swing,

Made blossom- ball or daisy-chain, arranged

Her garden, sow'd her name and kept it

green

In living letters, told her fairy-tales, Show'd her the fairy footings on the

grass,

The little dells of cowslip, fairy palms,
The petty marestail forest, fairy pines,
Or from the tiny pitted target blew
What look'd a flight of fairy arrows aim'd
All at one mark, all hitting: make-be-
lieves

For Edith and himself: or else he forged,
But that was later, boyish histories
Of battle, bold adventure, dungeon,
wreck,

Flights, terrors, sudden rescues, and true love

Crown'd after trial; sketches rude and faint,

But where a passion yet unborn perhaps
Lay hidden as the music of the moon
Sleeps in the plain eggs of the nightingale.
And thus together, save for college-times
Or Temple-eaten terms, a couple, fair
As ever painter painted, poet sang,
Or Heaven in lavish bounty moulded,

height With half-allowing smiles for all the world,

And mighty courteous in the main-his pride

Lay deeper than to wear it as his ring— He, like an Aylmer in his Aylmerism, Would care no more for Leolin's walking with her

Than for his old Newfoundland's, when they ran

To loose him at the stables, for he rose Twofooted at the limit of his chain, Roaring to make a third: and how should Love,

Whom the cross-lightnings of four chancemet eyes

Flash into fiery life from nothing, follow
Such dear familiarities of dawn?
Seldom, but when he does, Master of all.

A flash of semi-jealousy clear'd it to her.

My lady's Indian kinsman unannounced With half a score of swarthy faces came. His own, tho' keen and bold and soldierly Sear'd by the close ecliptic, was not fair; Fairer his talk, a tongue that ruled the hour,

heavens,

A lily-avenue climbing to the doors;
One, almost to the martin-haunted eaves
A summer burial deep in hollyhocks ;
Each, its own charm; and Edith's every-
where ;

And Edith ever visitant with him,
He but less loved than Edith, of her

poor:

For she-so lowly-lovely and so loving, Queenly responsive when the loyal hand Rose from the clay it work'd in as she past,

Not sowing hedgerow texts and passing by,

Nor dealing goodly counsel from a height
That makes the lowest hate it, but a voice
Of comfort and an open hand of help,
A splendid presence flattering the poor
roofs

Revered as theirs, but kindlier than themselves

To ailing wife or wailing infancy
Or old bedridden palsy, -was adored;
He, loved for her and for himself.

grasp

A

Having the warmth and muscle of the heart,

dash'd

Into the chronicle of a deedful day,
Sir Aylmer half forgot his lazy smile
Of patron Good! my lady's kinsman !
good!'

My lady with her fingers interlock'd,
And rotatory thumbs on silken knees,
Call'd all her vital spirits into each ear
To listen: unawares they flitted off,
Busying themselves about the flowerage
That stood from out a stiff brocade in
which,

The meteor of a splendid season, she, Once with this kinsman, ah so long ago, Stept thro' the stately minuet of those days:

But Edith's eager fancy hurried with him Snatch'd thro' the perilous passes of his life:

Till Leolin ever watchful of her eye,
Hated him with a momentary hate.
Wife-hunting, as the rumour ran, was

he:

I know not, for he spoke not, only shower'd

His oriental gifts on everyone

And most on Edith: like a storm he

came,

When others had been tested) there was

one,

A dagger, in rich sheath with jewels on it Sprinkled about in gold that branch'd itself

Fine as ice-ferns on January panes

Made by a breath. I know not whence

at first,

Nor of what race, the work; but as he told The story, storming a hill-fort of thieves He got it; for their captain after fight, His comrades having fought their last below,

Was climbing up the valley; at whom

he shot :

Down from the beetling crag to which he clung

Tumbled the tawny rascal at his feet, This dagger with him, which when now admired

By Edith whom his pleasure was to please, At once the costly Sahib yielded to her.

And Leolin, coming after he was gone, Tost over all her presents petulantly: And when she show'd the wealthy scabbard, saying

'Look what a lovely piece of workmanship!'

Slight was his answer 'Well-I care not

for it :'

Then playing with the blade he prick'd his hand,

'A gracious gift to give a lady, this !' 'But would it be more gracious' ask'd the girl

'Were I to give this gift of his to one That is no lady?' 'Gracious? No' said he. 'Me?—but I cared not for it. O pardon

me,

I seem to be ungraciousness itself.' 'Take it' she added sweetly, 'tho' his

gift;

For I am more ungracious ev'n than you, I care not for it either;' and he said 'Why then I love it:' but Sir Aylmer

past,

And neither loved nor liked the thing he heard.

We have him now :' and had Sir Aylmer heard

Nay, but he must-the land was ringing of it

This blacksmith border-marriage — one they knew

Raw from the nursery-who could trust a child?

That cursed France with her egalities!
And did Sir Aylmer (deferentially
With nearing chair and lower'd accent)
think-

For people talk'd-that it was wholly wise
To let that handsome fellow Averill walk
So freely with his daughter? people
talk'd-

The boy might get a notion into him; The girl might be entangled ere she knew. Sir Aylmer Aylmer slowly stiffening spoke :

'The girl and boy, Sir, know their differences !'

hard.

'Ungenerous, dishonourable, base, Presumptuous! trusted as he was with

her,

The sole succeeder to their wealth, their lands,

The last remaining pillar of their house, The one transmitter of their ancient name, Their child.' "Our child!' 'Our heiress!' 'Ours!' for still, Like echoes from beyond a hollow, came Her sicklier iteration. Last he said, 'Boy, mark me! for your fortunes are to make.

I swear you shall not make them out of mine.

Now inasmuch as you have practised on her,

Perplext her, made her half forget herself, Swerve from her duty to herself and us-Things in an Aylmer deem'd impossible, Far as we track ourselves-I say that this

Else I withdraw favour and countenance From you and yours for ever-shall you do.

Sir, when you see her-but you shall not

besides,

He never yet had set his daughter forth Here in the woman-markets of the west, Where our Caucasians let themselves be sold.

too! name,

Their ancient name! they might be proud; its worth

Was being Edith's. Ah how pale she had look'd

Leolin to him.

'Brother, for I have loved you more as

son

Than brother, let me tell you: I myselfWhat is their pretty saying? jilted, is it? Jilted I was: I say it for your peace. Pain'd, and, as bearing in myself the shame

The woman should have borne, humiliated,

I lived for years a stunted sunless life;
Till after our good parents past away
Watching your growth, I seem'd again to
grow.

Leolin, I almost sin in envying you :
The very whitest lamb in all my fold
Loves you: I know her: the worst
thought she has

Is whiter even than her pretty hand :

her

Beyond all tolerance. These old pheasantlords,

These partridge-breeders of a thousand

years,

Who had mildew'd in their thousands, doing nothing

Since Egbert-why, the greater their disgrace!

Fall back upon a name! rest, rot in that! Not keep it noble, make it nobler? fools, With such a vantage-ground for nobleness! He had known a man, a quintessence of man,

The life of all-who madly loved-and he, Thwarted by one of these old father-fools, Had rioted his life out, and made an end. He would not do it! her sweet face and faith

At which, like one that sees his own excess,

And easily forgives it as his own, He laugh'd; and then was mute; but presently

lieved

seeing