At a small elevation, set in a rich framework of vegetation, there appeared a niche spacious enough to admit a human figure. Into this natural pulpit Ernest ascended, and threw a look of familiar kindness around upon the audience. He began to speak, giving to the people of what was in his heart and mind. His words had power, because they accorded with his thoughts; and his thoughts had reality and depth, because they harmonized with the life which he had always lived.
The poet, as he listened, felt that the being and character of Ernest were a nobler strain of poetry than he had ever written. His eyes glistened with tears as he gazed reverently at the venerable man. At that moment, in sympathy with a thought which he was about to utter, the face of Ernest assumed a grandeur of expression so imbued with benevolence that the poet, by an irresistible impulse, threw his arms aloft and shouted,—
“Behold! behold! Ernest is himself the likeness of the Great Stone Face!”
Then all the people looked, and saw that what the deep-sighted poet said was true. The prophecy was fulfilled. But Ernest, having finished what he had to say, took the poet’s arm and walked slowly homewards, still hoping that some wiser and better man than himself would by and by appear, bearing a resemblance to the Great Stone Face.
—Nathaniel Hawthorne (Adapted).
KING OSWALD’S FEAST
The king had labored all an autumn day
For his folk’s good, and welfare of the kirk,
And now when eventide was well away,
And deepest mirk
Lay heavy on York town, he sat at meat,
With his great councillors round him and his kin,
And a blithe face was sat in every seat,
And far within
The hall was jubilant with banqueting,
The tankards foaming high as they could hold
With mead, the plates well heaped, and everything
Was served with gold.
Then came to the king’s side the doorkeeper,
And said, “The folk are thronging at the gate,
And flaunt their rags and many plaints prefer,
And through the grate