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THE SUNDIAL. 'Tis an old dial, dark with many a stain; And round her train the tiger-lilies swayed, In summer crowned with drifting or- Like courtiers bowing till the queen be chard bloom,

gone. Tricked in the autumn with the yellow rain,

She leaned upon the slab a little while, And white in winter like a marble tomb; Then drew a jewelled pencil from her

zone, And round about its gray, time-eaten Scribbled a something with a frolic smile, brow

Folded, inscribed, and niched it in the Lean letters speak—a worn and shat.

stone. tered row: I AM A SHADE: A SHADOW TOO ARTE The shade slipped on, no swifter than THOU :

the snail; I MARKE THE TIME: SAYE, GOSSIP, There came a second lady to the place, DOST THOU SOE?

Dove-eyed, dove-robed, and something Here would the ringdoves linger, head to

wan and palehead;

An inner beauty shining from her face. And here the snail a silver course She, as if listless with a lonely love, would run,

Straying among the alleys with a book, Beating old Time; and here the peacock Herrick or Herbert, watched the circling spread

dove, His gold-green glory, shutting out the

And spied the tiny letter in the nook. sun.

The tardy shade moved forward to the Then, like to one who confirmation found noon;

Of some dread secret half-accounted Betwixt the paths a dainty Beauty stept,

true, That swung a flower, and, smiling, hummed Who knew what hands and hearts the let. a tune,

ter bound, Before whose feet a barking spaniel And argued loving commerce 'twixt the leapt.


O’er her blue dress an endless blossom

strayed; About her tendril curls the sunlight


She bent her fair young forehead on the

stone; The dark shade gloomed an instant on

her head;



And 'twixt her taper-fingers pearled and And standing somewhat widely, like to one shone

More used to “Boot and Saddle" than The single tear that tear-worn eyes will

to cringe shed.

As courtiers do, but gentleman withal, The shade slipped onward to the falling Took out the note; held it as one who gloom;

feared There came a soldier gallant in her The fragile thing he held would slip and

stead, Swinging a beaver with a swaling plume, Read and re-read, pulling lis tawny A ribboned love-lock rippling from his beard ; head;

Kissed it, I think, and hid it in his breast; Blue-eyed, frank-faced, with clear and Laughed softly in a flattered, happy way, open brow,

Arranged the broidered baldrick on his Scar-seamed a little, as the women love: So kindly fronted that you marvelled how And sauntered past, singing a roundelay. The frequent sword-hilt had so frayed his glove;

The shade crept forward through the

dying glow; Who switched at Psyche plunging in the There came no more nor dame nor sun;

cavalier; Uncrowned three lilies with a back- But for a little time the brass will show ward swinge;

• A small gray spot-the record of a tear.

Austin Dobson.

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