nto the eye of Life?
Is not each pulse of the quick high breast
With thy cold mien at strife?
--It was a strange and fearful sight,
The crown upon that head,
The glorious robes and the blaze of light,
All gather'd round the Dead!

And beside her stood in silence
One with a brow as pale,
And white lips rigidly compress'd,
Lest the strong heart should fail;
King Pedro with a jealous eye
Watching the homage done
By the land's flower and chivalry
To her, his martyr'd one.

But on the face he look'd not
Which once his star had been:
To every form his glance was turn'd,
Save of the breathless queen;
Though something, won from the grare's embrace,
Of her beauty still was there,
Its hues were all of that shadowy place,
'Twas not for _him_ to bear.

Alas! the crown, the sceptre,
The treasures of the earth,
And the priceless love that pour'd those gifts,
Alike of wasted worth!
The rites are closed--bear back the Dead
Unto the chamber deep,
Lay down again the royal head,
Dust with the dust to sleep.

There is music on the midnight--
A requiem sad and slow.
As the mourners through the sounding aisle
In dark procession go,
And the ring of state, and the starry crown,
And all the rich array,
Are borne to the house of silence down,
With her, that queen of clay.

And tearlessly and firmly,
King Pedro led the train--
But his face was wrapt in his folding robe,
When they lower'd the dust again.
--'Tis hush'd at last, the tomb above,
Hymns die, and steps depart:
Who call'd thee strong as Death, O Love?
_Mightier_ thou wert and art!

_New Monthly Magazine._

[7] Don Pedro of Portugal, after his accession to the kingdom,
had the body of the murdered Inez taken from the grave, solemnly
enthroned and crowned.

* * * * *

ART THOU THE MAID?

Art thou the maid from whose blue eye
Mine drank such deep delight?
Was thine that voice of melody
Which charm'd the silent night?

I fain would think thou art not she
Who hung upon mine arm,
When love was yet a mystery,
A sweet, resistless charm.

It seemed to me as though the spell
On both alike were cast;
I prayed but in thy sight to dwell,
For thee, to breathe my last.

Mine inmost secret soul was thine,
Thou wert enthron