"And the steed it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure, And the mane shall swim the wind: Till the shepherds look behind. He will say, 'O Love, thine eyes Build the shrine my soul abides in ; "Then, ay, then - he shall kneel low, With the red-roan steed anear him, Which shall seem to understand Till I answer, · Rise, and go !' For the world must love and fear him Whom I gift with heart and hand. "Then he will arise so pale, 1 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.' 66 Then he 'll ride among the hills Which the wicked bear along. "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! What wilt thou exchange for it?' "And the first time I will send A white rose-bud for a guerdon,And the second time a glove : But the third time — I may bend From my pride, and answer 'Pardon If he comes to take my love.' "Then the young foot-page will run Then my lover will ride faster, "He will kiss me on the mouth Then; and lead me as a lover, Through the crowds that praise his deeds; 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, Just to see, as she did daily, What more eggs were with the two. Pushing through the elm-tree copse Ellie went home sad and slow : If she found the lover ever, In the folds of her rusty mantle And I sprang to keep her from falling, With a touch as quick as thought. When, under the old poke bonnet, Framed in with the flaxen ringlets Mantle and cap together Dropped off at my very feet; Will it be like this, I wonder, Losing the rusty garments We wore in the years of Time, Instead of the shapes that hid us, Shall we get our child-hearts back again, I thought but my little daughter Slipped her dimpled hand in mine; "I was only playing," she whispered, "That I was ninety-nine." LITTLE SORROW. AMONG the thistles on the hill, And when it storms, where shall I be? And what will keep the rain from me? Woe's me!" said Little Sorrow. "But now the air is soft and sweet, The sunshine bright," said Pleasure; "Here is my pipe, if you will dance, I'll wake my merriest measure; Or, if you chose, we'll sit beneath The red rose tree, and twine a wreath; Come, come with me!" said Pleasure. "O, I want neither dance nor flowers, They 're not for me," said Sorrow, "When that black cloud is in the west, And it will storm to-morrow! And if it storm, what shall I do? I have no heart to play with you, Go! go!" said Little Sorrow. |