Within that province far away

Went plodding home a weary boor: A streak of light before him lay,

Fall'n through a half-shut stable door Across his path. He pass'dfor nought Told what was going on within; How keen the stars! his only thought; The air how calm and cold and thin, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago!

O strange indifference!-low and high Drows'd over common joys and cares : The earth was still- but knew not why; The world was listening — unawares. How calm a moment may precede

One that shall thrill the world for ever!

To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was link'd, no more to

ABOUT Glenkindie and his man
A false ballant hath long been writ;
Some bootless loon had written it,

Upon a bootless plan :
But I have found the true at last,
And here it is, so hold it fast!
'T was made by a kind damosel
Who lov'd him and his man right well.

Glenkindie, best of harpers, came
Unbidden to our town;
And he was sad, and sad to see,

For love had worn him down.

It was love, as all men know,

The love that brought him down,

The hopeless love for the King's daughter,

The dove that heir'd a crown.

Now he wore not that collar of gold,
His dress was forest green;

His wondrous fair and rich mantel
Had lost its silvery sheen.

But still by his side walk'd Rafe, his boy,
In goodly cramoisie :

Of all the boys that ever I saw
The goodliest boy was he.

Glenkindie came within the hall;
We set him on the dais,

And gave him bread, and gave him wine,
The best in all the place.

We set for him the guests' high chair,
And spread the naperie :

Our Dame herself would serve for him,
And I for Rafe, perdie!

But down he sat on a low low stool,
And thrust his long legs out,
And lean'd his back to the high chair,
And turn'd his harp about.

He turn'd it round, he strok'd the strings,
He touch'd each tirling-pin,
He put his mouth to the sounding-board
And breath'd his breath therein.

And Rafe sat over against his face, And look'd at him wistfullie :

I almost grat ere he began,

They were so sad to see.

The very first stroke he strack that day,
We all came crowding near;
And the second stroke he strack that day,
We all were smit with fear.

The third stroke that he strack that day, Full fain we were to cry;

The fourth stroke that he strack that day, We thought that we would die.

No tongue can tell how sweet it was,
How far, and yet how near:
We saw the saints in Paradise,

And bairnies on their bier.

And our sweet Dame saw her good lord

She told me privilie:

She saw him as she saw him last,
On his ship upon the sea.

Anon he laid his little harp by,
He shut his wondrous eyes;

A black-seal'd letter that some over-work'd Late messenger leaves. Each one looks round and scans,

But lifts it not, and I at last am told To read it. "Died here at his house this day"

Some well-known name not needful here to print,

Follows at length. Soon all return again To their first stillness, but the old man coughs,

And cries, "Ah, he was always like the grave,

And still he was but young!" while those who stand

On life's green threshold smile within themselves,

Thinking how very old he was to them, And what long years, what memorable deeds,

THE NORNS WATERING

YGGDRASILL

(FOR A PICTURE)

WITHIN the unchanging twilight Of the high land of the gods, Between the murmuring fountain

And the Ash-tree, tree of trees, The Norns, the terrible maidens, For evermore come and go.

Yggdrasill the populous Ash-tree,

Whose leaves embroider heaven, Fills all the gray air with music

To Gods and to men sweet sounds, But speech to the fine-ear'd maidens Who evermore come and go.

That way to their doomstead thrones
The Aesir ride each day,
And every one bends to the saddle

As they pass beneath the shade ; Even Odin, the strong All-father, Bends to the beautiful maidens

Who cease not to come and go.

The tempest crosses the high boughs,
The great snakes heave below,
The wolf, the boar, and antler'd harts
Delve at the life-giving roots,
But all of them fear the wise maidens,
The wise-hearted water-bearers

Who evermore come and go.

And men far away, in the night-hours

To the north-wind listening, hear;
They hear the howl of the were-wolf,
And know he hath felt the sting
Of the eyes of the potent maidens
Who sleeplessly come and go.

They hear on the wings of the north-wind
A sound as of three that sing;

And the skald, in the blae mist wandering
High on the midland fell,

Heard the very words of the o'ersong
Of the Norns who come and go.

But alas for the ears of mortals

Chance-hearing that fate-laden song! The bones of the skald lie there still : For the speech of the leaves of the Tree Is the song of the three Queen-maidens Who evermore come and go.