"You have heard of the Danish boy's whistle of wood? I wish that that Danish boy's whistle were mine." "And what would you do with it?-tell me," she said, While an arch smile played over her beautiful face. "I would blow it," he answered; "and then my fair maid Would fly to my side, and would here take her place." "Is that all you wish it for? That may be yours Without any magic," the fair maiden cried : "A favor so slight one's good nature secures"; And she playfully seated herself by his side. "I would blow it again," said the youth, "and the charm Would work so, that not even Modesty's check Would be able to keep from my neck your fine arm": She smiled, and she laid her fine arm round his neck. The moonshine stealing o'er the scene Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leaned against the arméd man, The statue of the arméd knight; She stood and listened to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own, The songs that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful air, She listened with a flitting blush, I told her of the Knight that wore "T is to woo a bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. When the kye come hame, 'Tis not beneath the burgonet, Nor yet in bed o' down : There the blackbird bigs his nest, O, a happy bird is he! When the blewart bears a pearl, Has fauldit up his ee, Then the lavrock, frae the blue lift, And his lambs are lying still; For his heart is in a flame, When the little wee bit heart That the heart can hardly frame ! In this love without alloy, To Nature's dearest joy? AND there two runners did the sign abide Foot set to foot, a young man slim and fair, Crisp-haired, well knit, with firm limbs often tried In places where no man his strength may spare ; Dainty his thin coat was, and on his hair A golden circlet of renown he wore, And in his hand an olive garland bore But on this day with whom shall he contend? A maid stood by him like Diana clad When in the woods she lists her bow to bend, Too fair for one to look on and be glad, Who scarcely yet has thirty summers had, If he must still behold her from afar ; Too fair to let the world live free from war. She seemed all earthly matters to forget; Of all tormenting lines her face was clear, Her wide gray eyes upon the goal were set Calm and unmoved as though no soul were near; But her foe trembled as a man in fear, Nor from her loveliness one moment turned His anxious face with fierce desire that burned. Now through the hush there broke the trumpet's clang Just as the setting sun made eventide. Then from light feet a spurt of dust there sprang, But when the people saw how close they ran, When half-way to the starting-point they were, A cry of joy broke forth, whereat the man Headed the white-foot runner, and drew near Unto the very end of all his fear; And scarce his straining feet the ground could feel, There stood she breathing like a little child But her late foe stopped short amidst his course, One moment gazed upon her piteously, Then with a groan his lingering feet did force To leave the spot whence he her eyes could see ; And, changed like one who knows his time must be But short and bitter, without any word He knelt before the bearer of the sword; Then high rose up the gleaming deadly blade, Bared of its flowers, and through the crowded place Was silence now, and midst of it the maid Went by the poor wretch at a gentle pace, And he to hers upturned his sad white face; Nor did his eyes behold another sight Ere on his soul there fell eternal night. WILLIAM MORRIS ATALANTA CONQUERED FROM "ATALANTA'S RACE," IN THE EARTHLY Now has the lingering month at last gone by, Stands on the spot he twice has looked upon. But yetmaid? Does she indeed see in his glittering eye More than disdain of the sharp shearing blade, Some happy hope of help and victory? The others seemed to say, "We come to die, Look down upon us for a little while, That dead, we may bethink us of thy smile." what change is this that holds the But he what look of mastery was this He cast on her why were his lips so red? Why was his face so flushed with happiness? So looks not one who deems himself but dead, E'en if to death he bows a willing head; So rather looks a god well pleased to find Some earthly damsel fashioned to his mind. Why must she drop her lids before his gaze, And even as she casts adown her eyes Redden to note his eager glance of praise, And wish that she were clad in other guise? Why must the memory to her heart arise Of things unnoticed when they first were heard, Some lover's song, some answering maiden's word? What makes these longings, vague, without a name, And this vain pity never felt before, This tender sorrow for the time past o'er, To win the day, though now but scanty space These doubts that grow each minute more and Was left betwixt him and the winning place. more? Why does she tremble as the time grows near, Short was the way unto such wingéd feet, But while she seemed to hear her beating And from his hand the third fair apple cast. heart. Above their heads the trumpet blast rang out, And forth they sprang; and she must play her part; Then flew her white feet, knowing not a doubt, Though slackening once, she turned her head about, But then she cried aloud and faster fled She wavered not, but turned and ran so fast Nor did she rest, but turned about to win Than e'er before, and all men deemed him Why fails she now to see if far or nigh But with no sound he raised aloft his hand, And thence what seemed a ray of light there flew And past the maid rolled on along the sand; That gift to her, to make of earth a heaven. Then from the course with eager steps she ran, Note, too, the bow that she was wont to bear But as he set his mighty hand on it, Then, as a troubled glance she cast around, The goal is? why do her gray eyes grow dim! Of the flowers of this planet, though treasures were there, the store When free and uncrowned as the conqueror roved And preferred in his heart the least ringlet that curled Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the world! There's a beauty, forever unchangingly bright, That the navy from Ophir e'er winged to his shore, MEETING. THOMAS MOORE. THE gray sea, and the long black land; Then a mile of warm, sea-scented beach 4. ROBERT BROWNING. THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS. CELIA and I, the other day, |