It sits apart,
Craving a prison dole
Of ruth and healing for its hurt,
As piteous captive should cajole,
Vainly, unheeding ear afar in stranger mart.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] That this incident is suggested by Hans Andersen's beautiful story
is so evident as scarcely to need acknowledgment. The thoughts embodied
here occurred to me in such early childhood that I do not experience a
sense of guilt in thus appropriating the lesson which I have no doubt
the writer intended.




CHAPTER VIII.


One night Atmâ dreamed a dream which greatly disturbed his waking
thoughts. He lay in the shadow of an overhanging rock, and in deep sleep
fancied that he descried therein a door which was securely barred. But
although it was closed, there issued from it aroma of most subtle
perfumes, which seemed to enter the brain and incite the energies to a
maddening desire of possession, while there floated around him strains
of music whose sweetness filled the soul with sorrow of itself. In his
dream he tried the heavy bolts in vain. All was fast. He yielded to
despair, and dashed himself against the rocky portal in anguish of
disappointment. But grief wore itself out, and he thought that he