William Sharp

CHAPTER I And I dream in my waking dreams, and deep in the dreams of sleep.

Fiona MacLeod consternation reigned in king wanda's castle a great northern king before whose will so many trembled before whose smile so many crouched in expectation his favourite painter had suddenly lost his wit and refused to finish the picture he had begun on the walls of the ancient hall where all great banglads were held a beautiful hall where a frieze was being conjured into life by the incomparable artist of eric gundan a quite young man of wonderful talent who had been discovered by the king one sunshiny morning each day that aragundian had spent within the king's walls his reputation had grown and he had all unconsciously become the court favourite his every whim had been in order and his gay handsome face had been loved by old and young the creeping jealousies around him had died down of themselves before the sweetness of his smile and the wonder of his art the sound of his voice was like spring birds singing of love in green-clad forest when the sun shone on his head it was like the haze of a summer evening over a ripe cornfield in his eyes slumbered a beautiful piece of mountain lakes and in his heart there lived the simple trust of a pure soul and now eric gundian eric of the golden locks eric the fairy fingered eric the sweet voice had lost its wits one morning he awoke and no one could understand the meaning of his talk he declared he had had a dream and in his dream he had seen two eyes the eyes he needed for the completing of his picture and without those eyes he never again could touch either colour or brush king wanda had called for him to be brought before his presence but eric had sullenly refused to answer his command at first king wanda had been furiously angry but then he remembered eric's wonderful art and had deigned to go out where his favourite sat on the cool marble steps that led down to the lake before the king's white palace of beauty eric had risen before the crown figure that bent towards him a stern face of inquiry but to all the king's questions to all his persuasions flatteries threats and entreaties eric had replied with a sad gesture of resignation that never again could he take up his brush till he had found those eyes which had haunted his dream his pain and his despair were so evident that king wanda felt that no words had force to move the distracted young men sadly he departed and mounted one by one the shadowed marble steps which reflected in glowing colours the costly clothes that he wore once more he turned and looked down upon his favourite who sat his head in his hands gazing across the sparkling lake he heaved a deep sigh and felt like crawling with fate who had despoiled him of one of his great joys as he reached the palace door he was met by the sweet little figure of his daughter who came out into the sunshine gathering up her long trailing dress a golden ball clasped in her hands the king smiled upon her and bade her go down to the water's edge to try and console the young painter with her radiant youth with a gay laugh

una rolled her golden

ball down the snow-white stuff and it fell with a splash into the water at the young man's feet making great circles that spread always widening over the blue expanse but eric never moved he kept staring into the distance as if he were following the vision no other eye could see luna came noiselessly down the steps rather awed by the silence and stillness of the young man who had always been her gayest playfellow gently she drew near to where he sat and dropped down at his side then like a playful kitten she nestled quite close to him and peered up into his face the smile faded from her soft lips and gave way to a look of wonder and distress she put both arms round her young friend's neck pressing her blossom-like cheek against his shoulder she asked him gently if he would not come and play with her beneath the flowering apple-trees eric looked at her as if she were a stranger his eyes seemed to wander over her fair face without any recognition suddenly little una was afraid and drew back what has come to her friend why was he so changed why did she begin to shiver in the warm sunshine so that all around her lost light and colour once more she drew near her warm little heart longing to help longing to bring the smile back to the eyes of her companion she wore a dark red rose in her belt and drying it out she pulled the red petals off one by one letting them drop over his bent head down upon the white marble at his feet but eric never looked up the velvety petals lay a fading little heap unnoticed upon the marble step till a gust of wind swept them into the water which carried them far out of sight poor little una rose to her feet a great fear had come over her and gathering up her long white skirt she fled back into the palace as if she were being pursued still eric sat gazing into space till night came down and blotted out all things from his sight chapter one

had become a halo round the face that was the face of one of god's own angels chapter four

CHAPTER V and although blind and deaf for a hundred years, I would see her more fair than any poet has sung.

Fiona MacLeod.

Eric had now left the snow maiden far behind, had left her there amongst the broken hearts she tended with such gentle hand and deep understanding.

