“Heavens! how handsome this king is,” whispered Ellise into the ear of the swallow. The little prince was somewhat startled by the arrival of the large bird; but when he saw Ellise, he became instantly in love with her; for she was the most charming little maiden that he had ever seen. So he took off his golden crown, set it upon Ellise, and asked what was her name, and whether she would be his wife; if so, she should be queen over all the other flowers—ah! this was a very different husband to the son of the hideous toad, and the heavy, stupid mole, with his velvet coat! So Ellise said yes, to the beautiful prince; and now, from all the other flowers, appeared either a gentleman or a lady, all wonderfully elegant and beautiful, to bring presents to Ellise. The best presents offered to her was a pair of exquisite white wings, which were immediately fastened on her; and now she could fly from flower to flower. And now the joy was universal. The little swallow sat above in his nest, and sang as well as he possibly could, though at the same time he was sorely grieved, for he was so fond of Ellise that he wanted never to part from her again. “You shall not be called _Ellise_ any more,” said the flower-angel, “for it is not at all a pretty name, and you are so pretty! But from this moment you shall be called Maja.” “Farewell! Farewell!” cried the little swallow, and away he flew again, out of the warm land, far, far away, to the little Denmark, where he had his summer nest over the window of the good man, who knows how to tell stories, that he might sing his Quivit! Quivit! before him. And it is from him, the little swallow, that Granny learnt all this wonderful history. * * * * * BELLE’S EYES. Those eyes, they are so bright and blue, They seem as if just bathed in dew, And if they but reflect aright, Thy heart must joyous be and bright, Where cherished images must dwell, Oh! number mine with thine, _ma Belle_. * * * * * “THE PAGE.” [Illustration: figure of a man sitting on a rock near the base of a tree and looking upward] Come listen, ladies! listen, knights! Ye men of arms and glory! Ye who have done right noble deeds, Aye love the poet’s story. As minstrels love the warriors bold, And joyfully sing their fame, O’er warriors’ hearts the poet’s tale Shall peaceful triumphs claim. From distant lands Arion came, From wandering far and long, With gifts and gold—for princely hearts Denied no gift to song. The song that cheered the saddest wo, The tale that sings of youth, Flowing sweetly, flowing on, Through labyrinths of truth.