As fragrant essences from summer flowers,
Steal, on aërial pinions, to the sense,
So, on the viewless wing of rumour, sped
A word that set the aviary on flame.
“To-morrow comes the Prince,” it said, “to choose

A bird of gifts will grace the royal bower.”
O then began a fluttering and a fume—
A judging each of all! Pert airs and speech
Flew thick as moulted feathers. Little heads
Were tossed in lofty pride, or in disdain

Were turned aside. For each bird deemed his own
The merits that would charm. One only sang
To-day his daily song, nor joined the crowd
In envious exultation. To him spoke
Another of his kind. “Vain one, refrain

That everlasting pipe, fit for a cage
Behind some cotter’s lattice, where thy gray
And thickset form may shun the cultured eye.
A word of warning, too—hide from the Prince.”
“Dear brother,” cried the gray, “be not annoyed;

Who sees your elegance of form, and depth
Of perfect colour, ne’er will notice me.”
The morrow came,—the Prince. Each bird essayed
To please the royal taste, and many a meed
Of praise was won and given—this for his hue;—

That for his elegance;—another for [page 141]
His fascinating grace. Yet something lacked,
’Twas evident, and many an anxious glance
Betrayed the latent fear.
                        “Yon little bird
In quiet gray and green courts not my praise,

Yet should a singer be,” exclaimed the Prince,
As with a critical and searching eye
He scanned the small competitors for choice.
Obedient for his governor, the bird
Poured forth his song, oblivious of the crowd

Of vain and envious round him, in whose eyes
He stood contemptible. The Prince, entranced,
Broke forth at length: “Nor hue, nor elegance,
Nor fascination, can outvie the gift
Of genius. My choice is made.”
                        And to the great offence

Of one bright bird, at least, the humble gray
Became the royal treasure. [page 142]

INSINCERITY.

——

TIRED of the narrow limits her assigned,
Truth fled the earth; and men were fain to grope
In utter darkness. Blindly they blundered,
And were long distraught, till on the horizon rose
A luminosity, and in its midst

A form. They cried, “’Tis Truth! fair Truth returned!”
And though the light seemed dim, the form but faint
To that of other days, they worshipped it,
And all things went along much as at first.
Until, born none knew whence, a doubt arose;

Grew strong; and spake; and pondering, men began
To quest their goddess’ claim. Then, too, was set
A secret watch, a covert test for proof;
And one fine day there rose a clamour, such
As cheated mobs will make, when cunning puts

A veto on their claim.
For this mob found that, in her stolen guise
Of softer beams, they had adored a cheat;
A make-believe; a lie.
Immense their rage! One aim inspired them all—

To punish. But while they swayed and tossed
In wrathful argument on just desert,
Fair Truth indeed appeared, clad in her robes
Of glorious majesty. “Desist, my friends,”
She cried; “the executioner condign

Of Insincerity, and your avenger,
Is Time, my faithful henchman.” [page 143]

THE TWO TREES.

——

FROM THE FRENCH OF P. LE MAY.

——

Two trees, amid whose leafy shade
The warbling birds their vigils paid,
Stood neighbours—each as noble tree
In height and girth as one might see.
The one, sequestered in the vale,

All sheltered from the boisterous gale,
Had passed his days in soft repose;
The other from the cliff arose,
And bore the brunt of stormy wind
That lashed him oft in frenzy blind.

A day there happed when from the north
Aquilon drave his forces forth,
And hurled them headlong on the rock
Where, proudly poised to meet the shock,
Our bold tree stood. In gallant might,

He took the gage of proffered fight,
And though in every fibre wrung,
Kept every fibre still upstrung.

“Thou tremblest!” cried the sheltered tree,
“Thine own the folly! Come to me.

Here no wild tempest rocks our boughs—
Scarce may it bend our haughty brows—
Scarce may a breeze our branches kiss—
From every harm a shelter this.” [page 144]

No word replied the storm-tried tree,

But, wrestling for the mastery,
He bowed and straightened, writhed and shook,
And firmer of the rock he took
A tightening clutch with grip of steel,
Nor once the storm-fiend made him reel;

And when his weary foe passed by,
Still towered he proudly to the sky.

Then through the vale the wingèd blast
For the first time in fury passed,
As through ripe grain the sickles go,

Widespread he scattered fear and woe;
Prone fell the tree—so safe before—
’Mid ruin dire, to rise no more.

He cannot fall who knows to fight
With stern adversity aright.

But soon is laid the victim low,
That knows not how to ward a blow. [page 145]

FABLE AND TRUTH.

