturned him into ridicule。 When the piece was over； I saw a formwrapped in a mantle； creeping down the steps： it was the vanquishedknight of the evening。 The scene…shifters whispered to one another；and I followed the poor fellow home to his room。 To hang one's self isto die a mean death； and poison is not always at hand； I know； buthe thought of both。 I saw how he looked at his pale face in the glass；with eyes half closed； to see if he should look well as a corpse。 Aman may be very unhappy； and yet exceedingly affected。 He thought ofdeath； of suicide； I believe he pitied himself； for he weptbitterly； and when a man has had his cry out he doesn't kill himself。
〃Since that time a year had rolled by。 Again a play was to beacted； but in a little theatre； and by a poor strolling pany。 AgainI saw the well…remembered face； with the painted cheeks and thecrisp beard。 He looked up at me and smiled； and yet he had been hissedoff only a minute before… hissed off from a wretched theatre； by amiserable audience。 And tonight a shabby hearse rolled out of thetown…gate。 It was a suicide… our painted； despised hero。 The driver ofthe hearse was the only person present； for no one followed exceptmy beams。 In a corner of the churchyard the corpse of the suicidewas shovelled into the earth； and tles will soon be growingrankly over his grave； and the sexton will throw thorns and weeds fromthe other graves upon it。〃
NIEENTH EVENING
〃I e from Rome；〃 said the Moon。 〃In the midst of the city； uponone of the seven hills； lie the ruins of the imperial palace。 The wildfig tree grows in the clefts of the wall； and covers the nakednessthereof with its broad grey…green leaves； trampling among heaps ofrubbish； the ass treads upon green laurels； and rejoices over the rankthistles。 From this spot； whence the eagles of Rome once flewabroad； whence they 'came； saw； and conquered；' our door leads intoa little mean house； built of clay between two pillars； the wildvine hangs like a mourning garland over the crooked window。 An oldwoman and her little granddaughter live there： they rule now in thepalace of the Caesars； and show to strangers the remains of its pastglories。 Of the splendid throne…hall only a naked wall yet stands； anda black cypress throws its dark shadow on the spot where the throneonce stood。 The dust lies several feet deep on the broken pavement；and the little maiden； now the daughter of the imperial palace；often sits there on her stool when the evening bells ring。 The keyholeof the door close by she calls her turret window； through this she cansee half Rome； as far as the mighty cupola of St。 Peter's。
〃On this evening； as usual； stillness reigned around； and in thefull beam of my light came the little granddaughter。 On her head shecarried an earthen pitcher of antique shape filled with water。 Herfeet were bare； her short frock and her white sleeves were torn。 Ikissed her pretty round shoulders； her dark eyes； and black shininghair。 She mounted the stairs； they were steep； having been made upof rough blocks of broken marble and the capital of a fallen pillar。The coloured lizards slipped away； startled； from before her feet； butshe was not frightened at them。 Already she lifted her hand to pullthe door…bell… a hare's foot fastened to a string formed thebell…handle of the imperial palace。 She paused for a moment… of whatmight she be thinking？ Perhaps of the beautiful Christ…child；dressed in gold and silver； which was down below in the chapel；where the silver candlesticks gleamed so bright； and where herlittle friends sung the hymns in which she also could join？ I knownot。 Presently she moved again… she stumbled： the earthen vesselfell from her head； and broke on the marble steps。 She burst intotears。 The beautiful daughter of the imperial palace wept over theworthless broken pitcher； with her bare feet she stood thereweeping； and dared not pull the string； the bell…rope of theimperial palace！〃
TWENTIETH EVENING
It was more than a fortnight since the Moon had shone。 Now hestood once more； round and bright； above the clouds； moving slowlyonward。 Hear what the Moon told me。
〃From a town in Fezzan I followed a caravan。 On the margin ofthe sandy desert； in a salt plain； that shone like a frozen lake；and was only covered in spots with light drifting sand； a halt wasmade。 The eldest of the pany… the water gourd hung at his girdle；and on his head was a little bag of unleavened bread… drew a square inthe sand with his staff； and wrote in it a few words out of the Koran；and then the whole caravan passed over the consecrated spot。 A youngmerchant； a child of the East； as I could tell by his eye and hisfigure； rode pensively forward on his white snorting steed。 Was hethinking； perchance； of his fair young wife？ It was only two daysago that the camel； adorned with furs and with costly shawls； hadcarried her； the beauteous bride； round the walls of the city； whiledrums and cymbals had sounded； the women sang； and festive shots； ofwhich the bridegroom fired the greatest number； resounded round thecamel； and now he was journeying with the caravan across the desert。
〃For many nights I followed the train。 I saw them rest by thewellside among the stunted palms； they thrust the knife into thebreast of the camel that had fallen； and roasted its flesh by thefire。 My beams cooled the glowing sands； and showed them the blackrocks； dead islands in the immense ocean of sand。 No hostile tribesmet them in their pathless route； no storms arose； no columns ofsand whirled destruction over the journeying caravan。 At home thebeautiful wife prayed for her husband and her father。 'Are they dead？'she asked of my golden crescent； 'Are they dead？' she cried to my fulldisc。 Now the desert lies behind them。 This evening they sit beneaththe lofty palm trees； where the crane flutters round them with itslong wings； and the pelican watches them from the branches of themimosa。 The luxuriant herbage is trampled down； crushed by the feet