Full on her tomb and that black Catafalque. Ashamed of my wild fancies, like a man And yet, methought it was not I that spake, Sirs, 'tis a terrible thing To move in great events. Since that strange night I have not been as other men. The tides Would rise in this dark cave"-he tapped his skull"Deep tides, I know not whence; and when they rose My friends looked strangely upon me and stood aloof. And once, my uncle said to me-indeed, It troubled me strangely,-'Timothy,' he said, Thou art two men, whereof the one's a fool, Carry the queenly lass along! And her body made of may! -Lift your torches, weeping, weeping, Light her down to a couch of clay. They should have left her in her vineyards, left her heart to her land's own keeping, Left her white breast room to breathe, and left her light foot free to dance! Hush! Between the solemn pinewoods, carry the lovely lady sleeping, Out of the cold grey Northern mists, with banner and scutcheon, plume, and lance, Carry her southward, palled in purple, weeping, weeping, weeping, weeping, Well, sirs, that dark tide rose within my brain! And wept and wept and wept. It puzzled him. But I could never dig my graves at ease And thus, I chanced to drink my ale one night 'That's a most marvellous ruby!' My blood froze! Peach, the astrologer, Was living then; and that same night I went The ruby ring, that only three While Time and Tide go by, shall see, Honour and pride the first shall lend; Peach was a rogue, some say, and yet he spake "Why did they bury such a queen by night?" Said Ford. "Kings might have wept for her. Did Death Play epicure and glutton that so few Were bidden to such a feast. Once on a time, I could have wept, myself, to hear a tale The moth. But she was kind and soft and fair, "Sir, they gave out the coffin was too heavy A sexton, for a queen so fair of face! When through her sumptuous hair she drew the combs; "Ay," said Lodge, "Well, sir, the weather being hot, they feared. She would not hold the burying!" "In some sort," Ford answered slowly, "if your tale be true, She did not hold it. Many a knightly crest There was a hush, broken by Ben at last, Ford laughed, grimly, and flung an angel down. He shouldered pick and spade. I opened the door. There, in the strait dark passage, I could swear Like a great smouldering ruby. He peered at me. I gasped. He stopped. "Twice in a night,” he said. I watched him go, With glimmering lanthorn up the narrow street, On Christmas Eve we heard that he was dead. HOCKEN AND HUNKEN. A TALE OF TROY. BY "Q." CHAPTER XI.-MRS BOSENNA PLAYS A PARLOUR GAME. "WE have runned out simultaneous," announced Mrs Bowldler next morning, as the two friends sat at breakfast in Captain Cai's parlour, each immersed (or pretending to be immersed) in his own newspaper. They had slept but indifferently, and on meeting at table had avoided, as if by tacit consent, allusions to last night's entertainment. Each of the newspapers contained a full-column report of the Regatta, with its festivities, which gave excuse for silence. With a thrill of innocent pleasure Cai saw his own name in print. He harked back to it several times in the course of his perusal, and confessed to himself that it looked very well. But Mrs Bowldler, too, had slept indifferently, if her eyeswhich were red and tear-swollen -might be taken as evidence. Her air, as she brought in the dishes, spoke of sorrow rather than of anger. Finding that it attracted no attention, she sighed many times aloud, and at each separate entrance let fall some gloomy domestic news, dropping it as who should say, "I tell you, not expecting to be believed or even heeded, still less applauded for any vigilant care of your interests, but rather that I may not hereafter reproach myself." "We have runned out simultaneous," she repeated as Captain Cai glanced up from the newspaper. "Which I refer to coals. Palmerston tells me there's not above two-anda-half scuttlefuls in either cellar, search them how you will." (The search at any rate could not be extensive, since the cellars measured 8 feet by 4 feet apiece.) "Which,"resumed Mrs Bowldler, after a pause and a sigh, "it may be un-Christian to say so of a man that goes about in a bath-chair with one foot in the grave, but in my belief Mr Rogers sends us short weight." "I'll order some more this very morning, eh, 'Bias?" 'Bias grunted approval. "And, while we're about it, we may as well order in a quantity, as much as the sheds will hold. We've pretty well reached the end o' summer, an' prices will be risin' before long. If I were you, Mrs Bowldler," added Cai with a severity beyond his wont, "I Copyright in the United States of America. All rights reserved. |