. In the days of the guild . one alone was limping labor. It was theEngland of the guilds breaking bread by that fire. THE WANDER-YEARS Fair is the light on the castle wall— (Heigh-ho, for the road!)Merry the wassail in hearth-warm hall—• (Blither the call of the road!)When the moonlight silvers the sleeping plain,And the wind is calling to heart and brain,And the blood beats quick and the soul is fain—= Ah, follow the open road! Low croons the mother while children sleep— (Heigh-ho, for the road!)And firelight shadows are warm and deep— (Dearer the call of the road!)Where the red fox runs and
. In the days of the guild . one alone was limping labor. It was theEngland of the guilds breaking bread by that fire. THE WANDER-YEARS Fair is the light on the castle wall— (Heigh-ho, for the road!)Merry the wassail in hearth-warm hall—• (Blither the call of the road!)When the moonlight silvers the sleeping plain,And the wind is calling to heart and brain,And the blood beats quick and the soul is fain—= Ah, follow the open road! Low croons the mother while children sleep— (Heigh-ho, for the road!)And firelight shadows are warm and deep— (Dearer the call of the road!)Where the red fox runs and the merlin sings,And the hedge is alive with the whir of wings,And the wise earth whispers of nameless things— Ah, follow the open road! Safe is the nook we have made our own— (Heigh-ho, for the road!)Dear the comrades our hearts have known— (Hark to the call of the road!)Trumpets are calling and torches flare,And a man must do, and a man mustWhether to victory or despair,— Come, follow the open road! XX. THE WINGS OF THE DRAGON HOW PADRAIG MADE IRISH WIT A JOURNEYMAN TOFLORENTINE GENIUS ADRAIG was having his first view of a for-eign country. England, to be sure, wassomewhat strange to a boy who had neverbefore been outside Ireland. Brother Basil,who had taught him all that he knew ofwriting, reading, painting and other arts, had cometo England on business for the Irish Abbeys andwas going no further. Padraig felt that he wantedto see more of the world. Perhaps the wise monk felt that unless his pupil had thechance now to wander and come back, he would run away andnever return at all; at any rate he told the youth that thiswould be a good time to make the pilgrimage to Rome if hecould. There was peace in Lombardy for the moment, and thePope, driven out more than once by the warring Emperor ofGermany, was now in the Vatican, again. A fishing-boat, slipping over to Calais in the light of a windydawn, carried one passenger, a red-headed boy in a hoodedcloak of
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