Oh, past thy face my darling shall ride Swift as the burning winds that bear The sand clouds over the desert wide-- Swift to the verdure and palms beside The wells off there! "_And is it the mighty king I shall see Come riding into the night? Oh, is it the king come back to me-- Proudly and fiercely rideth he, With centuries dight!_" I know no king but my dark-eyed dear That shall ride the Dream-Horse white; But see! he wakes at my bosom here, While the Dream-Horse frettingly lingers near To speed with my babe to-night! _And out of the desert darkness peers A ghostly, ghastly, shadowy thing Like a spirit come out of the moldering years, And ever that waiting specter hears The coming king!_ ARMENIAN FOLK-SONG--THE PARTRIDGE. As beats the sun from mountain crest, With "pretty, pretty", Cometh the partridge from her nest; The flowers threw kisses sweet to her (For all the flowers that bloomed knew her); Yet hasteneth she to mine and me-- Ah! pretty, pretty; Ah! dear little partridge! And when I hear the partridge cry So pretty, pretty, Upon the house-top, breakfast I; She comes a-chirping far and wide, And swinging from the mountain side-- I see and hear the dainty dear! Ah! pretty, pretty; Ah! dear little partridge! Thy nest's inlaid with posies rare. And pretty, pretty Bloom violet, rose, and lily there; The place is full of balmy dew (The tears of flowers in love with you!) And one and all impassioned call; "O pretty, pretty-- O dear little partridge!" Thy feathers they are soft and sleek-- So pretty, pretty! Long is thy neck and small thy breast; The color of thy plumage far More bright than rainbow colors are! Sweeter than dove is she I love-- My pretty, pretty-- My dear little partridge! When comes the partridge from the tree, So pretty, pretty! And sings her little hymn to me, Why, all the world is cheered thereby-- The heart leaps up into the eye, And echo then gives back again Our "Pretty, pretty," Our "Dear little partridge!" Admitting the most blest of all And pretty, pretty, The birds come with thee at thy call; In flocks they come and round they play, And this is what they seem to say-- They say and sing, each feathered thing; "Ah! pretty, pretty; Ah! dear little partridge!" ALASKAN BALLADRY, NO. 1. The Northland reared his hoary head And spied the Southland leagues away-- "Fairest of all fair brides," he said, "Be thou my bride, I pray!" Whereat the Southland laughed and cried "I'll bide beside my native sea, And I shall never be thy bride 'Til thou com'st wooing me!"