One of the most interesting things about the study of mythology is the attempt to discover how widely separate nations came to have similar stories. Many learned men have worked much over this question, and some of them say that, having the same facts to explain, or the same things to express in allegory, the various ancient peoples naturally hit upon the same explanations. Others believe that this similarity of myths shows that far, far back, the ancestors of these different people must have had intercourse with each other. Probably there is some truth in both theories, though most authorities believe that the former theory covers more cases than does the latter.

We have said that this story is an allegory; do you understand just what an allegory is? There are different types of allegories; in some, each person that appears represents some quality or some influence; in others, a general truth is set forth, but there is no attempt to make every minor character fill a place in the allegory. To which type do you think the story of Cupid and Psyche belongs? Do Psyche's sisters, for instance, represent anything?

What was the real fault of Psyche—the folly that cost her her happiness?

The word "Psyche" means in Greek, the SOUL; it is also the word for BUTTERFLY. Can you see any reason why the one name should be used for both?

There are still some very, very old pictures which show a man with a butterfly just fluttering out from between his lips. Remembering that the butterfly was the emblem of the soul, can you imagine what the artists meant to show by this?



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN

By ROBERT BROWNING

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover City; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin was a pity.

Rats! They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats. Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats, By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation,—shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin! You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease? Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing." At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.



An hour they sate in counsel,— At length the Mayor broke silence: For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell; I wish I were a mile hence! It's easy to bid one rack one's brain,— I'm sure my poor head aches again, I've scratched it so, and all in vain, O for a trap, a trap, a trap!" Just as he said this, what could hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap? "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?" (With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous.) "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

"Come in!"—the Mayor cried, looking bigger; And in did come the strangest figure; His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red. And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in; There was no guessing his kith and kin;

And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

He advanced to the council-table: And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep or swim or fly or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper." (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the self-same check; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats; And as for what your brain bewilders,— If I can rid your town of rats, Will you give me a thousand guilders?" "One? fifty thousand!"—was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling, Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers; Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives,— Followed the piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser, Wherein all plunged and perished Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he, the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary, Which was: "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe,— And a moving away of pickle-tub boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks; And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, 'O rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!' And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'— I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple; "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles! Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!"—when suddenly, up the face Of the piper perked in the market-place, With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!" A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too. For council-dinners made rare havoc With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! "Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Besides, our losses have made us thrifty; A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

The piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait! beside, I've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the head cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor,— With him I proved no bargain-driver; With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe to another fashion."

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook Being worse treated than a cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

Once more he stept into the street; And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air) There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling; Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering; And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running; All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by,— And could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the piper's back. But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, As the piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However, he turned from south to west, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. "He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!" When lo, as they reached the mountain's side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the piper advanced and the children followed; And when all were in, to the very last, The door in the mountain-side shut fast. Did I say all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say,— "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the piper also promised me; For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagle's wings; And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured,



The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the Hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!'



FRITHIOF THE BOLD

Adapted by GRACE E. SELLON

Ingeborg was the favored child of King Bele of Sognland—favored not only by the king, but, it would seem, by the gods themselves; for while she possessed great beauty and a disposition of rare loveliness, her brothers, Helge and Halfdan, were endowed neither with comeliness nor with the bravery and the gentler virtues of true princes. Indeed, King Bele seemed to have good cause for regarding Frithiof, the stalwart son of his loyal friend Thorsten, with greater affection than he bestowed upon his own sons, for Frithiof was fearless in danger and could surpass all other youths in feats of strength, yet was so mild- mannered and noble-hearted that from the first he found great pleasure in the companionship of the little princess Ingeborg.

With so much satisfaction did King Bele look upon this comradeship that when Ingeborg was but a small child he gave her into the care of her foster-father, Hilding, under whose guardianship Frithiof also had been placed. Thus thrown constantly into each other's company, the youth and his child playmate found delight in daily expeditions through the forest and on the firth; [Footnote: Firth, an arm of the sea.] and rare times they had.

"Her pilot soon he joyed to glide, In Viking*-guise, o'er stream and tide: Sure, hands so gentle, heart so gay, Ne'er plauded rover's young essay!

"No beetling lair, no pine-rocked nest, Might 'scape the love-urged spoiler's quest: Oft ere an eaglet-wing had soared, The eyry mourned its parted hoard.

"He sought each brook of rudest force, To bear his Ing'borg o'er its source: So thrilling, midst the wild alarm, The tendril-twining of her arm." [Footnote: From Longfellow's translation of portions of Tegner's Frithiof Saga.] *[Footnote: Viking, the name of the Norse sea-pirates who coasted the shores of Europe in the eighth, ninth and tenth centuries. The name is derived from wick, a kind of creek or inlet which these plunderers used as harbors.]

As the years passed, and Ingeborg became lovelier and Frithiof more brave and noble each day, their pleasure in each other's company grew deeper and more absorbing. From this state of happy content, however, Frithiof was to be rudely awakened by the faithful Hilding, who could see a great disappointment looming in the path of his young charge.

Calling Frithiof to him one day, he said:

"Thou knowest the grief I would feel to see thee unhappy. For thy own good I warn thee that it is not possible for Ingeborg ever to be thine. Thou dost forget that she is the king's daughter, and can trace her lineage even to All-father Odin, [Footnote: Odin, the father of the Norse gods. From his lofty throne in Asgard, home of the gods, he could survey and govern all heaven.] while thou art a mere subject in this realm."

"Ah, but strength and prowess, the gifts of Thor [Footnote: Thor, the eldest son of Odin, superior in strength to all the other Norse gods. He was renowned for the possession of a wonderful hammer, which, after being cast at an object, came back of itself to the hand of him who had thrown it, a magic belt that greatly increased his strength; and a pair of iron gloves that gave him strength and skill in throwing his hammer.] himself, must rank above the dignity of kings. Ingeborg, the white lily, shall be mine," retorted Frithiof in angry pride, and took himself off, apparently unheeding the counsel.

Nevertheless, when he thought later of Hilding's words and of the hostile feelings that Halfdan and Helge bore him because of envy of his prowess, he became troubled in mind.

It was not long after this that both Bele and his loyal Thorsten, after impressing many a word of wisdom upon the hearts and minds of their heirs, died peacefully and were placed so near each other that in death, as in life, they seemed always together.

Helge and Halfdan now became the kings of Sogn and Frithiof went to live on the estate of Framnas, left him by his father. Great indeed was his inheritance, for he came into possession of the wonderful sword Angurvadel, on the blade of which were mystic runes [Footnote: Runes, letters or characters of ancient Scandinavian alphabets. The literal meaning of rune, a secret or mystery, is explained by the fact that at first these symbols could be read only by a few.] dull in times of peace, but fiery red in war; the magic ring or armlet made by Vaulund the smith, and the ship Ellida, built in the shape of a dragon and swifter in its flight than any eagle.



These gifts of good fortune, however, failed to satisfy the new master of Framnas. So greatly did he miss the presence of Ingeborg that he could find content in no occupation and wandered about in restlessness. At length he determined to dispel his loneliness by filling his great house with guests and holding a feast that should cause him to be remembered ever afterwards for boundless hospitality. Just at this time came Helge and Halfdan with their sister Ingeborg to visit him. Then indeed did Frithiof's gloom take flight as he sat by Ingeborg's side or with her roamed the woods and fields, living over again the days of their happy comradeship and building hopes for an even happier reunion in the future. In renewing their love, they had secretly become betrothed, and thus the hours of the visit sped all too swiftly.

After the departure of Ingeborg it seemed to Frithiof that all joy had gone out of the world. His dark mood returned, and dismal fears began to haunt him day and night. Unable longer to endure this desperate state, he acted upon a sudden resolve, and set sail in his ship, Ellida, for the home of the princess, determined to ask formally for her hand in marriage. It was a daring project; but Frithiof was a fearless suitor.

