SUMMER STORMS.
Summer storms are fleeting things,
Coming soon, and quickly o’er;
Yet their wrath a shadow brings
Where but sunshine dwelt before.
On the grass the pearl-drops lie
Fresh and lovely day appears;
Yet the rainbow’s arch on high
Is but seen through falling tears.
For, though clouds have passed away,
Though the sky be bright again,
Earth still feels the transient sway
Of the heavy summer rain.
Broken flow’rs and scattered leaves
Tell the short-lived tempest’s power;
Something still in nature grieves
At the fierce and sudden shower.
There are in the human breast
Passions wild and deep and strong,
Bearing in their course unblest
Brightest hopes of life along.
O’er the harp of many strings
Often comes a wailing strain,
When the hand of anger flings
Discord ’mid its soft refrain.
Tears may pass, and smiles again
Wreathe the lip and light the brow;
But, like flowers ’neath summer’s rain,
Some bright hope lies crushed and low.
Some heart-idol shattered lies
In the temple’s inner shrine:
Ne’er unveiled to human eyes,
Sacred kept like things divine.
Speak not harshly to the loved
In your holy household band;
Days will come when where they moved
Many a vacant chair will stand.
To the erring—oh, be kind!
Balm give to the weary heart;
Soft words heal the wounded mind,
Bid the tempter’s spell depart.
Let not passion’s storm arise,
Though it pass like summer showers;
Clouds will dim the soul’s pure skies,
Hope will weep o’er broken flowers.
Speak, then, gently; tones of strife
Lightly breathed have lasting power;
Memories that embitter life
Often rise from one rash hour.
THE KING OF METALS
FROM THE FRENCH.
There once lived a widow named Mary Jane, who had a beautiful daughter called Flora. The widow was a sensible, humble woman; the daughter, on the contrary, was very haughty. Many young persons desired her in marriage, but she found none to please her; the greater the number of her suitors, the more disdainful she became. One night the mother awoke, and, being unable to compose herself again to sleep, she began to say her rosary for Flora, whose pride gave her a great deal of disquietude. Flora was asleep near her, and she smiled in her sleep.
The next day Mary Jane inquired:
“What beautiful dream had you that caused you to smile in your sleep?”
“I dreamed that a great lord conducted me to church in a copper coach, and gave me a ring composed of precious stones that shone like stars; and when I entered the church, the people in the church looked only at the Mother of God and at me.”
“Ah! what a proud dream,” cried the widow, humbly drooping her head.
Flora began to sing. That same day a young peasant of good reputation asked her to marry him. This offer her mother approved, but Flora said to him:
“Even were you to seek me in a coach of copper, and wed me with a ring brilliant as the stars, I would not accept you.”
The following night Mary Jane, being wakeful, began to pray, and, looking at Flora, saw her smile.
“What dream did you have last night?” she asked Flora.
“I dreamed that a great lord came for me in a coach of silver, gave me a coronet of gold, and when I entered the church those present were more occupied in looking at me than at the Mother of God.”
“O poor child!” exclaimed the widow, “what an impious dream. Pray, pray earnestly that you may be preserved from temptation.”
Flora abruptly left her mother, that she might not hear her remonstrances.
That day a young gentleman came to ask her in marriage. Her mother regarded this proposal as a great honor, but Flora said to this new aspirant:
“Were you to seek me in a coach of silver and offer me a coronet of gold, I would not wed you.”
“Unfortunate girl!” cried Mary Jane, “renounce your pride. Pride leads to destruction.”
Flora laughed.
The third night the watchful mother saw an extraordinary expression on her child’s countenance, and she prayed fervently for her.
In the morning Flora told her of her dream.
“I dreamed,” she said, “that a great lord came to seek me in a coach of gold, gave me a robe of gold, and when I entered the church all there assembled looked only at me.”
The poor widow wept bitterly. The girl left her to escape seeing her distress.
That day in the court-yard of the house there stood three equipages, one of copper, the other of silver, and the third of gold. The first was drawn by two horses, the second by four, the third by eight. From the first two descended pages clothed in red, with green caps; from the third descended a nobleman whose garments were of gold. He asked to marry Flora. She immediately accepted him, and ran to her chamber to decorate herself with the golden robe which he presented to her.
The good Mary Jane was sorrowful and anxious, but Flora’s countenance was radiant with delight. She left her home without asking the maternal benediction, and entered the church with a haughty air. Her mother remained on the threshold praying and weeping.
After the ceremony, Flora entered the golden equipage with her husband, and they departed, followed by the two other equipages.
They drove a long, a very long distance. At last they arrived at a rock where there was a large entrance like the gate of a city. They entered through this door, which soon closed with a terrible noise, and they were in midnight darkness. Flora was trembling with fear, but her husband said:
“Reassure yourself; you will soon see the light.” In truth, from every side appeared little creatures in red clothes and green caps—the dwarfs who dwell in the cavities of the mountains. They carried flaming torches, and advanced to meet their master, the King of Metals.
They ranged themselves around, and escorted him through long valleys and subterranean forests. But—a very singular thing—all the trees of these forests were of lead.
At last the cortége reached a magnificent prairie or meadow; in the midst of this meadow was a château of gold studded with diamonds. “This,” said the King of Metals, “is your domain.” Flora was much fatigued and very hungry. The dwarfs prepared dinner, and her husband led her to a table of gold. But all the meats and all the food presented to her were of this metal. Flora, not being able to partake of this food, was reduced to ask humbly for a piece of bread. The waiters brought her bread of copper, of silver, and of gold. She could not bite either of them. “I cannot give you,” her husband said, “the bread that you wish; here we have no other kind of bread.”
The young woman wept, and the king said to her:
“Your tears cannot change your fate. This is the destiny you have yourself chosen.”
The miserable Flora was compelled to remain in this subterranean abode, suffering with hunger, through her passion for wealth. Only once a year, at Easter, she is allowed to ascend for three days to the upper earth, and then she goes from village to village, begging from door to door a morsel of bread.