The Alectryon of the farmyard and And as she passed across the the flock, lighted space, Sang his aubade with lusty voice The Emperor saw his daughter

and clear,

That night the Emperor, sleepless All the dead landscape in its

with the cares

shroud of snow,

chapel spires,

And troubles that attend on state Touching with flame the tapering affairs, Had risen before the dawn, and Windows and roofs, and smoke of musing gazed

Into the silent night, as one

amazed

household fires,

And kindling park and palace as he came;

To see the calm that reigned o'er The stork's nest on the chimney

all supreme,

When his own reign was but a

troubled dream.

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seemed in flame. And thus he stood till Eginhard appeared,

The moon lit up the gables capped Demure and modest with his

comely beard

And the white roofs, and half the| And flowing flaxen tresses, come

with snow,

court below,

And he beheld a form, that seemed

to cower

to ask,

As was his wont, the day's ap pointed task.

Beneath a burden, come from The Emperor looked upon him Emma's tower,

A woman, who upon her shoulders And gently said: 'My son, wait yet a while;

bore Clerk Eginhard to his own private This hour my council meets upon some great

door, And then returned in haste, but And very urgent business of the still essayed

state.

To tread the footprints she herself Come back within the hour. On

had made;

thy return

The work appointed for thee shalt Then Eginhard was summoned to

Then spake the king: 'Your sentence is not mine;

While I have been forgetful to requite

Thy service and affection as was right.

But now the hour is come, when I, thy Lord,

Life is the gift of God, and is di- Will crown thy love with such supreme reward,

vine; Nor from these palace walls shall A gift so precious kings have

one depart

striven in vain

Who carries such a secret in his To win it from the hands of

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heart; My better judgment points another way.

Good Alcuin, I remember how one day

When my Pepino asked you," What

are men?"

You wrote upon his tablets with

your pen,

"Guests of the grave and travellers

that pass!"

This being true of all men, we, alas!

Being all fashioned of the selfsame dust,

Let us be merciful as well as just; This passing traveller who hath stolen away

The brightest jewel of my crown to-day, 180 Shall of himself the precious gem

Charlemagne.'

restore;

By giving it, I make it mine once

more.

INTERLUDE

Over those fatal footprints I will THUS ran the Student's pleasant throw

rhyme

My ermine mantle like another Of Eginhard and love and youth; Some doubted its historic truth,

snow.'

But while they doubted, ne'erthe- No farther than the barn or shed; He had not hidden himself, nor fled;

While all lamented and made Unpleasant night air, he proposed

Lashed its long tail and roared Slow measuring out the march of

The Theologian needs must wait;
But quoted Horace, where he sings
The dire Necessity of things,
That drives into the roofs sublime
Of new-built houses of the great
The adamantine nails of Fate.

When ceased the little carillon
To herald from its wooden tower
The important transit of the hour,
The Theologian hastened on,
Content to be allowed at last
To sing his Idyl of the Past.

THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE

ELIZABETH
I

'AH, how short are the days! How soon the night overtakes us!
In the old country the twilight is longer; but here in the forest
Suddenly comes the dark, with hardly a pause in its coming,
Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and the lamplight;
Yet how grand is the winter! How spotless the snow is, and perfect!'

Thus spake Elizabeth Haddon at night-fall to Hannah the housemaid,
As in the farm-house kitchen, that served for kitchen and parlor,
By the window she sat with her work, and looked on the landscape
White as the great white sheet that Peter saw in his vision,
By the four corners let down and descending out of the heavens.
Covered with snow were the forests of pine, and the fields and the
meadows.

Nothing was dark but the sky, and the distant Delaware flowing
Down from its native hills, a peaceful and bountiful river.

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Then with a smile on her lips made answer Hannah the housemaid: 'Beautiful winter! yea, the winter is beautiful, surely,

If one could only walk like a fly with one's feet on the ceiling.
But the great Delaware River is not like the Thames, as we saw it

Out of our upper windows in Rotherhithe Street in the Borough,
Crowded with masts and sails of vessels coming and going;

Here there is nothing but pines, with patches of snow on their branches.

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There is snow in the air, and see! it is falling already;
All the roads will be blocked, and I pity Joseph to-morrow,
Breaking his way through the drifts, with his sled and oxen; and then,
too,

How in all the world shall we get to Meeting on First-Day?'

But Elizabeth checked her, and answered, mildly reproving:
'Surely the Lord will provide; for unto the snow He sayeth,
Be thou on the earth, the Lord sayeth; He it is
Giveth snow like wool, like ashes scatters the hoar-frost.'
So she folded her work and laid it away in her basket.

Meanwhile Hannah the housemaid had closed and fastened the shutters,

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Spread the cloth, and lighted the lamp on the table, and placed there

Plates and cups from the dresser, the brown rye loaf, and the butter Fresh from the dairy, and then, protecting her hand with a holder, Took from the crane in the chimney the steaming and simmering kettle,

Poised it aloft in the air, and filled up the earthen teapot,

Made in Delft, and adorned with quaint and wonderful figures.

Then Elizabeth said, 'Lo! Joseph is long on his errand.
I have sent him away with a hamper of food and of clothing
For the poor in the village. A good lad and cheerful is Joseph;
In the right place is his heart, and his hand is ready and willing.'

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Thus in praise of her servant she spake, and Hannah the housemaid Laughed with her eyes, as she listened, but governed her tongue, and was silent,

While her mistress went on: 'The house is far from the village:
We should be lonely here, were it not for Friends that in passing
Sometimes tarry o'ernight, and make us glad by their coming.'

Thereupon answered Hannah the housemaid, the thrifty, the fru gal:

'Yea, they come and they tarry, as if thy house were a tavern; Open to all are its doors, and they come and go like the pigeons In and out of the holes of the pigeon-house over the hayloft, Cooing and smoothing their feathers and basking themselves in the sunshine.'

But in meekness of spirit, and calmly, Elizabeth answered: 'All I have is the Lord's, not mine to give or withhold it;

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I but distribute his gifts to the poor, and to those of his people
Who in journeyings often surrender their lives to his service.
His, not mine, are the gifts, and only so far can I make them
Mine, as in giving I add my heart to whatever is given.
Therefore my excellent father first built this house in the clearing;
Though he came not himself, I came; for the Lord was my guidance,
Leading me here for this service. We must not grudge, then, to others
Ever the cup of cold water, or crumbs that fall from our table.'

Thus rebuked, for a season was silent the penitent housemaid;
And Elizabeth said in tones even sweeter and softer:
'Dost thou remember, Hannah, the great May-Meeting in London,
When I was still a child, how we sat in the silent assembly,
Waiting upon the Lord in patient and passive submission?

No one spake, till at length a young man, a stranger, John Estaugh,
Moved by the Spirit, rose, as if he were John the Apostle,

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Speaking such words of power that they bowed our hearts, as a strong

wind

Bends the grass of the fields, or grain that is ripe for the sickle.
Thoughts of him to-day have been oft borne inward upon me,
Wherefore I do not know; but strong is the feeling within me
That once more I shall see a face I have never forgotten.'

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