The casual allusion to Herrick's Confectionaries of Verse is, of course, quite explicable, coming as it does from an editor who excluded Herrick from an anthology of the child poems of our literature.

in favour of Mr Ashby Sterry and Mr William Sharp.

But when Mr Robertson tells us that Poe's loftiest flights of imagination in verse rise into no more imperial realm than the fantastic, we can only recommend him to read as soon as possible The Marvellous Lines to Helen, a poem as beautiful as a Greek gem and as musical as Apollo's lute.

The remarks, too, on Poe's critical estimate of his own work show that Mr Robertson has never really studied the poet on whom he pronounces such glib and shallow judgments and exemplify very clearly the fact that even dogmatism is no excuse for ignorance after reading mr halkane's coleridge we are irresistibly reminded of what wordsworth once said about a bust that had been done of himself After contemplating it for some time, he remarked, "'It is not a bad Wordsworth, but it is not the real Wordsworth.

And I dream in my waking dreams and deep in the dreams of sleep.

Fiona Macleod.

Consternation reigned in King Wanda's castle, the great Northern King, before whose will so many trembled, before whose smile so many crouched in expectation.

His favorite painter had suddenly lost his wits and refused to finish the picture he had begun on the walls of the ancient hall where all great banquets were held.

Chapter five.

And although blind and deaf for a hundred years, I would see her more fair than any poet has sung.

Fiona MacLeod.

Eric had now left the snow maiden far behind, had left her there amongst the broken hearts she tended with such gentle hand and deep understanding.

And I dream in my waking dreams and deep in the dreams of sleep.

Fiona Macleod.

Consternation reigned in King Wanda's castle, the great northern king before whose will so many trembled, before whose smile so many crouched in expectation.

His favorite painter had suddenly lost his wits and refused to finish the picture he had begun on the walls of the ancient hall where all great banquets were held.

Chapter five.

And although blind and deaf for a hundred years, I would see her more fair than any poet has sung.

Fiona MacLeod.

Eric had now left the snow maiden far behind, had left her there amongst the broken hearts she tended with such gentle hand and deep understanding.

Chapter One: And I dream in my waking dreams and deep in the dreams of sleep.

Fiona Macleod.

Consternation reigned in King Wanda's castle, the great northern king before whose will so many trembled, before whose smile so many crouched in expectation.

His favorite painter had suddenly lost his wits and refused to finish the picture he had begun on the walls of the ancient hall where all great banquets were held.

Chapter five.

And although blind and deaf for a hundred years, I would see her more fair than any poet has sung.

Fiona MacLeod.

Eric had now left the Snow Maiden far behind, had left her there amongst the broken hearts she tended with such gentle hand and deep understanding.

CHAPTER I And I dream in my waking dreams, and deep in the dreams of sleep.

Fiona MacLeod consternation reigned in king wanda's castle a great northern king before whose will so many trembled before whose smile so many crouched in expectation his favourite painter had suddenly lost his wit and refused to finish the picture he had begun on the walls of the ancient hall where all great banglads were held a beautiful hall where a frieze was being conjured into life by the incomparable artist of eric gundan a quite young man of wonderful talent who had been discovered by the king one sunshiny morning each day that aragundian had spent within the king's walls his reputation had grown and he had all unconsciously become the court favourite his every whim had been in order and his gay handsome face had been loved by old and young the creeping jealousies around him had died down of themselves before the sweetness of his smile and the wonder of his art the sound of his voice was like spring birds singing of love in green-clad forest when the sun shone on his head it was like the haze of a summer evening over a ripe cornfield in his eyes slumbered a beautiful piece of mountain lakes and in his heart there lived the simple trust of a pure soul and now eric gundian eric of the golden locks eric the fairy fingered eric the sweet voice had lost its wits one morning he awoke and no one could understand the meaning of his talk he declared he had had a dream and in his dream he had seen two eyes the eyes he needed for the completing of his picture and without those eyes he never again could touch either colour or brush king wanda had called for him to be brought before his presence but eric had sullenly refused to answer his command at first king wanda had been furiously angry but then he remembered eric's wonderful art and had deigned to go out where his favourite sat on the cool marble steps that led down to the lake before the king's white palace of beauty eric had risen before the crown figure that bent towards him a stern face of inquiry but to all the king's questions to all his persuasions flatteries threats and entreaties eric had replied with a sad gesture of resignation that never again could he take up his brush till he had found those eyes which had haunted his dream his pain and his despair were so evident that king wanda felt that no words had force to move the distracted young men sadly he departed and mounted one by one the shadowed marble steps which reflected in glowing colours the costly clothes that he wore once more he turned and looked down upon his favourite who sat his head in his hands gazing across the sparkling lake he heaved a deep sigh and felt like crawling with fate who had despoiled him of one of his great joys as he reached the palace door he was met by the sweet little figure of his daughter who came out into the sunshine gathering up her long trailing dress a golden ball clasped in her hands the king smiled upon her and bade her go down to the water's edge to try and console the young painter with her radiant youth with a gay laugh

