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"For that I live am I content

(Oh! I have seen my true love's eyes!) To stand wi' Adam in Eden-glade,

And run in the woods o' Paradise!"

'Twas nodding grass and naked sky,
'Twas blue above and bent below,
Where, checked against the wastrel wind,
The red deer belled to call the doe.

True Thomas laid his harp away,

And louted low at the saddle-side;
He has taken stirrup and hauden rein,
And set the King on his horse o' pride.

"Sleep ye or wake," True Thomas said,
"That sit so still, that muse so long;
Sleep ye or wake ?-till the latter sleep
I trow ye'll not forget my song.

"I ha' harpit a shadow out o' the sun To stand before your face and cry;

I ha' armed the earth beneath your heel,

"

And over your head I ha' dusked the sky!

"I ha' harpit ye up to the Throne o' God,
I ha' harpit your secret soul in three;
I ha' harpit ye down to the Hinges o' Hell,

And-ye-would-make-a Knight o' me!"

THE STORY OF UNG.

ONCE, on a glittering ice-field, ages and ages

ago,

Ung, a maker of pictures, fashioned an image of

snow.

Fashioned the form of a tribesman-gaily he whistled and sung,

Working the snow with his fingers. Read ye the Story of Ung!

Pleased was his tribe with that image-came in their hundreds to scan

Handled it, smelt it, and grunted: "Verily, this is a man!

Thus do we carry our lances-thus is a war-belt

slung.

Ay, it is even as we are. Glory and honour to

Ung!"

Later he pictured an aurochs—later he pictured a bear

Pictured the sabre-tooth tiger dragging a man to his lair

Pictured the mountainous mammoth, hairy, abhorrent, alone

Out of the love that he bore them, scribing them clearly on bone.

Swift came the tribe to behold them, peering and pushing and still

Men of the berg-battered beaches, men of the boulder-hatched hill,

Hunters and fishers and trappers-presently whispering low;

"Yea, they are like-and it may be. . . . But how does the Picture-man know?

"Ung-hath he slept with the Aurochs-watched where the Mastodon roam ?

Spoke on the ice with the Bow-head-followed the Sabre-tooth home?

Nay! These are toys of his fancy! If he have cheated us so,

How is there truth in his image-the man that he fashioned of snow?"

Wroth was that maker of pictures-hotly he answered the call:

"Hunters and fishers and trappers, children and fools are ye all!

Look at the beasts when ye hunt them!" Swift from the tumult he broke,

Ran to the cave of his father and told him the shame that they spoke.

And the father of Ung gave answer, that was old and wise in the craft,

Maker of pictures aforetime, he leaned on his lance and laughed:

"If they could see as thou seest they would do what thou hast done,

And each man would make him a picture, andwhat would become of my son ?

"There would be no pelts of the reindeer, flung down at thy cave for a gift,

Nor dole of the oily timber that strands with the Baltic drift;

No store of well-drilled needles, nor ouches of

amber pale;

No new-cut tongues of the bison, nor meat of the stranded whale.

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