r lowly gate.

"You have no home," I gently said,
"But, till the day that we are wed,
And after if you will,
This home, my love, is mine and thine."
My aunt came out and bade us dine--
I see her smiling still.

My Blanche, reluctant, gave consent;
Then 'neath the humble roof we went,
And sat about the board.
I saw how sweet the whole surprise;
I saw her fond uplifted eyes,
Give thanks unto the Lord.

VII.

THE PROPHECY.

There is a prophecy of our line,
Told by some great grand-dame of mine
I once attempted to divine.

'Tis that two children, then unborn,
Would know a wealthy wedding morn,
Or die in poverty forlorn.

These children would be of her name.
If to the bridal bans they came,
The house would gather strength and fame.

But if they came not, woe is me,
The line would ever cease to be,
The wealth would take its wings and flee.

If all the signs are coming true,
I am the child she pictured, who
The name should keep or hide from view.

In our domain of liberty,
Our heed is light of pedigree,
I care not for the prophecy.

For what to me our wealth or line?
I only wish to make her mine--
The maid my aunt asked in to dine.

VIII.

HOW A POOR GIRL WAS MADE RICH.

All the day my toil was easy, for I knew that in the evening,
I could go home from my labor, and find Blanche at the door;
How could I dream the sunlight in my sky was so deceiving?
And I ceased in my believing 'twould be cloudy ever more.

When at last the twilight deepened, I entered our low dwelling,
And my darling rose to meet me, with the love-light in her eyes;
On that day her simple story to my aunt she had been telling,
And I saw her words were welling, fraught with ominous surprise.

For it seems my hated uncle, once had given him a daughter,
Who on a saddened morning had been stolen from the door,
And through the panting city the criers cried and sought her,
But in vain; they never brought her to his threshold any more.

Blanche was she, my uncle's daughter; no unwelcome truth was plainer;
For a small peculiar birth-mark was apparent on her arm.
Had I lost her? Was it possible ever more now to regain her?
Would he spurn me, and restrain her with his wily golden charm?

All that night my heart was bitter with unutterable anguish,
And I cried out in my slumber till with my words I woke:
"How long, O Lord, must poverty bow down its head and