The sheen of brilliant wings Songs of shy, flitting things, The low, mysterious melodies that thrill Through every summer wood, thy sweet life fill. Oh bloom! all joy is thine, All loves around thee shine, The thousand hearts of nature throb for thee, Her thousand voices praise thee tenderly. Oh bloom of purest glory, Flower of love's gentlest story, Forever keep thy petals fresh and fair, Forever send thy sweetness down the air! I'll put thee in my song, With all thy joys along, At which some sunny hearts may sunnier grow, And frozen ones may gently slip their snow. FOOTNOTE: [20] Used by permission of, and special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the authorized publishers of this author's works. THE FATE OF ZOROASTER F. MARION CRAWFORD Zoroaster a young Persian and Nehushta a Hebrew maiden were betrothed lovers; an unfortunate misunderstanding separated them and, in a fit of jealousy, Nehushta became a wife of Darius, king of the Persians. Zoroaster entered the priesthood and later became the high priest of the temple in the king's palace. In a subsequent interview with the high priest, Nehushta discovers that her jealousy was groundless, but it was now too late to correct her unhappy mistake. In the meantime Nehushta had incurred the jealousy and hatred of another wife of Darius, who, in the absence of the king, planned the massacre of the priests of the temple and Nehushta and her servants. Four days after the king's departure, Nehushta was wandering in the gardens as the sun was going down. Just then a strange sound echoed far off among the hills, an unearthly cry that rang high in the air and struck the dark crags and doubled in the echo and died away in short, faint pulsations of sound. She started slightly, she had never heard such a sound before. Again that strange cry rang out and echoed and died away. Her slave women gathered about her. "What is it?" asked Nehushta. "The war cry of the children of Anak is like that," said a little Syrian maid. Nehushta pushed the slaves aside and fled towards the palace. The truth had flashed across her. Some armed force was collecting on the hills to descend upon the palace. But one thought filled her mind. She must find Zoroaster and warn him. Through the garden she ran, and up the broad steps to the portico. Slaves were moving about under the colonnade, lighting the great torches that burned there all night. They had not heard the strange cries from the hills. As she entered the great hall, she heard the cry again. "Go, my little maid, in one direction and I will go in another, and search out Zoroaster, the high priest, and bring him."