6014 
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 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CAUfWtit* 
 
 SANOttQO
 
 16088
 
 Attrwtf 
 
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 liffmnt 
 
 fflatuj of tlunu from utfl hooka nniu out of print 
 
 (nin vnlrii bu 
 
 Ji Hum 
 
 ehr iluttlr, f8urrhuusf & aaijlnr Conqiang 
 1902
 
 COPYRIGHT 1902 
 
 BY 
 ELIZABETH M. LUM 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 TO 
 
 2>eac little dfcotbet 
 
 THIS BOOK IS 
 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
 
 iBnnks at* mato frnm luniks " 
 
 VOLTAIRE
 
 Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 Sir Galahad and the Rose Maiden, ... 9 
 
 The Vision of Sir Launfal, II 
 
 St. Augustine, 16 
 
 The Wall Flower (Scottish Legend), . . . 17 
 
 The Dedication of the Cathedral (Time, 1401), . 18 
 
 The Rose-colored Lotus, 21 
 
 The Dying Viking, 22 
 
 The Making of the Humming-Bird (an Indian 
 
 Legend), 25 
 
 How Lady Blanche Arundel held Wardour for 
 
 King Charles, 26 
 
 The Moss Rose, 34 
 
 The Death of Winklereid (Battle of Sempach, 
 
 1386), ' x . 35 
 
 The Cormorant, the Bat and the Bramble (from 
 
 the Persian) , 41 
 
 The Old Cathedral Organist (an old English 
 
 Legend), 42
 
 Page 
 
 The Nightingale and the Rose (Eastern Leg- 
 end) 45 
 
 The Legend of the Lockharts, .... 46 
 
 The Lily of the Valley (from the French), . . 51 
 
 Guide's Model, 53 
 
 The Violet (from the German), .... 56 
 The Great West Window (an old Cathedral 
 
 Legend), 58 
 
 The Goldenrod (Bavarian Lore), 61 
 
 Staufenberg (a Legend of the Rhine) , 62 
 The Schoolboy King. A Legend of Napoleon (a 
 
 Scene at Brienne) , 73
 
 Attrotti
 
 Sir (Balabafc anfc tbe IRoee 
 
 In the days of King Arthur and the Round 
 Table there lived in an old German town a 
 quaint little maiden called by her friends the 
 Rose Maiden. 
 
 She loved the beautiful roses above all 
 flowers and her garden filled with their 
 choicest blooms was her especial pride. The 
 pure white rose, her favorite, she had earnestly 
 striven to procure; but alas! it grew among 
 the crags of the steepest mountains, and only 
 to him of pure heart, of lofty mind, and of 
 strong purpose, was given the power to find it. 
 
 As Sir Galahad, bravest of knights, rode 
 forth upon his noble steed, armed for the quest 
 of the "Holy Grail," the little maid approached 
 and said, "Pray, Sir Knight, will you not 
 bring to me the white rose for my garden, 
 for only he of purest heart has the power to 
 obtain it?" 
 
 The knight replied, "I will first search for 
 the rose, and if my heart be pure enough to 
 find it, then shall I know that I may go in 
 search of the "Holy Grail," and return vic- 
 torious.
 
 10 
 
 The maid, with eager expectancy, awaited 
 the knight's return; and when she saw the 
 noble charger, proud of his knightly rider, 
 approaching her garden, and when the knight 
 gave into her hands the pure white rose, she 
 was content. 
 
 "What may I do, Sir Knight," gratefully 
 said the little maid, "that may show my deep 
 thankfulness?" 
 
 "Grant me," replied Sir Galahad, "the right 
 to wear upon my heart when riding forth upon 
 my holy quest the first bloom from this pre- 
 cious plant." 
 
 "It shall be as you wish," gladly assented the 
 little maid. 
 
 Then rode away with hopeful heart the 
 noble knight. Since that time the white rose 
 is held to be the most dearly loved of all 
 the roses, and an emblem of purity of heart, 
 loftiness of mind, and strength of purpose. 
 "And maidens ever, with it against their heart, 
 may dream of him whose future life they'll 
 share."
 
 Gbe IDteton of Sir Xaunfal 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 (By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) 
 
 The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang, 
 And through the dark arch a charger sprang, 
 Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight, 
 In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright 
 It seemed the dark castle had gathered all 
 Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its 
 
 wall 
 
 In his siege of three hundred summers long, 
 And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf, 
 Had cast them forth : so, young and strong 
 And lightsome as a locust leaf, 
 Sir Launfal flashed forth in his unscarred mail, 
 
 To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate, 
 
 For another heir in his earldom sate; 
 
 An old, bent man, worn out and frail, 
 
 He came back from seeking the Holy Grail ; 
 
 Little he recked of his earldom's loss, 
 
 No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross, 
 
 But deep in his soul the sign he wore, 
 
 The badge of the suffering and the poor.
 
 12 
 
 Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare, 
 
 Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air, 
 
 For it was just at the Christmas time. 
 
 So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime, 
 
 And sought for a shelter from cold and snow 
 
 In the light and warmth of long ago; 
 
 He sees the snake-like caravan crawl 
 
 O'er the edge of the desert, black and small, 
 
 Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one, 
 
 He can count the camels in the sun, 
 
 As over the red-hot sands they pass 
 
 To where, in its slender necklace of grass, 
 
 The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade, 
 
 And with its own self, like an infant, played, 
 
 And waved its signal of palms. 
 
 "For Christ's sweet sake I beg an alms"; 
 The happy camels may reach the spring, 
 But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing, 
 The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone, 
 That cowers beside him, a thing as lone 
 And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas 
 In the desolate horror of his disease. 
 
 And Sir Launfal said "I behold in thee 
 An image of Him who died on the tree; 
 Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns
 
 13 
 
 Thou also hast had the world's buffets and 
 
 scorns, 
 
 And to thy life were not denied 
 The wounds in the hands and feet and side. 
 Will Mary's son acknowledge me; 
 Behold through Him I give to thee!" 
 
 Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 
 And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he 
 Remembered in what a haughtier guise 
 He had flung an alms to leprosie, 
 When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 
 And set forth in search for the Holy Grail. 
 The heart within him was ashes and dust, 
 He parted in twain his single crust, 
 He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 
 And gave the leper to eat and drink; 
 'Twas a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 
 'Twas water out of a wooden bowl, 
 Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, 
 And 'twas red wine he drank with his thirsty 
 soul. 
 
 As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, 
 A light shone round about the place; 
 The leper no longer crouched at his side, 
 But stood before him glorified,
 
 Shining and fair and tall and straight 
 As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful gate, 
 Himself the Gate whereby men can enter the 
 temple of God in Man. 
 
 His words were shed softer than leaves from 
 
 the pines, 
 And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the 
 
 brine 
 
 Which mingle their softness and quiet in one 
 With the shaggy unrest they float down upon; 
 And the voice that was calmer than silence 
 
 said, 
 
 "Lo it is I, be not afraid! 
 In many climes without avail, 
 Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail; 
 Behold it is here, this cup which thou 
 Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; 
 This crust is my body broken for thee, 
 This water His blood that died on the tree; 
 The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, 
 In whatso we share with another's need; 
 Not what we give, but what we share, 
 For the gift without the giver is bare ; 
 Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, 
 Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me."
 
 15 
 
 Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound : 
 "The Grail in my castle here is found ! 
 Hang my idle armor upon the wall, 
 Let it be the spider's banquet-hall; 
 He must be fenced with stronger mail 
 Who would seek and find the Holy Grail." 
 
