Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/109

Rh

'Tis glorious sport! Oh! who would sit beside the fire and spin, When they can thread the ocean's maze, or dance Upon a star-beam? My fond mother weeps, And looks upon me with beseeching eyes, Whene'er she hears me murmur my witch songs, And Leopold has brought me top-knots gay From Strasburgh and from Mentz. They've trimmed the green, And planted flowers, and coaxed the little birds To feed upon the window sill—they hope To make me love these simple things. Old Paul, The village pastor shakes his silvery locks, Shudders and sighs, to see me reckless turn From holy shrines; they dread to know the truth, Yet deeply fear. They've barred the outward door And nailed a horse-shoe o'er the threshold, strewed The chamber with fresh rosemary; but I Repeated thrice the magic spell, and snapped