her voice was faint and timid. "I sing, it is true, your Majesty, but I
have nothing else in common with the birds. The wings which, when a
child, bore me wherever I desired, have lost their strength. They do not
wholly refuse their service, but they now require favourable hours to
move."

"I should not have expected that in the time of your youth, your most
beautiful possession," replied the Queen. "Yet it is well. I too--how
long ago it seems!--was a child, and my imagination outstripped even the
flight of the eagle. It could dare the risk unpunished. Now----Whoever
has reached mature life is wise to let these wings remain idle. The
mortal who ventures to use them may easily approach too near the sun,
and, like Icarus, the wax will melt from his pinions. Let me tell you
this: To the child the gift of imagination is nourishing bread. In later
years we need it only as salt, as spice, as stimulating wine. Doubtless
it points out many paths, and shows us their end; but, of a hundred
rambles to which it summons him, scarcely one pleases the mature man. No
troublesome parasite is more persistently and sharply rebuffed. Who can
blame the ill-treated friend if it is less ready to serve us as the years
go on? The wise man will keep his ears ever open, but rarely lend it his
active hand. To banish it from life is to deprive the plant of blossoms,
the rose of its fragrance, the sky of its stars."

"I have often said the same things to myself, though in a less clear and
beautiful form, when life has been darkened," replied Barine, with a
faint blush; for she felt that these words were doubtless intended to
warn her against cherishing too aspiring wishes. "But, your Majesty,
here also the gods place you, the great Queen, far above us. We should
often find existence bare indeed but for the fancy which endows us with
imaginary possessions. You have the power to secure a thousand things