suddenly the bright mist vanished, and left him naked and deformed, to the scorn and mockery of the whole world.  But the man had turned away his face from him in pity, while he was almost dead with shame and anger.  And when he came to himself again, he knew not what had befallen him, till, at length, he found that it was his fate to hover, without rest or change, over the surface of the bog as a Will-o’- the-wisp.

“With me it fell out quite otherwise,” said the first:  “instead of giving light without warmth, as I now do, I burned without shining.  When I was only a child, people gave way to me in everything, so that I was intoxicated with self-love.  If I saw any one shine, I longed to put out his light; and the more intensely I wished this, the more did my own small glimmering turn back upon myself, and inwardly burn fiercely while all without was darker than ever.  But if any one who shone more brightly would have kindly given me of his light, then did my inward flame burst forth to destroy him.  But the flame passed through the light and harmed it not; it shone only the more brightly, while I was withered and exhausted.  And once upon a time I met a little smiling child, who played with a cross of palm branches, and wore a beamy coronet around his golden locks.  He took me kindly by the hand and said, ’My friend, you are now very gloomy and sad, but if you will become a child again, even as I am, you will have a bright circlet such as I have.’  When I heard that, I was so angry with myself and with the child, that I was scorched by my inward fire.  Now would I fain fly up to the sun to fetch rays from him, but the rays drove me back with these words: 

’Return thither whence thou camest, thou dark fire of envy, for the sun lightens only in love; the greedy earth, indeed, sometimes turns his mild light into scorching fire.  Fly back, then, for with thy like alone must thou dwell.’  I fell, and when I recovered myself I was glimmering coldly above the stagnant waters.”

While they were talking the Child had fallen asleep, for he knew nothing of the world nor of men, and he could make nothing of their stories.  Weariness had spoken a more intelligible language to him—­ that he understood, and he had fallen asleep.

CHAPTER XII.

Softly and soundly he slept till the rosy morning clouds stood upon the mountain, and announced the coming of their lord, the sun.  But as soon as the tidings spread over field and wood, the thousand-voiced echo awoke, and sleep was no more to be thought of.

And soon did the royal sun himself arise; at first his dazzling diadem alone appeared above the mountains; at length he stood upon their summit in the full majesty of his beauty, in all the charms of eternal youth, bright and glorious, his kindly glance embracing every creature of earth, from the stately oak to the blade of grass bending under the foot of the wayfaring man.  Then arose from every breast, from every throat, the joyous song of praise; and it was as if the whole plain and wood were become a temple, whose roof was the heaven, whose altar the mountain, whose congregation all creatures, whose priest the sun.