“Then she travelled far away, and none
The strange mystery of her absence knew. 
Margaret’s secret thought was never told: 
Even your mother thought her changed and cold,
And for many years I thought so too.

“She was gone; and then your mother took
That poor gift which Margaret laid aside: 
Flower, or toy, or trinket, matters not: 
What it was had better be forgot . . . 
It was just then she became my bride.

“Now, I think May knows the hope I have. 
Arthur, darling, can you guess the rest? 
Even my little Olga understands
Great gifts can be given by little hands,
Since of all gifts Love is still the best.

“Margaret is my dear and honoured wife,
And I hold her so.  But she can claim
From your hearts, dear ones, a loving debt
I can neither pay, nor yet forget: 
You can give it in your mother’s name.

“Earth spoils even Love, and here a shade
On the purest, noblest heart may fall: 
Now your mother dwells in perfect light,
She will bless us, I believe, to-night,—­
She is happy now, and she knows all.”

Next day was farewell—­a day of tears;
Yet Sir Arthur, as he rode away,
And turned back to see his lady stand
With the children clinging to her hand,
Looked as if it were a happy day.

Ah, they loved her soon!  The little one
Crept into her arms as to a nest;
Arthur always with her now; and May
Growing nearer to her every day:—­
—­Well, I loved my own dear lady best.

VERSE:  GIVE PLACE

Starry Crowns of Heaven
Set in azure night! 
Linger yet a little
Ere you hide your light:-
—­Nay; let Starlight fade away
Heralding the day!

Snowflakes pure and spotless,
Still, oh, still remain,
Binding dreary winter,
In your silver chain:-
—­Nay; but melt at once and bring
Radiant sunny Spring!

Blossoms, gentle blossoms,
Do not wither yet;
Still for you the sun shines,
Still the dews are wet:—­
—­Nay; but fade and wither last,
Fruit must come at last!

Joy, so true and tender,
Dare you not abide? 
Will you spread your pinions,
Must you leave our side? 
—­Nay; an Angel’s shining grace
Waits to fill your place!

VERSE:  MY WILL

Since I have no lands or houses,
And no hoarded golden store,
What can I leave those who love me
When they see my face no more? 
Do not smile; I am not jesting,
Though my words sound gay and light,
Listen to me, dearest Alice,
I will make my Will to-night.

First for Mabel—­who will never
Let the dust of future years
Dim the thought of me, but keep it
Brighter still:  perhaps with tears. 
In whose eyes, whate’er I glance at,
Touch, or praise, will always shine,
Through a strange and sacred radiance,
By Love’s Charter, wholly mine;
She will never lend to others
Slenderest link of thought I claim,
I will, therefore, to her keeping
Leave my memory and my name.