And that you lived not very long
To be a City dame!

Perchance you were a Mourning Bride,
And conscious of a heart that died
With one who fell by Rodney's side
In blood-stained Spanish bays.
Perchance 'twas no such thing, and you
Dwelt happy with your knight and true,
And, like Aurora, watched a crew
Of rosy little Days!

Oh, lovely face and innocent!
Whatever way your fortunes went,
And if to earth your life was lent
For little space or long,
In your kind eyes we seem to see
What Woman at her best may be,
And offer to your memory
An unavailing song!



PARTANT POUR LA SCRIBIE.
[Scribie, on the north-east littoral of Bohemia, is the land of
stage conventions. It is named after the discoverer, M. Scribe.]



A pleasant land is Scribie, where