“Osman became our constant and welcome visitor. He constructed an instrument, on which he made very sweet music; and frequently sung the sentimental airs of his country. This, joined to his talent for wild and impassioned recitation, charmed the listening ear of all, but it vibrated to the heart of Ulea. Her delight did not show itself like her brother's in noisy ecstacy, but {431} her eyes filled with tears, and her heart throbbed with silent emotion. ‘Mother,’ she would say, ‘Osman's singing reminds me of what I have heard about the harps of the angels.’ ‘It is pretty, my child, but I had rather hear the fisherman's welcome home.’ ‘That, mother, is because our father sings it. But when Osman sings I think of a happier world than this.’ ‘You are mistaken, my dear, if you think Osman's songs have any thing good in them. I have listened to them, and I think they are only calculated to make people discontented with what God has allotted them, and to fill the mind with foolish fancies.’ ‘Ah! mother, how can you wonder that his songs are melancholy, when he is far away from all that he loves, and that he has nothing to console him for the beautiful world he has left! You know he loves to climb our steep rocks, to see the sun go down behind Hecla. I did not know how grand our volcano could look, until he pointed to it, as the sun's last beams rested on its snowy scalp. Then he told me of Italy his country, where the mountains are crowned with snow, while flowers blow in the valleys—birds sing in the branches of trees, which bear golden fruit—the air is filled with the fragrance that breathes from the vineyards, and the bowers that never wither. Then there are temples in every grove, and the ruins of ancient cities, which people come to visit from every country. Do you wonder that he was happy in that lovely land?’ ‘No doubt, the inhabitants have much to be thankful for; but not more than we have. Would you, Ulea, be willing to exchange our own loved island for Italy, with all its charms?’ ‘No, dear mother, but I only wish Iceland was like it.’ ‘This is a vain, and I fear a sinful thought, and I shall tell Osman, when you walk with him again, to talk of something more profitable.’