The Little Robber Girl
The Boy Who Cried Wolf
AMERICAN INDIAN STORIES
Animal Sketches And Stories
Blondine Bonne Biche and Beau Minon
BRER RABBIT and HIS NEIGHBORS
CHINESE MOTHER-GOOSE RHYMES
FABLES FOR CHILDREN
FABLES FROM INDIA
FATHER PLAYS AND MOTHER PLAYS
FIRST STORIES FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK
For Classes Ii. And Iii.
For Classes Iv. And V.
For Kindergarten And Class I.
FUN FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK
Good Little Henry
JAPANESE AND OTHER ORIENTAL TALES]
Jean De La Fontaine
King Alexander's Adventures
KINGS AND WARRIORS
LAND AND WATER FAIRIES
Lessons From Nature
LITTLE STORIES that GROW BIG
MODERN FAIRY TALES
MOTHER GOOSE CONTINUED
MOTHER GOOSE JINGLES
MOTHER GOOSE SONGS AND STORIES
Myths And Legends
NEGLECT THE FIRE
ON POPULAR EDUCATION
PLACES AND FAMILIES
Poems Of Nature
RESURRECTION DAY (EASTER)
RHYMES CONCERNING "MOTHER"
RIDING SONGS for FATHER'S KNEE
ROMANCES OF THE MIDDLE AGES
SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY
Selections From The Bible
SLEEPY-TIME SONGS AND STORIES
Some Children's Poets
Songs Of Life
STORIES BY FAVORITE AMERICAN WRITERS
STORIES FOR CHILDREN
STORIES for LITTLE BOYS
STORIES FROM BOTANY
STORIES FROM GREAT BRITAIN
STORIES FROM IRELAND
STORIES FROM PHYSICS
STORIES FROM SCANDINAVIA
STORIES FROM ZOOLOGY
STORIES _for_ LITTLE GIRLS
THE DAYS OF THE WEEK
The King Of The Golden River; Or, The Black Brothers
The Little Grey Mouse
THE OLD FAIRY TALES
The Princess Rosette
THE THREE HERMITS
THE TWO OLD MEN
UNCLES AND AUNTS AND OTHER RELATIVES
VERSES ABOUT FAIRIES
WHAT MEN LIVE BY
WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO
The Dryad Of The Old Oak
from Good Stories For Great Holidays
- ARBOR DAY
BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL (ADAPTED)
In olden times there was a youth named Rhoecus. One day as he wandered
through the wood he saw an ancient oak tree, trembling and about to
fall. Full of pity for so fair a tree, Rhoecus carefully propped up its
trunk, and as he did so he heard a soft voice murmur:--
It sounded like the gentle sighing of the wind through the leaves; and
while Rhoecus paused bewildered to listen, again he heard the murmur
like a soft breeze:--
And there stood before him, in the green glooms of the shadowy oak, a
"Rhoecus," said she, in low-toned words, serene and full, and as clear
as drops of dew, "I am the Dryad of this tree, and with it I am doomed
to live and die. Thou hadst compassion on my oak, and in saving it thou
hast saved my life. Now, ask me what thou wilt that I can give, and it
shall be thine."
"Beauteous nymph," answered Rhoecus, with a flutter at the heart,
"surely nothing will satisfy the craving of my soul save to be with thee
forever. Give to me thy love!"
"I give it, Rhoecus," answered she with sadness in her voice, "though it
be a perilous gift. An hour before sunset meet me here."
And straightway she vanished, and Rhoecus could see nothing but the
green glooms beneath the shadowy oak. Not a sound came to his straining
ears but the low, trickling rustle of the leaves, and, from far away on
the emerald slope, the sweet sound of an idle shepherd's pipe.
Filled with wonder and joy Rhoecus turned his steps homeward. The earth
seemed to spring beneath him as he walked. The clear, broad sky looked
bluer than its wont, and so full of joy was he that he could scarce
believe that he had not wings.
Impatient for the trysting-time, he sought some companions, and to while
away the tedious hours, he played at dice, and soon forgot all else.
The dice were rattling their merriest, and Rhoecus had just laughed in
triumph at a happy throw, when through the open window of the room
there hummed a yellow bee. It buzzed about his ears, and seemed ready
to alight upon his head. At this Rhoecus laughed, and with a rough,
impatient hand he brushed it off and cried:--
"The silly insect! does it take me for a rose?"
But still the bee came back. Three times it buzzed about his head, and
three times he rudely beat it back. Then straight through the window
flew the wounded bee, while Rhoecus watched its fight with angry eyes.
And as he looked--O sorrow!--the red disk of the setting sun descended
behind the sharp mountain peak of Thessaly.
Then instantly the blood sank from his heart, as if its very walls had
caved in, for he remembered the trysting-hour-now gone by! Without a
word he turned and rushed forth madly through the city and the gate,
over the fields into the wood.
Spent of breath he reached the tree, and, listening fearfully, he heard
once more the low voice murmur:--
But as he looked he could see nothing but the deepening glooms beneath
Then the voice sighed: "O Rhoecus, nevermore shalt thou behold me by day
or night! Why didst thou fail to come ere sunset? Why didst thou scorn
my humble messenger, and send it back to me with bruised wings? We
spirits only show ourselves to gentle eyes! And he who scorns the
smallest thing alive is forever shut away from all that is beautiful in
woods and fields. Farewell! for thou canst see me no more!"
Then Rhoecus beat his breast and groaned aloud. "Be pitiful," he cried.
"Forgive me yet this once!"
"Alas," the voice replied, "I am not unmerciful! I can forgive! But I
have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes, nor can I change the temper of
thy heart." And then again she murmured, "Nevermore!"
And after that Rhoecus heard no other sound, save the rustling of the
oak's crisp leaves, like surf upon a distant shore.
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