And, since we cannot lessen the sin By mourning over the deed we did, Let us draw the winding-sheet up to the chin,

Ay, up till the death-blind eyes are hid!

THE LADY JAQUELINE. "FALSE and fickle, or fair and sweet, I care not for the rest, The lover that knelt last night at my feet

Was the bravest and the best. Let them perish all, for their power has waned,

And their glory waxèd dim; They were well enough while they lived and reigned,

But never was one like him! And never one from the past would I bring

Again, and call him mine; The King is dead, long live the King!"

Said the Lady Jaqueline.

new,

And the world upon me smiled,

But not to the dead may the living

cling,

Nor kneel at an empty shrine; — The King is dead, long live the King!" Said the Lady Jaqueline.

66

Once, caught by the sheen of stars and lace,

I bowed for a single day,

Listening to lips that grew nearer and nearer;

Unfit for place or sway.

That must have been the work of a

16

Said the Lady Jaqueline.

clover,

woman;

were

Are dead, and hid away,

In the past, as in a sepulchre,
Shut up till the judgment-day.

False or fickle, or weak or wed,
They are all alike to me;

And mine eyes no more can be misled,

They have looked on loyalty! Then bring me wine, and garlands bring

For my king of the right divine; The King is dead, long live the King!" Said the Lady Jaqueline.

human.

Say not that heaven hath tenderer

blisses

To her on whose brow drops the soft rain of kisses;

Preach not the promise of priests or evangels,

Love-crowned, who asks for the crown of the angels? Yea, all that the wall of pure jasper encloses,

Takes not the sweetness from sweet bridal roses!

As they creaked against the pane: And those orchard trees, oh those orchard trees!

I've seen my little brothers rocked In their tops by the summer breeze.

The sweet-briar, under the windowsill,

Which the early birds made glad, And the damask rose, by the gardenfence,

Were all the flowers we had. I've looked at many a flower since then,

Exotics rich and rare,

That to other eyes were lovelier
But not to me so fair;

For those roses bright, oh, those
roses bright!
[locks,
I have twined them in my sister's
That are hid in the dust from sight.

We had a well, a deep old well,

Where the spring was never dry, And the cool drops down from the mossy stones

-Were falling constantly;

And there never was water half so sweet

As the draught which filled my cup, Drawn up to the curb by the rude old sweep

That my father's hand set up. And that deep old well, oh that deep old well!

I remember now the plashing sound Of the bucket as it fell.

Our homestead had an ample hearth, Where at night we loved to meet; There my mother's voice was always kind,

And her smile was always sweet; And there I've sat on my father's knee,

And watched his thoughtful brow, With my childish hand in his raven hair,

That hair is silver now!

But that broad hearth's light, oh, that broad hearth's light! And my father's look, and my moth er's smile,

They are in my heart to-night!