Having anchored his boat on the shore of the firth, he advanced at once to where the two kings were "seated on Bele's tomb," administering law to the common people.

In a voice that reechoed round the valleys and peaks, Frithiof cried,

"Ye kings, my love is Ing'borg fair; To ask her in marriage I here repair; And what I require I here maintain was King Bele's desire!" [Footnote: Spalding's translation of Tegner's Frithiof Saga.]

The bold words and kingly bearing of the youth drew to him the admiring gaze of all the great assembly. But Helge looked at him, at first in astonishment; then, in deep scorn.

"The hand of my sister, the Princess Ingeborg, is for none of such mean estate as thou. Wouldst thou enter our household? Accept then the place of serving-man," the king at length replied disdainfully.

At these slighting words Frithiof was so moved by rage that he would have slain the king then and there had not the place been hallowed by Bele's tomb. As it was, he split the royal shield in two with his mighty sword; then, drawing himself up to his full height, he turned abruptly and strode back to his ship, with head held loftily and eyes flashing with terrible anger.

Scarcely had he returned home when he was visited by his foster-father Hilding who, strange as it may seem, had come to ask his aid in behalf of Ingeborg and her brothers.

"The one whom thou lovest has given herself up to grief in the temple of Balder, [Footnote: Balder, the much-loved god of spring.] where she spends each day in tears," Hilding mournfully began. "Her fate is sealed, as is that of the whole kingdom, if thou wilt not help us resist King Ring of Ringland who, notwithstanding his great age, has demanded Ingeborg's hand in marriage, and in anger is marching against us because his request has been refused," continued the faithful old guardian beseechingly.

Frithiof was playing at chess with his companion Bjorn, and to all appearance did not hear nor heed the words of Hilding. His wounded pride cried for revenge. However, by artful remarks concerning the moves that were being made on the board, he let it be known that he was aware of the king's peril but would allow himself to be concerned only for the welfare of Ingeborg. When at length Hilding pressed for an answer, Frithiof cried out:

"Haste! tell the sons of royal Bele I wear not a retainer's steel;* For wounded honor bids divide The sacred bond it once revered." [Footnote: Longfellow's translation.] *[Footnote: Retainer's steel, the sword of a subject]

Filled with secret dismay by Hilding's unsuccessful mission, Helge and Halfdan set forth at once to meet the invading King Ring. Scarcely had they departed when Frithiof, impelled by pity for Ingeborg, went to seek her in Balder's temple. Sympathy had indeed blinded Frithiof's better judgment, for the spot on which the temple stood was held so sacred that the law forbade it to be used for lover's trysts. Regardless of peril, he approached Ingeborg, who, fearful for his safety, implored him to return to Framnas; but the reckless youth, defying Balder's wrath, remained to assure the unhappy princess of his lasting devotion to her welfare.

"By the honor of my race, I swear that thou wilt ever be dearer to me than all things else beside," declared Frithiof solemnly, with bowed head. And then, giving Ingeborg the Vaulund ring, with her he made a vow that their troth should never be broken.

Little did they know how soon their words were to be proved vain! Even then were Helge and Halfdan coming back to Sogn to fulfill the promise made King Ring that Ingeborg should become his bride; and even then did Frithiof's violation of Balder's shrine cry out accusingly, demanding grim punishment.

Immediately upon Helge's return he learned of Frithiof's misdeed. Summoning the offender to him, he asked, in awful tones: "Hast thou aught to say in denial of the grave charge that stands against thee for defiling the sanctuary?"

"According to the law, the charge is just," calmly answered Frithiof.

"Then get thee hence at once," cried Helge. "Sail to the Orkney Islands and there let us see if thy boldness will avail to secure from Earl Angantyr the long-due tribute money. If thou succeed, return; but if thou fail, let shame for thy empty boasts and overweening pride keep thee from these shores forever."

The thought of parting seemed so cruel that Frithiof tried to persuade Ingeborg to go with him to the sunny land of Greece. "There shalt thou dwell in queenly fashion, and I myself will be thy most devoted subject," he pleaded.

Ingeborg, faithful to duty, replied: "My brothers now take my father's place in my life, and I cannot be happy unless I have their consent to my marriage."

In deep dejection Frithiof then set sail in Ellida, Ingeborg watching him from the shore with a heavy and foreboding heart. Hardly had the ship got under way when there arose a terrible storm, caused by two witches whom Helge had paid to use their evil power against his enemy. For days the storm raged, until it seemed that the dragon-ship must be wrecked.

"As made with defeat, It blows more and more hard; There is bursting of sheet, There is splintering of yard. O'er and o'er the half-gulfed side, Flood succeeding flood is poured; Fast as they expel the tide, Faster still it rolls aboard. Now e'en Frithiof's dauntless mind Owned the triumph of his foe; Louder yet than wave and wind Thus his thundering accents flow! 'Haste and grasp the tiller, Bjorn, with might of bear-paw! Tempest so infuriate Comes not from Valhalla.* Witchcraft is a-going; Sure, the coward Helge Spells* the raging billows! Mine the charge to explore.'" [Footnote: Longfellow's translation] *[Footnote: Valhalla, the palace of Odin, in Asgard, the home of the gods.] *[Footnote: Spells, bewitches]

Had the prayers of Ingeborg at length availed? Even as he was gazing out over the waters, Frithiof beheld the two witches floating before him on the back of a great whale. Then it was that his ship Ellida, intelligent and faithful as a human servant, saved him from the power of the crafty Helge. Bearing down quickly upon the evil-workers, it despatched one of them with its sharp prow, while Frithiof, with one thrust of his weapon, destroyed the other. But the vessel was filled with water, and the sailors were forced to bale continually. In this desperate plight the Orkney Islands were reached, and the exhausted crew were borne ashore. Frithiof, too, was worn with fatigue, yet he carried eight of his men at one time from the ship to safety.

When Ellida put into harbor, Earl Angantyrand his warriors were in the midst of a drinking-bout at the palace. The old attendant Halvar, while refilling the Earl's horn [Footnote: Horn, a drinking vessel, horn shaped, or made of horn.] with mead, [Footnote: Mead, a drink made of honey and water.] called the attention of the party to the incoming vessel.

"A ship that can weather such a sea must be no other than Ellida, bearing the doughty son of my good friend Thorsten," exclaimed Angantyr, rising to get a better view.

At these words of praise the keenest envy was aroused in Atle and several of his companions who were most celebrated in that realm for their skill and prowess as huntsmen and warriors; and in a body they went down to the shore to challenge the far-famed youth of Norway.

Again did the magic Angurvadel stand its owner in good stead. Atle's sword having been broken, Frithiof cast aside his own weapon, and the two men wrestled until the latter threw his opponent and stood over him victor.

"Now had I my sword, thou should'st die," cried Frithiof. "Get thy weapon," calmly replied Atle. "I give thee my word I will await thy return."

Frithiof recovered Angurvadel, but as he was about to plunge it into Atle's body he was so moved by the fearlessness of the vanquished man that he spared his life. Earl Angantyr then warmly welcomed the son of his noble friend Thorsten, and because of the memory of this friendship agreed to pay the required tribute.



Not until spring did Frithiof return to Sogn. When he arrived in his native land he learned of two direful events. Helge had destroyed the estate at Framnas, and had given Ingeborg as a bride to King Ring. Into such a furious passion did the news put him, that he went at once to seek out Helge. The two kings with their wives were worshipping in Balder's temple. Unable to suppress his rage, Frithiof advanced toward Helge and thrust Angantyr's tribute into the very face of the king. Then, finding that Helge's wife was wearing the magic ring that Ingeborg had been forced to give up, Frithiof tried to wrest this from its wearer, and in doing so caused the queen to drop into the fire an image of the god Balder. In the effort to avert this disaster Halfdan's wife let fall a second image, and immediately the temple burst into flames.

