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Then the sombre village crier,
Ringing loud his brazen bell,

Wandered down the street proclaiming
There was an estray to sell.

And the curious country people, Rich and poor, and young and old,

Came in haste to see this wondrous Winged steed, with mane of gold.

Thus the day passed, and the evening Fell with vapours cold and dim ;

But it brought no foo! nor shelter, Brought no straw nor stall, for him.

Patiently, and still expectant,
Looked he through the wooden bars,

Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape,
Saw the tranquil, patient stars;

Till at length the bell at midnight
Sounded from its dark abode,

And, from out a neighbouring farm-yard
Loud the cock Alectryon crowed.

Then, with nostrils wide distended,
Breaking from his iron chain,

And unfolding far his pinions,
To those stars he soared again.

On the morrow, when the village
Woke to all its toil and care,

Lo! the strange steed had departed,
And they knew not when nor where.

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 DEATH. .

I HEARD a voice that cried,
“Balder the Beautiful
Is dead, is dead!”

- And through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry Of Sunward sailing cranes.

I saw the pallid corpse
Of the dead sun s
Borne through the Northern sky.
Blasts from Niffelheim
Lifted the sheeted mists
Around him as he passed.

And the voice for ever cricd,
** Balder the Beautiful
Is dead, is dead!"
And died away
Through the dreary night,
In accents of despair.

Balder the Beautiful
God of the summer sun,
Fairest of all the Gods:
Light from his forehead beamed.
Runes were upon his tongue,
As on the warrior's sword.

All things in earth and air
Bound were by magic spell
Never to do him harm :
Even the plants and stones'
All save the mistletoe,
The sacred mistletoe:

Hoeder, the blind old God,
Whose feet are shod with silence,
Pierced through that gentle breast
With his sharp spear, by fraud
Made of the mistletoe,
The accursed mistletoe

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O PRECIOUs, evenings! all too swiftly speed :
§§§ us heirs to all the amplest heritages
Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages,
And giving tongues unto the silent dead!
How *a hearts glowed and trembled as she
read,
Interpreting by tones the wondrous pages
Of the great poet who foreruns the ages,
Anticipating all that shall be said!
O happy reader' having for thy text
The *ś, book, whose Sybilline leaves have
Caught
The rarest essence of all human thought !
O happy Poet! by no critic vext:
How must thy listening spirit now rejoice
To be interprèted by such a voice!

THE SINGERS.

God sent his singers upon earth,
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.

The first, a youth, with soul of fire,
Held in his hand a golden lyre;
Through groves he wandered, and by streams,
Playing the music of our dreams.

The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,
And stirred with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.

A o old man, the third and last, Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, While the majestic organ rolled Contrition from its mouths of gold,

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When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom,
A rustic bridal, ah! how sweet it is!
To sounds of joyous melodies,
That touch with tenderness the trembling
bosom,
A band of maidens
Gayly frolicking,
A band of youngsters
Wildly rollicking:
Kissing,
Caressing,
With fingers pressing,
Till in the veriest
Madness of mirth, as they dance,
They retreat and advance,
Trying whose laugh shall be loudest and
merriest;
While the bride, with roguish eyes.
Sporting with them, now escapes and crics:
“Those who catch me -
Married veril
This year shall be '"
And all pursue with eager haste,
And all attain what they pursue.
And touch her §. apron fresh and new,
And the linen kirtle round her waist.

Meanwhile, whence comes it that among These youthful maidens fresh and fair, So joyous, with such laughing air. Baptiste stands sighing, with silent tongue? And yet the bride is fair and young : Is it Saint Joseph would say to us all, That love, o'erhasty precedeth a fall 2 Oh, no l for a maiden frail, I trow, Never bore so lofty a brow! What lovers! they give not a single caress To see them so careless and cold to-day, These are grand people, one would say. What ails paptute: what grief doth him oppress It is, that half-way up the hill, In yon cottage, by those walls Stand the cart-house and the stalls, I)welleth the blind orphan still, Daughter of a veteran old: And you must know, one year ago, That Margaret, thed.o. ; and tender, Was the Village pride and splendour, And Baptiste her lover bold.

