'Out, wizard!' shrieked the gardener, 6 Such rose I will not see; Away with thy enchantments From me!' Went Goldner to the forest, And wandered day and night, Whimpling, translucent green, Over the waters lay A bright, quivering way Of sunsheen. And gallant ships passed sailing, With painted pennants trailing, And white sails flew Over the blue, Blue deep. Along the sandy shore Foam wreaths, with muffled roar, Did creep. Into a boat, unheeding, Walked Goldner, with his eyes Fixed in a sort of rapture On the skies. The fisher cast the mooring, The boat stood out to sea; 'Now,' said the man, 'be servant To me!' He flung the hook till evening, And then he Goldner bade : 'Try, lad, if thou art handy At the trade.' Then cast the hook young Goldner, Down through the sea it flew. He pulled, a weight was on it, A jewelled crown updrew. 'All hail!' the fisher shouted, 'For he our king should be Who the diadem should bring up From purple deeps of sea.' From every ship there echoed The cry, 'God save the king!' Church bells began to tinkle, And happy folk to sing. And cannons puffed and thundered, And banners fluttered high, And rockets started, powdering With fire the evening sky. Upon the prow stood Goldner, His gold locks in the air Flowing. The west was all ablaze, Upon the sun, his gaze Rested silent and in amaze, And his face glowing. E THE LITTLE SCHOLAR. (4) [CÆSARIUS HEISTERBACHENSIS, lib. ii. c. 10.] THERE went a little scholar With slow and lagging feet Towards the great church portal That opened on the street. Without, the sun was shining; He caught a waft of incense, He drew the crimson curtain, To where the sunbeam lightened The form of Him who died, Between Saint John and Mary On roodloft crucified. The curtain fell behind him, He stood a little while, Then signed him with the water, And rambled down the aisle, Behind a great brown pillar The scholar took his stand, And trifled with the ribbon Of the satchel in his hand. His little breast was beating, His blue eyes brimming o'er; Like April rains, his tears Fell spangling on the floor. An aged priest was passing; 'Why, little one, this weeping, 'My father, O my father! I've sinned,' said the child; 'And have no rest of conscience Till I am reconciled. |