Had not Frithiof been the most dauntless of all the sons of Norway, he would have been prostrated with fear for the consequences of this terrible sacrilege. Could he longer escape the avenging anger of Balder? Summoning all his courage, he ran to the shore and immediately embarked in Ellida. Swiftly the dragon-ship skimmed the waves, while Helge paced up and down the shore in helpless wrath, all of his vessels having been destroyed by the companions of his fleeing enemy.

For three years thereafter Frithiof roved the seas as a viking, overcoming the great sea-pirates, and taking from them their rich spoils. At length, when he had become very wealthy, he tired of his ceaseless roaming and came to feel that nothing would satisfy him but to see Ingeborg again. Then, despite the protests of Bjorn, he set out for Norway to visit the kingdom of Ringland.

Arrived at the king's palace he entered, disguised as an old man, and humbly seated himself among the servants. Soon those about him began to make fun of his forlorn appearance, whereupon he seized a youth standing near, and raising him high above his head, twisted him about as though he weighed no more than a mere babe. This surprising test of strength drew the attention of the entire party, and the king questioned: "Who art thou, and where didst thou pass the night just gone?"

"In Anguish was I nurtured, Want is my homestead bright. Now come I from the Wolf's den, I slept with him last night" [Footnote: Longfellow's translation]

came in a quavering voice from Frithiof.

But the king, intent upon further discovery, bade the stranger remove his shaggy cloak. Then Frithiof knew that deception was no longer possible, and, throwing off his cloak, he stood forth in all the might of his manhood. Even had it not been otherwise possible to recognize him, the Vaulund ring worn on his arm would have betrayed its owner. At once his eyes traveled to Ingeborg, who blushed deeply, while the king feigned ignorance.

So much favor did Frithiof find with the aged monarch, that he was besought to remain at the court during the winter. On one occasion he repaid this hospitality by saving the lives of the king and queen when they were on their way to a feast. The ice over which they were passing broke, and they would have sunk into the river below had not Frithiof by main force pulled the pony and sleigh out of the water.

Somewhat later, while accompanying the royal party on a visit to the woods and fields where the new beauty of the springtime could be fully enjoyed, Frithiof was left alone with King Ring. Feeling weary, the old man lay down upon a cloak spread for him by his companion, and fell asleep with his head upon the younger man's knee. As he lay thus, a coal-black raven from a near-by tree called in hoarse whispers to Frithiof: "Take his life, now that he is in thy power." But from another bough a bird, white as snow, admonished him: "Respect old age and be true to the trust that has been placed in thee." Thereupon Frithiof cast his sword from him as far as it could be thrown. Soon the king aroused himself from the sleep that he had merely pretended, and said in kindly tones:

"I know thee now to be a brave and loyal friend; and thy trustworthiness shall be rewarded, Frithiof. Do not be surprised that I speak thy name, for I have known thee from the first. Even now the darkness of death is closing round me, and when the light of Midgard [Footnote: Midgard, the name given in Norse mythology to earth, as distinguished from Asgard (the home of the gods) and Hel (the lower world).] fades from my sight, I shall die willing that thou marry Ingeborg and rule my kingdom until my young son shall have grown to manhood."

Frithiof, whose noble nature had been deeply touched by the king's generosity, would have departed from Ringland soon afterward, but with great difficulty was prevailed upon to stay. And so it came about that when in a little time the king died, the long years of trial endured by Ingeborg and Frithiof were brought to an end, and their constancy was rewarded. To fill the measure of their joy, Halfdan, who was now reigning alone, Helge having died, became reconciled to them and gladly agreed to their union. Indeed, it was he who led his sister to the altar in the restored temple of Balder and gave her into the safe- keeping of her faithful lover.

When you think how old your grandmother and grandfather seem, and then remember that they have lived less than a hundred years, you feel that a story which has been living for hundreds of years is indeed very old. Such a story is the one that you have just been reading. Many more children than you could possibly imagine, if you were trying to picture them all in one place—especially children of Norway, Sweden and Denmark—have delightedly read or listened to this same interesting tale.

The Frithiof saga,[Footnote: Saga, an ancient Scandinavian legend, or mythical or historical tale.] as the story is called, did not appear in its present form until the fourteenth century, though it is believed to have existed, at least in part, in earlier ages. It has been told and retold by writers of Norway and Sweden, translated into many languages, and even made into a celebrated epic[Footnote: Epic, a narrative poem concerned usually with historic deeds and characters, and written in a style of marked dignity and grandeur.] poem by the Swedish poet, Tegner.

Of course in the fourteenth century the people of northern Europe no longer thought that Odin, Balder and the other gods mentioned in the story lived in Valhalla and ruled the world. But at that time many did believe in magic and in the evil power of witches; and it is altogether probable that the wonderful ship Ellida, which possessed human intelligence and could save its master from shipwreck; the witches traveling about on the whale's back; the talking birds, and the magical ring and sword would have seemed far less astonishing to these people than would our great ocean steamships and men-of-war, our railroad trains and trolley cars, our telephones and talking-machines, and many other modern wonders in which we fully believe.

While we agree with the children of the long-ago in admiring Frithiof's bravery and faithfulness and Ingeborg's amiability and constancy, probably we are most interested in the story because of the many adventures that it contains. How many of the bold deeds of Frithiof can you recall without turning to the story? If you can remember all of them you are surely doing well. Can you name these deeds in just the order in which you have read them? Suppose you tell this story some time when you are playing school with the younger children in the family or in the neighborhood. It would be a good thing for you to do just what a real teacher might do: go over the story, picking out all of the principal events and writing these briefly and clearly on a slip of paper, one under another, exactly in the order in which they occur.



THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED

Adapted by GRACE E. SELLON

NOTE.—Near the beginning of the thirteenth century there was written in Germany one of the greatest story-poems in the literature of the world. This is the Nibelungenlied, a partly historical, partly mythical tale containing more than two thousand stanzas composed by an unknown poet, or perhaps by several poets. The first half of the poem is made up mostly of the deeds of Siegfried, a warrior king claimed as a national hero, not only by the Germans but by the Norse people, who lived in northern Europe, in the countries of Iceland, Norway, Sweden and Denmark. In the Norse stories, however, Siegfried is known as Sigurd.

It is not at all certain that Siegfried was an historical person. Though there is some reason for thinking that he was Arminius, the fearless leader of the Germans in the terrible revolt by which they overthrew their Roman rulers in the year 9 A. D., yet of the warriors with whom he has been identified, Siegfried seems most like Sigibert, king of the Franks who lived in Austrasia, or ancient Germany. For this king, like Siegfried, overcame the Saxons and Danes by his brave fighting, he too discovered a hidden treasure, and he was at length treacherously put to death by pages of his sister-in-law, Fredegunde, with whom his wife, Brunhilde, had quarreled over some question of precedence.

After all, though, it does not make a great difference whether or not Siegfried was any of the heroes to whom he has been likened or was all of them put together; he really lives for us in the wonderful story of his knightly bravery and good faith.

Some of the greatest poets and dramatists and composers, not only of Germany, but of other countries as well, have made use of incidents from the Nibelungenlied. Of all these works which have been produced with this old poem as a basis, the Ring of the Nibelungen, a group of four operas by Richard Wagner, is most famous. These operas, which are among the finest works of this great composer, are not based absolutely on the Nibelungenlied; many happenings in the life of the hero, Siegfried, are different. But it is clear that Wagner drew his inspiration from this thirteenth century epic, and his use of it has opened other people's eyes to its beauties.

