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at her side I was
sitting a moment more.
My thinking of her or the music's strain, Or something which never will
be expressed, Had brought her back from the grave again, With the
Jasmine in her breast.
She is not dead, and she is not wed! But she loves me now and she
loved me then! And the very first words that her sweet lips said, My

heart grew youthful again.
The Marchioness there, of Carabas, She is wealthy and young and
handsome still, And but for her ... well, we'll let that pass; She may
marry whomever she will.
But I will marry my own first love, With her primrose face, for old
things are best; And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above The
brooch in my lady's breast.
The world is filled with folly and sin, And love must cling where it can,
I say, For beauty is easy enough to win, But one isn't loved every day.
And I think in the lives of most women and men, There's a moment
when all would go smooth and even, If only the dead could find out
when To come back and be forgiven.
But O! the smell of that Jasmine flower! And O that music! and O the
way That voice rang out from the donjon tower, Non ti scordar di me,
Non ti scordar di me!

BOBBY SHAFTO[3]
DANIEL HENRY, JR.
Theme.
"Bobby Shafto's gone to sea:-- Silver buckles on his knee-- He'll come
back and marry me, Pretty Bobby Shafto!" "Mother Goose Melodies."
"With his treasures won at sea, Spanish gold and Portugee, And his
heart, still fast to me, Pretty Bobby Shafto!
"In a captain's pomp and pride, With a gold sword at his side, He'll
come back to claim his bride, Pretty Bobby 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