Happy Days for Boys and Girls Part 44

Who rideth so late through the night-wind wild?

It is the father with his child; He has the little one well in his arm, He holds him safe, and he folds him warm.

"My son, why hidest thy face so shy?"

"Seest thou not, father, the Erl King nigh?

The Erlen King, with train and crown?"

"It is a wreath of mist, my son."

"Come, lovely boy, come go with me; Such merry plays I will play with thee!

Many a bright flower grows on the strand, And my mother has many a gay garment at hand."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear What the Erl King whispers in my ear?"

"Be quiet, my darling, be quiet, my child; Through withered leaves the wind howls wild."

"Come, lovely boy, wilt thou go with me?

My daughters fair shall wait on thee, My daughters their nightly revels keep, They'll sing, and they'll dance, and they'll rock thee to sleep."

"My father, my father, and seest thou not The Erl King's daughters in yon dim spot?"

"My son, my son, I see, and I know 'Tis the old gray willow that shimmers so."

"I love thee; thy beauty has ravished my sense; And willing or not, I will carry thee hence."

"O, father, the Erl King now puts forth his arm-- O, father, the Erl King has done me harm."

The father shudders, he hurries on; And faster he holds his moaning son; He reaches his home with fear and dread, And lo! in his arms the child was dead.

_From the German of Goethe._

THE SILLY YOUNG RABBIT.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.

There was a young rabbit Who had a bad habit-- Sometimes he would do what his mother forbid.

And one frosty day, His mother did say, "My child you must stay in the burrow close hid; For I hear the dread sounds Of huntsmen and hounds, Who are searching around for rabbits like you; Should they see but your head, They would soon shoot you dead, And the dogs would be off with you quicker than boo!"

But, poor foolish being!

When no one was seeing, Looking out from his burrow to take a short play, He hopped o'er the ground With many a bound, And looked around proudly, as if he would say, Do I fear a man?

Now catch me who can!

So this young rabbit ran to a fine apple tree, Where, gnawing the bark, He thought not to hark The coming of hunters, so careless was he.

Now, as rabbits are good When roasted or stewed, A man came along hunting rabbits for dinner; He saw little bun, Then raised his big gun, And there he lay dead, the foolish young sinner.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SILLY RABBIT.]

NINO.

The rain was just beginning to fall in a thin, chilling drizzle, and the cold air nipped sharply any unwary toe that showed itself, as Nino played a little air full of thoughts of birds and flowers. His thin jacket was no protection, and his dark eyes looked as if a shower might drop from them; but the clouds had been over his life too long, and there were no tears left to fall. He was not so old that this must be the case; but he stood alone in the wide street, and no one spoke to or noticed him. One friend he had--his guitar; and now he put that under his jacket, lest the rain should hurt it.

"_Ah, carissima!_" he murmured, as he hugged it under his arm; "you are never hungry or tired, and you shall not be wet. One of us shall be happy."

The guitar gave a little whisper as his jacket rubbed against it, and Nino smiled and nodded in answer. Now the rain was falling rapidly, and he stepped under an awning, to wait until it held up. There was a lady standing there, her skirts held high, and her cloak drawn closely, and Nino stood one side; for why should he be near any one?

He well knew no one wanted him. He watched the water run by in the gutter, and looked into the barrel of apples at his side--large, rosy apples, that would be so good; and he glanced up to see if any one saw him. Why not take one? He could hide it, and eat it afterwards. The grocer had so many; he had none, and it was days since he had eaten anything but dry bread. He knew it was not right to take what belonged to another; but he heard so little of right, and hunger and want pressed him every day.

As he stood thinking, not quite resolved to take one, there was a patter of little feet, a merry laugh, and a bright vision stood by his side.

Was she a fairy? She looked as he always felt his guitar would look if it could take a human form--slender, active, fair. A shower of golden hair, not pale, but bright, like the summer sun; eyes as deep and blue as the distant sky; a face of which one would dream. Nino held his breath, and as the blue velvet coat brushed his ragged arm, drew a sigh, and stepped back.

