So naught in the wide world troubles me, Save this alone--my poverty; And a merry companion too am I, Though my coat be ragged, my throat a-dry. IX. _A faluban muzikalnak._ Let the sergeant sing or drum-- Soldier I will ne'er become; He whose heart a maiden charms, Is a fool to carry arms. Swords may dazzle with their beam, But--the devil take the gleam! By my true love's eyes so bright, Sword gleams seem as dark as night. X. _Most elem gyoengyeletem._ I'm a hussar so free from care, A cap of blood-red silk I wear; And wreath with ribbons flut'ring free; Which once my true love wove for me. And for the garland which she wove I gave a kiss to her my love. Oh weave another!--for thy pain I'll kiss a hundred times again! XI. _Falu mogoett van egy malom._ Behind our hamlet stands a mill Where pain is ground, they say And to that mill in haste will I To grind my grief away! Oh miller's maiden ask no more! Disturb me not too soon, Through all the morn I think with joy Upon the afternoon! A SONG FOR THIS DAY AND GENERATION. WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE. BY CHARLES G. EASTMAN. Come, let us be merry! The day's growing fair-- And drooping-eyed Patience Looks up from despair. Truth, like the glory Of old times, in story, Mellows the shadows that darken the land, Wrongs, grim and hoary, Crimes, black and gory, Naked and scoffed in the market-place stand. Come, let us be merry! The sundown is near-- And Error is shivering And shrinking with fear. Power unmolested For centuries, vested In impotent sinew and imbecile brain, Altars that rested On mummeries ilested, Tatters to ruin and not in the rain. Come, let us be merry! The sun shines at last-- The light fills the valleys-- The darkness has passed. Names are neglected, Blood is rejected, Men bow no more to the accident Birth, Mind, long dejected, Her temple erected, Waits from the Nations the homage of Worth. Come, let us be merry! All hearts that with scoff And derision have waited This day afar off; Abuses are shaking Old Errors are quaking, That cramped the free life of our manhood so long, Hail to the waking! The daylight is breaking For Truths that are mighty and men that are strong. FEATHERTOP: A MORALIZED LEGEND.[2] WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. "With that brass alone," quoth Mother Rigby, "thou canst pay thy way all over the earth. Kiss me, pretty darling! I have done my best for thee."