Then said the pitying angel, "Nay, repent That wild vow! Look, the dial-finger's bent Down to the last hour of thy punishment!" But still she wailed, "I pray thee, let me go! I cannot rise to peace and leave him so. Oh, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!" The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, And upward, joyous, like a rising star, She rose and vanished in the ether far. But soon adown the dying sunset sailing, And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing, She fluttered back, with broken-hearted wailing. She sobbed, "I found him by the summer sea Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee,-- She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!" She wept, "Now let my punishment begin! I have been fond and foolish. Let me in To expiate my sorrow and my sin." The angel answered, "Nay, sad soul, go higher! To be deceived in your true heart's desire Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire!" ON PITZ LANGUARD. I stood on the top of Pitz Languard, And heard three voices whispering low, Where the Alpine birds in their circling ward Made swift dark shadows upon the snow. First Voice. I loved a girl with truth and pain, She loved me not. When she said good-bye She gave me a kiss to sting and stain My broken life to a rosy dye. Second Voice. I loved a woman with love well tried,-- And I swear I believe she loves me still. But it was not I who stood by her side When she answered the priest and said "I will." Third Voice. I loved two girls, one fond, one shy, And I never divined which one loved me. One married, and now, though I can't tell why, Of the four in the story I count but three. The three weird voices whispered low Where the eagles swept in their circling ward; But only one shadow scarred the snow As I clambered down from Pitz Languard. BOUDOIR PROPHECIES. One day in the Tuileries, When a south-west Spanish breeze Brought scandalous news of the Queen, The fair, proud Empress said, "My good friend loses her head; If matters go on this way, I shall see her shopping, some day, In the Boulevard des Capucines." The saying swiftly went To the Place of the Orient, And the stout Queen sneered, "Ah, well! You are proud and prude, ma belle! But I think I will hazard a guess I shall see you one day playing chess With the Cure of Carabanchel." Both ladies, though not over wise, Were lucky in prophecies. For the Boulevard shopmen well Know the form of stout Isabel As she buys her modes de Paris; And after Sedan in despair The Empress prude and fair Went to visit Madame sa Mere In her villa at Carabanchel-- But the Queen was not there to see. A TRIUMPH OF ORDER. A squad of regular infantry, In the Commune's closing days, Had captured a crowd of rebels By the wall of Pere-la-Chaise.