In the golden days of knightly adventure, when heroes famed for marvelous daring went up and down the land in search of deeds in which to display their skill, strength and courage in combat, and their gallantry towards fair ladies, there lived in one of the countries on the Rhine a prince named Siegfried who, though but a youth, was noted far and wide for his unequaled valor and boldness. When he was a mere boy he nobly served his country in putting to death the Dragon of the Linden-tree, a monster so full of hate that it would cast its poison out upon any one who came near it, and so strong that it could destroy any one who tried to conquer it. Nevertheless the fearless Siegfried not only slew this evil creature but bathed in its blood, thus making his own skin so hard that it could never afterward be pierced by any weapon. At another time, while traveling through the land of the Nibelungers, he came upon the two princes of the country and a company of their attendants gathered about the foot of a hill from which had just been taken great quantities of gold and precious stones.



"Ho, Siegfried," called one of the princes, advancing to meet him, "come to our aid, for we are much in need of some one to divide between my brother and myself this treasure left us by our father. For such help we will prove to you our gratitude."

Siegfried, however, would have ridden on had not both princes and all those about them urged him again and again to make the division. They gave him, for reward, the mighty sword Balmung, that had belonged to the dead king of the Nibelungers, and then in anxious expectation stood around him as he began to count out and separate the pieces of gold and the shining stones.

But Siegfried soon grew weary of his task, and glancing over the great piles of treasure that would have filled more than a hundred wagons, he turned impatiently away and would have departed had not twelve powerful companions of the two princes blocked his path.

"Do you think to stay me thus?" cried Siegfried; and before they could answer he attacked them one after another and put them all to death. Then in fury rode against him seven hundred of the great warriors of that land, but, secure in the possession of Balmung, and with a skin like horn, Siegfried overcame every opponent. Last of all he slew the two princes and subdued the dwarf Alberich, whom he made keeper of the treasure.

From this same dwarf he wrested a magic cloak or tarnkappe, that gave its owner wonderful strength, made him proof against every blow dealt him, and enabled him to become invisible. At length, when the remaining nobles had sworn allegiance to him, Siegfried rode away, lord of the Nibelunger's land and treasure.

At this time there dwelt in Burgundy, on the Rhine, a young princess of such rare virtue and beauty that noble youths had come from every land to win her as a bride. As yet, however, she had bestowed her favor upon no one. What, then, were the surprise and foreboding felt by King Siegmund and his queen, Siegelind, the parents of Siegfried, when he made known to them that he was about to fare forth to Burgundy, to sue for the hand of the princess Kriemhild. For they knew that King Gunther, Kriemhild's brother, was a man of great might, and that he and his powerful nobles might look with displeasure upon Siegfried's proud bearing. Finding, however, that they could not change the purpose of the young prince, they provided him and his eleven companions with the finest of garments and with armor of dazzling brightness, and allowed him to depart.

Siegfried was not in the least dismayed when, upon reaching the court of Burgundy, he was taken into the presence of the king.

"It would please me much to know why you have journeyed hither, Prince Siegfried," said Gunther, in kindly tones.

"That I shall tell you without delay," replied the youth. "I have heard of your prowess, King Gunther, and I have come to prove who is the better in arms, you or I. If in fair combat I am victor, let your kingly authority and your lands be given over to me. If I am vanquished, you may claim my rights and possessions as heir to the throne of Netherland."

Upon hearing these bold words Gunther looked on the prince with much surprise, yet with no ill will; but his nobles exchanged angry glances and then broke out in threats of punishment for such overweening pride. Not at all daunted, Siegfried would have challenged the whole company had not the king addressed him with such generous courtesy and offers of entertainment for himself and his companions that the large- hearted knight could not refuse to be pacified.

Little did King Gunther know how greatly he was to profit by this kindness. Before long his kingdom was threatened by the combined armies of the Danes and the Saxons led by their kings, Ludegast and Ludger. Learning of the great danger that had cast a gloom over Gunther, Siegfried assured the king, "Do not let yourself be troubled. I am your friend and for your sake will teach these upstarts to rue the day when they foolishly defied the King of Burgundy." Well pleased with this show of sincere friendship, Gunther entrusted his army to Siegfried, and the young prince of Netherland set forth to meet his foes.

As the Burgundians approached the camp of the enemy, Siegfried rode far in advance to learn what were the numbers of their foes. Thus it was that just without the camp he was challenged by a knight whom he at once recognized as King Ludegast. Leveling their lances, the two warriors rushed together, and each struck full against the other's shield. Then drawing their swords they fought fiercely until Ludegast, severely wounded, fell from his horse. Immediately, thirty of the followers of the Danish king hurled themselves upon Siegfried, and all but one, who begged for life, were slain by the mighty sword Balmung.

After leading the Burgundians into battle, Siegfried fought in the thickest of the fray until almost unhorsed by the Saxon king, Ludger. Stirred to keenest anger by this incident, the prince of Netherland began to rain blows upon his opponent and doubtless would have overcome him had not Ludger suddenly discovered with whom he was fighting, and cried: "Hold! Stay your hand! Let the battle cease. I will not fight against the terrible might of Siegfried, the Netherlander. Let my men surrender, as I submit."

Thus was the day won for the Burgundians; and with mingled sorrow for their fallen warriors and joy for the good tidings that they were bearing King Gunther, they traveled back to the Rhine, accompanied by the captive Danes and Saxons and the prisoner kings. Never was a conquering army more gladly and fittingly received with merry-making and pageants, kind gifts and unstinted praise than was the great host that returned to Gunther's capital.

And, as he deserved, Siegfried was most honored of all. As if the brothers knew what could reward the hero better than anything else in the world, they arranged that Siegfried should at length be presented to their lovely sister, Kriemhild. The plan was indeed no less pleasing to the maiden than to the young prince, for although she lived in seclusion, she had secretly observed him and had come to feel deep admiration and affection for him.

On the day set for the meeting, Kriemhild and her mother, with many attendants, advanced in state to the great room where Gunther held his court. As the princess passed through the crowds that thronged the way, her eyes were often downcast, and a vivid pink overspread the pure whiteness of her cheeks as hundreds of eyes bent upon her their admiring glances. For of all the fair ladies of that court, she was indeed the fairest.

Noting her rare beauty and the modesty, gentleness and grace of her bearing, Siegfried could only exclaim to himself, "She is too good and beautiful for me to win; yet I must always be wretched if I go from this land and never see her again."

Shortly afterward, with formal ceremony, he was presented to the princess, and as he knelt and kissed her hand she murmured: "Welcome again to Burgundy, Sir Siegfried, for surely you have been a brave defender of the honor of our land."

As the last words fell from her lips she looked at Siegfried with such kind interest and he returned her glance with so much ardor that words were not needed to declare their love. For several days thereafter great festivities were held by the King and his court, and whether at tournament or feast Siegfried always held the envied place by Kriemhild's side.

Meanwhile a great project had been forming in Gunther's mind, and one day as he sat among his nobles he declared: "It is my purpose to set forth soon to win a bride who lives in a far distant land. Though the terms by which she is to be won are hard, I cannot be content until I have tried my fate and have either made the fair Brunhilde my wife, or have died in the effort."

At the mention of the name Brunhilde, Gunther's companions cried out in dismay, and one of the lords exclaimed:

"Oh, give up, I pray you, this wild enterprise. A great and good king should not be sacrificed to the strange caprice of the Queen of Issland. You know that like all others who have contested against the unmatched strength of Brunhild, you will die without honor."

Gunther, however, was unmoved by the warning, and turning to Siegfried, he asked, "Will you not help me to carry out my plan? Queen Brunhild, you know, is mightier in combat than any man that lives, yet he who wins her must prove himself superior to her in strength and skill. If he fail, he must die. My friends here think me rash and would induce me to stay at home. In most things I would not oppose them, but in this case I must do as my own heart bids me."