una rolled her golden

ball down the snow-white stuff and it fell with a splash into the water at the young man's feet making great circles that spread always widening over the blue expanse but eric never moved he kept staring into the distance as if he were following the vision no other eye could see luna came noiselessly down the steps rather awed by the silence and stillness of the young man who had always been her gayest playfellow gently she drew near to where he sat and dropped down at his side then like a playful kitten she nestled quite close to him and peered up into his face the smile faded from her soft lips and gave way to a look of wonder and distress she put both arms round her young friend's neck pressing her blossom-like cheek against his shoulder she asked him gently if he would not come and play with her beneath the flowering apple-trees eric looked at her as if she were a stranger his eyes seemed to wander over her fair face without any recognition suddenly little una was afraid and drew back what has come to her friend why was he so changed why did she begin to shiver in the warm sunshine so that all around her lost light and colour once more she drew near her warm little heart longing to help longing to bring the smile back to the eyes of her companion she wore a dark red rose in her belt and drying it out she pulled the red petals off one by one letting them drop over his bent head down upon the white marble at his feet but eric never looked up the velvety petals lay a fading little heap unnoticed upon the marble step till a gust of wind swept them into the water which carried them far out of sight poor little una rose to her feet a great fear had come over her and gathering up her long white skirt she fled back into the palace as if she were being pursued still eric sat gazing into space till night came down and blotted out all things from his sight chapter one

had become a halo round the face that was the face of one of god's own angels chapter four

CHAPTER V and although blind and deaf for a hundred years, I would see her more fair than any poet has sung.

Fiona MacLeod.

Eric had now left the snow maiden far behind, had left her there amongst the broken hearts she tended with such gentle hand and deep understanding.

The Dreamer of Dreams by Queen Mary of Romania, Chapter One.

And I dream in my waking dreams and deep in the dreams of sleep, Fiona Macleod.

Consternation reigned in King Wanda's castle, the great northern king before whose will so many trembled, before whose smile so many crouched in expectation.

His favorite painter had suddenly lost his wits and refused to finish the picture he had begun on the walls of the ancient hall where all great banquets were held.

Chapter five.

And although blind and deaf for a hundred years, I would see her more fair than any poet has sung.

Fiona MacLeod.

Eric had now left the Snow Maiden far behind, had left her there amongst the broken hearts she tended with such gentle hand and deep understanding.

End of Shakespeare by Samuel P. Putnam

Essay 1 At the Turn of the Year By William Sharp Published in 1913 And read for Essays Collection Volume 1 By Kevin S.

This is a LibriVox recording.

All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.

And I dream in my waking dreams and deep in the dreams of sleep.

Fiona MacLeod.

Consternation reigned in King Wanda's castle, the great northern king before whose will so many trembled, before whose smile so many crouched in expectation.

His favorite painter had suddenly lost his wits and refused to finish the picture he had begun on the walls of the ancient hall where all great banquets were held.

Chapter five.

And although blind and deaf for a hundred years, I would see her more fair than any poet has sung.

Fiona MacLeod.

Eric had now left the Snow Maiden far behind, had left her there amongst the broken hearts she tended with such gentle hand and deep understanding.