their slumberous blue
Had ever startled; as she slightly bent,
With earnest air, her crowned, resplendent head.

"Speak on!" she bade, "my thirsty heart is held
To catch your words, as lillies catch the dew--
So eager that it fain would overbrim
With the fresh gathering. It has waited long;
And now, it shall be filled to bright excess.
Speak on! I am impatient. But, first say
That I shall then be worthier of love,--
When I have mastered all these subtle things
That thou wilt love me better than this girl.
I'll have thee for my teacher--thee alone;
She shall return to her gay, foreign home,
Laded with many a costly gift from me;
I'll bid my warriors wait upon her steps,--
My North-Lights shall illuminate her way,
No frost shall nip the redness of her cheeks,
And no rude wind shall bluster round her feet."

"The frost of fear already nips her cheeks
At thought of living separate from me;
At the mere word she droops, a blighted flower.
Nay, gracious Queen? accept of both our hearts,
And our united service," BERTHO plead.

Down on her knees sank OLIVE, bending low
Her suppliant head, murmuring "Accept our hearts;"--
But the same beauty which had conquered WOLE
Angered the jealous Queen; she could not brook
The glistening of those unbound locks of gold;
A pain, before unknown, stung her proud heart;
While the fierce consciousness of absolute power
Urged her to tyrannous deeds. She waved her hand,
And while her maidens shrank as if in dread,
The finny sprites blew the shrill note of war,
At which an hundred warriors gathered round.
OLIVE they seized and shut her in a cell--
The very temple she had so admired--
Where, heedless of her piteous shrieks and tears
They left her to her grief; while BERTHO went,
Securely guarded by their threatening spears,
Following his conqueror's receding steps.

Poor OLIVE, the forlornest captive bird
That ever beat its heart out in a cage,
Fluttered the pinions of her restless will
In vain against her dungeon. What cared she
That this same dungeon had an emrald floor
And lattice-work of gold, or that the spring
Which closed the door, was on a jewel hinged?
The lustre of the cave flowed through her cell,
And she could strain her weary eyes to catch
Glimpses of splendor, which but moc