nly say
that I came away paralyzed, and as passive as a child. A soldier stretched
out his hand for "un dona," as we passed the guard; and when my companion
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.

NOTES.--The Colosseum (pro. Col-os-se'um) was commenced 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 today.

The Circus Maximus was an amphitheater built by Tarquin 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
dona, an Italian phrase meaning a gift or alms.

CXI. THE BRIDGE. (392)

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,