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By the Baltic, too, and nowhere else, were there races with hair yellow as their own amber, or, as our island bards say, "so bright that the new-molten gold was not brighter; yellow as the yellow flag-lilies along the verges of the rivers."
The sunshine wrapped itself in its old fine gilded gossamer haze and drowsed upon the verdant slopes; the green jewelled "Juny-bugs" whirred in the soft air; the mould was as richly brown as in Joel Quimbey's own enclosure; the flag-lilies bloomed beside the onion bed; and the woolly green leaves of the sage wore their old delicate tint and gave out a familiar odor.
For the Fair Gentiles of our mediaeval Chronicle are no other than the golden-haired Scandinavians; the yellow-locked Baltic race that gave conquerors and a new ideal of beauty to the whole modern world. And this Baltic race, as we saw in an earlier epoch, was the source and mother of the old De Danaans, whose hair was like new-smelted gold or the yellow flag-lilies of our lakes and rivers.
Kane, and bring her some flowers and fruit." The pretty green woods which Hetty loved had grown dark, the butterflies had flown away to whatever dainty lodging butterflies inhabit during the summer nights, the yellow wings of the flag-lilies fluttered unseen in the shadows, and the moon had risen high above the tall beech-trees and the old church tower. Mrs.
Hetty caught sight of the yellow wing-like petals of the flag-lilies and grasped them with both hands. Alas! they were not alive, but pinned to the earth by their strong stems. The butterflies were gone, the flowers were not living. The little girl plucked the lilies and tried to make them fly, but their heads fell heavily to the ground.
Around San Francisco and the bay counties you will count, after the poppy and baby blue-eyes, the shining yellow buttercup, the blue and yellow lupines that grow in the sand, the tall thistle whose sharp, prickly leaves and thorny red blossoms spell "Let-me-alone," the blue flag-lilies and red paint-brush, yellow cream-cups, and wild mustard, and an orange pentstemon.
In the other water panel, "The Net," hardy fishermen, standing in the water-reeds and blossoming flag-lilies, haul in the last catch of the brightly dying day. Others bear on their heads baskets heavy with the success of earlier castings. Heavy sea-clouds are tinted by the late afternoon sunshine. Air The Windmill, Court of Ages
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