THE day was in the golden west; And, curtained close by leaf and flower, In Jacqueline's deserted bower; The doves-that still would at her casement peck, And in her walks had ever fluttered round With purple feet and shining neck, Though many a drop may yet be seen And feigning, as they grew in size, St. Pierre sat by, nor saw nor smiled. And his heart told him he had dealt A father may awhile refuse; But who can for another chuse ? When her young blushes had revealed. The light was on his face; and there And looked and barked, and vanished thro'. ""Tis Jacqueline! 'Tis Jacqueline!" Who, for you told me on your knee, And true it was! And true the tale! When did she sue, and not prevail? Five years before-it was the night That on the village-green they parted, The lilied banners streaming bright O'er maids and mothers broken-hearted; |