maenad-like figure
whirling to and fro with miraculous endurance. Now and then, through the
deep silence, I heard a scarred pine-bough come crackling to the earth;
now and then I heard the lowing of the stabled cattle in some distant
part of the ruin; once and again, smiting like a cry, I heard one string
snapping after another under my pitiless hands.

Still I played on, though a misty quiver of sparks was dancing about my
eyes, till the fallow-tinted dawn gleamed faintly in the east.

At last, at last, a change stole over the form and features of the
indefatigable dancer. Her companions, overcome with fatigue, had long
ago sunk to the ground, where, with their little ruffled heads resting
on any bit of marble, they lay sleeping calmly like little children.
Only the mother still watched and prayed for her child, the unnatural
tension of whose nerves and muscles now seemed visibly to relax; for the
mad light of exaltation in her eyes veiled itself in softness, her feet
moved more and more slowly, and her arms, which had heretofore been in
constant motion, dropped languidly to her side. I too relaxed in my
_tempo_, and the thrilling, vivacious tune melted away in a
dying strain.

At the expiring notes, when I had but one string left, her tired eyes
closed as in gentlest sleep, a smile hovered about her lips, her head
sank heavily forward on her bosom, and she would have fallen had not her
mother received the swooning form into her outstretched arms.

At the same moment my last string snapped, a swarming darkness clouded
my sight, the violin fell from my wet, burning hands, and I reeled
back, faint and dizzy, when I felt soft arms embracing me, and somebody
sobbed and laughed, "You have saved her, Maestro; praise be to God and
all His saints in heaven! May the Madonna bless you forever and ever--"
I heard no more, but fell into a death-like swoon.

"O MOON, LARGE GOLDEN SUMMER MOON!"

O MOON, large golden summer moon,
Hanging between the linden trees,
Which in the intermittent breeze
Beat with the rhythmic pulse of June!

O night-air, scented through and through
With honey-colored flower of lime,
Sweet now as in that other time
When all my heart was sweet as you!

The sorcery of this breathing bloom
Works like enchantment in my brain,
Till, shuddering back to life again,
My dead self rises from its tomb.

And lovely with t