A CHINESE LEGEND.

THE storm-cloud Roc is passing by,

Stretching across the sunlit sky;

The sun is hid by its outstretched wings,

And the air resounds with the song it sings.

With its beak it pierces the trembling sun,

Each quill is as large as a water tun,

Its claws flash out with a glittering light,

And the earth grows dark at the dismal sight.

The waters are stirred from their inmost soul,

Their crests grow white at the thunder's roll;

The trees and the leaves in the forest shake,

The limbs of the weary wanderer quake.

But the storm-cloud Roc has left the sky,

And the sun shines again from his throne on high;

The sea and the forest are still and sad,

But the heart of the wanderer is glad.

Z.