Then, like to one who confirmation found
Of some dread secret half-accounted true,— Who knew what hearts and hands the letter bound,
And argued loving commerce 'twixt the two,—
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 shone
The single tear that tear-worn eyes will shed.
The shade slipped onward to the falling gloom;
Then came a soldier gallant in her stead, Swinging a beaver with a swaling plume,
A ribboned love-lock rippling from his head.
Blue-eyed, frank-faced, with clear and open brow,
Scar-seamed a little, as the women love; So kindly fronted that you marvelled how
The frequent sword-hilt had so frayed his glove;
Who switched at Psyche plunging in the sun;
Uncrowned three lilies with a backward swinge; And standing somewhat widely, like to one
More used to "Boot and Saddle" than to cringe
As courtiers do, but gentleman withal,
Took out the note;—held it as one who feared The fragile thing he held would slip and fall;
Read and re-read, pulling his tawny beard;
Kissed it, I think, and hid it in his breast;
Laughed softly in a flattered, happy way, Arranged the broidered baldrick on his crest,
And sauntered past, singing a roundelay.
· · · · · ·
The shade crept forward through the dying glow;
There came no more nor dame nor cavalier; But for a little time the brass will show
A small gray spot,—the record of a tear.
AUSTIN DOBSON.