The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea. But in the fisherman's cottage There shines a sudden light; And a little face at the window Peers out into the night. Close, close it is pressed to the window, As if those childish eyes Were looking into the darkness To see some form arise. And a woman's waving shadow Is passing to and fro, Now rising to the ceiling, Now bowing and bending low. What tale do the roaring ocean, And the night wind, bleak and wild, As they beat at the crazy casement, Tell to that little child? And why do the roaring ocean, And the night wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother, Drive the color from her cheek? --_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_. By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. {438} THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN "I am a Pebble and yield to none!" Were the swelling words of a tiny stone; "Nor change nor season can alter me: I am abiding while ages flee. The pelting hail and the drizzling rain Have tried to soften me long in vain; And the tender dew has sought to melt Or to touch my heart,--but it was not felt. "None can tell of the Pebble's birth; For I am as old as the solid earth. The children of men arise and pass Out of the world like blades of grass; And many a foot on me has trod That's gone from sight and under the sod! I am a Pebble! but who art thou, Rattling along from the restless bough?" The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute, And lay for a moment abashed and mute; And she felt for a while perplexed to know How to answer a thing so low. But to give reproof of nobler sort Than the angry look or the keen retort, At length she said, in a gentle tone, "Since it has happened that I am thrown "From the lighter element, where I grew, Down to another so hard and new, {439} And beside a personage so august, Abashed I will cover my head with dust, And quickly retire from the sight of one Whom time nor season, nor storm nor sun, Nor the gentler dew, nor the grinding wheel, Has ever subdued or made to feel." And soon in the earth she sunk away From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay; But it was not long ere the soil was broke By the peering head of an ancient oak; And as it arose, and its branches spread, The Pebble looked up, and, wondering, said,-- "A modest acorn never to tell What was enclosed in her simple shell-- "That the pride of the forest was thus shut up Within the space of her little cup! And meekly to sink in the darksome earth To prove that nothing could hide her worth. And, O, how many will tread on me To come and admire that beautiful tree, Whose head is towering toward the sky, Above such a worthless thing as I!