Fleet of foot, and wild of fancy, sped she to the field away,

Asking of the startled reapers, Have you seen my boy to-day?'

He was here and watched the binding, bound that tiny sheaf you see,

Then he led the lamb a frolic, full of laughter and of glee.'

"Then he bound a bunch of lilies, with some bearded heads of wheat,

For mother Mary, and with the lammie hastened home with flying feet.'

When was this?' the mother whispered. 'It was full three hours ago;

It was in the heat of mid-day and the sun is getting low.'

6

6

Oh my Willie! Willie! Willie! where art thou?' the mother cried;

Ernest, father, there's the forest, yonder is the restless tide.'

"And the father dropped his sickle, and the reapers left the grain,

And they searched the beach and forest, calling, calling, but in vain.

Calling, Willie-Willie!'

reply

But the forest made

With a deeper, sadder silence to the agonizing cry. Then they looked amid the grasses, and they searched the sandy shore

For the precious wayward footprints, looked them sadly o'er and o'er.

"But they found no trace of Willie in the wood or on the sand

Till at last there came a hunter bearing in his trembling hand,

Just a bunch of withered lilies, and a dainty little

shoe

Soiled and wet with forest dampness, with a loosened string of blue.

He had found it in the forest, deep, and dark and tangled wild,

This the only token of the lamb or of the child.

"So the fearful search was ended, and within the cottage lone,

Ernest sat with mother Mary, and he did not check her moan.

For the sturdy reaper's spirit trembled like an aspen leaf,

He was thinking of the fingers that had bound that tiny sheaf,

Rosy fingers-dainty fingers-where their waxen beauty now?

"In the night the winds went moaning, and a cold and dreary rain

Pierced the wild depths of the forest, swept across the valley plain,

And the restless sleeping Mary, weeping as the winds went by,

In the pauses of the tempest heard a plaintive plead

ing cry

Father! father!' it repeated, father! father!' o'er

and o'er;

But they said it was the tempest, just the wind and nothing more.

"Willie is in heaven, mother,' thus they said to soothe her pain,

'There, and there alone, sweet Mary, shalt thou see thy boy again.

Lo! it was the gentle Shepherd found thy little wandering lamb,

And He took him to His bosom.' So at last her soul was calm.

Once again it was the harvest, and the silent reaper's

reaped,

Mother Mary at her labor sang no song, but sighed

and wept.

"When a hunter from the forest paused before the cot tage door,

Bearing in his hand a token of the boy that came no

more.

He had found it on the mountain, near the ruins of a bower

Built of moss, and vines, and branches, that had bloomed with many a flower,

Where they knew the little wanderer, weary with his pleading cry,

Lay among his flowers and mosses, all alone, at last, to die.

"And he brought the little token, all that now remained of him,

Just one long and golden ringlet, twined about an oaken limb;

And they laid the golden ringlet, with a new and sadder grief

With the lilies and the slipper and the tiny wheaten sheaf."

Mrs. Henry.

THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE.

At the foot of the mountain height

Where is perched Castel-Cuille,
Passed a merry company

Of rosy village girls,

All singing a happy strain,

"The road should blossom, the roads should bloom,

So fair a bride shall leave her home!

Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,

So fair a bride shall pass to-day.

It is Baptiste and his affianced maiden
With garlands for the bridal laden!

But how comes it, that among

These youthful maidens fresh and fair,
So joyous with such laughing air,

Baptiste stands sighing with silent tongue?
And yet the bride is fair and young!

Oh, truly a maiden frail, I trow,

Never bore a loftier brow.

What ails Baptiste, what ill doth him oppress?

It is that half way up the hill,

In yon cot, dwelleth the blind girl still,
Daughter of a veteran old;

And you must know one year ago
That Margaret the young and tender
Was the village pride and splendor,
And Baptiste her lover bold,

And for them the altar was prepared.
But alas! the summer's blight,

The dread disease that none could stay,
The pestilence that walks by night

Took the young bride's sight away.

All, at the father's stern command was changed Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged. Wearied at home, ere long the lover fled.

Returned but three short days ago,

The golden chain they round him throw,
He is enticed, and onward led
To marry Angela, and yet
Is thinking ever of Margaret.
Then suddenly a maiden cried
"Here comes the cripple Jane!"
And by a fountain side

A woman, bent and gray with years,
Under the mulberry-tree appears.
The maidens toward her run as fleet
As had they wings upon their feet.

It is that Jane is a soothsayer, wary and kind;
She telleth fortunes, and none complain.
She promises one a village swain

And another a happy wedding day,
And all comes to pass as she avers;
She never deceives, she never errs.

But for this once, the village seer
Wears a countenance severe.

And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white,
Her eyes flashed like cannons bright,

She takes the young bride by the hand,
"Thoughtless Angela, beware! lest when
Thou weddest this false bridegroom
Thou diggest for thyself a tomb!"
Saddened a moment, the bridal train
Resumed the dance and song again.

"The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom,
So fair a bride shall leave her home!
Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!

By suffering worn and weary;

But beautiful as some fair angel yet,

Thus lamented Margaret,

In her cottage lone and dreary:

"He has arrived, arrived at last.

Yet Jane has named him not these three days past.
Arrived! Yet keeps aloof so far!

And knows that of my night he is the star.
When he is gone 'tis dark! My soul is sad!
I suffer! Ο my God! come make me glad!

Come, Baptiste! Keep the promise of that happier day
That I may keep the faith to thee I plighted.
True love, they say, in grief doth more abound!
What then when one is blind?

Who knows? Perhaps I am forsaken!

Ah!

Woe is me! Then bear me to my grave!

O God! what thoughts in me waken

Away! away! he will return! I do but rave!
He will return! I need not fear!

He swore it by our Saviour dear.

Some one comes! Though blind, my heart can see ! And that deceives me not! 'Tis he! 'Tis he!"