UHLAND'S "THREE CAVALIERS."

THERE were three cavaliers that went over the

Rhine,

And gayly they called to the hostess for wine. "And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,

Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer!"

"I'll fetch thee thy goblets full foaming," she

said,

"But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies dead."

And lo! as they stood in the doorway, the white Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their

sight.

Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh, And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his

eye,

And he cried, "Hadst thou lived, O my pretty

white rose,

I ween I had loved thee and wed thee - who knows?"

The next cavalier drew aside a small space,
And stood to the wall with his hands to his face;
And this was the heart-cry that came with his

tears:

"I loved her, I loved her these many long years!"

But the third cavalier kneeled him down in that

place,

And, as it were holy, he kissed that dead face: "I loved thee long years, and I love thee to-day, And I'll love thee, dear maiden, forever and aye!"

A CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF

HORACE.

YN that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken,

SYN

Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding

Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding;
Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder
For to beare swete company with some oder;
Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth,
But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth ;
Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes
That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys;
But all that do with gode men wed full quickylye
When that they be on dead go to ye seints full

sickerly.

NORSE LULLABY.

THE sky is dark and the hills are white

As the storm-king speeds from the north

to-night,

And this is the song the storm-king sings,
As over the world his cloak he flings:
"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;"
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:

On yonder mountain-side a vine
Clings at the foot of a mother pine;
The tree bends over the trembling thing,
And only the vine can hear her sing:
"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;

What shall you fear when I am here?
Sleep, little one, sleep."

The king may sing in his bitter flight, The tree may croon to the vine to-night, But the little snowflake at my breast Liketh the song I sing the best, –

Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; Weary thou art, anext my heart

Sleep, little one, sleep.