No matter who-the deed was done By one or both, and there it lies; The smile from the lip forever gone, And darkness over the beautiful

eyes.

Our love is dead, and our hope is wrecked;

So what does it profit to talk and rave, Whether it perished by my neglect, Or whether your cruelty dug its grave!

Why should you say that I am to blame,

Or why should I charge the sin on you?

Our work is before us all the same, And the guilt of it lies between us two.

We have praised our love for its beauty and grace;

Now we stand here, and hardly dare

To turn the face-cloth back from the face,

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 waxed 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,

last,

And the beautiful life of our life is o'er,

And when we have buried and left the past,

We two, together, can walk no

more.

You might stretch yourself on the dead, and weep,

And pray as the prophet prayed, in pain;

But not like him could you break the sleep,

And bring the soul to the clay again.

Its head in my bosom I can lay,

And shower my woe there, kiss on kiss,

But there never was resurrection-day In the world for a love so dead as this.

Whom I loved with the heart of a

child.

When the buried sun of yesterday

Comes back from the shadows dim, Then may his love return to me,

And the love I had for him! But since to-day hath a better thing To give, I'll ne'er repine;The King is dead, long live the King!"

Said the Lady Jaqueline.

"And yet it almost makes me weep, Aye! weep, and cry, alas! When I think of one who lies asleep Down under the quiet grass. For he loved me well, and I loved again,

And low in homage bent, And prayed for his long and prosper ous reign,

In our realm of sweet content.

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.

"Once, caught by the sheen of stars and lace,

I bowed for a single day,

ARCHIE.

Он, to be back in the cool summer shadow

Of that old maple-tree down in the meadow;

Watching the smiles that grew dearer and dearer,

Listening to lips that grew nearer and nearer;

Unfit for place or sway.

That must have been the work of a

spell,

For the foolish glamour fled, As the sceptre from his weak hand fell,

[head;

And the crown from his feeble But homage true at last I bring

To this rightful lord of mine,The King is dead, long live the King!"

Said the Lady Jaqueline.

"By the hand of one I held most dear,

And called my liege, my own! I was set aside in a single year,

And a new queen shares his throne. To him who is false, and him who is wed,

Shall I give my fealty?
Nay, the dead one is not half so dead
As the false one is to me!

My faith to the faithful now I bring,
The faithless I resign;
The King is dead, long live the
King!"

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;

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,

Said the Lady Jaqueline.

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

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

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!