After some thought Siegfried replied, slowly and impressively: "There is one condition on which I will aid you. I will win Brunhild for you if in return you will give me the hand of your sister, Kriemhild."

"There is no other to whom I would more gladly trust her than to you," replied Gunther; and then with clasped hands the two friends sealed their compact.

After busy days of preparation, during which the most splendid raiment that ever clad brave knights was made by Kriemhild and her maidens, Gunther and Siegfried, with several companions, set sail upon the river Rhine, thence to cross the sea to Issland, in the far north. Slowly passed the days of the voyage, for it was a time of keen suspense. "Will good King Gunther ever sail back again into the Rhine country?" was the question that haunted his loyal friends. All but Siegfried were doubtful.

At length, one day, they came into view of a great green castle towering above cliffs. "Behold the home of Brunhild!" cried Siegfried; and then as the eager watchers continued to gaze they could see people hurrying about the castle, evidently excited by the approach of a foreign vessel.

After anchoring the boat the company were taken at once into the presence of Queen Brunhild, who, recognizing the young Netherlander, exclaimed: "Welcome, Prince Siegfried. What brings you to our court?"

Then Siegfried, bowing low, made known their mission:

"Gracious queen, in the name of my lord, the King of Burgundy, I ask for a favorable hearing for his suit. None knows better of his noble qualities than do I, his subject; and none can say with more assurance than I that a nobler husband for Queen Brunhild is nowhere to be found."

"Ah, if that be his quest," cried Brunhild, "he can win his bride, not by gentle speeches and looks of love, but by a sterner test than any mortal suitor has ever yet endured."

Notwithstanding the harsh warning, Gunther, assured by Siegfried, declared: "In the presence of your great beauty, Queen Brunhild, even the strange terms that you propose seem reasonable, and I must accept them, though they bring me and my followers death."



Thereupon Brunhild began to make ready for the contest, and Siegfried, unobserved, slipped down to the boat in the harbor. Soon three of the Queen's attendants came staggering under the weight of an immense javelin, and a little later twelve other men slowly and with great difficulty pushed an enormous stone into the field. Then the Queen herself appeared clad in massive armor. The King and his attendants looked on, and when it seemed that surely all must die, they would gladly have withdrawn; but from shame they strove to hide their fears as best they could.

Meanwhile Siegfried had arrayed himself in his magic cloak, the tarnkappe, and thus made invisible to all he returned to the company and hastened to King Gunther's side.

"Never fear," whispered Siegfried; "if only you let me do the fighting, while you pretend, by look and movement, to be the doer, Brunhild can never withstand us."

No sooner had the words been spoken and Siegfried had taken Gunther's shield in his hand, than the Queen hurled her mighty javelin straight against the two knights. All the earth seemed to resound with the death-dealing blow, and surely had it not been for the tarnkappe both Siegfried and Gunther would have been killed as the great spear pierced the King's massive shield. But Siegfried, alert for action, seized the weapon and, with the point turned toward himself, returned it with such terrific force that Brunhild was struck to the ground. Hastily arising in confusion and anger, she seized the huge stone, and twirling it about her head sent it flying through the air to a spot more than seventy feet distant. Hardly had it alighted when the Queen, springing up lightly, leapt to a mark beyond. Not at all daunted by this awful show of strength, the invisible Siegfried, with Gunther following, hastened to where the stone lay, and picking it up easily, threw it a much greater distance than had the Queen. Then, carrying Gunther with him, he jumped even farther than the stone had been hurled.

With unconcealed chagrin and disappointment, Brunhild advanced to where Gunther stood and pointing to the King declared: "Behold your lord and master, my subjects. Hereafter give to him your loyal service. Brunhild is no longer your queen." Then in stately manner the King with his fair companion returned to the castle.

Great indeed was the joy in Gunther's capital when Siegfried and his attendants, riding in advance of the bridal party, made known the news of the King's victory. Queen Uta, the mother of Gunther and Kriemhild, gave orders that the most splendid preparation be made for receiving Brunhild, and busily did her maidens ply their needles in making garments more beautiful and costly than ever before had adorned fair ladies. And no less industriously did the squires polish the armor of the knights, while their masters tested their trusty blades, that they might fittingly bear themselves in the jousts and tournaments with which Gunther's triumph and home-coming would be celebrated.

Long and loud was the shout of welcome that arose from the crowds gathered along the river bank as the ship bearing Gunther and his bride came into view. Then Queen Uta, followed by a long line of maidens, arrayed in many-colored garments that glittered with the most precious of gems, slowly moved down to the strand, while Kriemhild followed, attended by Siegfried.

As Gunther and his bride stepped from the boat, Kriemhild was first to greet the Queen. "Welcome to Burgundy, sweet Brunhild. May you dwell among us so content that regret for Issland will never trouble you," she cried. Then taking Brunhild's hand she kissed her with gracious good will. Queen Uta likewise made known her gladness in receiving the hard-won bride of Gunther. For days thereafter all the court, with the knights and ladies gathered from every part of that realm, made merry continually, and never was a time more memorable for chivalrous deeds and giving of costly gifts.

On the evening of Gunther's arrival, as the guests were assembling at a feast, Siegfried recalled to the King the terms of their compact: "Brunhild is now yours. Have you forgotten that you promised me the hand of the lady Kriemhild?"

"That have I not, good Siegfried," replied the King, and he at once sent for his sister.

Then in the presence of all the great company, Gunther, taking Kriemhild's hand, said: "Fair sister, many days ago I promised you in marriage to one of the noblest knights that ever served our land of Burgundy. I ask now that you accept his, love and thus fulfill my promise."

"It is my part to obey you in all things, my brother," replied Kriemhild, with downcast eyes. "I shall as gladly do your bidding now as always in the past."

How all the beholders marveled at the gentleness and beauty of the princess, as with blushes she was led to Siegfried's side. Never had a brave and loyal friend been rewarded with a greater measure of joy than was Siegfried's then.

Gunther, however, had won a bride to whom such modest, docile ways were quite unknown. Brunhild's pride had not been conquered, and her cheeks would sometimes flush with anger as she recalled that the fame of her peerless strength was no longer glorious and that she was now subject to another's will. As the days passed on, these thoughts so vexed her that she could not bear the shame of her defeat, and she began to treat the King with scorn.

Thus provoked on one occasion, he would have shown her that he was master in that realm, when Brunhild, leaping upon him, tied his feet and hands together with a girdle that she wore about her waist, and suspended him from a nail projecting from the wall. In vain did Gunther struggle against her strength. He must hang upon the wall until, weak and exhausted, he begged her to release him, promising never again to offend her. However, Gunther could not forget this daring insult to his kingly authority, and he went moodily about the palace for the rest of the day.

Noticing his gloom, Siegfried exclaimed: "What troubles you, King Gunther? Surely your looks ill become this merry season."

"Perhaps if you had a wife who could tie you up and hang you upon the wall until you promised to do her bidding, you would not be so cheerful either," grumbled the King in return.

"Aha," laughed Siegfried, "so that is what the fair lady has been up to, is it? Well, I think that for such waywardness we can try the same remedy that saved us from her power in Issland. Just call upon me the next time that trouble arises and we will subdue the proud Brunhild once for all."

And so it chanced that with the help of the tarnkappe, Siegfried, all unseen, overcame the Queen in a mighty struggle that had been brought on by some show of authority on Gunther's part. At this time he wrested from her the magic ring and girdle that were the source of all her strength, and ever afterward there was peace in Gunther's household.

It was not long before Siegfried with his bride returned to his home in Netherland, and was made king of that realm by his father Siegmund. No less brave and generous was he as a ruler than as a knight, and the years sped on in high prosperity for all the kingdom. But envy was at work, and all too soon was Siegfried's good fortune brought to an end.

