But not for this their revels For they cried, "Fill high the goblet! GASPAR BECERRA. By his evening fire the artist Pondered o'er his secret shame; Baffled, weary, and disheartened, Still he mused, and dreamed of fame. 'Twas an image of the Virgin That had tasked his utmost skill; But alas! his fair ideal Vanished and escaped him still. From a distant Eastern island Had the precious wood been brought; Day and night the anxious master Till, discouraged and desponding, And the day's humiliation Found oblivion in sleep. Then a voice cried, "Rise, O master! Woke, and from the smoking embers Seized and quenched the glowing wood; And therefrom he carved an image, And he saw that it was good. O thou sculptor, painter, poet! That is best which lieth nearest ; PEGASUS IN POUND. ONCE into a quiet village Without haste and without heed, In the golden prime of morning, It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves; And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves. Not a triumph meant for him. By the school-boys he was found; Ringing loud his brazen bell, Rich and poor, and young and old, Winged steed, with mane of gold. Thus the day passed, and the evening Fell, with vapours cold and dim; But it brought no food nor shelter, Brought no straw nor stall, for him. Looked he through the wooden bars, And, from out a neighbouring farmyard, To those stars he soared again. And they knew not when nor where. But they found, upon the greensward Where his struggling hoofs had trod, Pure and bright, a fountain flowing From the hoof-marks in the sod. From that hour, the fount unfailing Gladdens the whole region round, Strengthening all who drink its waters, While it soothes them with its sound. TEGNERS DRAPA. I HEARD a voice, that cried, And through the misty air I saw the pallid corpse Borne through the Northeru sky, Lifted the sheeted mists Around him as he passed. And the voice for ever cried, "Balder the Beautiful And died away Through the dreary night, In accents of despair. Balder the Beautiful, God of the summer sun, Light from his forehead beamed, All things in earth and air Hæder, the blind old God, Whose feet are shod with silence, Pierced through that gentle breast With his sharp spear, by fraud Made of the mistletoe, The accursed mistletoe ! They laid him in his ship, Odin placed A ring upon his finger And whispered in his ear. They launched the burning ship! It floated far away Over the misty sea, Till like the sun it seemed, So perish the old Gods! Over its meadows green Walk the young bards and sing. Build it again, O ye bards, Fairer than before! Ye fathers of the new race, The law of force is dead! Shall rule the earth no more, Sing no more, O ye bards of the North, Preserve the freedom only, |