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She climbed the castle tower,
To seek the sea and thy viking ship-

Sire, Dagmar is no more!

“The storm that held thy ship from land

Reached, too, the towering steep-
Old Balder, 'neath the cold gray heights,

Found her, a lifeless heap.
She sleeps to-night in the castle hall

Till the sound of the last sad knell,
When the holy fire shall speed her soul-

Wilt enter and bid farewell?”

The viking, with dazed and grief-struck mien,

Then staggered within the door, And tried in vain to control that will

Which he ne'er had lost before. That heart, which the years of war and strife

Had never succeeded to moveAh, who would guess what a mighty power

Was that greatest viking's—Love!

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He severed a lock of her golden hair

Ere he spoke the farewell call, And caressed once more the cold, still cheek,

And was gone from the castle hall. He sought the cliff, with its glittering crags,

Each capped with a crown of snow, And cried aloud to the vikings' god,

In his pride and pain and woe.

“O Thor! My people have called me brave,

Yet I shrink from my life to-night,
Weak as a woman I think of love;

Have I a viking's right?
Teach me, Thor, to quell my heart,

To battle again,-a man!
Oh, let me die with the year to-night,

If under thy mighty ban!”

'Twas near to the hour when the waning year Would take his flight for aye, When the viking, haggard and worn, strode down

To his ship in the rock-bound bay. The sailors, stretched by a blazing fire,

Sprang up at their lord's first tone: · Vassals, launch me my ship!” he cried;

“I sail to-night-alone!

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Gathered in wonder upon the shore,

The sailors watched the bark
As it sped away with its sails all set

O'er the water deep and dark;
And slowly it faded from out their sight,

Just as the flames above
At the castle rose with the old year's flight,

And the soul of his lady-love.

With roseate hue of dawning day

The New-year cast its veil,
The screen of night, and the bygone year,

Over the evening's tale;
And the sea rolled on in its ceaseless path,

With never a backward sigh,
And never a thought of what was gone

With the year that had just passed by.

MOTHERHOOD.

C. S. CALVERLEY.

' S

(From "Fly Leaves,"by permission of the publishers.]

HE laid it where the sunbeams fall
Unscanned upon

the broken wall.
Without a tear, without a groan,
She laid it near a mighty stone,
Which some rude swain had haply cast
Thither in sport, long ages past,
And time with mosses had o'erlaid

And fenced with many a tall grass blade,
And all about bid roses bloom,
And violets shed their soft perfume.
There, in its cool and quiet bed,
She set her burden down and fled;
Nor fung, all eager to escape,
One glance upon the perfect shape
That lay, still warm and fresh and fair,
But motionless and soundless there.

No human eye had marked her pass
Across the linden-shadowed grass
Ere yet the minster clock chimed seven.
Only the innocent birds of heaven-
The magpie and the rook whose nest
Swings as the elm-tree waves his crest-
And the lithe cricket, and the hoar
And huge-limbed hound that guards the door,
Looked on when, as a summer wind
That, passing, leaves no trace behind,
All unappareled, barefoot all,
She ran to that old ruined wall,
To leave upon the chill dank earth
(For ah! she never knew its worth)
Mid hemlock rank, and fern, and ling,
And dews of night, that precious thing!

And there it might liave lain forlorn
From morn till eve, from eve till morn,
But that, by some wild impulse led,
The mother, ere she turned and fled,
One moment stood erect and high;
Then poured into the silent sky
A cry so jubilant, so strange,
That Alice-as she strove to range
Her rebel ringlets at the glass-
Sprang up and gazed across the grass,
Shook back those curls so fair to see,
Clapped her soft hands in childish glee,
And shrieked—her sweet face all aglow,
Her very limbs with rapture shaking-

"My hen has laid an egg, I know;
And only hear the noise she's making!

A BOY'S KING.

MY

S. E. KISER.
Y papa he's the bestest man

What ever lived, I bet,

And I ain't never seen no one
As smart as he is yet.
Why, he knows everything almost,

But mamma says that he
Ain't never been the president,

And that surprises me.

And often papa talks about

How he must work away-
He's got to toil for other folks

And do what others say;
And that's a thing that bothers me-

When he's so good and great,
He ought, I think, at least to be

The ruler of the State!

He knows the names of lots of stars,

And he knows all the trees,
And he can tell the different kinds

Of all the birds he sees,
And he can multiply and add

And figure in his head-
They might have been some smarter men,

But I bet you they are dead.
Once when he thought I wasn't near

He talked to mamma then,
And told her how he hates to be

The slave of other men,
And how he wished that he was rich

For her and meand I

Don't know what made me do it, but

I had to go and cry!

And so when I sat on his knee

I ast him: “ Is it true
That you're a slave and have to toil

When others tell you to?
You are so big and good and wise,

You surely ought to be
The president, instead of just

A slave, it seems to me."

And then the tears come to his eyes,

And he hugged me tight and said:
Why, no, my dear, I'm not a slave-
What put that in

that in your head?
I am a king—the happiest king

That ever yet held sway,
And only God can take my throne

And my little realm away."

VISITING LAURA BELLE.

S. E. KISER. 'VE just been up to town to see my daughter Laura Belle

She married Henry Lee, you know—they're doin' mighty

well! Live right in style, I tell you, in a house that's big enough For half-a-dozen families most, 'nd, oh, the piles of stuff That they've got scattered through it, sich as bricy-brack ’nd

books, 'Nd they're keepin'"first” ’nd "second" girls ’nd chambermaids

’nd cooks, 'Nd kerridges 'nd all such like, 'nd she wears diamond ringsI vow, it must make Henry hump to pay fer all them things!

'Nd they are in society, clean over head ’nd allCard-parties 'nd receptions, incl now ’nd then a ball,

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