X. Not that I bid you spare her the pain; XI. Is it done? Take my mask off! Nay, be not morose; It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close: The delicate droplet, my whole fortune's fee! If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me? XII. Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill, Ere I know it-next moment I dance at the King's! GOLD HAIR: A STORY OF PORNIC. I. OH, the beautiful girl, too white, Who lived at Pornic down by the sea, II. Too white, for the flower of life is red; III. Yet earth saw one thing, one how fair! But she had her great gold hair. IV. Hair, such a wonder of flix and floss, Freshness and fragrance-floods of it, too! Gold, did I say? Nay, gold 's mere dross : Here, Life smiled, "Think what I meant to do!" And Love sighed, " Fancy my loss!" V. So, when she died, it was scarce more strange VI. That, while the breath was nearly to seek, VII. "Not my hair!" made the girl her moan— "All the rest is gone or to go; "But the last, last grace, my all, my own, "Let it stay in the grave, that the ghosts may know ! "Leave my poor gold hair alone!" VIII. The passion thus vented, dead lay she: IX. But curled around her brow, like a crown, X. All kissed that face, like a silver wedge 'Mid the yellow wealth, nor disturbed its hair : E'en the priest allowed death's privilege, As he planted the crucifix with care On her breast, 'twixt edge and edge. XI. And thus was she buried, inviolate Of body and soul, in the very space By the altar; keeping saintly state In Pornic church, for her pride of race, Pure life and piteous fate. XII. And in after-time would your fresh tear fall, Though your mouth might twitch with a dubious smile, As they told you of gold both robe and pall, How she prayed them leave it alone awhile, So it never was touched at all. XIII. Years flew; this legend grew at last The life of the lady; all she had done, XIV. To wit, she was meant for heaven, not earth; Had turned an angel before the time: Yet, since she was mortal, in such dearth Of frailty, all you could count a crime Was she knew her gold hair's worth. XV. At little pleasant Pornic church, It chanced, the pavement wanted repair, Was taken to pieces: left in the lurch, A certain sacred space lay bare, And the boys began research. XVI. 'T was the space where our sires would lay a saint, A benefactor,-a bishop, suppose, A baron with armour-adornments quaint, Dame with chased ring and jewelled rose, Things sanctity saves from taint; XVII. So we come to find them in after-days When the corpse is presumed to have done with gauds Of use to the living, in many ways: For the boys get pelf, and the town applauds, And the church deserves the praise. 3 |