The third smiled:  there was a sort of mischief in the smile.  Will our aged bachelor and that old maiden-lady yonder, who now wander along so young, smile so young, and speak so youthfully to each other, not be a married couple before the cuckoo sings again next year?  See—­that is what I should like to know! and the smile played around the thinker’s mouth, but she did not speak her thoughts.  The straws were separated—­consequently the bachelor and the old maid also.  “It may, however, happen nevertheless,” she certainly thought:  it was apparent in the smile; it was obvious in the manner in which she threw the straws away.

“There is nothing I would know—­nothing that I am curious to know!” said the fourth; but yet she bound the straws together; for within her also there was a wish alive; but no bird has sung about it; no one guesses it.

Rock thyself securely in the heart’s lotus flower, thou shining humming-bird, thy’ name shall not be pronounced:  and besides the straws said as before—­“without hope!”

“Now you! now you!” cried the young girls to a stranger, far from the neighbouring land, from the green isle, that Gylfe ploughed from Sweden.  “What dear thing do you wish shall happen, or not happen!—­tell us the wish!”—­“If the oracle speaks well for me,” said he, “then I will tell you the silent wish and prayer, with which I bind these knots on the grass straw; but if I have no better success than you have had, I will then be silent!” and he bound straw to straw, and as he bound, he repeated:  “it signifies nothing!” He now opened his hand, his eyes shone brighter, his heart beat faster.  The straws formed a square!  “It will happen, it will happen!” cried the young girls.  “What did you wish for?” “That Denmark may soon gain an honourable peace!”

“It will happen! it will happen!” said the young girls; “and when it happens, we will remember that the straws have told it before-hand.”

“I will keep these four straws, bound in a prophetic wreath for victory and peace!” said the stranger; “and if the oracle speaks truth, then I will draw the whole picture for you, as we sit here under the hanging birch by the lake, and look on Zaether’s blue mountains, each of us binding straw to straw.”

A red mark was made in the almanack; it was the 6th of July, 1849.  The same day a red page was written in Denmark’s history.  The Danish soldier made a red, victorious mark with his blood, at the battle of Fredericia.

THE POET’S SYMBOL.

* * * * *

If a man would seek for the symbol of the poet, he need not look farther than “The Arabian Nights’ Tales.”  Scherezade who interprets the stories for the Sultan—­Scherezade is the poet, and the Sultan is the public who is to be agreeably entertained, or else he will decapitate Scherezade.

Powerful Sultan!  Poor Scherezade!