“What a cosy place to live in!” She paused at a cottage door. “Not a palace half so lovely Is there the country o’er!” Within sat a woman knitting— A woman aged and blind; And ever she dropped the stitches, Trying in vain to find. “Grandmother, let me help thee,” Mabel held out her hand. “Nay,” said the gray-haired woman, “Thou art the queen of the land!” Just at that moment entered A workingman—quick she cried “Father, oh, dost thou know me?” Sorrowfully he sighed, “Oh, queen and gracious lady, Tell me if thou dost know Aught of our little Mabel, Who was lost long years ago? On a sunny summer morning She strayed from the meadows green. Tell me if thou hast seen her— Tell me, oh, gracious queen!” “Alas, they, too, have forgotten!” Bowing her head, she wept— And the weeping queen awakened, And found she had only slept. Safe in her low-ceiled chamber, Flooded with rosy light, Only the little Mabel, The Mabel of yesternight! Then aloud rejoicing sang she The song of the day gone by “Glad, glad is the morning, And happy and gay am I!” [Illustration: The queen passed by in her carriage.—PAGE 167.] PRINCESS GERDA. I. The King came home from battle, He came in triumph proud; Before, the heralds flying, With trumpets pealing loud, Ten thousand warriors followed, With gleaming spear and shield, A goodly store of trophies Brought from the bloody field, A forest bright of banners Unfurled like tongues of flame, And clanking ranks of captives To swell the mighty train. Beneath the arching gateway And up the stony street, To time of martial music, Passed on the trampling feet; But ever chief and foremost The King in triumph rode; His armor flashed in sunlight, Gay-plumed his helmet glowed, High stepped his coal-black charger, Impatient of the rein, And curved the sleek neck proudly And shook the rippling mane. More proud than he the rider— In look and mien more proud; Before, the heralds speeding And trumpeting aloud How Eric, the invader— Long time a dreaded foe— Lay with the gory corses Upon the plain below; And how of his great army A paltry little band In hopeless rout Had turned about And fled to their own land.