LITMIR.BIZ

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set his basket down,

      One reared his plate;

      One began to weave a crown

      Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown

      (Men sell not such in any town);

      One heaved the golden weight

      Of dish and fruit to offer her:

      "Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.

      Laura stared but did not stir,

      Longed but had no money:

      The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste

      In tones as smooth as honey,

      The cat-faced purr'd,

      The rat-paced spoke a word

      Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;

      One parrot-voiced and jolly

      Cried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly";--

      One whistled like a bird.

       But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:

      "Good folk, I have no coin;

      To take were to purloin:

      I have no copper in my purse,

      I have no silver either,

      And all my gold is on the furze

      That shakes in windy weather

      Above the rusty heather."

      "You have much gold upon your head,"

      They answered altogether:

      "Buy from us with a golden curl."

      She clipped a precious golden lock,

      She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,

      Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:

      Sweeter than honey from the rock,

      Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,

      Clearer than water flowed that juice;

      She never tasted such before,

      How should it cloy with length of use?

      She sucked and sucked and sucked the more

      Fruits which that unknown orchard bore;

      She sucked until her lips were sore;

      Then flung the emptied rinds away,

      But gathered up one kernel stone,

      And knew not was it night or day

      As she turned home alone.

      Lizzie met her at the gate

      Full of wise upbraidings:

      "Dear, you should not stay so late,

      Twilight is not good for maidens;

      Should not loiter in the glen

      In the haunts of goblin men.

      Do you not remember Jeanie,

      How she met them in the moonlight,

      Took their gifts both choice and many,

      Ate their fruits and wore their flowers

      Plucked from bowers

      Where summer ripens at all hours?

      But ever in the noonlight

      She pined and pined away;

      Sought them by night and day,

      Found them no more, but dwindled and grew gray,

      Then fell with the first snow,

      While to this day no grass will grow

      Where she lies low:

      I planted daisies there a year ago

      That never blow.

      You should not loiter so."

      "Nay, hush," said Laura:

      "Nay, hush, my sister:

      I ate and ate my fill,

      Yet my mouth waters still;

      To-morrow night I will

      Buy more,"--and kissed her.

      "Have done with sorrow;

      I'll bring you plums to-morrow

      Fresh on their mother twigs,

      Cherries worth getting;

      You cannot think what figs

      My teeth have met in,

      What melons icy-cold

      Piled on a dish of gold

      Too huge for me to hold,

      What peaches with a velvet nap,

      Pellucid grapes without one seed:

      Odorous indeed must be the mead

      Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink,

      With lilies at the brink,

      And sugar-sweet their sap."

       Golden head by golden head,

      Like two pigeons in one nest

      Folded in each other's wings,

      They lay down in their curtained bed:

      Like two blossoms on one stem,

      Like two flakes of new-fallen snow,

      Like two wands of ivory

      Tipped with gold for awful kings.

      Moon and stars gazed in at them,

      Wind sang to them lullaby,

      Lumbering owls forbore to fly,

      Not a bat flapped to and fro

      Round their rest:

      Cheek to cheek and breast to breast

      Locked together in one nest.

      Early in the morning

      When the first cock crowed his warning,

      Neat like bees, as sweet and busy,

      Laura rose with Lizzie:

      Fetched in honey, milked the cows,

      Aired and set to rights the house,

      Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,

      Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,

      Next churned butter, whipped up cream,

      Fed their poultry, sat and sewed;

      Talked as modest maidens should:

      Lizzie with an open heart,

      Laura in an absent dream,

      One content, one sick in part;

      One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,

      One longing for the night.

       At length slow evening came:

      They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;

      Lizzie most placid in her look,

      Laura most like a leaping flame.

      They drew the gurgling water from its deep;

      Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags,

      Then turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes

      Those furthest loftiest crags;

      Come, Laura, not another maiden lags,

      No wilful squirrel wags,

      The beasts and birds are fast asleep."

      But Laura loitered still among the rushes

      And said the bank was steep.

      And said the hour was early still,

      The dew not fallen, the wind not chill:

      Listening ever, but not catching

      The customary cry,

      "Come

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