Now she holds them nakedly In her hands, all sleek and dripping, Little Ellie sits alone, And the smile she softly uses Fills the silence like a speech, While she thinks what shall be done, And the sweetest pleasure chooses For her future within reach. Little Ellie in her smile Chooses, "I will have a lover, Riding on a steed of steeds. He shall love me without guile, And to him I will discover The swan's nest among the reeds. "And the steed shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be noble, With an eye that takes the breath. And the lute he plays upon As his sword strikes men to death. "And the steed it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure; And the mane shall swim the wind; And the hoofs along the sod onward, and koon measure, "But my lover will not prize He will say, 'O Love, thine eyes "Then, ay, then he shall kneel low, For the world must love and fear him "Then he will arise so pale, I shall feel my own lips tremble With a yes I must not say : Nathless maiden-brave, Farewell,' I will utter, and dissemble 'Light to-morrow with to-day!' "Then he'll ride among the hills "Three times shall a young foot-page Swim the stream, and climb the mountain, And kneel down beside my feet: 'Lo! my master sends this gage, Lady, for thy pity's counting. "And the first time I will send But the third time I may bend From my pride, and answer,- Pardon, "Then the young foot-page will run ; 'I am a duke's eldest son, Thousand serfs do call me master, "He will kiss me on the mouth Through the crowds that praise his And, when soul-tied by one troth, Unto him I will discover That swan's nest among the reeds." Little Ellie, with her smile Not yet ended, rose up gayly, Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe, And went homeward, round a mile, What more eggs were with the two. 985267A Pushing through the elm-tree copse, Ellie went home sad and slow. With his red-roan steed of steeds, A MESSAGE. Ir was Spring in the great city-every gaunt and withered tree Felt the shaping and the stir at heart of leafy prophecy; All the wide-spread umber branches took a tender tint of green, And the chattering brown-backed sparrow lost his pert, pugnacious mien In a dream of mate and nestlings shaded by a verdant screen. It was Spring-the grim ailanthus, with its snaky arms awry, Held out meagre tufts and bunches to the sun's persistency: Every little square of greensward, railed in from the dusty way, Sent its straggling forces upward, blade and spear in bright array, While the migratory organs Offenbach and Handel play. Through the heart of the vast Babel, where the tides of being pour, From his labor in the evening came the sturdy stevedore, Towering like a son of Anak, of a coarse, ungainly mould; Yet the hands begrimed and blackened in the hardened fingers hold A dandelion blossom, shining like a disk of gold. Wayside flower! with thy plucking did remembrance gently lay Her hand upon the tomb of youth and roll the stone away? Did he see a barefoot urchin wander singing up the lane, Carving from the pliant willow whistles to prolong the strain, While the browsing cows, slow driven, chime their bells in low refrain? Did his home rise up before him, and his child, all loving glee, Hands and arms in eager motion for the golden mystery? |