Of ivory towers and crystal walls
And beauty in many a wondrous guise,
And all that fascinates and enthralls
The saint and the sinner, the fool and the wise.

Wily Ulysses at heart was sound--
At least he was quite a family man;
He faced the fatal music, but found
An antidote to the risks he ran,
For he sealed the ears of his crew, and bound
Himself to the mast ere the song began.

But the Siren who sang and slew is now
The fable outworn of an age remote,
And the women to whom to-day we bow
Have long abjured her sinister note;
She heals, she helps, she follows the plough,
And her song has fairly earned her the vote.

* * * * *

WHAT THE KINGFISHER KNEW.

The wind ruffled the grey water of the stream under the old stone
bridge.

"Ssshhh, ssshhh," whispered the young willows, "what will become of
us? what will they make of us? Ssshhh, ssshhh." But no one replied,
chiefly because no one knew, excepting the kingfisher, and he was away
on a fishing expedition.