Mothers had taught their babes his name,
Maidens had dreamed it; this is fame.

Beautiful eyes grew soft and meek

When Valdemar opened his mouth to speak.

Warriors grim obeyed his word,

Nobles were proud to call him Lord.

"Favored in love and famed in war, Happy must be King Valdemar!”

So, as he swept along in state,
Muttered the crone at the palace gate,-

Laughing to clasp in her withered palms
The merry monarch's golden alms.

Home at evening, for rest is sweet,
Tottered the beggar's weary feet.

Home at evening from chase and ring,
Buoyant and brave came Court and King.

Flickered the lamp in the cottage room,
Flickered the lamp in the castle's gloom.

One went forth at the break of day,
Asking alms on the King's highway.

One lay still at the break of day-
A king uncrowned, a heap of clay.

For swiftly, suddenly, in the night,
A wind of death had put out the light.

And never again might Valdemar
Strike lance for love or lance for war.

Silent, as if on holy ground,

The weeping courtiers throng around.

Tenderly, as his mother might,

They turn his face to the morning light,

Loose his garments at throat and wrist,
Softly the silken sash untwist.

Under the linen soft and white,
What surprises their aching sight?

Fretting against the pallid breast,

40

Find they a penitent's sackcloth vest.

45

Seamed, and furrowed, and stained, and scarred,

Sadly the flesh of the King is marred.

Never had monk under serge and rope,
Never had priest under alb and cope,

Hidden away with closer art
The passion and pain of a weary heart,

Than had he whose secret torture lay
Openly shown in the light of day.

At the lips all pale and the close-shut eyes,
Long they gazed in their mute surprise-

Eyes once lit with the fire of youth,
Lips that had spoken words of truth.

From each to each there floated a sigh,-
"Had this man reason? Then what am I?”

O friend, think not that stately step,
That lifted brow or that smiling lip,

That sweep of velvet or fall of lace,
Or robes that cling with regal grace,

50

55

Are signs that tell of a soul at rest:

Peace seldom hides in a Valdemar's breast.

60

She shrinks away from the palace glare,

To the peasant's hut and the mountain air,

And kisses the crone at the palace gate,

While the poor, proud King is desolate.

GLOSSARY. Valdemar; bards; minstrels; crone; alms; buoyant; sackcloth; serge and rope; alb and cope.

STUDY. What led people to call the king "happy"? Did his behavior seem to indicate that he found life joyful? What fact came to light after his death? What did it indicate in regard to his outward behavior? Explain lines 39 and 40. What are the reflections in the last five couplets? Do you think one is likely to be mistaken in judging by outward appearances?

5

THE MOONLIGHT SONATA

(AUTHOR UNKNOWN)

It happened at Bonn. One moonlight winter's evening I called upon Beethoven; for I wished him to take a walk, and afterward sup with me. In passing through some dark, narrow street, he paused suddenly. "Hush!" he said, "what sound is that? It is from my sonata in F," he said eagerly. "Hark! how well it is played!"

It was a little, mean dwelling, and we paused outside and listened. The player went on; but, in 10 the midst of the finale there was a sudden break, then the voice of sobbing. "I cannot play any more. It is so beautiful, it is utterly beyond my power to do it justice. Oh, what would I not give to go to the concert at Cologne!"

15

20

"Ah! my sister," said her companion, "why create regrets when there is no remedy? We can scarcely pay our rent."

"You are right; and yet I wish for once in my life to hear some really good music. But it is of no use.' Beethoven looked at me. "Let us go in," he said. "Go in!" I exclaimed. "What can we go in for?" "I will play to her," he said, in an excited tone. "Here is feeling-genius-understanding! I will play to her, and she will understand it." And, before I 25 could prevent him, his hand was upon the door.

A pale young man was sitting by the table, making shoes; and near him, leaning sorrowfully before an

old-fashioned harpsichord, sat a young girl, with a profusion of light hair falling over her bent face. Both were cleanly but very poorly dressed, and both 30 started and turned toward us as we entered.

"Pardon me,'

said Beethoven, "but I heard music, and was tempted to enter. I am a musician." The girl blushed, and the young man looked grave -somewhat annoyed.

"I-I also overheard something of what you said," continued my friend. "You wish to hear- that is,

you would like that is Shall I play for you?"

35

There was something so odd in the whole affair, and something so comic and pleasant in the manner of 40 the speaker, that the spell was broken in a moment, and all smiled involuntarily.

"Thank you," said the shoemaker; "but our harpsichord is so wretched, and we have no music."

"No music!" echoed my friend; "how, then, does 45 the Fräulein-"

He paused, and colored up, for the girl looked full at him, and he saw that she was blind.

"I-I entreat your pardon," he stammered. "But I had not perceived before. Then you play by ear?" 50 "Entirely."

"And where do you hear the music, since you frequent no concerts?"

"I used to hear a lady practicing near us, when we lived at Brühl two years. During the summer 55 evenings her windows were generally open, and I walked to and fro outside to listen to her."