 The castle gate stands open now, 
 And the wanderer is welcome to the hall 
 As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough; 
 No longer scowl the turrets tall, 
 The summer's long siege at last is o'er, 
 When the first poor outcast went in at the door 
 She entered with him in disguise 
 And mastered the fortress by surprise. 
 There is no spot she loves so well on ground, 
 She lingers and smiles there the whole year 
 
 round ; 
 
 The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land 
 Has halls and bower at his command; 
 And there's no poor man in the North Countree 
 But is lord of the earldom as much as he.
 
 St. Huguettne 
 
 As St. Augustine was one day walking by 
 the sea, musing intently upon the mysteries of 
 Heaven and earth, his eye rested upon a child, 
 diligently making a hole in the sand. 
 
 "Tell me, little one," said the saint, "why 
 are you working so earnestly?" 
 
 "I am digging a hole," the child replied, "in 
 which to pour the ocean." 
 
 At that instant a voice from Heaven was 
 heard, saying, "Be not dismayed, O St. 
 Augustine, for it is as impossible for you to 
 understand infinity, as for the child to pour 
 the great ocean into the hole in the sand. 
 Strive, therefore, not to understand, only to 
 have faith and believe."
 
 Gbe TOall flower 
 
 (SCOTTISH LEGEND.) 
 
 In bygone days, a castle stood near the river 
 Tweed, in which a fair maiden was imprisoned, 
 having plighted her troth and given her affec- 
 tion to the young heir of a neighboring clan. 
 
 Blood having been shed between the chiefs 
 on both sides, the deadly hatred thus engen- 
 dered forbade all thoughts of a union. 
 
 The lover tried various stratagems to obtain 
 the fair one, and at last succeeded in gaining 
 admission to the castle in the guise of a 
 wandering troubadour, and arranged that she 
 should effect her escape, while he waited with 
 an armed force without the castle gates. But 
 alas! for this plan; Herrick says: 
 
 "Up she got upon a wall 
 Attempted down to slide withal; 
 But the silken twist untied, 
 She fell, and bruised, she died, 
 And her loving, luckless speed, 
 Twined her to the plant we call 
 Now, the 'Flower of the Wall.' "
 
 Dedication of tbe Catbebral 
 
 (TEMP. 1401.) 
 
 WILLIAM OF WYKEHAM (moribundus) 
 loquitur: 
 
 Slow from the basement, measured stone by 
 
 stone, 
 
 Slow as the rings of rind around an oak, 
 Has grown this building dedicate to God, 
 Until at last the gilt star of the vane 
 Gleams in mid-air, and seems to crown the 
 
 whole 
 
 As with a royal seal. Father of Light, 
 Mercy, and Love, accept this offering, 
 Poor earthly tabernacle, miserable type 
 Of heavenly mansions, opal, chrysopras, 
 Jacinth, and emerald, soon by Eden's gate 
 To meet my gaze, but in His own good time. 
 Then let the hand of marble effigy 
 Hold on my tomb the Founder's carved shrine, 
 To show this long and patient work of mine 
 That's now accomplished. Thunder, tamed to 
 
 breathe 
 
 Forth angel's music, shake the vaulted choir 
 Till the great pillars vibrate; harmonies
 
 Soar to the poised roof yes, soar and float, 
 And bring me foretastes of the heaven beyond. 
 
 Saints, keep me humble for this human heart 
 Is a mere nest of pride, ambition, greed 
 Until the "Spirit" come, the Shekinah, 
 And dwell within, and claim it all for God. 
 Better than trampled vines and shattered mills 
 Won by the red-stained lance, to see this house 
 Raised to God's glory and His ceaseless 
 
 praise. 
 
 Races may come and go, and kings be born, 
 Or slain in battle; statesmen shape the world 
 Unto fresh issues; still men's prayers shall 
 
 rise 
 
 From this my building night and day for age. 
 See the great windows, like the jewelled gates 
 Of Paradise, burning with harmless fire. 
 Forests of stone, ye columns, spring in joy, 
 And bear your holy burden ; round ye twine 
 The wayside flowers, types of God's gracious 
 
 love, 
 
 Sent for their beauty only, to cheer man. 
 Grant me, ye saints, one prayer only one 
 
 prayer 
 
 That when the cardinals in crimson train, 
 The mitred bishops, and acolytes,
 
 The censer-swingers and the pale meek monks, 
 Enter the western door, and welcoming hymns 
 Break forth like birds in Spring, and every 
 
 face 
 
 Turns where the tapers and the banners come, 
 I may repeat the song of Simeon, 
 And pass at once as in a summer dream; 
 My God and Saviour, so I die of joy, 
 And pass rejoicing to my heavenly home, 
 Soothed by the thought that in a whirlwind 
 
 age, 
 Mid clash of swords and flights of crossbow 
 
 bolts 
 
 And darkening arrows, I have helped to bring 
 Thoughts of a purer, nobler life to some, 
 And reared a refuge for Faith, Hope, and 
 
 Love.
 
 OLotus 
 
 The Emperor Adrian, while on a hunting 
 trip one day, was separated from his guard, 
 and while wandering through the forest with 
 only one attendant, came upon an immense 
 lion, who was drinking from a pool. The 
 attention of the beast was attracted by the 
 breaking of a twig, and leaping upon them, he 
 caught the Emperor beneath his paw. 
 
 The brave attendant directed the attack 
 toward himself and was slain. 
 
 Where his blood stained the bank of the 
 pool, a lotus blossomed as a remembrance of 
 his self-sacrifice.
 
 Diking 
 
 i. 
 
 Bring me my armour, Sigurd, 
 
 I'll die as my fathers died, 
 
 Not like a wolf in a shepherd's trap, 
 
 But in all a warrior's pride. 
 
 Strike on the brazen targets, 
 
 And let our clarions ring; 
 
 I'll meet this Death they talk of, 
 
 As a king should meet a king. 
 
 n. 
 
 Olaf, take you my vessels 
 
 With the dark and threatening sails, 
 
 Go forth and scare the Saxon, 
 
 Harry his fertile vales; 
 
 Dye helm and hauberk crimson, 
 
 Ply well the sword and torch; 
 
 Go brain the Mercian bishops 
 
 In their shattered temple porch.
 
 23 
 
 III. 
 
 And thou, my bowman, Harold, 
 Be thine to plunder France. 
 Smite with the axe and hammer 
 At the vine-grower's lance. 
 Sack churches, fire the homesteads, 
 Turn red the muddy Seine; 
 Burn standing corn and orchard, 
 Make barren every plain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye are my raven-feeders, 
 Ye are my warrior brood, 
 Be yours to give the falcons 
 The cravens for their food. 
 But, Oscar, thou my youngest, 
 Thou hast thy mother's face, 
 Be thine to guard the peasants, 
 And found a peaceful race. 
 
 v. 
 
 Thou shalt bring home some maiden, 
 With eyes like violet flowers 
 When they spring up sweeter, fresher, 
 After the sunny showers.
 
 You'll let the pine-woods dwindle 
 Around our fortress hill, 
 And corn in golden billows 
 Gird many a freeman's mill. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But quick, my heart beats slower, 
 
 Life's sand is running fast, 
 
 Out with a thousand galleys 
 
 I hear the quickening blast 
 
 One hour, and in Luffoden 
 
 Our walrus-horns shall ring, 
 
 For I'll meet this Death they talk of, 
 
 As a king should meet a king.
 
 flDafeing of tbe 
 
 AN INDIAN LEGEND. 
 
 (By permission of Miss Annie A. Preston and the 
 5Y. Nicholas.) 
 