In the court of Burgundy Brunhild remained ill content. She could not understand why it was that if Siegfried was Gunther's subject, as he had declared himself to be when in Issland, he did not yield the obedience and service of a subject. As Gunther could not well explain Siegfried's deception and make known that the Netherlander was not indeed a vassal, he evaded Brunhild's questions. But the Queen was persistent, for it vexed her that Siegfried and his lady offered no homage at the court of Burgundy. At length one day she entreated the King: "Since you are unwilling to require a vassal's service of the King of Netherland, at least invite him to pay a visit to our court. Many years have passed since I have seen your sister Kriemhild, and I would be most glad to renew my friendship with her."

Thus it came about that Siegfried and Kriemhild were bidden to visit Burgundy and in the course of a few months journeyed thither. The merriest of entertainment was provided, and Gunther and his queen were so lavish of their kindness that never would one have suspected Brunhild's deeply burning resentment. All at once, however, her ill feeling flamed into uncontrollable fury and brought about the sorrowful deed that ever afterward dimmed the fair honor of Burgundy.

Shortly before the vesper service in the cathedral the two queens met one evening, and Kriemhild, having just witnessed some daring feats performed by Siegfried in the courtyard of the castle, exclaimed in admiration: "Oh, surely so bold a knight as my husband is fit to rule this land of Burgundy!"

"But not while Gunther lives," returned Brunhild in wrath. "No vassal indeed can presume to fill the place and take upon him the dignity of his lord and master."

"I am speaking not of a vassal, but of the King of Netherland," retorted Kriemhild.

"Ah, but that same King, as I heard from his own lips when he bore Gunther company in Issland, is my husband's vassal!" exclaimed Brunhild flushing scarlet in her anger.

"How little you know," replied Kriemhild, laughing scornfully, "of the clever trick by which my brother won you! Perhaps you have never heard of Siegfried's tarnkappe. But you shall learn now that it stood my husband in good stead when he and my noble brother were near to death in Issland. Know, O Queen, that it was Siegfried who, all unseen, performed the mighty feats that gained a bride for Gunther, and that it was no other than the same great knight who later brought into subjection the over-proud Queen Brunhild. For proof of this behold the cord and ring taken from you that day. Let us hear no more of vassals and their homage. As token of the honor that befits me, now stand aside and let me enter this cathedral first!"

Slowly the color left Brunhild's cheeks as she stood speechless and helpless, while Kriemhild and her attendants passed into the church. Then bursting into violent weeping she sank to the ground, overcome with shame and anger. Soon the word of the disgraceful quarrel had spread among the Burgundians and their guests, and many an indignant speech was heard and many a revengeful plot was planned.

But it was Hagan, the crafty uncle of Gunther, who soothed the grief of Brunhild with a secret design by which Kriemhild's insult should be most cruelly paid for. After no little persuasion he won Gunther's aid. Then the great lords of the land were assembled, and Hagan addressed them thus: "You know well what dishonor has been done to the power of Burgundy by these haughty Netherlanders. Shall we brook such insult? No! let us either suffer death ourselves or bring to destruction the over-bold King Siegfried."

With such approval did these words meet that the King sat silent, unable to defend one who had so loyally befriended him. Then it was planned that messengers should come to the court pretending to bear threats of war from the king of the Saxons and Danes. Siegfried would thus be deceived into offering Gunther service, and while away from the court should be put to death. So well did this plot work that the brave Netherlander, having proffered his services, was placed at the head of a great army to march against the foe.

At this time Hagan, assuming to be deeply concerned about Siegfried's welfare, was besought by Kriemhild to guard well the life of her husband. "You know," she confessed at length, reluctantly, "Siegfried's body cannot be pierced by any weapon,—except in one place between his shoulders where a linden leaf fell on him while he was bathing in the dragon's blood. Will you not remember that and try to shield him while in battle?"

"Dear Kriemhild, I will remember," replied the treacherous Hagan, "but that I may know just where the place is, will you not sew on his clothing, just above it, a token that will mark the spot?"

"Yes, I will stitch a little cross upon his surcoat," assented Kriemhild.

Then it was that the cruel Hagan, having learned his opponent's secret, had messengers come to the court announcing that the enemy would not wage war with Burgundy but would remain at peace. So disappointed was Siegfried that, apparently to please him, a great hunting party was formed, and all the bold warriors rode away to the forest. Unwillingly did Kriemhild part with her husband, but so eager was he for the sport that nothing could stay him.

When the company reached the woods they separated in all directions, and Siegfried was soon in mad pursuit of a wild boar. When he had killed this and several other savage beasts, he surpassed all former deeds of boldness by capturing single-handed and on foot a great bear and leading it back to the camp. There he mischievously set the animal free, and as it raced away in wild haste, the servants who were getting ready the feast became so frightened, that pans and dishes containing all kinds of food were dropped upon the ground or into the fire, as cooks and maids fled in terror. The warrior huntsmen sped after the bear, but it was Siegfried who brought him to the ground.



When at length all had assembled about the table, merry and loud were the talk and laughter.

"But where is the wine, King Gunther?" cried Siegfried. "Surely it has not been omitted from the feast."

As the King turned with questioning look to Hagan, the latter said: "I supposed the feast was to be held elsewhere and ordered the wine sent to that place. However, there is a clear, cold stream near by that we may drink from. I have heard how fleet of foot you are, friend Siegfried. Let us race to the brook and see who shall be the winner."

Pleased with the idea of such sport Siegfried agreed. At once he set out swiftly, running with Hagan and Gunther, and easily reached the little creek before the others. However, out of courtesy, he let the King drink first, then with eager thirst he bent over the cool, glittering water. Immediately the King and Hagan bore away the weapons that lay by his side, and as the good knight touched his lips to the water, Hagan drove the spear full into the spot marked by the little cross.

In vain did Siegfried leap to his feet to recover his weapons, and combat with those who had given him the base blow. Nothing was left him but his shield, which he flung with such terrible force as to overthrow the fleeing Hagan. Before his looks of wrathful reproach the guilty pair shuddered in strange terror. Then, his anger giving way to a strange calm, he called to his betrayers: "Yours is the sorrow of this day! Not even in death can cowardice and treachery triumph over love and loyalty."

Thus speaking, the good King Siegfried sank upon the flowers of the meadow, and died as bravely as he had lived.

Carlyle translated parts of the Nibelungenlied. He describes the death of Siegfried as follows:

"Then, as to drink, Sir Siegfried down kneeling there be found, He pierced him through the croslet, that sudden from the wound Forth the life-blood spurted, e'en o'er his murderer's weed. Nevermore will warrior dare so foul a deed.

"With blood were all bedabbled the flowerets of the field. Some time with death he struggled as though he scorned to yield E'en to the foe whose weapon strikes down the loftiest head. At last prone in the meadow lay mighty Siegfried dead."



NIGHT

By ROBERT SOTUTHEY

How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven: In full-orb'd glory yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark-blue depths. Beneath her steady ray The desert-circle spreads, Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. How beautiful is night!



LOCHINVAR

By SIR WALTER SCOTT

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske River where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all. Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), "O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;— Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,— And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,— "Now tread we a measure," said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bridemaidens whispered, "'T were better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung; "She is won! we are gone; over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

Let us see how many things we can find out about this poem. The first thing we think of is that it tells a story—just one story, without any outside, disconnected incidents. Then we notice that the style is very simple, that the meter is easy and swinging, and that the last line of every stanza is almost like a refrain. There is one other thing: the author does not show in the poem at all; that is, the poem is strictly a story, without comments by the author or any expressed moral.

