And the willow-tree is blown

To and fro, to and fro,

Till it seems like some old crone
Standing out there all alone,
With her woe,
Wringing, as she stands,
Her gaunt and palsied hands!
While Mabel, timid Mabel,
With face against the pane,
Looks out across the night
And sees the Beacon Light
A-trembling in the rain.

Set the table, maiden Mabel,
And make the cabin warm ;
Your little fisher-lover

Is out there in the storm,
And your father-you are weeping!
O Mabel, timid Mabel,
Go, spread the supper-table,

And set the tea a-steeping.
Your lover's heart is brave,

His boat is staunch and tight:

And your father knows the perilous reef
That makes the water white.
-But Mabel, darling Mabel,

With face against the pane,
Looks out across the night
At the Beacon in the rain.

The heavens are veined with fire!
And the thunder, how it rolls!

In the lullings of the storm

The solemn church-bell tolls
For lost souls!

But no sexton sounds the knell
In that belfry old and high;
Unseen fingers sway the bell
As the wind goes tearing by!
How it tolls for the souls

Of the sailors on the sea!
God pity them, God pity them,
Wherever they may be!
God pity wives and sweethearts
Who wait and wait in vain!
And pity little Mabel,

With face against the pane.

A boom!-the Light-house gun! (How its echo rolls and rolls!) 'Tis to warn the home-bound ships Off the shoals!

See! a rocket cleaves the sky

From the Fort,-a shaft of light! See! it fades, and, fading, leaves Golden furrows on the night! What made Mabel's cheek so pale? What made Mabel's lips so white? Did she see the helpless sail That, tossing here and there, Like a feather in the air, Went down and out of sight? Down, down, and out of sight! Oh, watch no more, no more,

With face against the pane;
You cannot see the men that drown
By the Beacon in the rain!

From a shoal of richest rubies

Breaks the morning clear and cold;
And the angel on the village spire,
Frost-touched, is bright as gold.
Four ancient fishermen,

In the pleasant autumn air,
Come toiling up the sands,
With something in their hands,-
Two bodies stark and white,
Ah, so ghastly in the light,
With sea-weed in their hair!

O ancient fishermen,

Go up to yonder cot!
You'll find a little child,

With face against the pane,
Who looks toward the beach,
And, looking, sees it not.
She will never watch again!
Never watch and weep at night!
For those pretty, saintly eyes
Look beyond the stormy skies,
And they see the Beacon Light.
T. B. Aldrich.

THE GAME KNUT PLAYED.

A PAGE who seemed of low degree,
And bore the name of Knut, was he;

The high-born Princess Hilga she.

And that the youth had served her long,
Being quick at errands, skilled in song,
To jest with him she thought no wrong.

And so it chanced one summer day,
At chess, to while the time away,
The page and princess sat at play.

At length she said, "To play for naught
Is only sport to labor brought,

So let a wager guerdon thought."

He answered, "Lady, naught have I
Whose worth might tempt a princess high
Her uttermost of skill to try."

"And yet this ruby ring," she said,

"I'll risk against the bonnet red

With snow-white plume that crowns thy head.

"And should I win, do not forget, Or should I lose, whichever yet, I'll take my due, or pay my debt.”

And so they played, as sank the sun;
But when the game they played was done,
The page's cap the princess won.

"My diamond necklace," then she cried, "I'll match against thy greatest pride, The brand held pendent at thy side."

"Not so," he said-"that tempered glaive, Borne oft by noble hands and brave, To me my dying father gave.

"Fit only for a true man's touch,
I hold it dear and prize it much-
No diamond necklace mates with such.

"But, though my father's ghost be wroth,
I'll risk the weapon, nothing loth,
Against thy love and virgin troth."

Reddened her cheeks at this in ire,
This daughter of a royal sire,

And flashed those eyes of hers like fire.

"Thy words, bold youth, shall work thee ill :

Thou canst not win against my skill,

But I can punish at my will.

"Begin the game; that hilt so fine Shall nevermore kiss hand of thine, Nor thou again be page of mine !"

Answered the page: "Do not forget,
Or win or lose, whichever yet,
I'll take my due, or pay my debt.

"And let this truth the end record:
I risk to-day my father's sword
To be no more thy page, but lord."