 A bird and a bee in the fresh April weather, 
 Sailed blithely to meet the first Summer 
 
 together 
 
 'Twas a very small bird, and a very large bee, 
 And they talked as they flew, and they couldn't 
 
 agree 
 As to which of the two should first greet the 
 
 sweet Summer, 
 The bright-plumaged bird, or the busy young 
 
 hummer. 
 All at once a black wind storm dropped down 
 
 from the skies, 
 And it took this small quarreling pair by 
 
 surprise. 
 It whirled them about, until drenched and half 
 
 dead 
 
 They both tumbled into a violet bed. 
 When the sun shone again (this is what I 
 
 have heard), 
 
 That bird was a bee, and that bee was a bird; 
 And only one creature went humming away, 
 Dipping into the flower-cups, that fresh April 
 
 day.
 
 How Xafcs Blancbe Hrunfcel Helfc 
 Marfcour for Iking Cbarlee 
 
 The first of May, the garland day, that ushers 
 in the Spring, 
 
 Saw Wardour Castle fair and strong in arms 
 for Charles the king; 
 
 The elms were black with noisy rooks, the 
 meadows gilt with flowers, 
 
 With rosary of blossoms, Time counted the 
 dying hours. 
 
 The butler moved his casks about, the chap- 
 lain was at bowls, 
 
 The grooms were hissing in the stalls, the boys 
 played with the foals; 
 
 The Lady Blanche among her maids was busy 
 as the best, 
 
 Unconscious that the carrion-crow was hover- 
 ing o'er her nest. 
 
 All suddenly a group of us, upon an outer wall, 
 
 Was startled by a warning shout from those 
 within the hall, 
 
 And down the wind-tossed avenue, from out a 
 storm of dust, 
 
 Galloped a wounded serving-man, whose hel- 
 met was all rust.
 
 27 
 
 One two then three, poor frightened knaves, 
 
 with faces gashed and torn, 
 One with a broken sword red-wet, who 
 
 screamed upon a horn; 
 And then a rout of flying men, groaning and 
 
 very white, 
 
 Each swearing, as he hoped for grace, Crom- 
 well would come that night. 
 That night our scouts were pouring in, each 
 
 paler than the last, 
 The shepherds brought us news of Strode, and 
 
 many a troop they'd passed; 
 A moment Lady Blanche turned pale, but soon 
 
 flashed angry red, 
 To think old England's golden crown should 
 
 deck a hewer's head. 
 All night the melting lead was poured into 
 
 our bullet-moulds, 
 The rusty pikes were lifted down from the 
 
 long, ratchet-holds, 
 Great stones were piled upon each ledge, the 
 
 guns were duly scoured, 
 Upon the highest tower our flag of angry 
 
 challenge lowered. 
 The falconets were double charged in every 
 
 bartizan, 
 Ready to shower the fiery lead on frowning 
 
 Puritan ;
 
 28 
 
 And every one got out his scarf and plume to 
 
 ready be, 
 For gallant face brave men should wear when 
 
 danger's on the lee. 
 The chaplain on his cassocked knees a rusty 
 
 breast-plate scoured; 
 The butler, in a plumed hat, above all others 
 
 towered ; 
 The very turnspit marched about, with gun 
 
 and partizan, 
 As noisy with his threats and oaths as any 
 
 serving-man. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Oh, never daisy wore a frill more trim or yet 
 
 more white, 
 No primrose of the early Spring was purer to 
 
 the sight; 
 The fleecy clouds of Summer dawn more with 
 
 such stately grace, 
 Unchanging morning sunshine shone from out 
 
 her pretty face. 
 No fawn trips so, no mountain roe a lighter 
 
 footprint leaves; 
 The violet loved to have her tread upon its 
 
 purple leaves;
 
 29 
 
 Before her gentle presence birds ceased not 
 
 their carolling; 
 She shed a tranquil joy on all, as does the 
 
 early Spring. 
 She never chid her serving-maids about their 
 
 tapestry; 
 And yet, of all that busy hive, she was the fair 
 
 Queen Bee. 
 For idleness, or ribaldry, or drunken revelling 
 
 sport, 
 Dared never e'er to set a foot within the inner 
 
 court. 
 She was as gentle as a dove brooding upon its 
 
 nest; 
 Yet when that evil news with shrieks came 
 
 sweeping from the west, 
 And pale-faced fools were pouring in with 
 
 news of deadly harm, 
 She changed at once a sudden storm broke 
 
 flashing from that calm. 
 Her husband and her lord had gone unto the 
 
 tented field, 
 To wring from stone-faced Puritans what 
 
 Puritans would yield; 
 She was alone without a friend, yet never 
 
 thought of fear, 
 For gathered in her castle walls was food for 
 
 seven year.
 
 III. 
 
 That sullen night, just at the dusk, from out 
 
 those dark fir-trees 
 A muffled drum, with mournful throb, sounded 
 
 upon the breeze; 
 And dark and slow the Puritans began their 
 
 leaguer then, 
 
 Not in the open manly way of honest gentlemen. 
 They burnt our stacks, they fired our barns, 
 
 they harried us all day; 
 At night they poured the hot shot in where we 
 
 stood firm at bay. 
 They scorched our walls, they blackened doors, 
 
 they splintered roof and pane, 
 But to the brave old trusty place no entrance 
 
 could they gain. 
 Our mossy walls laughed out to see that grim 
 
 and yellow host 
 Spur round and round old Wardour's towers, 
 
 like couriers riding post. 
 Their pikes were thirsting for our blood, yet 
 
 we were snug and warm, 
 All under Wardour's battlements were safe 
 
 from every storm. 
 One day a pale-faced trumpeter the rebel dogs 
 
 sent in,
 
 The gall and bile were oozing through his 
 
 scurvy sallow skin; 
 He bade us all surrender to this Cromwell, 
 
 "England's lord"; 
 The women were to go in peace; the men 
 
 yield to the sword. 
 Then Lady Blanche tore up the roll, and trod 
 
 it under foot; 
 We drove the crop-ear from the gate, with 
 
 scoffing laugh and hoot; 
 We crushed his trumpet, snapped his staff, and 
 
 set the dogs at him: 
 Ha! but for Lady Blanche's grace they'd torn 
 
 him limb from limb. 
 Their swords smote blunt upon our steel, and 
 
 keen upon our buff 
 Till coldest-blooded man of us had battering 
 
 enough ; 
 'Twas butt and butt, and point and point, and 
 
 eager pike to pike, 
 'Twas foin and parry, give and take, as long 
 
 as we could strike. 
 There, in the breach stood Lady Blanche, a 
 
 banner in her hand, 
 Urging us on, with voice and look, to scourge 
 
 this currish band.
 
 32 
 
 She stood amid the fire and flame in the red 
 
 gap of the wall, 
 An angel sent to comfort us the bravest of 
 
 us all. 
 They thinned our ranks, they kept us there in 
 
 arms by night and day, 
 Till, oozing out in drops, our strength began 
 
 to melt away. 
 We fell asleep while taking food, we scarce 
 
 had power to load, 
 Yet even then our Lady's voice woke us as 
 
 with a goad. 
 The fire balls vexed us night and day, their 
 
 mines shook down a tower; 
 At last, on specious promises of mercy to us 
 
 all, 
 Our Lady Blanche hung out a flag of white 
 
 upon the wall. 
 They burnt our stables, stole our deer, caught 
 
 all our fattest carp; 
 They felled the oaks in the park with axes keen 
 
 and sharp; 
 Unearthed our leaden conduit-pipes, and melted 
 
 them in bars; 
 Tore our great pictures into strips, and split 
 
 the floors in stars.
 