"Did I frighten you, little boy?" asked the child. "It was raining so hard, and nursey had to run."

"Come, stand in here, where it does not drip," cried the nurse, drawing her away.

Nino peeped under his coat, to be sure his guitar had not been transformed, and then stepped aside under the eaves. It seemed as if he ought to be wet when such a lovely being was obliged to endure the discomfort of standing there. As she chattered, he drew near again, and wondered whether angels did not look like that. She was certainly more beautiful than those in churches. He had forgotten that he was cold, and was feeling very happy, when the intentness of his gaze attracted the child's attention. She was whispering to her nurse, when a harsh voice cried out,--

"Boy, go away from there! I can't watch those apples all the time."

Nino had thoughtlessly laid his hand on the barrel, and when the grocer spoke, moved hastily away.

"Here, little boy," cried the silvery tones of the child; "don't go; I want to give you an apple." Then she said to the grocer, "A big one, please."

"Yes, miss; I did not notice you were there; but those boys are so bad!"

Nino's face flushed, and his eyes glittered; but when the child handed him the apple, he smiled, touched his hat, and said,--

"Thankee, little lady."

As he walked away, he did not notice the falling drops, but laid his cheek against the apple, and smoothed its plump rosiness before he tasted its rich juiciness.

Nino had no a.s.sociates among the rough boys in the streets; he had a pride that kept him above their coa.r.s.e ways. As he played and sang the songs he learned in Italy, dim memories of a better life came to him, and his music seemed a holy spirit. He would have died but for that, his life was so cold, hard, and bare.

He had been brought over by a sea captain, who dealt in boys; and as he was very ill on the voyage, the captain let an old woman take him for a small sum. She thought his thin, sad face would move the pa.s.sers, and in pity they would give him money. For this reason she sent him out day after day, in storm or shine, ill clad and weary, giving him but little food. But nature helped him. In spite of this treatment, he became stronger, and after a time ran away from her.

Then he joined himself to a party of boy musicians, and by their help got his guitar. But they were unkind to him; for he was yet weak and timid, and the leader, a large boy, sometimes beat him if he refused to play. One night Nino ran away from them, his precious guitar under his arm; and since then he had played and sung through the streets, sometimes begging, sometimes in despair, with thoughts of stealing.

His chief delight and comfort was to lie in the sun on a fair day. He was always hungry, almost always cold, and when the wind did not blow, and the sun was hot, he liked to bask on a step, and dream of good dinners, pretty clothes, and a soft bed. The sun was the only thing he could find in the cold northern climate which was like his old home.

In this way he would be nearly happy; but when storms came, he was chilled within and without. The world then was gray; he could not even play on his guitar, which in sunny days brought him pleasant pictures of green fields, dancing water, and leafy vines, loaded with purple grapes.

His guitar was his only companion, and he treated it as if it was alive; he talked to it, cared for and loved it with a tenderness which was of no value to the instrument, but was of service to the friendless boy, in giving him an unselfish motive.

The autumn was fast advancing when he met the golden-haired child; and as the days became colder, he cherished the thought of her, and it made him warm when the sky was cloudy, as if she was a ray of sunlight. He had generally slept on steps or any spot where the police would leave him unmolested; but now the nights were so chill, that he tried hard with a few cents to pay for a lodging.

With this purpose in his mind, he stopped before a house in a private street one evening just after dark. The gas was already lighted; but the curtains were not drawn, and Nino could see the table bountifully spread, and a servant moving about, adding various articles to it. A dancing figure pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed the window, now peeping out, and again running back. Nino's voice trembled as he saw this light and warmth; and as he sang of "love and knightly deeds," he thought of himself out in the cold, with nothing to love but his guitar, and he felt very sad.

In a moment the door opened, and out sprang the child he had thought of so long. The light seemed to follow her, and she cried,--

"Here are some pennies." Nino removed his ragged hat, and held it out, and she said, "O, you're the same little boy! Wait a minute, and I'll get you a cake."