De Lorge’s love o’erheard the king,—a beauteous, lively dame, With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same; She thought, “The count, my lover, is brave as brave can be, He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me. King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine; I’ll drop my glove to prove his love. Great glory will be mine!” She dropped her glove to prove his love, then looked on him and smiled; He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild. The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place; Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady’s face. “By Heaven!” said Francis, “rightly done!” rising from where he sat. “No love,” quoth he, “but vanity, sets love a task like that.”
A Young Hero.
A sailor lad of years fourteen Had chanced, as by the waters thrown, On four that made sad cry and moan For parents they had lost between The wreck and shore, or haply missed. Cheerly and kind their cheeks he kissed, And folded each in other’s arm. Upon a sloping mound of moss He dragged a heavy sail across, Close-pinned with bowlders, rough yet warm; And packing it with mosses tight, Kept steadfast watch the livelong night, Nor dared depart, lest e’er again Was found this treasure he had hid, Some sudden treacherous gust had slid Beneath that rugged counterpane. He knew not name or face of one. He saved them. It was nobly done.