 33 
 
 This was the way the rebel dogs a sacred treaty 
 
 kept; 
 Yet God had not forgotten us, nor had His 
 
 justice slept; 
 For that day week Newcastle's "Lambs" fell 
 
 on this lying rout 
 Shot, piked, and sabred half the troop, and 
 
 burnt the others out.
 
 IRose 
 
 The angel who guards the flowers, and 
 sprinkles upon them the dews of the still night, 
 slumbered on a Spring day in the shade of a 
 rosebush, and when she awoke said, "Most 
 beautiful of my children, I thank thee for thy 
 refreshing odor, and cooling shade. Should 
 you now ask me any favor, how willingly 
 would I grant it !" The blush on the petals of 
 the sweet rose deepened, and in modest tones 
 she murmured 
 
 "Gladly have I shielded thee from the rays 
 of the morning sun, and have wafted o'er thy 
 slumbers my choicest incense; but if I may 
 ask a blessing it is that I may be adorned with 
 a new charm, the better to cheer the hearts of 
 the children of men." 
 
 The angel then departing, dropped in bene- 
 diction a mantle of delicate green on the dainty 
 blossoms, and the sweet moss rose was added 
 to nature's bouquet of flowers.
 
 2>eatb of Minfeelreifc 
 
 BATTLE OF SEMPACH, JULY 9, 1386. 
 
 In July, when the bees swarmed thick upon 
 the linden tops, 
 
 And farmers gazed with pride and joy upon 
 their ripening crops, 
 
 The watchmen on our tall church towers, look- 
 ing t' wards Willistow, 
 
 Saw the stacked barley in a flame, and the 
 wheat-fields in a glow. 
 
 For Archduke Leopold had come from Zurich 
 
 by the lake, 
 With lance, and bow, and banner spread, a dire 
 
 revenge to take. 
 On Monday morning, when the dew lay bright 
 
 upon the corn, 
 Each man of Sempach blew alarm upon his 
 
 mountain horn. 
 
 The young and old from fair Lucerne gathered 
 
 to bar the way, 
 The reapers threw their sickles down, and ran 
 
 to join the fray;
 
 36 
 
 We knelt and prayed to Heaven for strength, 
 
 crying to God aloud; 
 And lo! a rainbow rising shone against a 
 
 thundercloud. 
 
 Burghers of Berne, the lads of Schweitz, and 
 
 Unterwalden's best, 
 Warriors of Uri, strong as bulls, were among 
 
 the rest; 
 The oldest of our mountain priests had come 
 
 to fight not pray, 
 Our women only kept at home upon that battle 
 
 day. 
 
 The shepherds, sturdy wrestlers with the grim 
 
 mountain bear, 
 The chamois hunters, lithe and swift, mingle 
 
 together there; 
 Rough boatmen from the mountain lakes, and 
 
 fishermen by the scores; 
 The children only had been left to guard the 
 
 nets and oars. 
 
 The herdsmen joined us from their huts on 'the 
 
 far mountain-side, 
 Where cow-bells chimed among the pines, and 
 
 far above in pride
 
 37 
 
 \ 
 
 The granite peaks rose soaring up in snowy 
 
 pinnacles, 
 Past glaciers' ever-gaping jaws and vulture's 
 
 citadels. 
 
 The citizens of Zurich town under their ban- 
 ners stood, 
 
 Their lusty lances bleak and bare as any winter 
 wood. 
 
 Geneva sent her archers stout, and swordsmen 
 not a few, 
 
 And over the brave men of Berne their great 
 town banner blew. 
 
 How fierce we ran with partisan, and axe, and 
 
 spear, and sword, 
 With flail, and club, and shrieking horns, upon 
 
 that Austrian horde! 
 But they stood silent in the sun, mocking the 
 
 Switzer bear, 
 Their helmets crested, beaked, and fanged, like 
 
 the wild beasts they were. 
 
 Like miners dipping iron ore from some great 
 
 mountain heart, 
 We strove to hew, and rend, and cleave that 
 
 hill of steel apart;
 
 38 
 
 But clamped like statues stood the knights in 
 
 their spiked phalanx strong, 
 Though our Swiss halberds, and our swords, 
 
 hewed fiercely at the throng. 
 
 Hot, sharp, and thick our arrows fell upon 
 their helmet crests, 
 
 Keen on their visors' glaring bars, and sharp 
 upon their breasts; 
 
 Fierce plied our halberds at the spears, that 
 thicker seemed to grow; 
 
 The more we struck, more boastfully the ban- 
 ners seemed to blow. 
 
 The Austrians, square, and close locked up, 
 
 stood firm with threatening spears, 
 Only the sterner when our bolts flew thick 
 
 about their ears; 
 Our drifts of arrows blinding fell, and nailed 
 
 the mail to breast, 
 But e'en the dead men as they dropped were 
 
 ramparts to the rest. 
 
 With furnace heat the red sun shone upon the 
 
 wall of steel, 
 And crimsoned every Austrian knight from 
 
 helmet unto heel.
 
 39 
 
 They slew their horses where they stood, and 
 
 shortened all their spears, 
 Then back to back, like boars at bay, they 
 
 mocked our angry cheers. 
 
 Till Winkelreid stepped forth, and said, knit- 
 ting his rugged brow, 
 
 "Out on ye, men of Zurich town! Go back 
 and tend your plough; 
 
 Sluggards of Berne, go hunt and fish, when 
 danger is not nigh. 
 
 See now how Unterwalden taught her hardy 
 sons to die!" 
 
 Then out he rushed with head bent low; his 
 body, breast, and hands 
 
 Bore down a sheaf of spears, and made a path- 
 way for our bands. 
 
 Four lances splintered on his brow, six shivered 
 in his side, 
 
 But still he struggled fiercely on, and, shouting 
 "Victory!" died. 
 
 Then on that broken flying rout, we Swiss, 
 
 rejoicing, rushed, 
 With sword, and mace, and partisan, that 
 
 struck, and stabbed, and crushed;
 
 40 
 
 Their banners beaten to the earth and all their 
 
 best men slain, 
 The Austrians threw away their shields and 
 
 fled across the plain. 
 
 And thus our Switzerland was saved, upon 
 that Summer's day, 
 
 And Sempach saw rejoicing men returning 
 from the fray. 
 
 As we bore home brave Winkelreid a rainbow 
 spanned our track, 
 
 But where the Austrian rabble fled a thunder- 
 storm rolled black.
 
 Cormorant, tbe Bat, anb tbe 
 Bramble 
 
 FROM THE PERSIAN. 
 
 The cormorant was once a wool merchant. 
 He took into partnership, the bramble and the 
 bat, and they freighted a large ship with wool. 
 She was wrecked, and the firm was also 
 wrecked. 
 
 Since the disaster, it is said, the bat hides 
 away during the daytime to avoid his credi- 
 tors, the cormorant is forever diving into the 
 deep to discover his sunken cargo, while the 
 bramble tries to lure into his thorny grasp every 
 unfortunate sheep that chances to pass his way, 
 in order to recover by stealing what he lost by 
 water.
 
 lt> Catbefcral <S>r$anlet 
 
 AN OLD ENGLISH LEGEND. 
 
 'Tis forty years ago since first 
 I climbed these dusty winding stairs 
 To play the Dean in: how I spurned 
 Beneath my feet all meaner cares, 
 When first I leant, my cheek on fire, 
 And looked down blushing at the choir! 
 
 Handel, Haydn, and Mozart 
 I thought they watched me as I played; 
 While Palestrina's stern, sad face 
 Seemed in the twilight to upbraid; 
 Pale fingers moved upon the keys 
 The ghost-hands of past centuries. 
 
 Behind my oaken battlement 
 Above the door I used to lean, 
 And watched the puffing crimson hood, 
 As floated in, full sail, the Dean; 
 And then the organ breathing low, 
 Began to murmur soft and slow.
 
