"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,

Till he kneeleth at my knee :

'I am a duke's eldest son ! Thousand serfs do call me master, But, O Love, I love but thee!'

"He will kiss me on the mouth Then; and lead me as a lover,

Through the crowds that praise his deeds; 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,

Just to see, as she did daily,

What more eggs were with the two.

Pushing through the elm-tree copse Winding by the stream, light-hearted, Where the ozier pathway leads

Past the boughs she stoops and stops! Lo the wild swan had deserted

And a rat had gnawed the reeds.

Ellie went home sad and slow : If she found the lover ever,

With his red-roan steed of steeds, Sooth, I know not ! but I know She could never show him- never, That swan's nest among the reeds

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

A MASQUERADE.

A LITTLE old woman before me
Went slowly down the street;
Walking as if aweary

Were her feeble, tottering feet.

From under her old poke bonnet
I caught a gleam of snow,
And her waving cap string floated,
Like a pennon, to and fro.

In the folds of her rusty mantle
Sudden her footstep caught,

And I sprang to keep her from falling,

With a touch as quick as thought.

When, under the old poke bonnet,
I saw a winsome face,

Framed in with the flaxen ringlets
Of my wee daughter Grace.

Mantle and cap together

Dropped off at my very feet;
And there stood the little fairy,
Beautiful, blushing, sweet!

Will it be like this, I wonder,
When at last we come to stand

On the golden, ringing pavement
Of the blessed, blessed land?

Losing the rusty garments

We wore in the years of Time,
Will our better selves spring backward,
Serene in a youth sublime?

Instead of the shapes that hid us,
And made us old and gray,

Shall we get our child-hearts back again,
With a brightness that will stay?

I thought but my little daughter
Slipped her dimpled hand in mine;
"I was only playing," she whispered,
That I was ninety-nine."

66

LITTLE SORROW.

AMONG the thistles on the hill,
In tears, sat Little Sorrow;
"I see a black cloud in the west,

'T will bring a storm to-morrow.

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.

But lo! when came the morrow's morn,
The clouds were all blown over;
The lark sprang singing from his nest
Among the dewy clover;

And Pleasure called, "Come out and dance!
To-day you mourn no evil chance ;

The clouds have all blown over!"

"And if they have, alas! alas!

Poor comfort that!" said Sorrow; "For if to-day we miss the storm, 'T will surely come to-morrow, And be the fiercer for delay! I am too sore at heart to play;

Woe's me!" said Little Sorrow.