110 CHAPTER XIV. 



hand : the husband is returning : there stands the 

 dish of polenta, but the flax is not begun. " Ne 

 sachant a quel saint se vouer," she calls in despair the 

 fairies to her aid, and, scorning the vulgar flax, she 

 spins the yellow porridge into cloth of gold. Perhaps 

 there is a meaning in this south Italian nursery tale. 

 The poet will not and cannot toil, at least he cannot 

 work for gain ; he looks on while the pageant of life 

 passes by, and feels that he has no part in it. Men 

 call him idler and dreamer, but he weaves golden 

 thoughts wherewith to embroider the dull warp and 

 weft of other looms. 



I have never found that red ear which Long- 

 fellow describes, that " Maize ear red as blood is," 

 which was so welcome an omen to the Indian 

 maiden. 



How tenderly true to Nature is the legend of 

 Mondamin, friend of man 



" With his soft and shining tresses, 

 With his garments green and yellow, 

 With his long and glossy plumage ! " 



How exquisitely the poet tells of Mondamin 



" Sleeping in the rain and sunshine, 

 Till at length a small green feather 

 From the earth shot slowly upward, 

 Then another and another, 

 And before the summer ended 

 Stood the Maize in all its beauty, 

 With its shining robes about it, 

 And its long soft yellow tresses ! " 



