A group of tittering pages ran before,
And as they opened wide the folding-door,
His heart failed, for he heard, with strange
alarms,

The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,
And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring
With the mock plaudits of "Long live the
King!"

Next morning, waking with the day's first beam,

He said within himself, "It was a dream!" But the straw rustled as he turned his head,

There were the cap and bells beside his bed, Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls,

And in the corner, a revolting shape, Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape.

It was no dream; the world he loved so much

Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch!

And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling

The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the King!"

Almost three years were ended; when there came

Ambassadors of great repute and name From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane

By letter summoned them forthwith to come On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. The Angel with great joy received his guests,

And gave them presents of embroidered vests,

And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined,
And rings and jewels of the rarest kind.
Then he departed with them o'er the sea
Into the lovely land of Italy,
Whose loveliness was more resplendent
made

By the mere passing of that cavalcade, With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur.
And lo! among the menials, in mock state,
Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait,
His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind,
The solemn ape demurely perched behind,
King Robert rode, making huge merriment
In all the country towns through which
they went.

The Pope received them with great pomp and blare

Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's

The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,

Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene ; The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport

To keep a madman for thy Fool at court!” And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace Was hustled back among the populace.

In solemn state the Holy Week went by, And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky; The presence of the Angel, with its light, Before the sun rose, made the city bright, And with new fervor filled the hearts of men,

Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.

Even the Jester, on his bed of straw,
With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor

saw,

He felt within a power unfelt before,
And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor,
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord
Sweep through the silent air, ascending
heavenward.

And now the visit ending, and once more
Valmond returning to the Danube's shore,
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again
The land was made resplendent with his
train,

Flashing along the towns of Italy
Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.
And when once more within Palermo's
wall,

And, seated on the throne in his great hall, He heard the Angelus from convent towers,

As if the better world conversed with ours, He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,

And with a gesture bade the rest retire; And when they were alone, the Angel said, "Art thou the King?" Then, bowing down his head,

King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,

And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!

My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, And in some cloister's school of penitence, Across those stones, that pave the way to

heaven,

Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be

shriven !"

THE MUSICIAN'S TALE

THE SAGA OF KING OLAF

I

THE CHALLENGE OF THOR

I AM the God Thor,
I am the War God,
I am the Thunderer!
Here in my Northland,
My fastness and fortress,
Reign I forever!

Here amid icebergs Rule I the nations; This is my hammer, Miölner the mighty; Giants and sorcerers Cannot withstand it!

These are the gauntlets
Wherewith I wield it,
And hurl it afar off;
This is my girdle;
Whenever I brace it,
Strength is redoubled!

The light thou beholdest
Stream through the heavens,
In flashes of crimson,
Is but my red beard
Blown by the night-wind,
Affrighting the nations!

Jove is my brother;
Mine eyes are the lightning;
The wheels of my chariot
Roll in the thunder,
The blows of my hammer
Ring in the earthquake!

Force rules the world still,
Has ruled it, shall rule it;
Meekness is weakness,
Strength is triumphant,
Over the whole earth
Still is it Thor's-Day!

Thou art a God too,
O Galilean!

And thus single-handed

There he stood as one who dreamed;
And the red light glanced and gleamed
On the armor that he wore ;
And he shouted, as the rifted
Streamers o'er him shook and shifted,
"I accept thy challenge, Thor!"

To avenge his father slain,
And reconquer realm and reign,

Came the youthful Olaf home, Through the midnight sailing, sailing, Listening to the wild wind's wailing, And the dashing of the foam.

To his thoughts the sacred name
Of his mother Astrid came,

And the tale she oft had told
Of her flight by secret passes
Through the mountains and morasses,
To the home of Hakon old.

Then strange memories crowded back
Of Queen Gunhild's wrath and wrack,
And a hurried flight by sea ;
Of grim Vikings, and the rapture
Of the sea-fight, and the capture,
And the life of slavery.

How a stranger watched his face
In the Esthonian market-place,

Scanned his features one by one, Saying, "We should know each other; I am Sigurd, Astrid's brother,

Thou art Olaf, Astrid's son!"

Then as Queen Allogia's page,
Old in honors, young in age,

Chief of all her men-at-arms;