lay within my dwelling
Through the chilling winds of winter,
In my dwelling-place for ages.
Shall I bring these songs together?
From the cold and frost collect them?
Shall I bring this nest of boxes,
Keepers of these golden legends,
To the table in my cabin,
Underneath the painted rafters,
In this house renowned and ancient?
Shall I now these boxes open,
Boxes filled with wondrous stories?
Shall I now the end unfasten
Of this ball of ancient wisdom?
These ancestral lays unravel?
Let me sing an old-time legend,
That shall echo forth the praises
Of the beer that I have tasted,
Of the sparkling beer of barley,
Bring to me a foaming goblet
Of the barley of my fathers,
Lest my singing grow too weary,
Singing from the water only.
Bring me too a cup of strong beer;
It will add to our enchantment,
To the pleasure of the evening,
Northland's long and dreary evening,
For the beauty of the day-dawn,
For the pleasures of the morning,
The beginning of the new day.

From the FINNISH.
Translation of JOHN MARTIN CRAWFORD.

* * * * *

PARTING LOVERS.

SIENNA.

I love thee, love thee, Giulio!
Some call me cold, and some demure,
And if thou hast ever guessed that so
I love thee ... well;--the proof was poor,
And no one could be sure.

Before thy song (with shifted rhymes
To suit my name) did I undo
The persian? If it moved sometimes,
Thou hast not seen a hand push through
A flower or two.

My mother listening to my sleep
Heard nothing but a sigh at night,--
The short sigh rippling on the deep,--
When hearts run out of breath and sigh
Of men, to God's clear light.

When others named thee,... thought thy brows
Were straight, thy smile was tender,... "Here
He comes between the vineyard-rows!"--
I said not "Ay,"--nor waited, Dear,
To feel thee step too near.

I left such things to bolder girls,
Olivia or Clotilda. Nay,
When that Clotilda through her curls
Held both thine eyes in hers one day,
I marvelled, let me say.

I could not try the woman's trick:
Between us straightway fell the blush
Which kept me separate, blind, and sick.
A wind came with thee in a flush,
As blow through Horeb's bush.

But now that Italy invokes
Her young men to go forth and chase
The foe or perish,--nothing chokes
My voic