 43 
 
 I used to shut my eyes, and hear 
 
 The solemn prophecy and psalm 
 
 Rise up like incense; and I loved 
 
 Before the prayer the lull and calm, 
 
 Till, like a stream that bursts its banks, 
 
 Broke forth brave Purcell's "O give thanks." 
 
 I knew those thirteen hundred pipes 
 And thirty stops, as blind men do 
 The voices of the friends they love, 
 The bird's song and the thunder too; 
 And the fierce diapason's roar, 
 Like storms upon a rocky shore. 
 
 And now to-day I yield me up 
 
 The dusty seat, my old loved throne, 
 
 Unto another; and no more 
 
 Shall come here in the dusk alone, 
 
 Or in the early matin hour, 
 
 To hear my old friend's voice of power. 
 
 And yet methinks that, centuries hence, 
 Lying beneath the chancel floor, 
 In that dark nook I shall delight 
 To hear the anthem's swell once more, 
 And to myself shall calmly smile 
 When music floats the vaulted aisles.
 
 44 
 
 Or, mocking gravely at some hand 
 Less skillful than my own was once, 
 In my snug nest I'll lie, and mark 
 The blunders of the foolish dunce; 
 But to myself the secret keep, 
 And turn me round again to sleep.
 
 IRigbttngale anfc tbe IRose 
 
 EASTERN LEGEND. . 
 
 The Nightingale loved the rose, and when- 
 ever a blossom was plucked from her stem, 
 he, knowing that his lady love was suffering, 
 is said to have given forth a plaintive cry. 
 
 One day all the birds appeared before King 
 Solomon, and complained of the wailing of the 
 Nightingale that it drove away all sleep from 
 their eyelids. 
 
 When questioned by King Solomon, the 
 Nightingale said that his love for the rose was 
 so great his heart cried out in agony whenever 
 he knew she was suffering. 
 
 Then said King Solomon, "Never more shall 
 the rose suffer when her blossoms are plucked 
 therefore cease thy complaint." 
 
 From that hour, the blossoms can be picked 
 without causing suffering to the flower, and 
 the slumber of all the birds is unbroken by the 
 wailing of the Nightingale.
 
 of tbe Xocfcbarte 
 
 King Robert on his death bed lay, wasted in 
 
 every limb, 
 The priests had left, Black Douglas now alone 
 
 was watching him; 
 The earl had wept to hear those words, "When 
 
 I am gone to doom 
 Take thou my heart and bear it straight unto 
 
 the Holy Tomb." 
 
 ii. 
 
 Douglas shed bitter tears of grief he loved 
 
 the buried man, 
 So bade farewell to home and wife, to brother 
 
 and to clan; 
 And soon the Brace's heart, embalmed, in sil- 
 
 ver casket locked 
 Within a galley white with sails, upon the 
 
 blue waves rocked. 
 
 in. 
 
 In Spain they rested; there the king besought 
 the Scottish earl,
 
 47 
 
 To drive the Saracens from Spain, his galley 
 
 sails to furl: 
 It was the brave knight's eagerness to quell the 
 
 Paynim brood 
 That made him then forget the oath he'd sworn 
 
 upon the Rood. 
 
 rv. 
 
 That was his sin : good angels frowned upon 
 
 him as he went 
 With vizor down and spear in rest, lips closed, 
 
 and black brow bent; 
 Upon the turbans fierce he spurred, the charger 
 
 he bestrode 
 Was splashed with blood, their robes and flags 
 
 he trampled on the road. 
 
 v. 
 
 The Moors came fast with cymbal-clash and 
 
 tossing javelin, 
 Ten thousand horsemen, at the least, round 
 
 Castile closing in; 
 Quick as a deer's foot snaps the ice Black 
 
 Douglas thundered through, 
 And struck with sword and smote with axe 
 
 among the heathen crew.
 
 4 8 
 
 VI. 
 
 The horse-tail banners beaten down, the 
 mounted archers fled. 
 
 There came full many an Arab curse from faces 
 smeared with red : 
 
 The vizor fell, a Scottish shaft had struck him 
 on the breast; 
 
 Many a Moslem's frightened horse was bleed- 
 ing head and chest. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But suddenly the caitiffs turned and gathered 
 
 like a net, 
 In closed the tossing sabres fast, and soon were 
 
 crimson wet; 
 Steel jarred on steel war hammers smote on 
 
 helmet and on sword; 
 Yet Douglas never ceased to charge upon that 
 
 heathen horde. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Till all at once his eager eye discerned amid 
 
 the fight 
 St. Clair of Roslyn, Brace's friend, a brave 
 
 and trusty knight,
 
 49 
 
 Beset with Moors who hewed at him with 
 
 sabres dripping blood 
 'Twas in a rice field where he stood, close to 
 
 an orange wood. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then to the rescue of St. Clair, Black Douglas 
 
 spurred amain: 
 The Moslems circled him around, and shouting 
 
 charged again; 
 Then took he from his neck the heart, and 
 
 as the case he threw, 
 "Pass first in fight," he cried aloud, "as thou 
 
 wert wont to do!" 
 
 x. 
 
 They fourd him ere the sun had set upon that 
 
 fatal day; 
 His body was above the case, that closely 
 
 guarded lay, 
 His swarthy face was grim in death, his sable 
 
 hair was stained 
 With the life-blood of the felon Moors, whom 
 
 he had struck and brained.
 
 XI. 
 
 Sir Simon Lockhart, knight of Lee, bore home 
 
 the silver case, 
 To shrine it in a stately grave and in a holy 
 
 place. 
 The Douglas deep in Spanish grounds they left 
 
 in royal tomb, 
 To wait in hope and patient trust the trumpet 
 
 of the Doom.
 
 Gbe OLils of tbe 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 The "Valley Lily," that early notifier of 
 Spring's advent, has a touch of romance in its 
 history, wherein fairies play a part. 
 
 .It is stated that on one occasion these sprites 
 of the forest and stream gave a dance upon the 
 greensward. Each took with her a tiny cup 
 in which to gather dew for the fairy queen's 
 breakfast. Now, one of the inexorable laws 
 of the fairies is that the sun must never find 
 them abroad. 
 
 On this occasion their revelry ran so high 
 that the sun sparkled upon the dew-drops and 
 dried them up before ever their dancing ceased. 
 
 Then each fairy ran in dismay to the blade 
 of grass on which she had hung her tiny white 
 cup but lo ! they were hard and fast to the 
 green stalks, and could not be removed. 
 
 The little fairies fell to crying, for each 
 feared the anger of the queen, who would have 
 to go without her breakfast. 
 
 Soon the fairy godmother came upon the 
 scene, and, seeing the distress of her god-
 
 52 
 
 children, she touched the blades of grass, which 
 changed into broad green leaves, thus conceal- 
 ing the cups from the queen's vision, and sav- 
 ing her tiny subjects from the queenly ire. 
 Hence we have "Lilies of the Valley."
 
 (Bufto's 
 i. 
 
 Guido Reni in a Roman Palace chamber 
 Sat one pleasant Summer afternoon 
 ('Twas the old Farnese's sumptuous palace). 
 The walls were blazoned with the gilded moon 
 In crescent, and sweet tangles of those flowers 
 That blossom into faces, while birds play, 
 Fluttering from twig to twig, and lizard's run 
 Below, and jewelled beetles crawl from spray 
 to spray. 
 
 n. 
 
