And grumble of the gear within ;
While o'er the roof that dull'd that din
The doves sat crooning half the day,
And round the half-cut stack of hay
The sparrows flutter'd twittering.

There smiling stay'd the joyous king,
And since the autumn noon was hot
Thought good anigh that pleasant spot
To dine that day, and therewith sent
To tell the miller his intent :
Who held the stirrup of the king,
Bareheaded, joyful at the thing,
While from his horse he lit adown,
Then led him o'er an elm-beam brown,
New cut in February tide,

That cross'd the stream from side to side;
So underneath the apple trees
The king sat careless, well at ease,
And ate and drank right merrily.

To whom the miller drew anigh
Among the courtiers, bringing there
Such as he could of country fare,
Green yellowing plums from off his wall,
Wasp-bitten pears, the first to fall
From off the wavering spire-like tree,
Junkets, and cream and fresh honey.

Who hoard their moments of felicity, As misers hoard the medals that they tell,

Lest on the earth but paupers they should dwell:

"We hide our love to bless another day; The world is hard, youth passes quick," they say.

Ah, little ones, but if ye could forget Amidst your outpour'd love that you must die,

Then ye, my servants, were death's con querors yet,

And love to you should be eternity
How quick soever might the days go by:
Yes, ye are made immortal on the day
Ye cease the dusty grains of time to
weigh.

Thou hearkenest, love? O, make no semblance then

Thou art beloved, but as thy wont is
Turn thy gray eyes away from eyes of

men,

With hands down-dropp'd, that tremble with thy bliss,

With hidden eyes, take thy first lover's kiss;

Call this eternity which is to-day,

Nor dream that this our love can pass

away.

A LAND ACROSS THE SEA

ACROSS the sea a land there is,

Where, if fate will, men may have bliss, For it is fair as any land: There hath the reaper a full hand, While in the orchard hangs aloft The purple fig, a-growing soft; And fair the trellis'd vine-bunches Are swung across the high elm-trees; And in the rivers great fish play, While over them pass day by day The laden barges to their place. There maids are straight, and fair of face, And men are stout for husbandry, And all is well as it can be Upon this earth where all has end.

For on them God is pleas'd to send The gift of Death down from above, That envy, hatred, and hot love. Knowledge with hunger by his side, And avarice and deadly pride,

There may have end like everything
Both to the shepherd and the king:
Lest this green earth become but hell
If folk thereon should ever dwell.

Full little most men think of this,
But half in woe and half in bliss
They pass their lives, and die at last
Unwilling, though their lot be cast
In wretched places of the earth,
Where men have little joy from birth
Until they die; in no such case
Were those who till'd this pleasant place.
There soothly men were loth to die,
Though sometimes in his misery

A man would say "Would I were dead!" Alas! full little likelyhead

That he should live forever there.

So folk within that country fair
Liv'd on unable to forget

The long'd-for things they could not get,
And without need tormenting still
Each other with some bitter ill;
Yea, and themselves too, growing gray
With dread of some long-lingering day,
That never came ere they were dead
With green sods growing on the head;
Nowise content with what they had,
But falling still from good to bad
While hard they sought the hopeless best;
And seldom happy or at rest
Until at last with lessening blood
One foot within the grave they stood.

ANTIPHONY

Hæc

IN the white-flower'd hawthorn brake, Love, be merry for my sake; Twine the blossoms in my hair, Kiss me where I am most fair Kiss me, love! for who knoweth What thing cometh after death?

Ille

Nay, the garlanded gold hair Hides thee where thou art most fair; Hides the rose-tinged hills of snowAh, sweet love, I have thee now ! Kiss me, love! for who knoweth What thing cometh after death?

Нас

Shall we weep for a dead day, Or set Sorrow in our way?

Hidden by my golden hair,

Wilt thou weep that sweet days wear?
Kiss me, love ! for who knoweth
What thing cometh after death?

Ille

Weep, O Love, the days that flit, Now, while I can feel thy breath; Then may I remember it

Sad and old, and near my death. Kiss me, love! for who knoweth What thing cometh after death?

FROM "SIGURD THE VOLSUNG"

OF THE PASSING AWAY OF BRYNHILD

THEY look'd on each other and spake not; but Gunnar gat him gone,

And came to his brother Hogni, the wiseheart Giuki's son,

And spake : "Thou art wise, O Hogni ; go in to Brynhild the queen,

And stay her swift departing; or the last of her days hath she seen."

"It is nought, thy word," said Hogni; "wilt thou bring dead men aback, Or the souls of kings departed midst the battle and the wrack?

Yet this shall be easier to thee than the turning Brynhild's heart;

She came to dwell among us, but in us she had no part;

Let her go her ways from the Niblungs with her hand in Sigurd's

hand.

Will the grass grow up henceforward where her feet have trodden the land ?" "O evil day," said Gunnar, "when my queen must perish and die !"

"Such oft betide," said Hogni, "as the lives of men flit by;

But the evil day is a day, and on each day groweth a deed,

And a thing that never dieth; and the fateful tale shall speed.

Lo now, let us harden our hearts and set our brows as the brass, Lest men say it, 'They loath'd the evil and they brought the evil to pass.