His little fair page now follows alone,

For strength and for courage trying. The king look'd back at that faithful child; Wan was the face that answering smil'd; They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, Then he dropp'd and only the king rode in Where his rose of the isles lay dying!

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn;
(Silence!)

No answer came; but faint and forlorn
An echo return'd on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing.
The castle portal stood grimly wide;

None welcom'd the king from that weary ride;
For dead, in the light of the dawning day,
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay,
Who had yearn'd for his voice while dying!

The panting steed with a drooping crest,

Stood weary.

The king return'd from her chamber of rest,

The thick sobs choking in his breast;

And that dumb companion eying.

The tears gush'd forth which he strove to check; He bowed his head on his charger's neck;

"O steed

that every nerve didst strain,

Dear steed, our ride has been in vain

To the halls where my love lay dying!"

M

ROBERT OF LINCOLN

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

ERRILY swinging on brier and weed,

Near to the nest of his little dame,

Over the mountain-side or mead,

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Snug and safe is that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,

Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest.
Hear him call in his merry note:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Look, what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's quaker wife,

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,

Passing at home a patient life,

Broods in the grass while her husband sings:

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee.

Modest and shy as a nun is she;
One weak chirp is her only note.
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Never was I afraid of man;

Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can! Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight!

There, as the mother sits all day,

Robert is singing with all his might:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Nice good wife that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the little ones chip the shell,
Six wide mouths are open for food;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Nobody knows but my mate and I
Where our nest and our nestlings lie.
Chee, chee, chee.

Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

When you can pipe that merry old strain,
Robert of Lincoln, come back again.
Chee, chee, chee.

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

HOU blossom, bright with morning dew, And colour'd with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night;

Thou comest not when violets lean

O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen,
Or columbines, in purple dress'd,
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.

Thou waitest late, and com'st alone,
When woods are bare and birds are flown,
And frosts and shortening days portend
The aged Year is near his end.

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye
Look through its fringes to the sky,

Blue blue

-

as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.

I would that thus, when I shall see
The hour of death draw near to me,
Hope, blossoming within my heart,
May look to heaven as I depart.