 The great hall window, reaching to the floor, 
 Stood open for the vine to ramble in; 
 The birds were in the garden down below; 
 The silver columned fountain, tall and thin 
 As a magician's wand, rose in the air; 
 Great yellow clouds, laden with sunshine 
 
 passed; 
 The sky, one flawless sapphire, floated there. 
 
 in. 
 
 Guido was painting, half entranced in thought; 
 Quietly painting that pure, gentle face
 
 54 
 
 You've seen in lonely chapels oft and oft; 
 Calm, sweet, and radiant, with a saintly grace; 
 Chaste as a virgin martyr glorified; 
 Without one thought of earth, pure as the snow 
 Upon the Alp-peak, with no stain of sin 
 Sullying her form, save where one raptured 
 glow 
 
 IV. 
 
 Of coldest sunshine lit her marbly breast; 
 The dove-like eyes were all intent on heaven. 
 A Sabbath sanctity was in the air, 
 And not one glare of Passion's burning leven. 
 Where was the proud and dark-eyed beauty 
 
 then, 
 
 The painter's model ? Where the peasant girl 
 All love and happiness ? Where, then, was she 
 With throbbing bosom and with lavish curl ? 
 
 v. 
 
 Only a blear-eyed crone in a low chair, 
 Facing the central window, dozed or prayed. 
 Her cheeks were wrinkled leather, and her hair, 
 In one gray half-starved knot of grizzled braid, 
 Crowned her old, nodding, semi-palsied head. 
 Her breviary was resting on her knees, 
 Nor recked she what the chiding painter said.
 
 55 
 
 VI. 
 
 In came the cardinal, grave and coldly wise. 
 His scarlet gown and robes of cobweb lace 
 Trailed on the marble floor; with convex glass 
 He bent o'er Guide's shoulder; soon his face 
 Grew wistful, and then curled to a smile, 
 As he beheld the crone and looked again. 
 Where is thy model, Guido? Guido said, 
 I keep her, cardinal, locked up in my brain.
 
 IDioIet 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 In the old German town of Nuremberg there 
 lived three sisters. Two were vain, frivolous, 
 and cruel; the third, a gentle child, unselfish 
 and loved by all who knew her. 
 
 As she was one day walking in the forest, 
 she heard a plaintive cry, and ever ready to 
 assist those in trouble, immediately hastened 
 in the direction of the sound. 
 
 A wood pigeon had become entangled in a 
 bush and was vainly endeavoring to extri- 
 cate her wings. The kind-hearted little maid 
 released the poor bird and the pigeon at once 
 became a beautiful fairy. She explained that 
 being pursued by a wicked elf, she had taken 
 the form of a pigeon the better to escape her 
 enemy. 
 
 "Now," said the fairy, "ask me whatever 
 you will, and it shall be granted." 
 
 "Give me, then," said the poor little maid, 
 "who had suffered much from the cruelty of 
 her sisters, give me the peace and happiness 
 which my heart has long desired and sought 
 for in vain."
 
 57 
 
 "Go to the rainbow," directed the fairy, 
 "and where the violet color touches the earth, 
 there shall you find a plant which will bring 
 to you the desired gifts." 
 
 Then ran eagerly the little girl and did as 
 she was told, and there, at the end of the 
 rainbow, where the violet color touches the 
 earth, grew a cluster of modest wood violets. 
 She placed them over her heart, peace and 
 happiness forever after attended her footsteps, 
 and violets have since that time possessed the 
 power of bringing these priceless gifts to any 
 maiden who will wear them over her heart.
 
 Gbe (Breat West TOtnbovo 
 
 AN OLD CATHEDRAL LEGEND. 
 I. 
 
 The great west window was framed and done; 
 How proud was its painter, Father John ! 
 The watchings by night at the furnace door, 
 The long day's ponderings, all were o'er; 
 The fires were quenched, and the fluxes and 
 
 paints, 
 The tracings of monarch, and prophets, and 
 
 saints 
 
 Were rolled and labeled, and hidden away, 
 And life for Friar John was all holiday; 
 His brushes were thrown in the nettly croft, 
 And so was the palette he'd used so oft. 
 But when he saw that shining rood 
 Glow like sunset seen through a wood, 
 There rose in his soul a wicked pride, 
 And his heart beat quick with a fuller tide, 
 Nor thought Friar John, as his work he eyed, 
 If God in that work was glorified.
 
 59 
 
 II. 
 
 The window was a wondrous thing 
 Blooming with an eternal spring 
 Of jewel colours and precious dyes, 
 Deep and rich as the western skies 
 Such as the depths of the forest hide; 
 Lapis-sapphire for martyr's robe; 
 Scarlet for Herod's fiery pride; 
 Ruby for Michael's flaming sword; 
 Golden splendour for crown and globe 
 Of David, the chosen of the Lord; 
 Amethyst, emerald, peacock's dyes, 
 At summer sunsets, and hues of flowers 
 That start up purple after the showers 
 The roses's crimson and iris bloom; 
 Sunny lustres, and topaz gloom, 
 Encircling a pale, sad face; 
 A glory lighting it shed from skies 
 That shone like God's own dwelling place 
 And all these burned and melted so, 
 That there was within a kingly glow, 
 A pulse of light, a life-blood flowing 
 Its varied colours ever showing.
 
 6o 
 
 III. 
 
 What wonder, then, that as John gazed, 
 
 As in a mirror, he saw upraised 
 
 The veil that hides the spirit world, 
 
 And the dim curtain slowly furled, 
 
 Showing behind that crystal wall, 
 
 Fiends that danced and mocked at his fall; 
 
 Wild monsters beaked, and fanged, and horned, 
 
 Goblins that him and his glass saints scorned; 
 
 And sneering Satan above them all. 
 
 But Friar John prayed full loud and long, 
 
 And chanted many a holy song, 
 
 And read his vesper service through, 
 
 Ave and Pater not a few, 
 
 Till heaven opened, and angel and saint 
 
 Came to comfort that sinner faint, 
 
 With prayer and promise; and now again, 
 
 With purer eye and calmer brain, 
 
 He looked, and through the coloured screen 
 
 That parted earth from heaven's serene, 
 
 He saw, through flushes of rainbow dyes, 
 
 The opening gates of Paradise.
 
 (Boifcenrofc 
 
 BAVARIAN LORE. 
 
 The goldenrod has a romance connected 
 with its early being. A beautiful young girl 
 living in the Bavarian Tyrol was once wander- 
 ing over the highlands in search of her lost 
 lover. 
 
 All the day and all the night she cried for 
 her dear ones, who were far away. 
 
 Finally becoming exhausted, she%fell upon 
 the ground, and was at once wrapped in slum- 
 ber. She slept on and on, the leaves blown 
 by the autumn wind covered her with a soft 
 mantle of brown; while the snow falling from 
 the blue sky buried her out of sight. One 
 tress, however, of golden hair escaping, lay 
 upon the ground. 
 
 As a fairy was one day passing by, she saw 
 the lock of shining hair, and winding it around 
 her wand, said as she placed it in the ground 
 and breathed upon it a fairy benediction, "I 
 name thee Golden Rod."
 
 Staufenbers 
 
 (A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.) 
 
 In feudal days there lived in the renowned 
 castle of Staufenberg a knight famed for his 
 strength and bravery. 
 
 While hunting one day in the forest, he lost 
 his way, and arrived tired and nearly fainting 
 at a spring situated in the heart of the woods. 
 
 The water flowed beneath the rich foliage of 
 luxurious herbs, while a soft, fragrant moss 
 covered the ground around. Rejoiced at find- 
 ing so charming and shadowy a haunt quite 
 appropriate for the flight of his imagination, 
 the knight approached the spring, and moist- 
 ened his lips with its crystal fluid; he then 
 walked along the brook, to seek its source. 
 
