Thus, each in her own fashion, as they wandered, Upon the coffer's precious contents pondered, When suddenly, to their surprise, The God Desire stood before their eyes. Desire, that courteous deity who grants All wishes, prayers, and wants; Said he to the two sisters: "Beauteous ladies, As I'm a gentleman, my task and trade is To be the slave of your behest-- Choose therefore at your own sweet will and pleasure, Honors or treasure! Or in one word, whatever you'd like best. But, let us understand each other--she Who speaks the first, her prayer shall certainly Receive--the other, the same boon _redoubled!_" Imagine how our amiable pair, At this proposal, all so frank and fair, Were mutually troubled! Misers and enviers, of our human race, Say, what would you have done in such a case? Each of the sisters murmured, sad and low "What boots it, oh, Desire, to me to have Crowns, treasures, all the goods that heart can crave, Or power divine bestow, Since still another must have always more?" So each, lest she should speak before The other, hesitating slow and long Till the god lost all patience, held her tongue. He was enraged, in such a way, To be kept waiting there all day, With two such beauties in the public road; Scarce able to be civil even, He wished them both--well, not in heaven. Envy at last the silence broke, And smiling, with malignant sneer, Upon her sister dear, Who stood in expectation by, Ever implacable and cruel, spoke "I would be blinded of _one_ eye!" _American Keepsake_ ODES.--1818-28. KING LOUIS XVII. _("En ce temps-là du ciel les portes.")_ [Bk. I. v., December, 1822.] The golden gates were opened wide that day, All through the unveiled heaven there seemed to play Out of the Holiest of Holy, light; And the elect beheld, crowd immortal, A young soul, led up by young angels bright, Stand in the starry portal. A fair child fleeing from the world's fierce hate, In his blue eye the shade of sorrow sate, His golden hair hung all dishevelled down, On wasted cheeks that told a mournful story, And angels twined him with the innocent's crown, The martyr's palm of glory. The virgin souls that to the Lamb are near, Called through the clouds with voices heavenly clear, God hath prepared a glory for thy brow, Rest in his arms, and all ye hosts that sing His praises ever on untired string, Chant, for a mortal comes among ye now; Do homage--"'Tis a king."