246 WALDEMAR DAA AND HIS DAUGHTERS.

And the nightingale sang himself to death.

The camel-driver came with his loaded camels and his black
slaves: his little son found the dead bird, and buried the little
songster in the grave of the great Homer. And the rose trem-
bled in the wind. The evening came, and the Rose wrapped her
leaves more closely together, and dreamed thus:

“Tt was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near,
for they had undertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of Homer.
Among the strangers was a singer from the North, the home of
clouds and of the Northern Light. He plucked the Rose, placed
it in a book, and carried it away into another part of the world,
to his distant fatherland. The Rose faded with grief, and lay in
the narrow book, which he opened in his home, saying, ‘ Here is
a rose from the grave of Homer.’”

This the flower dreamed ; and she awoke and trembled in the
wind. A drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer’s grave.
The sun rose, and the Rose glowed more beauteous than before;
it was a hot day, and she was in her own warm Asia. Then foot-
steps were heard, and Frankish strangers came, such as the Rose
had seen in her dream ; and among the strangers 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 of the
Northern Light. 3

Like’a mummy the flower corpse now rests in his “ Iliad,” and,
as in a dream, she hears him open the book and say, “ Here is a
rose from the grave of Homer.”

—~>—-

THE WIND TELLS ABOUT WALDEMAR DAA
AND HIS: DAUGHTERS.

RYVa HEN the wind. sweeps across the grass, the field has a
ANB] ‘tipple like a pond, and when it sweeps across the corr

‘ the field waves to and fro like a high sea. That is called
the wind’s dance ; but the wind does not dance only, he also tells
stories ; and how loudly he can sing out of his deep chest, and
how different it sounds in the tree-tops in the forest, and through
the loopholes and clefts and cracks in walls! Do you see how
the wind drives the clouds up yonder, like a frightened flock of
sheep? Do you hear how the wind howls down here through
the open valley, like a watchman blowing his horn? With won-
derful tones he whistles and screams down the chimney and into
the fireplace. The fire crackles and flares up, and shines far jntq