 Suddenly he discovered a lovely young girl 
 sitting under a stately oak, wringing out her 
 wet hair and braiding it. 
 
 The youth, almost dazzled by the beautiful 
 vision, stopped, scarcely daring to breathe. 
 His heart beat audibly, and his looks were 
 intently riveted upon the forest-child, who was 
 as yet unconscious of his presence.
 
 63 
 
 At last recovering his presence of mind, he 
 stepped softly forward, eager to know who 
 she was, and why she thus lived in the solitude 
 of the woods. She looked up and with a 
 charming blush prepared to move quickly away. 
 
 With stammering voice, he asked if she 
 would permit him to rest for a few moments 
 near her at the spring, as he was weary from 
 his long ride through the forest. "Noble sir," 
 said the girl kindly, "you are the lord of this 
 ground, and I must thank you for having 
 allowed me to remain here.' 
 
 "Oh, that I could render this place a para- 
 dise, that you might never wish to leave it," 
 responded the knight. "Since I saw you, it 
 has indeed become a paradise for me," added 
 he tenderly. "Do not turn away, sweet maid; 
 and forgive me if I have admired your lovely 
 face too long. A strange and charming dream 
 filled my heart; it seemed to me as if I 
 were the only happy being permitted to view 
 your lovely face. I ask your pardon that I 
 can no longer conceal my thoughts. I love 
 you deeply and dearly, and would be the hap- 
 piest of men, if you would accept me as your 
 husband, and become the lady of my castle."
 
 64 
 
 The youth, after having confessed his love, 
 took the hand of the maiden, raised it rever- 
 ently to his lips, and with eager entreaties and 
 kind words, begged her to consent to his pro- 
 posal. "Oh, speak!" exclaimed he. "Dare I 
 hope, or must I fear? Can you not love me? 
 Disperse the doubts which render me unhappy." 
 
 "I love you," whispered she, tenderly, turn- 
 ing her face towards him, and resting her eyes 
 upon the happy youth. "I have loved you 
 longer than you imagine!" 
 
 "Then you will consent to be my wife?" 
 
 "I dare not tell you to-day; come to-morrow 
 at the same hour, and you shall have my 
 answer. 
 
 He quickly arose, kissed her gently, and 
 hastened away, for he feared to disobey her. 
 
 On the next day, at the same hour, he 
 returned to the spring, where he found his 
 beloved, her lovely hair adorned with a 
 wreath of wild flowers, awaiting his coming. 
 
 With sweet smiles she offered him her pretty 
 hand, and invited him to sit by her side. She 
 then informed him that she was a water-nymph, 
 and goddess of that spring, that she had long 
 loved him, and would esteem it the highest 
 happiness to reign over his heart forever.
 
 65 
 
 "And if, noble sir, you still wish to make 
 me your wife, I will follow you everywhere, 
 only" and when she said this, a melancholy 
 expression covered her face "only you must 
 love me faithfully, for if not, it will mean 
 death to you, and eternal woe to me." 
 
 "Faithful unto death!" cried the youth, 
 drawing her tenderly to his heart, and cover- 
 ing her sweet face with kisses. "Never shall 
 another conquer this heart which is thine 
 forever." 
 
 The marriage ceremony was celebrated 
 silently and without pomp or splendour. True 
 happiness requires no outward show, which is 
 often used to conceal the woe of the heart. 
 The young pair were happy in each other's 
 love; the world had no cares for them, and 
 their life was a heaven. They seemed to gain 
 in youth, and their love for each other to 
 increase day by day. Alas! oftentimes the 
 higher the happiness, the nearer the woe ! 
 
 War broke out about this time in France, 
 and many knights and nobles of Germany, 
 allured by gain and glory, were prompted to 
 leave their homes, and take arms for the 
 defense of their country.
 
 66 
 
 The Knight of Staufenberg also heard the 
 news, and ambition, like a sad summoner, 
 stirred his soul, and seemed to reproach him 
 for allowing the sword of his ancestors to 
 rust in its scabbard, while other knights gained 
 glory by their valiant deeds. 
 
 He became restless, and his mind tormented 
 and distracted; even the smiles of his young 
 wife had not the same charm for him as 
 formerly. 
 
 With silent grief she perceived that the mind 
 of her young husband was not content with 
 domestic happiness, and that his thoughts were 
 centered in the seat of war. 
 
 The knight did his utmost to conceal his 
 longing, but could not help betraying himself 
 in unguarded moments, which encouraged his 
 wife to carry out the plan she had formed. 
 
 She presented him one day with a splendid 
 belt, which she had worked, and begged him 
 to wear it in battle as a token of her love. 
 
 "I know," said she, "y u long to depart for 
 France, to wield the sword of your ancestors in 
 battle. Although it grieves me to part from 
 you, I agree, nevertheless, that you shall satisfy 
 your ambition, which I fear will destroy our 
 happiness. Go, dear husband; gain laurels
 
 67 
 
 and glory by valiant deeds, but return, and 
 then learn that the happiness which you enjoy 
 at my side is far better than that to be found 
 amongst strangers." 
 
 The knight, touched by her generosity and 
 devotion, drew her to his heart and kissed the 
 tears from her cheeks. "Thank you, my love," 
 exclaimed he. "You read my soul, and seem 
 to know how the desire to do honor to the 
 name of my ancestors and our rank thrills 
 my soul. It calls me to battle, and my sword 
 reproaches me for lingering. I therefore 
 accept your belt as a sign of good fortune. 
 My beloved gave it, and it will guide me back 
 to her." 
 
 "Now go," said the wife; "think often of 
 me, of our happy life together, and remember 
 my warning before I became your wife." 
 
 "Always!" swore the knight, whose eyes 
 were bathed in tears. "Never shall I forget 
 thee and I will love you faithfully." 
 
 With tender kisses, the knight sealed his 
 vows of fidelity and commenced to prepare 
 for his departure. 
 
 It was only when time for the final parting 
 came, that the priceless value of a fond and
 
 68 
 
 loving wife was borne in upon the heart of 
 the knight. 
 
 Had not ambition blinded him, he would 
 have remained in his castle and enjoyed the 
 happiness, the companionship of such a wife 
 afforded; but after a long leave-taking from 
 her, he departed with full speed for an unknown 
 country, where his fancy showed him brilliant 
 sections of glory, splendour and battle. 
 
 Before him he saw the future; if he looked 
 back from his steed, he perceived his wife wav- 
 ing him a farewell, thereby driving from his 
 mind all thoughts of the dangers of war. 
 
 At last the forest hid the castle from his 
 view. He then put spurs to his steed, crying 
 "Onward, soldiers; before us lies glory, behind 
 us, love; the sooner we gain the first, the 
 sooner shall we enjoy the latter." 
 
 And "Onward!" echoed from his bearded 
 followers, who spurred their horses as they 
 galloped madly forward. 
 
 After his arrival in France, the Staufenberg 
 knight placed himself and his troop at the 
 disposal of a duke of that country, and dis- 
 tinguished himself by his valor and prudence 
 to such an extent that the duke was desirous
 
 69 
 
 of attaching this valiant and honest warrior 
 permanently to his cause. 
 
 But what to offer him as an inducement 
 to exchange his freedom for a vassalage, had 
 puzzled the duke for some time; when one 
 day he perceived his youngest daughter look- 
 ing at the handsome young knight with glances 
 more tender and affectionate than she was 
 wont to cast upon the other knights. The duke 
 saw that a union between his daughter and the 
 Knight of Staufenberg would be the easiest way 
 of realizing his wish, and therefore offered, 
 as a reward for his services, the hand of the 
 maid, whose youth, beauty, and noble rank 
 rendered her worthy of the highest in the land. 
 
