A OUTRANCE

(FRANCE, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY)

H

EIGHO! Why the plague did you wake me?

It's barely a half after four;

My head, too, is- ah! I remember That little affair at the shore. Well, I had forgotten completely!

I must have been drinking last night.Rapiers, West Sands, and sunrise;—

But whom, by the way, do I fight?

De Genlis! Ah, now I recall it!-
He started it all, did he not?
I drank to his wife-but, the devil!
He needn't have gotten so hot.
Just see what a ruffler that man is,
To give me a challenge to fight,
And only for pledging milady

A half-dozen times in a night.

Ah, well! it's a beautiful morning,—
The sun just beginning to rise,—

A glorious day for one's spirit

To pilgrimage off to the skies
God keep mine from any such notion;-
This dual's à outrance, you see.—

I haven't confessed for a month back,
And haven't had breakfast, tant pis!

Well, here we are, first at the West Sands!
The tide is well out; and how red
The sunrise is painting the ocean;

Is that a sea-gull overhead?

And here come De Genlis and Virron:
Messieurs, we were waiting for you
To complete, with the sea and the sunrise,
The charming effect of the view.

Are we ready? Indeed we were waiting
Your orders, Marigny and I.

On guard then it is, we must hasten:
The sun is already quite high.

Where now would you like me to pink you?
I've no choice at all, don't you see;
And any spot you may desire

Will be convenable for me.

From this hand-shake I judge I was drinking

Last night, with the thirst of a fish;

I've vigor enough though to kill you,

Mon ami, and that's all I wish.

Keep cool, keep your temper, I beg you,—
Don't fret yourself —

Now by your leave

I'll finish you off Help, Marigny!

His sword's in my heart, I believe.

God! God! What a mortification!

The Amontillado last night

Was drinking, you know, and my hand shook;-
My head, too, was dizzy and light.

And I the best swordsman in Paris!

No priest, please, for such as I am —

I'm going Good-by, my Marigny;

De Genlis, my love to Madame.

ROBERT CAMERON ROGERS.

I

A CONQUEST

FOUND him openly wearing her token;

I knew that her troth could never be broken:

I laid my hand on the hilt of my sword,

He did the same, and he spoke no word.

I faced him with his villainy;

He laughed, and said, "She gave it me."

We searched for seconds, they soon were found:

They measured our swords; they measured the ground:

They held to the deadly work too fast —

They thought to gain our place at last.
We fought in the sheen of a wintry wood;
The fair white snow was red with his blood:
But his was the victory, for, as he died,
He swore by the rood that he had not lied.

WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK.

BALLAD OF A BRIDAL

H, FILL me flagons full and fair

Of red wine and of white,

And, maidens mine, my bower prepare:

It is my wedding night!

"Braid up my hair with gem and flower, And make me fair and fine:

The day has dawned that brings the hour When my desire is mine!"

They decked her bower with roses blown,
With rushes strewed the floor;

And sewed more jewels on her gown
Than ever she wore before.

She wore two roses in her face,

Two jewels in her e'en;

Her hair was crowned with sunset rays,
Her brows shone white between.

"Tapers at the bed's foot," she saith, "Two tapers at the head!”

(It seemed more like the bed of death Than like a bridal bed.)

He came. He took her hands in his;
He kissed her on the face:
"There is more heaven in thy kiss
Than in Our Lady's grace!"

He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,
He kissed her three times o'er,
He kissed her brow, he kissed her eyes,
He kissed her mouth's red flower.

"O love! What is it ails thy knight? I sicken and I pine:

Is it the red wine or the white,

Or that sweet kiss of thine ? »

"No kiss, no wine or white or red
Can make such sickness be:
Lie down and die on thy bride-bed,
For I have poisoned thee!

"And though the curse of saints and men

Be for the deed on me,

I would it were to do again,

Since thou wert false to me!

"Thou shouldst have loved or one or none,-

Nor she nor I loved twain;

But we are twain thou hast undone
And therefore art thou slain.

"And when before my God I stand,
With no base flesh between,

I shall hold up my guilty hand,
And he shall judge it clean!"

He fell across the bridal bed,
Between the tapers pale.

"I first shall see our God," he said,
"And I will tell thy tale:

"And if God judge thee as I do,
Then art thou justified;

I love thee, and I was not true,
And that was why I died.

"If I might judge thee, thou shouldst be First of the saints on high;

But ah, I fear God loveth thee

Not half so dear as I!"

EDITH (NESBIT) Bland.

HER CREED

HE stood before a chosen few,

SHE

With modest air and eyes of blue;

A gentle creature, in whose face Were mingled tenderness and grace.

"You wish to join our fold," they said:

"Do you believe in all that's read

From ritual and written creed,
Essential to our human need?»

A troubled look was in her eyes;
She answered, as in vague surprise,

As though the sense to her were dim,
"I only strive to follow Him."

They knew her life; how, oft she stood,
Sweet in her guileless maidenhood,

By dying bed, in hovel lone,

Whose sorrow she had made her own.

Oft had her voice in prayer been heard,
Sweet as the voice of singing bird;
Her hand been open in distress;

Her joy to brighten and to bless.

Yet still she answered, when they sought
To know her inmost earnest thought,
With look as of the seraphim,

"I only strive to follow Him."

Creeds change as ages come and go;
We see by faith, but little know:
Perchance the sense was not so dim
To her who "strove to follow Him.”

SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON.

A SAINT OF YORE

IN MEM., E. V.

Hо brings it, now, her sweet accord

WHO

To every precept of her Lord?

In quaintly fashioned bonnet

With simplest ribbons on it,

The older folk remember well

How prompt she was at Sabbath bell.

I see her yet; her decent shawl,

Her sober gown, silk mitts, and all.

The deacons courtly meet her,

The pastor turns to greet her,

And maid and matron quit their place
To find her fan or smooth her lace.