For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And around the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they cross'd themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, "She has a lovely face; God in His mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott." A LEGEND OF SERVICE[9] Henry van Dyke It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise his name!) To hear, one day, report from those who came[Pg 73] With pitying sorrow, or exultant joy, To tell of earthly tasks in His employ; For some were sorry when they saw how slow The stream of heavenly love on earth must flow; And some were glad because their eyes had seen, Along its banks, fresh flowers and living green. So, at a certain hour, before the throne The youngest angel, Asmiel, stood alone; Nor glad, nor sad, but full of earnest thought, And thus his tidings to the Master brought: "Lord, in the city Lupon I have found Three servants of thy holy name, renowned Above their fellows. One is very wise, With thoughts that ever range above the skies; And one is gifted with the golden speech That makes men glad to hear when he will teach; And one, with no rare gift or grace endued, Has won the people's love by doing good. With three such saints Lupon is trebly blest; 43 But, Lord, I fain would know which loves thee best?" Then spake the Lord of Angels, to whose look The hearts of all are like an open book: "In every soul the secret thought I read, And well I know who loves me best indeed. But every life has pages vacant still, Whereon a man may write the thing he will; Therefore I read in silence, day by day, And wait for hearts untaught to learn my way. But thou shalt go to Lupon, to the three Who serve me there, and take this word from me: Tell each of them his Master bids him go Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow; There he shall find a certain task for me, But what, I do not tell to them nor thee.[Pg 74] Give thou the message, make my word the test, And crown for me the one who answers best." Silent the angel stood, with folded hands, To take the imprint of his Lord's commands; Then drew one breath, obedient and elate, And passed the selfsame hour, through Lupon's gate. First to the Temple door he made his way; And then because it was an holy-day, He saw the folk by thousands thronging, stirred By ardent thirst to hear the preacher's word. Then, while the echoes murmured Bernol's name, Through aisles that hushed behind him, Bernol came; Strung to the keenest pitch of conscious might, With lips prepared and firm, and eyes alight. One moment at the pulpit step he knelt In silent prayer, and on his shoulder felt The angel's hand:--"The Master bids thee go Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, To serve Him there." Then Bernol's hidden face Went white as death, and for about the space Of ten slow heart-beats there was no reply; Till Bernol looked around and whispered, "Why?" But answer to this question came there none; The angel sighed, and with a sigh was gone. Within the humble house where Malvin spent His studious years, on holy things intent, Sweet stillness reigned; and there the angel found The saintly sage immersed in thought profound, Weaving with patient toil and willing care A web of wisdom, wonderful and fair: A seamless robe for Truth's great bridal meet, And needing but one thread to be complete.[Pg 75] Then Asmiel touched his hand and broke the thread Of fine-spun thought, and very gently said, "The One of whom thou thinkest bids thee go Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, To serve Him there." With sorrow and surprise Malvin looked up, reluctance in his eyes. The broken thought, the strangeness of the call, The perilous passage of the mountain-wall, The solitary journey, and the length Of ways unknown, too great for his frail strength, Appalled him. With a doubtful brow 44 He scanned the doubtful task, and muttered, "How?" But Asmiel answered, as he turned to go, With cold disheartened voice, "I do not know." Now as he went, with fading hope, to seek The third and last, to whom God bade him speak, Scarce twenty steps away whom should he meet But Fermor, hurrying cheerful down the street, With ready heart that faced his work like play, And joyed to find it greater day by day! The angel stopped him with uplifted hand, And gave without delay his Lord's command: "He whom thou servest here would have thee go Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, To serve Him there." Ere Asmiel breathed again The eager answer leaped to meet him, "When?" The angel's face with inward joy grew bright, And all his figure glowed with heavenly light; He took the golden circlet from his brow And gave the crown to Fermor, answering; "Now! For thou hast met the Master's bidden test, And I have found the man who loves Him best.[Pg 76] Not thine, nor mine, to question or reply When He commands us, asking 'how?' or 'why?' He knows the cause; His ways are wise and just; Who serves the King must serve with perfect trust." FOOTNOTE: [9] From "Music and other Poems," copyright, 1904, by Charles Scribner's Sons. LITTLE BOY BLUE Eugene Field The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and stanch he stands; And the little tin soldier is red with rust, And his musket molds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new And the soldier was passing fair, And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. "Now, don't you go till I come," he said; "And don't you make any noise!" So toddling off to his trundle bed He dreamt of the pretty toys. And, as he was dreaming, an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue-- Oh, the years are many, the years are long, But the little toy friends are true. Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place. Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face. And they wonder, as waiting these long years through, In the dust of that little chair, What has become of that Little Boy Blue Since he kissed them and put them there. [Pg 77] 45 MARY'S NIGHT RIDE[10] George W. Cable Mary Richling, the heroine of the story, was the wife of John Richling, a resident of New Orleans. At the breaking out of the Civil War she went to visit her parents in Milwaukee. About the time of the bombardment of New Orleans she received news of the dangerous illness of her husband, and she decided at once to reach his bedside, if possible. Taking with her, her baby daughter, a child of three years, she proceeded southward, where, after several unsuccessful attempts to secure a pass, she finally determined to break through the lines. About the middle of the night Mary Richling was sitting very still and upright on a large, dark horse that stood champing his Mexi-can bit in the black shadow of a great oak. Alice rested before her, fast asleep against her bosom. Mary held by the bridle another horse, whose naked saddle-tree was empty. A few steps in front of her the light of the full moon shone almost straight down upon a narrow road that just there emerged from the shadow of woods on either side, and divided into a main right fork and a much smaller one that curved around to Mary's left. Off in the direction of the main fork the sky was all aglow with camp-fires. Only just here on the left there was a cool and grateful darkness. She lifted her head alertly. A twig crackled under a tread, and the next moment a man came out of the bushes at the left, and without a word took the bridle of the old horse from her fingers and vaulted into the saddle. The hand that rested a moment on the cantle as he rose grasped a "navy six." He was dressed in dull homespun, but he was the same who had been dressed in blue. He turned his horse and led the way down the lesser road. "If we'd gone on three hundred yards further," he whispered,[Pg 78] falling back and smiling broadly, "we'd 'a' run into the pickets. I went nigh enough to see the videttes settin' on their hosses in the main road. This here ain't no road; it just goes up to a nigger quarters. I've got one o' the niggers to show us the way." "Where is he?" whispered Mary; but before her companion could answer, a tattered form moved from behind a bush a little in advance and started ahead in the path, walking and beckoning. Presently they turned into a clear, open forest, and followed the long, rapid, swinging stride of the negro for nearly an hour. Then they halted on the bank of a deep, narrow stream. The negro made a motion for them to keep well to the right when they should enter the water. The white man softly lifted Alice to his arms, directed and assisted Mary to kneel in her saddle, with her skirts gathered carefully under her, and so they went down into the cold stream, the negro first, with arms outstretched above the flood; then Mary, and then the white man,--or, let us say plainly, the spy--with the unawakened child on his breast. And so they rose out of it on the farther side without a shoe or garment wet, save the rags of their dark guide. Again they followed him, along a line of stake-and-rider fence, with the woods on one side and the bright moonlight flooding a field of young cotton on the other. Now they heard the distant baying of house-dogs, now the doleful call of the chuck-will's-widow, and once Mary's blood turned, for an instant, almost to ice at the unearthly shriek of the hoot owl just above her head. At length they found themselves in a dim, narrow road, and the negro stopped. "Dess keep dish yeh road fo' 'bout half mile, an' you strak 'pon
