GASPAR BECERRA. And the reader droned from the pulpit, Till the great bells of the convent, Proclaimed the midnight hour. 333 And the Yule-log cracked in the chimney, Yet still in his pallid fingers He clutched the golden bowl, But not for this their revels For they cried, " Fill high the goblet GASPAR BECERRA. By his evening fire the artist Pondered o'er his secret shame; Baffled, weary, and disheartened, Still he mused, and dreamed of fame, 'T was an image of the Virgin That had tasked his utmost skil; But alas! his fair ideal Vanished and escaped him still. From a distant Eastern island Had the precious wood been brought; Till, discouraged and desponding, Then a voice cried, "Rise, O master! Woke, and from the smoking embers O thou sculptor, painter, poet! PEGASUS IN POUND. ONCE into a quiet village, Without haste and without heed, In the golden prime of morning, Strayed the poet's winged steed. It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves. PEGASUS IN POUND. Loud the clamorous bell was ringing Not a triumph meant for him. Not the less he saw the landscape, Thus, upon the village common, Then the sombre village crier, And the curious country people, Thus the day passed, and the evening Patiently, and still expectant, Looked he through the wooden bars, Till at length the bell at midnight And, from out a neighbouring farm-yard 335 Then, with nostrils wide distended, On the morrow, when the village But they found, upon the greensward Where his struggling hoofs had trod, Pure and bright, a fountain flowing From the hoof-marks in the sod. From that hour, the fount unfailing Gladdens the whole region round, Strengthening all who drink its waters, While it soothes them with its sound. TEGNER'S DRAPA. I HEARD a voice, that cried, And through the misty air I saw the pallid corpse Borne through the Northern sky. Blasts from Niffelheim Lifted the sheeted mists Around him as he passed. TEGNER'S DRAPA. And the voice forever cried, Through the dreary night, Balder the Beautiful, God of the summer sun, VOL. I. All things in earth and air Hæder, the blind old God, Whose feet are shod with silence, The accursed mistletoe! They launched the burning ship! It floated far away Over the misty sea, Till like the sun it seemed, 22 337 |