And I galloped and I galloped on my palfrey white as milk, My robe was of the sea-green woof, my serk was of the silk; My hair was golden-yellow, and it floated to my shoe;

My eyes were like two harebells bathed in little drops of dew; My palfrey, never stopping, made a music sweetly blent With the leaves of autumn dropping all around me as I went; And I heard the bells, grown fainter, far behind me peal and play, Fainter, fainter, fainter, till they seemed to die away;

And beside a silver runnel, on a little

heap of sand,

I saw the green gnome sitting, with his

cheek upon his hand.

Then he started up to see me, and he ran

with a cry and bound, And drew me from my palfrey white and set me on the ground.

O crimson, crimson were his locks, his face was green to see, But he cried, "O light-haired lassie, you are bound to marry me!" He clasped me round the middle small, he kissed me on the cheek,

He kissed me once, he kissed me twice, I could not stir or speak;

He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice; I called aloud upon the name of Him but when he kissed again, who died for men.

Sing, sing! ring, ring! pleasant Sabbath bells!

Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells!

Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells!

Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields and fells!

O faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and maids to pray,

So faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells far away;

And as I named the Blessed Name, as in our need we can,

The ugly green gnome became a tall and comely man:

His hands were white, his beard was gold, his eyes were black as sloes, His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were his hose;

A

pensive light from faeryland still lingered on his cheek,

His

voice was like the running brook when he began to speak: "O, you have cast away the charm my step-dame put on me, Seven years have I dwelt in Faëryland, O, I will mount thy palfrey white, and and you have set me free. ride to kirk with thee, And, by those dewy little eyes, we twain will wedded be!"

Back we galloped, never stopping, he before and I behind,

And the autumn leaves were dropping, red and yellow in the wind; And the sun was shining clearer, and my heart was high and proud, As nearer, nearer, nearer rang the kirkbells sweet and loud,

And

And

we saw the kirk, before us, as we trotted down the fells,

nearer, clearer, o'er us, rang the welcome of the bells.

Ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath

bells!

Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells!

bath bells!

Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields

and fells!

E. C. STEDMAN.

[U. S. A.]

THE DOORSTEP.

THE Conference-meeting through at last,
We boys around the vestry waited
To see the girls come tripping past,
Like snowbirds willing to be mated.

Not braver he that leaps the wall

By level musket-flashes litten, Than I, who stepped before them all, Who longed to see me get the mitten.

But no; she blushed, and took my arm! We let the old folks have the highway, And started toward the Maple Farm Along a kind of lover's by-way.

I can't remember what we said,

'T was nothing worth a song or story, Yet that rude path by which we sped Seemed all transformed, and in a glory.

The snow was crisp beneath our feet, The moon was full, the fields were gleaming;

By hood and tippet sheltered sweet, Her face with youth and health was beaming.

The little hand outside her muff-
O sculptor, if you could but mould it!--
So lightly touched my jacket-cuff,

To keep it warm I had to hold it.

To have her with me there alone,

'T was love and fear and triumph blended.

At last we reached the foot-worn stone Where that delicious journey ended.

The old folks, too, were almost home; Her dimpled hand the latches fingered, We heard the voices nearer come,

Yet on the doorstep still we lingered.

And with a "Thank you, Ned," dissembled ;

But yet I knew she understood

With what a daring wish I trembled.

tions,

Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont To throng for trade and last quota

tions, Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold Outrival, in the ears of people,

The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled

From Trinity's undaunted steeple ;

Even there I heard a strange, wild strain Sound high above the modern clamor, Above the cries of greed and gain,

The curbstone war, the auction's hammer,

And swift, on Music's misty ways,

It led, from all this strife for millions, To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians.

And as it stilled the multitude,
And yet more joyous rose, and shriller,
I saw the minstrel where he stood
At ease against a Doric pillar:
One hand a droning organ played,
The other held a Pan's-pipe (fashioned
Like those of old) to lips that made
The reeds give out that strain impas-
sioned.

"T was Pan himself had wandered here A-strolling through this sordid city, And piping to the civic ear

The prelude of some pastoral ditty! The demigod had crossed the seas, From haunts of shepherd, nymph, and satyr, to these

And Syracusan times,

Far shores and twenty centuries later.

A ragged cap was on his head:

But-hidden thus-there was no doubting

That, all with crispy locks o'erspread, His gnarléd horns were somewhere sprouting;

His club-feet, cased in rusty shoes, Were crossed, as on some frieze you see them,

And trousers, patched of divers hues, Concealed his crooked shanks beneath them.

He filled the quivering reeds with sound, And o'er his mouth their changes shifted,

And with his goat's-eyes looked around Where'er the passing current drifted; And soon, as on Trinacrian hills

The nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear him,

Even now the tradesmen from their tills, With clerks and porters, crowded near him.

The bulls and bears together drew
From Jauncey Court and New Street
Alley,

As erst, if pastorals be true,

Came beasts from every wooded valley; The random passers stayed to list,

A boxer Egon, rough and merry, A Broadway Daphnis, on his tryst With Nais at the Brooklyn Ferry.

A one-eyed Cyclops halted long

In tattered cloak of army pattern, And Galatea joined the throng,

A blowsy, apple-vending slattern;
While old Silenus staggered out
From some new-fangled lunch-house
handy,

And bade the piper, with a shout,
To strike up Yankee Doodle Dandy!

A newsboy and a peanut-girl

Like little Fauns began to caper:

R. H. STODDARD.

With daffodil and starling

And hours of fruitful breath;
If you were life, my darling,
And I your love were death.
If you were thrall to sorrow,

And I were page to joy,
We'd play for lives and seasons,
With loving looks and treasons,
And tears of night and morrow,
And laughs of maid and boy;
If you were thrall to sorrow,
And I were page to joy.

If you were April's lady,

And I were lord in May, We'd throw with leaves for hours, And draw for days with flowers, Till day like night were shady,

And night were bright like day; If you were April's lady,

And I were lord in May.

If you were queen of pleasure,

And I were king of pain, We'd hunt down love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were queen of pleasure, And I were king of pain.

R. H. STODDARD.

[U. s. A.]

NEVER AGAIN.

THERE are gains for all our losses,

There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again.

We are stronger, and are better,

Under manhood's sterner reign: Still we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, And will never come again.

Something beautiful is vanished,
And we sigh for it in vain :
We seek it everywhere,
On the earth and in the air,
But it never comes again!