This poem of Lochinvar belongs to a class of poems called ballads, all of which possess some, at least, of the characteristics which we have found in Lochinvar. All ballads do not have refrains, but all ballads do contain narratives in simple, often rude style. Most ballad stanzas have only four lines, though Scott uses six for this.

The history of ballad poetry is very interesting. In all nations, it is believed, it has been the earliest form of poetry, and it is thought that the great heroic poems, such as the Cid of the Spaniards and the Nibelungenlied of the Germans, grew out of ballads. These early ballads were not written down; they were sung, or recited, and in thus being handed down by word of mouth, they underwent many changes, so that in time it could very well be said that a popular ballad had no one author—it belonged to all the people.



ROBIN HOOD

INTRODUCTION

As to whether or not there ever was a Robin Hood, there is much uncertainty. Grave men have written grave books, some proving and some disproving his existence, but the question has never been settled. Some believe that he was a real outlaw; some believe that the stories about him were originally told about some elf of the woods, and that only gradually did he come to be looked upon as a man. However that may be, he is a very real character in literature. By no means all the writings about him are the grave books spoken of above. Stories, poems, dramas, operas have been written with him as the central figure; and these are so interesting that we take them for their own sakes, and trouble ourselves little about the identity of the hero. He seems real to us, and that is all we need to know.

The mythical Robin Hood was an outlaw, the most gentlemanly and pious and liberal of outlaws, and he dwelt with his trained yeomen in Sherwood forest, Nottinghamshire, or in Barnsdale in Yorkshire. Here they lived a free and active life, subsisting on the King's deer which they shot in the woods, and on provisions which they took from travelers. Robin Hood never himself molested or allowed any of his followers to molest any poor travelers; indeed, if he was thoroughly convinced that any of those whom he met were really needy, he helped them gladly and generously. But from the rich knights and clergy he took without scruple. Chief of his followers were Little John, Scathlockor Scalock, Will Stutely, Friar Tuck, and Much, the Miller's son.

The ballads which are given here relate to the first meeting of Robin Hood with Little John and with Scathlock, and give also two of his other characteristic adventures. Both the date and the authorship of the old ballads are unknown.

According to the legends, Robin Hood lived to be over eighty years old and then met his death in a very treacherous manner. Feeling ill, he went to a prioress, who was a relative of his, to be bled, and the prioress, induced by Robin Hood's enemies, allowed him to bleed to death.



ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN

When Robin Hood was about twenty years old, With a hey down, down, and a down;* He happen'd to meet with Little John, A jolly brisk blade, right fit for the trade, For he was a lusty young man. *[Footnote: This line means nothing, it is simply a refrain. The old ballads were usually sung or chanted, and many of those which are now printed without refrain lines undoubtedly had them originally.] Tho' he was called Little, his limbs they were large And his stature was seven foot high; Wherever he came, they quak'd at his name, For soon he would make them to fly.

How they came acquainted, I'll tell you in brief, If you would but listen awhile; For this very jest, among all the rest, I think it may cause you to smile.

For Robin Hood said to his jolly bowmen,* "Pray tarry you here in this grove; And see that you all observe well my call, While through the forest I rove. *[Footnote: You will see that to make the meter right it is necessary to accent the word bowmen on the last syllable. These changes of accent often occur in ballads, and help to add to the quaintness and peculiarity of the old poems.]

"We have had no sport for these fourteen long days, Therefore now abroad will I go. Now should I be beat, and cannot retreat, My horn I will presently blow."

Then did he shake hands with his merry men all, And bid them at present good bye; Then, as near the brook his journey he took, A stranger he chanc'd to espy.

They happen'd to meet on a long narrow bridge, And neither of them would give way; Quoth bold Robin Hood, and sturdily stood, "I'll show you right Nottingham play."

With that from his quiver an arrow he drew, A broad arrow with a goose-wing. The stranger replied, "I'll liquor thy hide, If thou offer to touch the string."

Quoth bold Robin Hood, "Thou dost prate like an ass, For were I to bend my bow, I could send a dart quite thro' thy proud heart, Before thou couldst strike me one blow."

"Thou talk'st like a coward," the stranger reply'd; "Well arm'd with a long bow you stand, To shoot at my breast, while I, I protest, Have nought but a staff in my hand,"

"The name of a coward," quoth Robin, "I scorn, Therefore my long bow I'll lay by; And now for thy sake, a staff will I take, The truth of thy manhood to try."

Then Robin Hood stept to a thicket of trees, And chose him a staff of brown oak; Now this being done, away he did run To the stranger, and merrily spoke:

"Lo! see my staff is lusty and tough, Now here on this bridge we will play; Whoever falls in, the other shall win The battle, and so we'll away."

"With all my whole heart," the stranger reply'd, "I scorn in the least to give out." This said, they fell to't without more dispute, And their staffs they did flourish about.

At first Robin he gave the stranger a bang, So hard that he made his bones ring; The stranger he said, "This must be repaid, I'll give you as good as you bring.

"So long as I am able to handle a staff, To die in your debt, friend, I scorn." Then to it each goes, and followed their blows, As if they'd been threshing of corn.



The stranger gave Robin a crack on the crown, Which caused the blood to appear; Then Robin, enrag'd, more fiercely engag'd, And follow'd his blows more severe.

So thick and so fast did he lay it on him, With a passionate fury and ire; At every stroke he made him to smoke, As if he had been all on fire.

O then into fury the stranger he grew, And gave him a damnable look, And with it a blow that laid him full low, And tumbled him into the brook.

"I prithee, good fellow, O where art thou now?" The stranger, in laughter, he cry'd. Quoth bold Robin Hood, "Good faith, in the flood And floating along with the tide.

"I needs must acknowledge thou art a brave soul, With thee I'll no longer contend; For needs must I say, thou hast got the day, Our battle shall be at an end."

Then unto the bank he did presently wade, And pull'd himself out by a thorn; Which done, at the last, he blew a loud blast Straightway on his fine bugle-horn.

The echo of which through the valleys did fly, At which his stout bowmen appear'd, All clothed in green, most gay to be seen, So up to their master they steer'd.

"O, what's the matter?" quoth William Stutely: "Good master, you are wet to the skin." "No matter," quoth he, "the lad which you see In fighting hath tumbled me in."

"He shall not go scot-free," the others reply'd; So strait they were seizing him there, To duck him likewise; but Robin Hood cries, "He is a stout fellow; forbear.

"There's no one shall wrong thee, friend; be not afraid; These bowmen upon me do wait; There's threescore and nine; if thou wilt be mine, Thou shalt have my livery strait,

"And other accoutrements fitting also: Speak up, jolly blade, never fear. I'll teach you also the use of the bow, To shoot at the fat fallow deer."

"O, here is my hand," the stranger reply'd. "I'll serve you with all my whole heart; My name is John Little, a man of good mettle; Ne'er doubt it, for I'll play my part."

"His name shall be alter'd," quoth William Stutely, "And I will his godfather be; Prepare then a feast, and none of the least, For we will be merry," quoth he.

They presently fetch'd him a brace of fat does, With humming strong liquor likewise; They lov'd what was good; so, in the green-wood This pretty sweet babe they baptize.

He was, I must tell you, but seven foot high, And, may be, an ell in the waist; A sweet pretty lad; much feasting they had; Bold Robin the christ'ning grac'd,

With all his bowmen, who stood in a ring, And were of the Nottingham breed; Brave Stutely came then, with seven yeomen, And did in this manner proceed:

"This infant was called John Little," quoth he; "His name shall be changed anon: The words we'll transpose; so wherever he goes, His name shall be call'd Little John."

They all with a shout made the elements ring; So soon as the office was o'er, To feasting they went, with true merriment And tippled strong liquor gillore. [Footnote: Gillore is an old form of galore.]

Then Robin he took the pretty sweet babe, And cloth'd him from top to toe, In garments of green, most gay to be seen, And gave him a curious long bow.

