'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,
The third morn from the shadows
He walked into the light.
Before him lay an ocean

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,
The crown upon his hair,
Dripping with salt sea-water,

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;
Within, the air was dim ;

He caught a waft of incense,
A dying note of hymn.

He drew the crimson curtain,
And cast a look inside,

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;
He noticed him, and said,

'Why, little one, this weeping,
This heavy hanging head?'

'My father, O my father!

I've sinned,' said the child; 'And have no rest of conscience

Till I am reconciled.