The Singing Mouse Stories | Page 6

land long sadly sought; And that Atlantis, hid within the sea, The land
with all our hope and promise fraught, We saw not yet, nor wist where
it might be.
"But as we sailed as manful as we might, And counted not the sail more
fit than oar, Lo! o'er the wave there burst a vision bright Of wood, and
winding stream, and easy shore. Then by the lofty light which shone
above, We knew at last our voyage sad was o'er, And we hard by the
haven for which we strove, And soon all past the need to wander more.

"Then as our craft made safely on the strand, And we all well our
weary brown sail furled, We gazed as strangers might at that fair land,
And hardly knew if it might be our world; Till One took gently every
weary hand, And led us on to where still waters be, And whispered
softly, 'Lo! it hath been planned That thou at last this pleasant place
shouldst see.'
"And as those dreaming so awakened we, And looked with eyes unhurt
on that fair sky, And whispered, hand in hand and eye to eye, ''Tis our
Atlantis, risen from the sea-- 'Tis our Atlantis, from the bitten sea! 'Tis
our Atlantis, come again, oh, friend, to thee and me!'"

[Illustration: Lake Belle-Marie]
[Illustration]
LAKE BELLE-MARIE
Lake Belle-Marie lies far away. Beyond the forest the mountains are
white. Beyond the mountains the sky rises blue, high up into the
infinite Unknown.
I do not know where the Singing Mouse lives. No man can tell what
journeys it may make such times as it is absent from the room that
holds the pine table, and the book, and the candle, and the open fire.
But last night when the faint, shrill sweetness of its little voice grew
apart from the lonely silence of the room, and I turned and saw the
Singing Mouse sitting on the corner of the book, the light of the candle
shining pink through its tiny paws, almost the first word it said was of
the far-off Lake of Belle-Marie.
"Do you see it?" asked the Singing Mouse.
"You mean--"
"The moon there through the window? Do you see the moon and the
stars? Do you know where they are shining to-night? Do you see them,

there, deep in the water? Do you know where that is? Do you know the
water? I know. It is Lake Belle-Marie."
And all I could do was to sit speechless. For the fire was gone, and the
wall was open, and the room was not a room. The voice of the Singing
Mouse, shrill and sweet, droned on a thousand miles away in smallness,
but every word a crystal of regret and joy.
"A thousand feet deep, or more, or bottomless, lies Lake Belle-Marie,
for no man has ever fathomed it. But no matter how deep, the moon lies
to-night at the bottom, and you can see it shining there, deep down in
the blue. The stars are smaller, so they stay up and sparkle on the
surface. The forest is very black to-night, is it not? and the shadow of
the pines on the point looks like a mass of actual substance. Wait! Did
you see that silver creature leap from the quiet water? You may know
the shadow is but a shadow, for you can see the chasing ripples pass
through it and break it up into a crinkled fabric of the night.
"Do you see the pines waving, away up there in their tops, and do you
hear them talking? They are always talking. To-night they are saying:
'Hush, Belle-Marie; slumber, Belle-Marie; we will watch, we will
watch, hush, hush, hush!' Didn't you ever know what the pines said?
They wish no one ever to come near Lake Belle-Marie. Well for you
that you only sat and looked at the face of Belle-Marie, and cast no line
nor fired untimely shot around such shores! The pines would have been
angry and would have crushed you. You do not know how they live,
seeking only to keep Belle-Marie from the world, standing close and
sturdy together and threatening any who approach. It would break their
hearts to have her hiding-place found out. You do not know how they
love her. The pines are old, old, old, many of them, but they told me
that no footprint of man was ever seen upon those shores, that no boat
ever rested on that little sea, neither did ever a treacherous line wrinkle
even the smallest portion of its smoothest coves. Believe me, to have
Belle-Marie known would break the hearts of the pines. They told me
they lived all the time only that they might every night sing
Belle-Marie to sleep,