"Thou shalt be an archer as well as the best, And range in the green-wood with us; Where we'll not want gold nor silver, behold, While bishops have aught in their purse.

"We live here like 'squires, or lords of renown, Without e'er a foot of free land; We feast on good cheer, with wine, ale, and beer, And ev'ry thing at our command."

Then music and dancing did finish the day; At length, when the sun waxed low, Then all the whole train the grove did refrain, And unto their caves did go.

And so ever after, as long as he liv'd, Altho' he was proper and tall, Yet, nevertheless, the truth to express, Still Little John they do him call.



ROBIN HOOD AND THE STRANGER

Come listen awhile, you gentlemen all, With a hey down, down, a down, down, That are this bower within, For a story of gallant bold Robin Hood, I purpose now to begin.

"What time of day?" quoth Robin Hood then; Quoth Little John, "Tis in the prime." "Why then we will to the green-wood gang, [Footnote: Gang is the Scotch word for go.] For we have no vittles to dine."

As Robin Hood walkt the forest along, It was in the mid of the day, There he was met of a deft* young man, As ever walkt on the way. * [Footnote: Deft means neatly dressed, well looking.] His doublet was of silk, he said, His stockings like scarlet shone, And as he walkt on along the way, To Robin Hood then unknown.

A herd of deer was in the bend, All feeding before his face; "Now the best of you Ile have to my dinner, And that in a little space." *[Footnote: At the time the old ballads were first written down, spelling had not become settled. The contraction I'll was often spelled as it sounds.]



Now the stranger he made no mickle* adoe, But he bends a right good bow, And the best buck in the herd he slew, Forty good yards him froe. [Footnote: Froe means from. Such changes in order as occur in this line are frequent in the old ballads.] *[Footnote: Mickle is an old English and Scotch word meaning much, or great.] "Well shot, well shot," quod Robin Hood then, "That shot it was shot in time; And if thou wilt accept of the place, Thou shalt be a bold yeoman of mine."

"Go play the chiven,"* the stranger said; "Make haste and quickly go, Or with my fist, be sure of this, He give thee buffets sto'." [Footnote: Buffets sto' means store of buffets.] *[Footnote: It is uncertain what the word chiven means. The likeliest explanation is that it means coward.] "Thou had'st not best buffet me," quod Robin Hood, "For though I seem forlorn, Yet I can have those that will take my part, If I but blow my horn."

"Thou wast not best wind thy horn," the stranger said, "Beest thou never so much in haste, For I can draw out a good broad sword, And quickly cut the blast."

Then Robin Hood bent a very good bow To shoot, and that he would fain; The stranger he bent a very good bow, To shoot at bold Robin again.

"O hold thy hand, hold thy hand," quod Robin Hood, "To shoot it would be in vain; For if we should shoot the one at the other, The one of us may be slain.

"But let's take our swords and our broad bucklers, And gang under yonder tree." "As I hope to be sav'd," the stranger said, "One foot I will not flee."

Then Robin lent the stranger a blow 'Most scar'd him out of his wit: "Thou never felt blow," the stranger he said, "Thou shalt be better quit."

The stranger he drew out a good broad sword, And hit Robin on the crown, That from every haire of bold Robin's head, The blood ran trickling down.

"God a mercy, good fellow!" quod Robin Hood then, "And for this that thou hast done, Tell me, good fellow, what thou art, Tell me where thou doest wone."

The stranger then answered bold Robin Hood, "He tell thee where I did dwell; In Maxwel town I was bred and born, My name is young Gamwel.

"For killing of my own father's steward. I am forc'd to this English wood, And for to seek an uncle of mine; Some call him Robin Hood."

"But are thou a cousin* of Robin Hood then? The sooner we should have done." "As I hope to be sav'd," the stranger then said, "I am his own sister's son." *[Footnote: Cousin had formerly a broader meaning than it has to-day. Here it means, as the last line of the stanza shows, nephew.]

But lord! what kissing and courting was there, When these two cousins did greet! And they went all that summer's day, And Little John did (not) meet.

But when they met with Little John, He unto them did say, "O master, pray where have you been, You have tarried so long away?"

"I met with a stranger," quod Robin Hood, "Full sore he hath beaten me." "Then He have a bout with him," quod Little John, "And try if he can beat me."

"Oh no, oh no," quoth Robin Hood then, "Little John, it may not be so; For he is my own dear sister's son, And cousins I have no mo'." [Footnote: Mo is used instead of more, for the sake of rhyme.]

"But he shall be a bold yeoman of mine, My chief man next to thee; And I Robin Hood, and thou Little John, And Scalock he shall be." [Footnote: Scalock, or Scathlock, means scarlet. The name is given to the stranger because of his scarlet stockings.]



ROBIN HOOD AND THE WIDOW'S THREE SONS

There are twelve months in all the year, As I hear many say, But the merriest month in all the year Is the merry month of May.



Now Robin is to Nottingham gone, With a link, a down, and a day, And there he met a silly* old woman, Was weeping on the way. *[Footnote: Silly here expresses a combination of simplicity and virtue.]

"What news? what news? thou silly old woman, What news hast thou for me?" Said she, "There's three squires in Nottingham town, To-day are condemned to die."

"Oh, what have they done?" said Robin Hood, "I pray thee tell to me." "It's for slaying of the King's fallow deer, Bearing their long bows with thee."

"Dost thou not mind, old woman," he said, "Since thou made me sup and dine? By the truth of my body," quoth bold Robin Hood, "You could not tell it in better time."

Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone, With a link, a down, and a day, And there he met with a silly old palmer,* Was walking along the highway. *[Footnote: A palmer was a person who bad made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and brought back with him a palm branch. Later on the term was applied to a monk who had taken a vow of poverty, and who spent all his time traveling about from shrine to shrine.]

"What news? what news? thou silly old man, What news, I do thee pray?" Said he, "Three squires in Nottingham town, Are condemn'd to die this day."

"Come change thy apparel with me, old man, Come change thy apparel for mine; Here is forty shillings in good silver, Go drink it in beer or wine."

"Oh, thine apparel is good," he said, "And mine is ragged and torn; Wherever you go, wherever you ride, Laugh ne'er an old man to scorn."

"Come change thy apparel with me, old churl, Come change thy apparel with mine; Here are twenty pieces of good broad gold, Go feast thy brethren with wine."

Then he put on the old man's cloak, Was patch'd black, blew, and red; He thought it no shame, all the day long, To wear the bags of bread.

Then he put on the old man's breeks, Was patch'd from ballup to side; "By the truth of my body," bold Robin can say, "This man lov'd little pride."

Then he put on the old man's hose, Were patch'd from knee to wrist;* "By the truth of my body," said bold Robin Hood, "I'd laugh if I had any list." *[Footnote: The word wrist was formerly sometimes used for ankle.] Then he put on the old man's shoes, Were patch'd both beneath and aboon; Then Robin swore a solemn oath, "It's good habit that makes a man."

Now Robin is to Nottingham gone, With a link, a down, and a down, And there he met with the proud sheriff, Was riding along the town.



"Oh Christ you save, oh, sheriff," he said, "Oh Christ you save and see; And what will you give to a silly old man To-day will your hangman be?"

"Some suits, some suits," the sheriff he said, "Some suits I'll give to thee: Some suits, some suits, and pence thirteen, To-day's a hangman's fee."

Then Robin he turns him round about, And jumps from stock to stone: "By the truth of my body," the sheriff, he said, "That's well jumpt, thou nimble old man."

"I was ne'er a hangman in all my life, Nor yet intend to trade; But curst be he," said bold Robin, "That first a hangman made.

"I've a bag for meal, and a bag for malt, And a bag for barley and corn; A bag for bread, and a bag for beef, And a bag for my little small horn.