So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,

Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore

Stretching to leeward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour,

Stands looking seaward.

"There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears,

She was a mother;

Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies;

Ne'er shall the sun arise

On such another!

"Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen! Hateful to me were men,

The sunlight hateful!

In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,

Oh, death was grateful!

"Thus, seam'd with many scars,
Bursting these prison-bars,
Up to its native stars

My soul ascended!

There from the flowing bowl

Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"
Thus the tale ended.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

A LITTLE STORY.

ALONE, unwedded, past her prime,
Her faded face still wore a smile,

As if some secret, sweet and dear,

She knew, and brooded on the while-
Some hidden joy that kept life fair,
And lifted her above despair.

Ah me, you could not guess the dream
She cherished in her maiden heart.
Once to have voiced it would have been

To make her wintry life-blood start
Up, till the wrinkled cheeks aflame
Glowed with virgin's piteous shame.

Long years ago she loved, and then

Who knows?-he died, or proved untrue,

And so she lived a maiden still.

He never wed who rode to woo Through soft spring mornings long ago, And Time had blurred her ancient woe.

But when the day was sunk in night,
Close by the embers of her fire
She sat and rocked, and to herself

Feigned that she had her heart's desire. 'T was then that on her withered breast A little dream-child took its rest.

How sweet to raise a quavering voice,
And sing a tender lullaby;

To feel its head against her neck,

And softly soothe its noiseless cry! It made her life so bright and glad— That little child she might have had!

Her heart was full of motherhood;

Its yearnings all had been denied. She fed its hunger with a dream,

And smiled when others might have sighed ; And in the little dream-child's face

A likeness vague she loved to trace.

Nay, do not smile: our dreams are coarse,Of gold or fame we could not win,

Hers was divine; I love to think

Of that bent figure, worn and thin, By flickering firelight, wholly blest, Holding her dream-child on her breast.

I think in wondrous Heaven, where

The good God makes our hopes come true, He may give back my love to me,

He may give back your youth to you.

But for that maiden undefiled

I know he has a little child.

ANNE REEVE ALDRICH.

THE TEMPEST.

WE were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,—

It was midnight on the waters
And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in Winter
To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder: "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,—
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talked with Death.

As thus we sat in darkness,

Each one busy in his prayers, "We are lost!" the captain shouted As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered,

As she took his icy hand :

"Isn't God upon the ocean

Just the same as on the land?"

Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spoke in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbor

When the morn was shining clear.

JAMES T. FIELDS.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

It was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old Sailor,

Had sailed to the Spanish Main :

"I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.

Last night, the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!"