And tasted—paused—tasted again, for lo, it was rare wine! More strangely sweet than any juice pressed from an earthly vine. “Ho, varlet, from what pipe this wine and from what cellar shelf?” “From good Saint Kilian’s well, sire, and I drew it up myself!” She flushed; the table stared; the duke looked foolishly about, The hall so still they heard far bells breaking the night without. Then up spake Helias the Seer: “I saw the water poured— Saw, too, an angel bending by our lady at the board, Pouring with courteous gesture from a flagon of red wine, Then fading in the brightness of the firelight’s dancing shine.” She heard in glad amaze: he wins God’s favor unawares Who, self-forgot in brother love, a brother’s burden bears. * * * * * And this seven centuries ago. And now her sainted feet Are on the fields of Paradise, making its old paths sweet. And there she has her fill of love where the Friendly City is, Her warm hands white with labor in God’s busy palaces. The Joy-Maker Time’s touch can dim our sorrows and destroy, But only Art can turn them into joy. The Face of Life _An Adaptation._ Life cried to Youth, “I bear the cryptic key: I grant you two desires, but only two. What gifts have I to crown and comfort you?” Youth answered, “I am blind and I would see; Open my eyes and let me look on thee.” ‘Twas done: he saw the face of Life, and then Cried brokenly, “Now make me blind again!” The Story of Bacchus _A Grecian legend_ What boy with his face to the Ægean Sea Went threading his way over mountain and plain, With a spirit as glad as a blossoming tree? It was Bacchus, now pure as the wild white rain, But soon to be worshiped by mortals, with passion and sorrow and pain. He had found a vine on the forest ways, And a skeleton bird in a rocky pass To shelter the leaf from the sunny rays; But it grew till he sheltered them both, alas, In the hollow skull of a lion, and then in the skull of an ass! As he lay at noon in a mossy rest, The vine had shot up all a-tremble with light. Now he bears it home—(O the doom unguessed!) On, on, while the hills swing away out of sight— Till the misty far mountains rise dimly, and pass in a silent flight. At last when his garden was furrowed, he found That the bones were all twined by the lusty root; So he planted the whole in the deep-stirred ground, And lightly danced to his Lydian flute, While the leafy depths of the eerie vine purpled with clustering fruit.