——

SIMPLY attired in Nature’s strictest garb,
Fair Truth emerged from out her sheltering well;
But Time so many of her charms had touched
That age and youth before her presence fled:
And no asylum showed an open door

Of welcome to the waif of shivering limb.
Sudden upon her sight a vision breaks—
Gay Fable richly robed, and pranked withal
In plumes and jewels—mostly false ’tis true,
But bright enough. “Ah, is it you, my friend?

How do?” quo’ she, “but why upon the road,
“And all alone?”
                        “You see I freeze,” says Truth,
“And yet of those who pass I but implore
A simple shelter, but I frighten them.
Alas! I see an aged woman gains

But small consideration!”
                        “Younger than I,”
Saith Fable, “are you? Yet I may aver,
Without conceit, that everywhere
I am received with joy. But Mistress Truth,
Why did you brave the light in such scant robe?

’Twas most ill-judged. Come, let’s arrange for both,
Since the same end is aim for me as you;
Get ’neath my cloak, and we’ll together walk.
Thus, for your sake, I shall not by the wise
Be buffeted; and for my sake, you shall

Be well received among the simpler sort.
Thus every one his proper taste may suit,
And by these means each shall her end attain,
Thanks to your sense, and my amusing speech.
And you will see, my sister, everywhere

We shall be well received, in company.”—Florian. [page 146]

THE CALIPH.

——

IN ancient days the Caliph Almamon
A palace built in Bagdad, fairer far
Than was the vaunted house of Solomon.
The portico a hundred columns graced
Of purest alabaster. Gold and blue

And jasper formed the rich mosaic floor.
Ceiled with the fragrant cedar, suites of rooms
Displayed a wealth of sculpture; treasures rare
In art and nature vied; fair flowers and gems,
Perfumes and scented myrtles; verdure soft

And piercing lustre; past the embroidered couch
The gushing fountains rolled on dancing wave,
And beauty reigned o’er all.
Near this abode, but just beyond the gate,
A simple cottage stood, old and dilapidate,

The home of a poor weaver. There, content
With little gain procured by labour long,
Without a debt and thus beyond a care,
The old man lived, forgotten perhaps, but free.
His days all peaceful softly wore away

And he nor envied was, nor envying.
As hath been told, his small and mean retreat,
Just masked the palace gates. The Grand Vizier
Would pull it down, without formality
Of law, or word of grace. More just his lord

Commands to buy it first. To hear is to obey;
They seek the weaver’s bearing bags of gold;
“These shalt thou have.”
                        “No; keep your lordly sum,
My workshop yields my needs,” responds the man,
“And for my house, I have no wish to sell;

Here was I born, and here my father died; [page 147]
And here would I die too. The Caliph may,
Should he so will, force me to leave the place
And pull my cottage down, but should he so
Each day would find me seated on the stone

The last that’s left, weeping my misery.
I know Almamon’s heart; ’twill pity me.”
This bold reply the Vizier’s choler raised;
He would the rascal punish, and at once
Pull down the sorry hut. Not so the Caliph:

“No; while it stands my glory lives,” saith he,
“My treasure shall be taxed to make it whole;
And of my reign it shall be monument;
For when my heirs shall this fair palace mark
They shall exclaim ‘How great was Almamon!’

And when  yon cottage ‘Almamon was just!’”
                                                                     —Florian. [page 148]

THE BLIND MAN AND THE PARALYTIC.

——

KINDLY let us help each other,
     Lighter will our burden lie,
For the good we do our brother
     Is a solace pure and high,—
So Confucius to his people,

     To his friends, the wise Chinese,
Oft affirmed, and to persuade them,
     Told them stories such as these:—

In an Asiatic city
     Dwelt two miserable men,—

Misery knows nor clime nor country,
     Haunts alike the dome or den—
Blind the one, the other palsied,
     Each so poor he prayed for death;
Yet he lived, his invocations

     Seeming naught but wasted breath.
On his wretched mattress lying,
     In the busy public square,
See the wasted paralytic
     Suffering more that none doth care.

Butt for everybody’s humour,
     Gropes the blind his devious way,
Guide, nor staff, nor helper has he,
     To supply the light’s lost ray;
E’en a poor dog’s willing service,

     Love, and guidance are denied;
Till one day his groping finds him
     By the paralytic’s side.
There he hears the sufferer’s moaning,
     And his very soul is moved.

He’s the truest sympathizer
     Who, like sorrow, erst has proved. [page 149]

“I have sorrows, thou hast others,
     Brother, let us join our woes,
And their rigours will be softened,”

     Thus the blind began propose.
“Ah, my friend, thou little knowest
     That a step I cannot take;
Thou art blind; what should we gain then
     Of two burdens one to make?”

