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BY MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD.
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PART I.
Serene in the moonlight the pure flowers lay;
All was still save the plash of the fountain’s soft play;
And white as its foam gleamed the walls of the palace;
But within were hot lips quaffing fire from the chalice;
For Herod, the Tetrarch, was feasting that night
The lords of Machærus, and brave was the sight!