. The marble faun; or, The romance of Monte Beni . nse white light oftruth. Positively, Hilda, this is a magnificent concep-tion, cried Kenyon. The more I look at it, thebrighter it burns. I think so too, said Hilda, enjoying a childlikepleasure in her own idea. The theme is better suitedfor verse than prose; and when I go home to America,I will suggest it to one of our poets. Or, seven poetsmight write the poem together, each lighting a sepa-rate branch of the Sacred Candlestick. Then you think of going home ? Kenyon asked. Only yesterday, she replied, I longed to fleeaway. Now, all is change
. The marble faun; or, The romance of Monte Beni . nse white light oftruth. Positively, Hilda, this is a magnificent concep-tion, cried Kenyon. The more I look at it, thebrighter it burns. I think so too, said Hilda, enjoying a childlikepleasure in her own idea. The theme is better suitedfor verse than prose; and when I go home to America,I will suggest it to one of our poets. Or, seven poetsmight write the poem together, each lighting a sepa-rate branch of the Sacred Candlestick. Then you think of going home ? Kenyon asked. Only yesterday, she replied, I longed to fleeaway. Now, all is changed, and, being happy again, Ishould feel deep regret at leaving the Pictorial , I cannot tell. In Rome, there is somethingdreary and awful, which we can never quite least, I thought so yesterday. When they reached the Via Portoghese, and ap-proached Hildas tower, the doves, who were waitingaloft, flung themselves upon the air, and came floatingdown about her head. The girl caressed then^i, and The Sevm-Branched Golden Candlestick. HILDA AND A FRIEND. 423 responded to their cooings with similar sounds fromher own lips, and with words of endearment; andtheir joyful flutterings and airy little flights, evidentlyimpelled by pure exuberance of spirits, seemed toshow that the doves had a real sympathy with theirmistresss state of mind. For peace had descendedupon her like a dove. Bidding the sculptor farewell, Hilda climbed hertower, and came forth upon its summit to trim theVii-gins lamp. The doves, well knowing her custom,had flown up thither to meet her, and again hoveredabout her head; and very lovely was her aspect, inthe evening sunlight, which had little further to dowith the world, just then, save to fling a golden gloryon Hildas hair, and vanish. Turning her eyes down into the dusky street whichshe had just quitted, Hilda saw the sculptor stillthere, and waved her hand to him. How sad and dim he looks, down there in thatdreary street! she said to herself. So
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