"Who planted this old apple tree?" The children of that distant day Thus to some aged man shall say; And, gazing on its mossy stem, The gray-haired man shall answer them: "A poet of the land was he,

Born in the rude but good old times;

T is said he made some quaint old rhymes, On planting the apple tree."

How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blessed!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mold,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung.
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall a while repair,

To dwell a weeping hermit there!

-William Collins.

THE LAST OF THE VOLSUNGS.

When the world was young and the Northern Lands were first peopled, Odin, a mighty god, came out of the East to rule and direct them; for he saw that these men with fair hair and blue eyes would do great deeds, and that, because of them, the North should be held in honor by all men so long as the earth should last.

Now there was a young prince in Hunland, named Volsung. Men said he was Odin's son, and certain it was that Odin loved and favored him. He grew to be a great and powerful chief, and was lord of many tribes that he had fought and conquered; and he had ten sons, of whom the eldest was Sigmund, and one daughter, Signi, who was twin with Sigmund, and the most beautiful woman of her time.

King Volsung built for himself a house after the fashion of those times, only larger and grander. It happened that a mighty oak stood at the edge of the forest, near the seashore, and around this did the King build his feasting hall, so that the oak rose up in the midst, and the branches came out through the roof and overshadowed the house. This was called the Branstock.

Inside, the hall was pillared with the trunks

of trees, to which were fastened stands for torches, and hooks also for the fighting men to hang their weapons upon, so that each man's arms should be to his hand if sudden alarm should arise; and down the center of it, in the winter time, there were four fires, but in the summer only one was kept burning.

Now in Gothland dwelt a mighty king, named Siggeir, and to him came the fame of Signi's beauty and wisdom and of her father's wealth. Then he bethought him to take her for his wife, and, that Volsung should not dare to say him nay, he made ready his whole train of warships and men, and sailed with his great company oversea to Hunland.

And when the King Volsung saw the army of warships with their terrible painted figureheads of dragons, eagles, and strange sea monsters; and the long line of shields hung over their sides, showing the number of fighting men Siggeir had brought; and when Siggeir strode into the hall and made his demand, Volsung spoke him fair, and asked time to think about it; for he feared the wrath of Siggeir.

So in the end King Volsung determined to give his Signi to Siggeir, and he made a great feast at midsummer, and runners went throughout the land to summon the chiefs to the wedding of the king's only daughter.

And King Siggeir sat on the high seat over against his host, King Volsung, and pledged him in a cup of brown ale, passed across the central fire, as the custom of the time was; for one fire burnt every day and night, in the hall of the Branstock. When the feasting was at its highest, there strode into the hall an aged man of ruddy face and great stature, who had but one eye. On his head was a hood that half hid his face, over his shoulders a cloak of blue-gray, and his feet were bare. In his hand was a great sword that glinted in the torchlight, and none dared greet him as he passed up the hall to the Branstock, although none guessed that this was Odin, All-Father.

Amid the silence of that great company, the Wanderer smote his sword deep into the trunk of the Branstock, so that only the glittering hilt stood out. Then, turning, he said, "To him that can draw it forth, give I this sword; a better could he ne'er ask." And ere any could speak with him he disappeared.

Then each man, hoping to gain the sword, strove with his neighbor to be the first to touch the hilt, and King Volsung said, "Unseemly is this strife; let the noblest-our guest and sonin-law-try first, then each according to his rank."

King Siggeir came forward and strove in vain

to loosen the sword, and after him came King Volsung, then each according to his degree, save only Sigmund, who hung back. Last of all came he, and, as he touched the sword, behold! it came forth in his hand.

Then was Siggeir wroth and said: "Brother Sigmund, much treasure have I at home, but not such a sword as this. Yield it unto me for thrice its weight in gold."

But Sigmund answered with scorn: "Gold need I not, but a good sword shall I need throughout my life. Thou hadst the same chance as I to take it; why didst thou not do it?"

Black grew the heart of Siggeir at this taunt, and white was his face, though, being cunning, he hid his anger. But, to be revenged, he would not stay for the usual seven days of feasting, saying that storms would come, and he and his bride must away, and that her father and brethren must come to finish the feast in Gothland within three months.

Then disaster fell swiftly on the race of the Volsungs, for when the King sailed to Gothland, as his promise was, Siggeir's men attacked him treacherously, and slew him and all his followers, excepting his ten sons. These Siggeir first took alive and then put them to a cruel death,all save Sigmund, for he, through his strength and courage and with the help of Signi, escaped