SONNET.

THE baby sings not on its mother's breast-
Nor nightingales who nestle side by side-
Nor I by thine but let us only part,
Then lips which should but kiss and so be still,
As having uttered all, must speak again.-

Oh stunted thoughts! Oh chill and fettered rhyme!
Yet my great bliss, though still entirely blest,

Losing its proper home can find no rest :

So-like a child who whiles away the time
With dance and carol till the eventide,

Watching its mother homeward through the glen ;
Or nightingale, who sitting far apart,

Tells to his listening mate within the nest

The wonder of his star-entranced heart

Till all the wakened woodlands laugh and thrill-
Forth all my being bubbles into song,

And rings aloft, not smooth, yet clear and strong.

17

BALLADS.

BALLADS.

A. D. 415.

OVER the camp-fires

Drank I with heroes,

Under the Donau bank

Warm in the snow-trench:

Sagamen heard I there,

Men of the Longbeards,
Cunning and ancient,
Honey-sweet-voiced.
Scaring the wolf cub,
Scaring the horn-owl out,
Shaking the snow-wreaths
Down from the pine-boughs,
Up to the star-roof

Rang out their song.

Singing how Winil men,

Over the ice-floes

Sledging from Scanland on

Came unto Scoring;

Singing of Gambara

Freya's beloved,

Mother of Ayo,

Mother of Ibor.

Singing of Wendel men,
Ambri and Assi;

How to the Winilfolk

Went they with war-words,

“Few are ye, strangers,

And many are we;

Pay us now toll and fee,

Clothyarn, and rings, and beeves;

Else at the raven's meal

Bide the sharp bill's doom."

Clutching the dwarf's work, then,

Clutching the bullock's shell,

Girding gray iron on,

Forth fared the Winils all,

Fared the Alruna's sons,

Ayo and Ibor.

Mad of heart stalked they:

Loud wept the women all,

Loud wept the Alruna wife 09

Sore was their need.

Out of the morning land,

Over the snow-drifts,

Beautiful Freya came,

Tripping to Scoring.