From their stakes; while to the westward hung the sun so huge and red;

Tinged with flame the white-winged sea-birds, drifting idly o'er her head.

"Sooth to say, thy words are canny," said the good-wife with a sigh,

Glancing seaward to conceal the merry twinkle in her

66

eye:

Yet 'tis right young maids should marry; childless

age brings no maid boon;

Beauty lost, in vain they hanker, fretting idly for the

moon.

Therefore I will tell thee, daughter, what 'tis wise for thee to do;

One man, e'en if e'er so canny, never knows as much as

two.

We will call the girls together from the valley's every

part,

They shall choose among thy wooers him who is to own thy heart."

"Oh! what sport!" cried pretty Thora; "thanks to thee, my mother dear!

Oh! how gayly we shall chatter when no prying men

are near!

Loved and cherished shall my name be by the maidens round about;

I shall cause no cheek to wither and no pretty lips to pout."

II.

While the mountain tops were rosy and with dew the grass was wet,

Thora hastened to the boat-house to repair the fishing

net;

Skipping, jumping, wild and wanton, danced she o'er

Tossing to the sportive echoes many a bright and careless lay.

When the lads who boats were bailing heard the pretty Thora sing,

Joining hands they ran to meet her, throwing round the maid a ring.

"Now!" they cried with boist'rous laughter; "now we've surely caught thee, Miss;

Thou canst only buy thy freedom if thou give us each a kiss."

Come and take it, lads," cried Thora; "here's my mouth and here my hand.

Kiss, indeed! Why don't you take it? Modest, sooth, is your demand."

And when one stepped briskly forward, half emboldened by her speech,

With a slap she sent him spinning, like a top, upon the beach.

With a peal of mocking laughter off she bounded like

a hind,

And her loosened yellow tresses fluttered gayly in the

wind,

While the lad, abashed, bewildered, strolled away with

burning ears

To compose his wounded feelings and escape his com rades' jeers.

Now a gallant lad was Halvor, who in storm and billows'

roar

Oft had steered his skiff securely close beneath the rocky

shore,

And the thought within him rankled with a dull and [smite again. That a little maid had smote him whom he could not

gnawing pain,

And the dimpled face of Thora haunted him by night and day:

He was sure that he must love her, for his wrath had flown away;

Yet he could have sworn a little had not swearing been

a sin

[nor kin Why should he thus love a maiden who was neither kith

Strange to say, the little Thora, when her anger was at

rest,

Found some queer, soft thoughts awaking dimly in her troubled breast:

"Had she not too harshly punished an offense not gravely meant?

Could she hope for God's forgiveness who could rudely thus resent?"

Thus with doubt and passion wrestling, and by vague regrets distraught,

Shyly nursing tender yearnings which she dared not frame in thought,

On the strand alone she wandered, where in whispered

pulses beat,

Drunk with sleep, the mighty ocean, darkly heaving at her feet.

There it seemed-what odd illusion!-that her footsteps. on the sand

Broke into a double rhythm, sharply echoing o'er the

strand,

And she felt a shadowy presence in the moonlight, gaunt

and dread,

[her head. Moving stealthily behind her, and she dared not turn

Swiftly, wildly on she hurried, while cloud, and moon, and star,

With a dumb phantasmal ardor, sped along th' horizon's

bar;

Till exhausted, panting, sobbing, and bewildered with

alarm,

Scarce she fell ere she was lifted lightly on her lover's

arm.

"Thora," said he, stooping o'er her," pardon if I caused thee fright;

But my heart was full to bursting. Speak I must, and speak to-night.

silence, Thora, is so heavy, like a load upon the breast; Sooth, I think thou hast bewitched me; I can find no peace nor rest."

Thora half-way stayed her weeping, and the moon which peeped askance

From behind her cloud, revealed the tearful brightness of her glance.

"Oh! thou wouldst not love me," sobbed she, "if thou knew'st how bad I am

Once I hung-a great live lobster-on the tail of Hans-our ram!"

Scarce I know how he consoled her; but ere long her tears were dried,

And 'twas rumored in the parish-though again it was denied―

That while all the moon was hidden-all except the golden tips

There was heard a sound mysterious, as of softly meeting lips.

For the good-wife, mildly grumbling at the idle spinning-wheel,

Rose at length and trudged sedately, anxious for the daughter's weal,

Over sand, and stone, and tangle, where the frightened plovers flew

Screaming seaward, and majestic skyward soared the silent mew.

And 'twas she who with amazement heard the soft, mysterious sound;

And 'tis said she shook and tottered, almost fainting on the ground.

Scarce her reason she recovered, if the wild reports be

true,

For she saw a queer-shaped figure, which proved later to be two.