“Why, now, brother, see how lucky,
     ’Twixt us both is all we lack:
Thou hast eyes, be thou the guide then,
     Thee I’ll carry on my back;
Thus without unfriendly question

     As to which bears heaviest load,
I will walk for thee, and thou, friend,
     Choose for me the smoothest road.”
                                                            —Florian. [page 150]

DEATH.

——

ON a set day, fell Death, queen of the world,—
In hell assembled all her fearful court
That ’mongst them she might choose a minister
Would render her estate more flourishing.
As candidates for the dread office came,

With measured strides, from Tartarus’ lowest depth,
Fever, and Gout, and War—a trio
To whose gifts all earth and hell bare witness—
The queen reception gave them.
                        Then came Plague,
And none his claims and merit might deny.

Still, when a doctor paid his visit, too,
Opinion wavered which would win the day.
Nor could Queen Death herself at once decide.
But when the Vices came her choice fell quick—
She chose Excess. —Florian. [page 151]

THE HOUSE OF CARDS.

——

How softly glide Philemon’s happy days
Within the cot where once his father dwelt
Peaceful as he!
Here with his gentle wife and sturdy boys,
In rural quietude, he tills his farm;

Gathers his harvest, or his garden tends.
Here sweet domestic joys together shared
Crown every evening, whether ’neath the trees
The smiling summer draws the table forth:
Or round the cosy hearth the winter cold

With crackling faggot blazing makes their cheer.
Here do the careful parents ever give
Counsels of virtuous knowledge to their sons:
The father with a story points his speech,
The mother with a kiss.

Of different tastes, the boys: the elder one,
Grave, studious, reads and thinks the livelong day;
The younger, sprightly, gay, and graceful, too,
Leaps, laughs incessant, and in games delights.
One evening, as their wont, at father’s side,

And near a table where their mother sewed,
The elder Rollin read. The younger played:
Small care had he for Rome’s ambitious deeds,
Or Parthian prowess; his whole mind was set
To build a house of cards, his wit sharp-drawn

To fit the corners neatly. He, nor speaks,
Nor scarce may breathe, so great his anxious care.
But suddenly the reader’s voice is heard
Self-interrupting: “Papa, pray tell me why
Some warriors are called Conquerors, and some

The Founders, of an Empire? What doth make
The points of difference in the simple terms?” [page 152]
In careful thought the father sought reply:
When, radiant with delight, his younger son,
After so much endeavour, having placed

His second stage, cries out, “Tis done!” But he,
The elder, harshly chides his brother’s glee,
Strikes the frail tenement, and so destroys
The fruits of patient toil. The younger weeps:
And then the father thus: “Oh, my dear son,

Thy brother is the Founder of a realm,
Thou the fell Conqueror.” —Florian. [page 153]

THE BULLFINCH AND THE RAVEN.

——

IN separate cages hung, the same kind roof
Sheltered a bullfinch and a raven bold,
The one with song mellifluous charmed the house;
The other’s cries incessant wearied all.
With loud hoarse voice he screamed for bread and meat

And cheese; the which they quickly brought, in hope
To stop thereby his brawling tongue.
                                    The finch
Did nought but sing, and never bawled and begged;
So they forgot him. Oft the pretty bird
Nor food nor water had, and they who praised

His song the loudest took the smallest care
To fill his fount. And yet they loved him well,
But thought not on his needs.
One day they found him dead within his cage,
“Ah, horror! and he sang so well!” they cry,

“What can it be he died of? ’Tis, indeed
A dreadful pity.”
The raven still screamed on, and nothing lacked.
                                                                     —Florian. [page 154]

THE WASP AND THE BEE.

——

WITHIN the chalice of a flower
A bee “improved the shining hour,”
Whom, when she saw, a wasp draw near,
And sought to gain the fair one’s ear,
With tender praise: “Oh, sister mine—

(For love and trust that name entwine)”
But ill it pleased the haughty bee,
Who answered proudly: “Sisters!—we?
Since when, I pray you, dates the tie?”
With angry warmth the wasp’s reply

Came fuming forth—“Life-long, indeed.
In semblant points all eyes may read
The fact. Observe me if you please.
Your wings, are they not such as these?
Mine is your figure, mine your waist,

And if you used with proper taste
Your sting, as I do, we agree
In that.”
            “’Tis true,” replies the bee,
“Each bears a weapon; in its use
The difference lies. For fierce abuse,

And insolence your dart doth serve.
Mine give the chastisement that these deserve,
And while you irritate your dearest friend;
I take good heed myself, but to defend.”
                                                            —Florian. [page 155]