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Shafto!"
So she sang, the winter long, Till the sun came, golden-strong, And the blue birds caught her song: All of Bobby Shafto.
Days went by, and autumn came, Eyes grew dim, and feet went lame, But the song, it was the same, All of Bobby Shafto.
Never came across the sea, Silver buckles on his knee, Bobby to his bride-to-be, Fickle Bobby Shafto!
For where midnight never dies, In the Storm-King's caves of ice, Stiff and stark, poor Bobby lies-- Heigho! Bobby Shafto.
FOOTNOTE:
[3] From "Under a Fool's Cap."

CARCASSONNE
GUSTAV NADAUD, translated by M. E. W. SHERWOOD
"How old I am! I'm eighty years! I've worked both hard and long; Yet patient as my life has been, One dearest sight I have not seen,-- It almost seems a wrong. A dream I had when life was new; Alas, our dreams! they come not true; I thought to see fair Carcassonne,-- That lovely city,--Carcassonne!
"One sees it dimly from the height Beyond the mountains blue, Fain would I walk five weary leagues,-- I do not mind the road's fatigues,-- Through morn and evening's dew; But bitter frost would fall at night; And on the grapes,--that yellow blight! I could not go to Carcassonne, I never went to Carcassonne.
"They say it is as gay all times As holidays at home! The gentles ride in gay attire, And in the sun each gilded spire Shoots up like those of Rome! The bishop the procession leads, The generals curb their prancing steeds. Alas! I know not Carcassonne-- Alas! I saw not Carcassonne!
"Our Vicar's right! he preaches loud, And bids us to beware; He says, 'O guard the weakest-part, And most that traitor in the heart Against ambition's snare.' Perhaps in autumn I can find Two sunny days with gentle wind; I then could go to Carcassonne, I still could go to Carcassonne.
"My God, my Father! pardon me If this my wish offends; One sees some hope more high than his, In age, as in his infancy, To which his heart ascends! My wife, my son have seen Narbonne, My grandson went to Perpignan, But I have not seen Carcassonne, But I have not seen Carcassonne."
Thus sighed a peasant bent with age, Half-dreaming in his chair; I said, "My friend, come go with me To-morrow, then thine eyes shall see Those streets that seem so fair." That night there came for passing soul The church-bell's low and solemn toll. He never saw gay Carcassonne. Who has not known a Carcassonne?

THE CHILD-WIFE
CHARLES DICKENS
All this time I had gone on loving Dora harder than ever. If I may so express it, I was steeped in Dora. I was not merely over head and ears in love with her, I was saturated through and through. I took night walks to Norwood where she lived, and perambulated round and round the house and garden for hours together, looking through crevices in the palings, using violent exertions to get my chin above the rusty nails on the top, blowing kisses at the lights in the windows, and romantically calling on the night to shield my Dora,--I don't exactly know from what,--I suppose from fire, perhaps from mice, to which she had a great objection.
Dora had a discreet friend, comparatively stricken in years, almost of the ripe age of twenty, I should say, whose name was Miss Mills. Dora called her Julia. She was the bosom friend of Dora. Happy Miss Mills!
One day Miss Mills said: "Dora is coming to stay with me. She is coming the day after to-morrow. If you would like to call, I am sure papa would be happy to see you."
I passed three days in a luxury of wretchedness. At last, arrayed for the purpose, at a vast expense, I went to Miss Mills's, fraught with a declaration. Mr. Mills was not at home. I didn't expect he would be. Nobody wanted him. Miss Mills was at home. Miss Mills would do.
I was shown into a room upstairs, where Miss Mills and Dora were. Dora's little dog Jip was there. Miss Mills was copying music, and Dora was painting flowers. What were my feelings when I recognized flowers I had given her!
Miss Mills was very glad to see me, and very sorry her papa was not at home, though I thought we all bore that with fortitude. Miss Mills was conversational for a few minutes, and then laying down her pen, got up and left the room.
I began to think I would put it off till to-morrow.
"I hope your poor horse was not tired when he got home at night from that picnic," said Dora, lifting up her beautiful eyes.
"It was a long way for him."
I began to think I would do it to-day.
"It was a long way for him, for he had nothing to uphold him on the journey."
"Wasn't he fed, poor