A MIDSUMMER LEGEND. 
‘And some they seized the little winds, 
That sounded over the hill, 
And each put a horn into his mouth, 
And blew so sharp and shrill :— 
‘“ And there,” said they, “the merry winds go, 
Away from every horn ; 
And those shall clear the mildew dank 
From the blind old widow’s corn. 
“ Oh, the poor, blind old widow— 
Though she has been blind so long, 
She'll be merry enough when the mildew’s gone, 
And the corn stands stiff and strong !” 
‘ And some they brought the brown lintseed, 
And flung it down from the Low— 
“ And this,” said they, “ by the sunrise, 
In the weaver’s croft shall grow! 
“ Oh, the poor, lame weaver, 
How will he laugh outright, 
When he sees his dwindling flax-field, 
All full of flowers by night !” 
‘ And then upspoke a brownie, 
With a long beard on his chin— 
“ T have spun up all the tow,” said he, 
“ And I want some more to spin. 







