Our own hearts do it.
Mae caught the spirit of all this, as her eyes roamed out of the window
on the Sabine hills, where woods and springs sang. She saw the aqueducts
bounding, even in their ruin, arch after arch, to the treasure house of
the waters. "They never can reach it, now," thinks she, "never. Suppose
they cannot, is not the spirit the same?" And now Mae is ready for the
sudden light that dawns on her soul. She springs to her feet. She is
alone in the room with the marble men; and they are quiet; even the
Gladiator bites back his last groan once more.
"The Eternal City," shouts Mae; "I know what it means at last. Oh! Rome,
Rome, I love you!" and she rests her hand on the windowsill, and looks
out on Rome. "Why, it is like a resurrection morn. Ruins? Yes, it is all
ruins, dry bones, and great dead in dust; but there is something more. I
only saw that graveyard part of it before; now, the spirit of the great
men, and great deeds, and words, and thoughts, and prayers," cries Mae,
exultantly.
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