THE PHANTOM SHIP.

But Master Lamberton muttered,
And under his breath said he,
"This ship is so crank and walty
I fear our grave she will be!"

And the ships that came from England,
When the winter months were gone,
Brought no tidings of this vessel
Nor of Master Lamberton.

This put the people to praying

That the Lord would let them hear What in his greater wisdom

He had done with friends so dear.

And at last their prayers were answered:—
It was in the month of June,

An hour before the sunset

Of a windy afternoon,

When, steadily steering landward,

A ship was seen below,

And they knew it was Lamberton, Master,

Who sailed so long ago.

On she came, with a cloud of canvas,
Right against the wind that blew,
Until the eye could distinguish

The faces of the crew.

Then fell her straining topmasts,
Hanging tangled in the shrouds,

And her sails were loosened and lifted,
And blown away like clouds.

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And the masts, with all their rigging,

Fell slowly, one by one,

And the hulk dilated and vanished,
As a sea-mist in the sun!

And the people who saw this marvel

Each said unto his friend,

That this was the mould of their vessel,
And thus her tragic end.

And the pastor of the village
Gave thanks to God in prayer,
That, to quiet their troubled spirits,
He had sent this Ship of Air.

PEGASUS IN POUND.

ONCE into a quiet village,

Without haste and without heed,
In the golden prime of morning,
Strayed the poet's winged steed.1

It was Autumn, and incessant

Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the apples

Burned among the withering leaves.

In classic mythology Pegasus was a winged horse belonging to Apollo and the Muses. Thus when a poet wrote he was said to mount Pegasus and ride; the horse not only bore him swiftly, and by his canter gave rhythm to the verse, but by his wings bore the rider above the earth.

PEGASUS IN POUND.

Loud the clamorous bell was ringing
From its belfry gaunt and grim;
'T was the daily call to labor,
Not a triumph meant for him.

Not the less he saw the landscape,
In its gleaming vapor veiled;
Not the less he breathed the odors
That the dying leaves exhaled.

Thus, upon the village common,

By the school-boys he was found; And the wise men, in their wisdom, Put him straightway into pound.

Then the sombre village crier,
Ringing loud his brazen bell,
Wandered down the street proclaiming
There was an estray to sell.

And the curious country people,
Rich and poor, and young and old,
Came in haste to see this wondrous
Winged steed, with mane of gold.

Thus the day passed, and the evening
Fell, with vapors cold and dim;
But it brought no food nor shelter,
Brought no straw nor stall, for him.

Patiently, and still expectant,

Looked he through the wooden bars, Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape, Saw the tranquil, patient stars;

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Till at length the bell at midnight
Sounded from its dark abode,

And, from out a neighboring farm-yard
Loud the cock Alectryon1 crowed.

Then, with nostrils wide distended,
Breaking from his iron chain,
And unfolding far his pinions,
To those stars he soared again.

On the morrow, when the village
Woke to all its toil and care,
Lo! the strange steed had departed,
And they knew not when nor where.

But they found, upon the greensward
Where his struggling hoofs had trod,
Pure and bright, a fountain 2 flowing
From the hoof-marks in the sod.

From that hour, the fount unfailing
Gladdens the whole region round,
Strengthening all who drink its waters,
While it soothes them with its sound.

1 Alectryon, in the old fables, was a youth who had been stationed by Mars to give notice when Apollo, the sun-god, was to appear. The boy fell asleep, and, for punishment, was turned by Mars into a cock, and ever since has remembered his duty and crows when the sun rises.

2 The poet Ovid says that, with a blow of his hoof, Pegasus opened the fountain of Hippocrene (horse-spring) on Mount Helicon, and that the Muses used to drink from it. Our poet has turned the pretty story into a fable of wider meaning, by reminding us that poetry, not appreciated by all people, is yet a never-failing source of pleasure in the toiling world.

THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS.

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THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS.

UP soared the lark into the air,
A shaft of song, a wingèd prayer,
As if a soul, released from pain,
Were flying back to heaven again.

St. Francis1 heard; it was to him
An emblem of the Seraphim;
The upward motion of the fire,
The light, the heat, the heart's desire.

Around Assisi's convent gate

The birds, God's poor who cannot wait,
From moor and mere and darksome wood
Came flocking for their dole of food.

"O brother birds," St. Francis said,
"Ye come to me and ask for bread,
But not with bread alone to-day
Shall be fed and sent away.

ye

"Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds,

With manna of celestial words;

Not mine, though mine they seem to be,
Not mine, though they be spoken through me.

“O, doubly are ye bound to praise

The great Creator in your lays ;

1 St. Francis of Assisi lived in Italy at the end of the twelfth and beginning of the thirteenth century, and was founder of the order of the Franciscans. There are many stories of his intimacy with birds and beasts.