 The knight, whose simple mind was already 
 dazzled by the splendour of the Franconian 
 court, accepted the offer with a feeling of satis- 
 fied vanity. It flattered him to be chosen as 
 the husband of a young and beautiful princess ; 
 he was dazzled by the glitter of the crown she 
 wore, as well as by the splendour of the court, 
 and he entirely forgot the promise to his lovely 
 wife. He surrendered himself to the intoxi- 
 cating round of pleasures which the duke pre- 
 pared for him, and did not resist or reflect 
 upon the changes which his heart had under-
 
 7 o 
 
 gone. It was only at night when his eye was 
 not dazzled by the view of the brilliant festivi- 
 ties, that a pale figure arose in his mind and 
 looked at him with sorrowing eyes. Although 
 he so often tried to banish this vision and avoid 
 the expressive looks of his injured wife, he 
 failed. Her eyes followed him with looks 
 more of reproach than anger. He became 
 unsettled and discontented. He remembered 
 his beautiful wife, and the happy days which 
 he had passed in the old Staufenberg castle; 
 and comparing all this with the restless life 
 of the court, and his insatiable desire for its 
 gaiety, he began to realize that his castle con- 
 tained a higher treasure than a crown, even 
 if it were on the head of the most beautiful 
 maiden. He formed the best resolutions, vow- 
 ing to return home, and to fly from the seduc- 
 tions of the court; but at daybreak, the images 
 of the night vanished before the brightness of 
 the sun; shame prevented him from taking his 
 leave, and he felt himself attracted anew by 
 the charms of his promised bride. 
 
 Weeks thus passed in painful struggles with 
 his conscience; he became melancholy and 
 dejected, and was unable, even when at the 
 side of the princess, to banish his grief.
 
 He at last resolved to ask the advice of a 
 priest, and communicate his sorrows to him. 
 
 The priest listened with astonishment to the 
 knight's tale, at the conclusion of which his 
 cheeks grew paler and paler, and he exclaimed 
 with holy fear, at the same time crossing him- 
 self thrice: 
 
 "You have made an alliance with the evil 
 one. Angels and heavenly spirits have for- 
 saken you. Your soul is forfeited to the devil, 
 and I consider it my duty, if you do not abjure 
 the union with your wife, and do penance, 
 to withhold the benefits of the church from 
 you." 
 
 Half persuaded, half infatuated with the 
 idea, he consented to abjure his wife, and the 
 duke, in agreement with the priest, arranged 
 the day on which the knight should be entirely 
 freed from the bonds of Satan, by marrying 
 the princess. 
 
 As the marriage day approached, the 
 embarrassment of the knight grew more pain- 
 ful. His mind worked like a nightmare, 
 and the looks of his abjured wife appeared 
 to him in his dreams more and more sorrow- 
 ful. As the wedding day approached, and the 
 bride, attired in silk and adorned with costly
 
 72 
 
 jewels, received him, she felt that her smile 
 had no charms for him; and when he bent 
 to kiss her hand, it seemed to him like a hand 
 of marble, and with a ghastly look, he stag- 
 gered back. 
 
 The marriage procession was obliged to pass 
 over a bridge on the way to the church, and as 
 the bridegroom stepped onto the bridge, a flash 
 of lightning glanced before him. The storm 
 raged wildly, and the torrent rose to his horse's 
 hoofs. The animal plunged and reared 
 through fear, and sprang into the foaming 
 waters. The storm abated, the sun shone 
 forth, and the stream rolled under the bridge 
 whereon the trembling bride and her attendants 
 stood. 
 
 It was at the same hour that a fierce storm, 
 accompanied by thunder and lightning, raged 
 over Staufenberg, and when it had ceased, the 
 lady of the castle could not be found. 
 
 Nobody knew whither she had gone; but at 
 midnight loud weeping was heard in the castle, 
 and from a lonely tower came a voice which 
 seemed to whisper, "Woe to faithless lovers."
 
 Gbe Scboolbos Iking 
 
 A LEGEND OF NAPOLEON. 
 (A Scene at Brienne.) 
 
 I. 
 
 Le Pere Petrault shut Virgil up 
 Just as the clock struck ten: 
 "This little Bonaparte," he said, 
 "Is one of Plutarch's men. 
 To see him with his massive head, 
 Gripped mouth, and swelling brow, 
 Wrestle with Euclid there he sat 
 Not half an hour from now." 
 
 ii. 
 
 The good old pedagogue his book 
 Put slowly in its place: 
 "That Corsican," he said, "has eyes 
 Like burning glasses; race 
 Italian, as his mother said; 
 Barred up from friend and foe, 
 He toils all night, inflexible 
 Forging it blow by blow.
 
 74 
 
 III. 
 
 I know his trick of thought, the way 
 
 He covers up his mouth : 
 
 One hand like this, the other clenched 
 
 Those eyes of the hot South. 
 
 The little Caesar, how he strides, 
 
 Sleep walking in the sun, 
 
 Only awaking at the roar 
 
 Of the meridian gun. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I watched him underneath my book 
 
 That day he sprung the mine, 
 
 For when the earth-wall rocked and reeled 
 
 His eyes were all a-shine; 
 
 And when it slowly toppled down, 
 
 He leaped upon the heap 
 
 With fiery haste just as a wolf 
 
 Would spring upon a sheep. 
 
 v. 
 
 Pichegru, Napoleon's monitor, 
 Tells me he's dull and calm, 
 Tenacious, firm, submissive yes, 
 Our chain is on his arm.
 
 75 
 
 Volcanic natures such as his 
 I dread; may God direct 
 This boy to good the evil quell 
 His better will direct. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Here is his Euclid book the ink 
 
 Still wet upon the rings; 
 
 These are the talismans some day 
 
 He'll use to fetter kings. 
 
 To train a genius like this lad 
 
 I've prayed for years for years ; 
 
 But now I know not whether hopes 
 
 Are not half choked by fears. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Last Monday, when they built that fort 
 
 With bastions of snow, 
 
 The ditch, and spur, and ravelin 
 
 And terraced row on row, 
 
 'Twas Bonaparte who cut the trench, 
 
 Who shaped the line of sap 
 
 A year or two, and he will be 
 
 First in war's bloody gap.
 
 VIII. 
 
 I see him now upon the hill, 
 
 His hands behind his back, 
 
 Waving the tricolor that led 
 
 The vanguard of attack; 
 
 And there, upon the trampled earth, 
 
 The ruins of the fort, 
 
 This Bonaparte, the schoolboy king, 
 
 Held his victorious court. 
 
 IX. 
 
 To see him give the shouting crowd 
 
 His little hand to kiss, 
 
 You'd think him never meant by God 
 
 For any lot but this. 
 
 And then with loud exulting cheers 
 
 Upon their shoulders borne, 
 
 He rode with buried Caesar's pride 
 
 And Alexander's scorn. 
 
 x. 
 
 Ah ! I remember, too, the day 
 The fire balloon went up; 
 It burned away into a star 
 Ere I went off to sup;
 
 77 
 
 But he stood weeping there alone 
 Until the dark night came, 
 To think he had not wings to fly 
 And catch the passing flame. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Oh! he is meant for mighty things 
 
 This leader of my class; 
 
 But there's the bell that rings for me, 
 
 So let the matter pass. 
 
 You see that third-floor window lit, 
 
 The blind drawn half-way down; 
 
 That's Bonaparte's he's at it now 
 
 It makes the dunces frown."
 
 " %0uka ar* % truwt irf fronte " 
 
 EPICTETUS
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000812087 5