With harp in hand on prancing horse the aged one did ride

His young companion hasting on right quickly at his side.

The old man said, "Prepared be, thy deepest songs to sing, Bring out thy fullest, richest notes in presence of the king;

And sportive, gay, and plaintive strains with all thy power

essay,

For we must move the stony heart of monarch proud to day."

The minstrels reach a pillared room where on a throne of

state,

In all the pomp of majesty the queen and monarch sate, And dreadly splendid was the king, as blood-red meteor's light,

The queen was mild and beautiful as silvery moon at night.

The aged minstrel touched the strings, so beautifully clear, That music's all enchanting strains fell on the ravished ear, Whilst now and then at intervals the old man's notes

among,

Was heard the youth's sweet heavenly voice with charm of spirit-song.

Of glorious spring-of touching love-and golden times and free

And nobleness of man they sang-and faith and purity, They sang of all that could to life a soothing charm impart,

And lofty themes and high bred thoughts that raise the human heart.

The courtiers' jibes and mockery, and recklessness were stayed,

And proud disdainful warriors to God due homage paid; The queen by pleasure overcome, and melancholy sweet, Takes lovely roses from her breast to cast at minstrels' feet.

M

A fearful tremor seized the king, with maddened voice he said,

Your charms they have seduced my wife-my people. you've mislead;

The youth's fair breast he struck with sword, that glittered at his side,

And thence instead of golden songs there gushed a bloodred tide.

The listening crowds are scattered all as by a rushing

storm,

The youth within his master's arms fell down a lifeless

form;

He dressed him in a mantle dark, and bound him on his

steed,

And then the living and the dead, from out the halls proceed.

Before the castle's lofty tower the old man made a stand, His harp of harps he forthwith took within his trembling

hand;

Against a marble pillar near-that harp he madly broke, While tower and walls resounded with the bitter words he spoke.

"Woe be to you proud halls! may ne'er the rich and swelling strain,

Of songs divine, and harp-strings light, enchant this spot

again,

Be only heard the steps of slaves, and cries of deadening

woe,

Until the spirits of revenge have laid your turrets low.

Woe to these fragrant garden-beds, so beautiful in May ! But look on this disfigured corpse, your bloom shall fade

away,

May ne'er a fount its cooling streams to cheer the flowers supply,

But may ye for all future years in desolation lie.

Woe to thee, wretched murderer-curst by the minstrel line,

May never pride of victory, or glory's wreath be thine,

Eternal darkness shroud thy name-be it oblivion's care, Like the last rattle of the throat so vanish it in air."

Thus from his heart the old man prayed, and Heaven heard his cry,

The towers are levelled, and the walls a heap of ruins lie,
And now one only pillar stands to tell of glory flown,
And broken it, perhaps, may fall, 'ere shades of night are
gone.

Instead of fragrant garden-beds is seen a desert drear, No tree is there for sheltering-no spring the sand to cheer,

By minstrel's curse has perish'd that proud king's boasted

name,

Unmentioned in holy songs-unheralded by fame.

W. B. Flower.

To A WATERFOWL.

WHITHER midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink

Of weedy lake or margin of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side.

There is a power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast
The desert and illimitable air-

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere: Yet, stoop not, weary, to the welcome land Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end; So shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given And shall not soon depart.

He who from zone to zone

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.

THERE is a reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,

He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

Bryant.

"Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again."

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;

It was for the Lord of Paradise

He bound them in his sheaves.

"My Lord hath need of these flowrets gay,"

The Reaper said, and smiled;

"Dear tokens of the earth are they,

Where He was once a child.

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They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,

And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear."

And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;

'T was an angel visited the green earth,

And took the flowers away.

LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.

Longfellow.

THE spearman heard the bugle sound,
And cheerly smil'd the morn;
And many a brach* and many a hound
Attend Llewellyn's horn.

And still he blew a louder blast,

66

And gave a louder cheer,

Come, Gelert, why art thou the last
Llewellyn's horn to hear?

Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam,
The flower of all his race?

So true, so brave-a lamb at home,
A lion in the chase!"

That day Llewellyn little loved
The chase of hart or hare;
And scant and small the booty proved,
For Gelert was not there.

Unpleas'd Llewellyn homeward hied,
When, near the portal-seat,
His truant Gelert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.

A species of dog which hunts by scent.