"While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff."

These pa.s.sed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a smile: "Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile, She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?"

He too left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait (I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate), Or shall I work the last gold st.i.tch into my veil of state;

Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpa.s.sioned scene, There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between; Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen?

Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command: "Charge!" a clash of steel: "Charge again, the rebels stand.

Smite and spare not, hand to hand; smite and spare not, hand to hand."

There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher; A flash of red reflected light lit the cathedral spire; I heard a cry for f.a.ggots, then I heard a yell for fire.

"Sit and roast there with your meat, sit and bake there with your bread, You who sat to see us starve," one shrieking woman said: "Sit on your throne and roast with your crown upon your head."

Nay, this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth, I will take my fine spun gold, but not to sew therewith, I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and wreath;

With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand, I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, will stand Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land.

They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give; I, if I perish, perish; they to-day shall eat and live; I, if I perish, perish; that's the goal I half conceive:

Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show The lesson I have learned, which is death, is life, to know.

I, if I perish, perish; in the name of G.o.d I go.

SHALL I FORGET?

Shall I forget on this side of the grave?

I promise nothing: you must wait and see Patient and brave.

(O my soul, watch with him and he with me.)

Shall I forget in peace of Paradise?

I promise nothing: follow, friend, and see, Faithful and wise.

(O my soul, lead the way he walks with me.)

VANITY OF VANITIES.

SONNET.

Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain, Ah, woe is me for glory that is past: Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last, Glory that at the last bringeth no gain!

So saith the sinking heart; and so again It shall say till the mighty angel-blast Is blown, making the sun and moon aghast, And showering down the stars like sudden rain.

And evermore men shall go fearfully, Bending beneath their weight of heaviness; And ancient men shall lie down wearily, And strong men shall rise up in weariness; Yea, even the young shall answer sighingly, Saying one to another: How vain it is!

L. E. L.

"Whose heart was breaking for a little love."

Down-stairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all: But in my solitary room above I turn my face in silence to the wall; My heart is breaking for a little love.

Though winter frosts are done, And birds pair every one, And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun.

I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown, I find no nest, while nests are in the grove: Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone, My heart that breaketh for a little love.

While golden in the sun Rivulets rise and run, While lilies bud, for springtide is begun.

All love, are loved, save only I; their hearts Beat warm with love and joy, beat full thereof: They cannot guess, who play the pleasant parts, My heart is breaking for a little love.

While beehives wake and whirr, And rabbit thins his fur, In living spring that sets the world astir.

I deck myself with silks and jewelry, I plume myself like any mated dove: They praise my rustling show, and never see My heart is breaking for a little love.

While sprouts green lavender With rosemary and myrrh, For in quick spring the sap is all astir.

Perhaps some saints in glory guess the truth, Perhaps some angels read it as they move, And cry one to another full of ruth, "Her heart is breaking for a little love."

Though other things have birth, And leap and sing for mirth, When spring-time wakes and clothes and feeds the earth.

Yet saith a saint: "Take patience for thy scathe"; Yet saith an angel: "Wait, for thou shalt prove True best is last, true life is born of death, O thou, heart-broken for a little love!

Then love shall fill thy girth, And love make fat thy dearth, When new spring builds new heaven and clean new earth."

LIFE AND DEATH.

Life is not sweet. One day it will be sweet To shut our eyes and die: Nor feel the wild-flowers blow, nor birds dart by With flitting b.u.t.terfly, Nor gra.s.s grow long above our heads and feet, Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky high, Nor sigh that spring is fleet and summer fleet, Nor mark the waxing wheat, Nor know who sits in our accustomed seat.

Life is not good. One day it will be good To die, then live again; To sleep meanwhile: so not to feel the wane Of shrunk leaves dropping in the wood, Nor hear the foamy lashing of the main, Nor mark the blackened bean-fields, nor where stood Rich ranks of golden grain, Only dead refuse stubble clothe the plain: Asleep from risk, asleep from pain.

BIRD OR BEAST?

Did any bird come flying After Adam and Eve, When the door was shut against them And they sat down to grieve?

I think not Eve's peac.o.c.k Splendid to see, And I think not Adam's eagle; But a dove may be.

Did any beast come pushing Through the th.o.r.n.y hedge Into the th.o.r.n.y, thistly world Out from Eden's edge?

I think not a lion, Though his strength is such; But an innocent loving lamb May have done as much.

If the dove preached from her bough And the lamb from his sod, The lamb and the dove Were preachers sent from G.o.d.

EVE.