woes; but the rose
remained silent, not even a dewdrop lay like a tear of sympathy on her
leaves. At last she bowed her head over a heap of stones, and said,
"Here rests the greatest singer in the world; over his tomb will I
spread my fragrance, and on it I will let my leaves fall when the
storm scatters them. He who sung of Troy became earth, and from that
earth I have sprung. I, a rose from the grave of Homer, am too lofty
to bloom for a nightingale." Then the nightingale sung himself to
death. A camel-driver came by, with his loaded camels and his black
slaves; his little son found the dead bird, and buried the lovely
songster in the grave of the great Homer, while the rose trembled in
the wind.

The evening came, and the rose wrapped her leaves more closely
round her, and dreamed: and this was her dream.

It was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near who had
undertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of Homer. Among the strangers was
a minstrel from the north, the home of the clouds and the brilliant
lights of the aurora borealis. He plucked the rose and placed it in
a book, and carried it away into a distant part of the world, his
fatherland. The rose faded with grief, and lay between the leaves of
the book, which he opened in his own home, saying, "Here is a rose
from the grave of Homer."

Then the flower awoke from her dream, and trembled in the wind.
A drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer's grave. The sun
rose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. The day was
hot, and she was still in her own warm Asia. Then footsteps
approached, strangers, such as the rose had seen in her dream, came
by, and among them was a poet from the north; he plucked the rose,
pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, and carried her away to the
home of the clouds and the northern lights. Like a mummy, the flower
now rests in his "Iliad," and, as in her dream, she hears him say,
as he opens the book, "Here is a rose from the grave of Homer."

THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE

Round about the garden ran a hedge of hazel-bushes; beyond the
hedge were fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middle
of the garden stood a Rose-tree in bloom, under which sat a Snail,
whose shell contained a great deal--that is, himself.

"Only wait till my time comes," he said; "I shall do more than
grow roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the hazel-bush, the cows and
the sheep."

"I expect a great deal from you,"