Thus spake the Moon, and a cloud came between us. May no cloudseparate the poet from the rose!
  SEVENTH EVENING
  "Along the margin of the shore stretches a forest of firs andbeeches, and fresh and fragrant is this wood; hundreds of nightingalesvisit it every spring. Close beside it is the sea, the ever-changingsea, and between the two is placed the broad high-road. One carriageafter another rolls over it; but I did not follow them, for my eyeloves best to rest upon one point. A Hun's Grave lies there, and thesloe and blackthorn grow luxuriantly among the stones. Here is truepoetry in nature.
  "And how do you think men appreciate this poetry? I will tellyou what I heard there last evening and during the night.
  "First, two rich landed proprietors came driving by. 'Those areglorious trees!' said the first. 'Certainly; there are ten loads offirewood in each,' observed the other: 'it will be a hard winter,and last year we got fourteen dollars a load'- and they were gone.'The road here is wretched,' observed another man who drove past.'That's the fault of those horrible trees,' replied his neighbour;'there is no free current of air; the wind can only come from thesea'- and they were gone. The stage coach went rattling past. Allthe passengers were asleep at this beautiful spot. The postillion blewhis horn, but he only thought, 'I can play capitally. It sounds wellhere. I wonder if those in there like it?'- and the stage coachvanished. Then two young fellows came gallopping up on horseback.There's youth and spirit in the blood here! thought I; and, indeed,they looked with a smile at the moss-grown hill and thick forest. 'Ishould not dislike a walk here with the miller's Christine,' said one-and they flew past.
  "The flowers scented the air; every breath of air was hushed; itseemed as if the sea were a part of the sky that stretched above thedeep valley. A carriage rolled by. Six people were sitting in it. Fourof them were asleep; the fifth was thinking of his new summer coat,which would suit him admirably; the sixth turned to the coachman andasked him if there were anything remarkable connected with yonder heapof stones. 'No,' replied the coachman, 'it's only a heap of stones;but the trees are remarkable.' 'How so?' 'Why I'll tell you how theyare very remarkable. You see, in winter, when the snow lies very deep,and has hidden the whole road so that nothing is to be seen, thosetrees serve me for a landmark. I steer by them, so as not to driveinto the sea; and you see that is why the trees are remarkable.'
  "Now came a painter. He spoke not a word, but his eyes sparkled.He began to whistle. At this the nightingales sang louder than ever.'Hold your tongues!' he cried testily; and he made accurate notes ofall the colours and transitions- blue, and lilac, and dark brown.'That will make a beautiful picture,' he said. He took it in just as amirror takes in a view; and as he worked he whistled a march ofRossini. And last of all came a poor girl. She laid aside the burdenshe carried, and sat down to rest upon the Hun's Grave. Her palehandsome face was bent in a listening attitude towards the forest. Hereyes brightened, she gazed earnestly at the sea and the sky, her handswere folded, and I think she prayed, 'Our Father.' She herself couldnot understand the feeling that swept through her, but I know thatthis minute, and the beautiful natural scene, will live within hermemory for years, far more vividly and more truly than the paintercould portray it with his colours on paper. My rays followed hertill the morning dawn kissed her brow."
  EIGHTH EVENING
  Heavy clouds obscured the sky, and the Moon did not make hisappearance at all. I stood in my little room, more lonely than ever,and looked up at the sky where he ought to have shown himself. Mythoughts flew far away, up to my great friend, who every eveningtold me such pretty tales, and showed me pictures. Yes, he has hadan experience indeed. He glided over the waters of the Deluge, andsmiled on Noah's ark just as he lately glanced down upon me, andbrought comfort and promise of a new world that was to spring forthfrom the old. When the Children of Israel sat weeping by the waters ofBabylon, he glanced mournfully upon the willows where hung thesilent harps. When Romeo climbed the balcony, and the promise oftrue love fluttered like a cherub toward heaven, the round Moonhung, half hidden among the dark cypresses, in the lucid air. He sawthe captive giant at St. Helena, looking from the lonely rock acrossthe wide ocean, while great thoughts swept through his soul. Ah!