197
Nightmare 198
Infidelity 200
The Dream of God 201

"THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW."

[Illustration]

I heard a great master play on the wondrous violin; his bow quivered
like the wing of a bird; in every quiver there was a melody, and every
melody breathed a thought in language sweeter than was ever uttered by
human tongue. I was conjured, I was mesmerized by his music. I thought I
fell asleep under its power, and was rapt into the realm of visions and
dreams. The enchanted violin broke out in tumult, and through the rifted
shadows in my dream I thought I saw old ocean lashed to fury. The wing
of the storm-god brooded above it, dark and lowering with night and
tempest and war. I heard the shriek of the angry hurricane, the loud
rattling musketry of rain, and hail, and the louder and deadlier crash and
roar of the red artillery on high. Its rumbling batteries, unlimbered on
the vapory heights and manned by the fiery gunners of the storm, boomed
their volleying thunders to the terrible rythm of the strife below. And
in every stroke of the bow fierce lightnings leaped down from their dark
pavilions of cloud, and, like armed angels of light, flashed their
trenchant blades among the phantom squadrons marshalling for battle on
the field of the deep. I heard the bugle blast and battle cry of the
charging winds, wild and exultant, and then I saw the billowy monsters
rise, like an army of Titans, to scale and carry the hostile heights of
heaven. Assailing again and again, as often hurled back headlong into
the ocean's abyss, they rolled, and surged, and writhed, and raged, till
the affrighted earth trembled at the uproar of the warring elements.
I saw the awful majesty and might of Jehovah flying on the wings of
the tempest, planting his footsteps on the trackless deep, veiled in
darkness and in clouds. There was a shifting of the bow; the storm died
away in the distance, and the morning broke in floods of glory. Then the
violin revived and poured out its sweetest soul. In its music I heard
the rustle of a thousand joyous wings, and a burst of song from a
thousand joyous throats. Mockingbirds and linnets thrilled the glad
air with warblings; gold finches, thrushes and bobolinks trilled their
happiest tunes; and the oriole sang a lullaby to her hanging cradle that
roc