But ever when it seemed her need was at the sorest, A prince in shining mail comes prancing through the forest, A waving ostrich-plume, a buckler burnished bright; I've seen him in my dreams--good sooth! a gallant knight. His lips are coral-red beneath a dark moustache; See how he waves his hand and how his blue eyes flash! "Come forth, thou Paynim knight!" he shouts in accents clear. The giant and the maid both tremble his voice to hear. Saint Mary guard him well!--he draws his falchion keen, The giant and the knight are fighting on the green. I see them in my dreams, his blade gives stroke on stroke. The giant pants and reels, and tumbles like an oak! With what a blushing grace he falls upon his knee And takes the lady's hand and whispers, "You are free!" Ah! happy childish tales of knight and faërie! I waken from my dreams, but there's ne'er a knight for me; I waken from my dreams and wish that I could be A child by the old hall-fire upon my nurse's knee! MRS. KATHERINE'S LANTERN WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM "Coming from a gloomy court, Place of Israelite resort, This old lamp I've brought with me. Madam, on its panes you'll see The initials K. and E." "An old lantern brought to me? Ugly, dingy, battered, black!" (Here a lady I suppose Turning up a pretty nose)-- "Pray, sir, take the old thing back, I've no taste for bric-à-brac." "Please to mark the letters twain"-- (I'm supposed to speak again)-- "Graven on the lantern pane. Can you tell me who was she, Mistress of the flowery wreath, And the anagram beneath-- The mysterious K. E.? "Full a hundred years are gone Since the little beacon shone From a Venice balcony: There, on summer nights, it hung, And her lovers came and sung To their beautiful K. E. "Hush! in the canal below Don't you hear the splash of oars Underneath the lantern's glow, And a thrilling voice begins To the sound of mandolins?-- Begins singing of amore, And delire and dolore-- O the ravishing tenore! "Lady, do you know the tune? Ah, we all of us have hummed it! I've an old guitar has thrummed it, Under many a changing moon. Shall I try it? Do re Mi * * * * * What is this? _Ma foi_, the fact is, That my hand is out of practice, And my poor old fiddle cracked is, And a man--I let the truth out-- Who's had almost every tooth out, Cannot sing as once he sung, When he was young as you are young, When he was young and lutes were strung, And love-lamps in the casement hung." LUCY'S BIRTHDAY