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Love, the deceiver, then ensnared ;
For them the altar was prepared;
But, alas! the summer's blight,
The dread disease that none can stay,
The pestilence that walks by night,
Took the young bride's sight away.

All at the father's stern command was changed ; Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged.

Wearied at home, ere long the lover fled;
Returned but three short days ago,
The golden chain they round him throw,
He is enticed, and onward led
To marry Angela, and yet
Is thinking ever of Margaret.

Then suddenly a maiden cried, “Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate : Here comes the cripple Jane!” And by a fountain's side A woman, bent and grey with years, Under the mulberry-trée appears, And all towards her run, as fleet As had they wings upon their feet, It is that Jane, the cripple Jane, Is a soothsayer, wary and kind. She telleth fortunes, and none complain, She promises one a village swain, Another a happy wedding-day, And the bride a lovely boy straightway. All comes to pass as she fivers; She never deceives, she never errs.

But for this once the village seer Wears a countenance severe, And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white Her two eyes flash like cannons bright Aimed at the bridegroom in waistcoat blue, Who like a statue stands in view: Changing colour, as well he might, When the beldame wrinkled and gray Takes the §§§ bride by the hand, And, with the tip of her reedy wand Making the sign of the cross doth say:— “Thoughtless Angela, beware! Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom, Thou diggest for thyself a tomb!” And she was silent: and the maidens fair Saw from each eye escape a swollen tear; But on a little streamlet silver-clear, What are two drops of turbid rain? Saddened a moment, the bridal train Resumed the dance and song again: The bridegroom only was pale with fear:— And down green alleys Of verdurous valleys, With merry sallies, They sang the refrain:–

“the is: should blossom, the roads should
Ooln.
So fair a bride shall leave her home .
Should blossom and bloom with garlands gray,
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!”

II. And by suffering worn and weary, But beautiful as some fair angel yet, Thus lamented Margaret, In her cottage lone and dreary:—

“He has arrived : arrived at last : Yet Jane has named him not these three days past: Arrived : yet keeps aloof so far: And knows that of my night he is the star! Knows that long months I wait alone, benighted, And count the moments since he went away! Come! keep the promise of that happier day, That I o keep the faith to thee 1 plighted! What joy have I without thee? what delight? Grief wastes my life, and makes it misery; Day for the others ever, but for me

For ever night: for ever might! When he is gone 'tis dark! my soul is sad : I suffer! O my God! come, make me glad. When he is near, no thoughts of day intrude: Day has blue heavens, but Baptiste has blue

cyes:

Within them shines for me a heaven of love,
A heaven all happiness, like that above,
No more of grief! no more of lassitude :
Earth I forget, and heaven, and all distresses,
When seated by my side my hand he presses;

But when alone, remember all!
Where is Baptiste § he hears not when I call .
A branch of ivy, dying on the ground,
I need some bough to twine around !
In pity come : be to my suffering kind!
True love, they say, in grief doth more abound!

What then–when one is blind?

“Who knows? perhaps I am forsaken : Ah! woe is me! then bear me to my grave : O God! what thoughts within Inc. waken : Away! he will return I do but rave! e will return : I need not fear ! He swore it by our Saviour dear: He could not come at his own will; Is weary, or perhaps is ill! Perhaps his heart, in this disguise, Prepares for me some sweet surprise ! But some one comes! Though blind my heart can see : And that deceives me not : 'tis he 'tis Inc.” And the door ajar is set, And poor, confiding Margaret Rises, with outstretch'd arms, but sightless cyes; 'Tis only Paul, her brother, who thus cries:

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“Hark! the joyous airs are ringing." Sister, dost thou hear them singing? How merrily they laugh and jest! Would we were bidden with the rest: I would don my hose and homespun gray, And my doublèt of linen striped and gay : Perhaps they will come; for o do not wed Till to-morrow at seven o'clock. it is said:” “I know it!” answered Margaret; Whom the vision, with aspect black as jet, Mastered again; and its hand of ice Held her heart crushed, as in a vice' “Paul, be not sad: 'Tis a holiday: To-morrow put on thy doublet gay! But leave me now for a while alone.” Away, with a | and a jump, went Paul, And, as he whistled along the hall, Entered Jane, the crippled crone.

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