Page:St. Nicholas (serial) (IA stnicholasserial321dodg).pdf/450

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 * I ask not for beauty,” the words that he penned;
 * For when youth has departed, that comes to an end,
 * I care not a straw for manners majestic;
 * Far better to be just plain and domestic.
 * And since I know well that my own faults are many,
 * How can I expect her not to have any?

But (let who will say that my standard is comical} On this I insist:


 * No wasteful, extravagant hand will I choose,
 * My good people’s taxes to squander and lose;
 * My queen must be willing to guard the state coffer;
 * To such a one only the crown will I offer.”
 * He snapped the pearl clasp of his own private book,
 * So that no prying eyes in its pages could look,


 * Next morning the king took his usual ride,
 * His favorite courtiers close at his side;
 * Each high-stepping steed with proud arching neck
 * A-quiver with life and impatient of check;
 * The laughter and singing, the bugle-calls ringing,
 * The flowers that before them the children were flinging,

United in making so gay a procession, Of its beauty words give but a feeble impression,


 * The cavalcade passed from the old city gates
 * To the beautiful roads of the country estates,
 * Then on to the farms, where the vines and the flowers
 * Transformed humble dwellings to fair floral bowers,
 * And stopped at a door where a plump, blooming lass
 * Peered through the small panes of diamond-shaped glass.
 * With heart wildly beating, she curtsied her greeting,
 * He ’s seeking a wife!” her brain kept repeating.

And the king, who had never looked grander or graver, Said kindly: “Dear maiden, pray grant me a favor.


 * Of course,” he continued, “you know how to bake,
 * And often make biscuits and cookies and cake?”
 * She answered with pride which she could not disguise.
 * And patties,” he queried, “and tartlets and pies?”
 * Your Majesty, yes; even now I am making
 * Some pies that are very near ready for baking.”
 * So then he explained that his call appertained
 * To a wish for the bits of the dough that remained,

As his horse, he averred, had a curious passion For eating these scraps in a ravenous fashion.


 * I ’ll give him a treat, then,” she cried, running toward
 * The table, where lay the great white molding-board,
 * And scraping a cupful, she carried it out.
 * The quantity pleases,” she thought, “ without doubt.
 * Though, alas!” and her face grew suddenly doleful,
 * Had I known it in time I ’d have saved a whole bowlful.”
 * But as the gay throng swept laughing along,
 * She returned to her work with a jubilant song,

And spent the whole day dreaming dreams most romantic, And building air-castles whose size was gigantic.


 * From that morning on, the king stopped every day
 * At some humble cottage along the highway,
 * And begged for his horse the scraps of rich dough
 * Which all the fair cooks seemed so glad to bestow;
 * But, spite of his courtiers’ nudges and winks,
 * Preserved his own counsel, close-mouthed as a sphinx;

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