And he cut the leaves of the snowdrop down,

And tied up the daffodilly;

And then he sang, as he bent at 's work,
With a "Hiho! willy, willy."

Down the broad stone steps went Magdalene,
And stood by the old flower bed;
And still at his work the old man bent,
Nor ever raised up his head.

"'Tis a lonesome place," said Magdalene,
"A lonesome, dreary place !"

The blithe old man, he ceased his work,
And gazed into her face.

64

Ay, ay, is it so, my lady fair?"

Said the wondering gardener;

"Why, I can remember yon terrace steps

With children all astir.

"Ay, there was my Lady Isabel,
With hair like the raven's wing;

And the second sister, Adeline,
A wilful, proud, young thing.

"There was my Lord Francis, my Lady Jane, And your blessed lady-mother;

There were two brothers besides, and he
That was dearer than a brother.

"He was your father afterwardsAh, me how time moves on !—

There were seven children then i' the house,

And now there is but one;

And all those happy children

Like flowers of spring are gone.

"And then, what troops of ladies grand,

Went walking up and down; Each softly fanning of herself, In a shining silken gown.

"What gay and gallant gentlemen,
All clad in velvet fine;

What riding in and out there was;
What drinking of the wine!

'Ay, sure enough, the place is still

Stiller than it was then ;

But, perchance, my Lady Magdalene,

It may be blithe again !"

Then the blithe old man bent down to 's work,
And harder worked than ever;

Singing "Fa, la, la, to-morrow will come,
And drown care in the river!"

And the blithe old man cut down the leaves
Of the crocus, matted and wan:

The Lady Magdalene walked away,
And he kept singing on.

PART III.

In a stately room, the grave old priest

Doth sit at eventide ;

He turneth over a great old book,
And Magdalene sits by 's side.

"Put down the book," said Magdalene,
"I cannot read to-day;

Put down the book, good father,
And hearken what I say!"

Up from his book the grave old man
Did slowly raise his eyes;
And silently looked at Magdalene,
As if in calm surprise.

"Now, father good," quoth Magdalene,

"This day I pray thee tell, Wherefore in this grand house alone,

Year after year I dwell?

"Thou hast taught me both to read and write;

Hast taught me all I know

Yet hast kept me from my kind apart―
I pray, why is it so ?

"Yet, love, a deep and fervent love,

Thou hast ever taught to me

From God, down to the meanest thing
Of his great family,

"Father, I've seen the children poor-
Glad sisters, too, and brothers;
And the joy that lives within the heart
Of lowly village mothers.

"I've seen, upon the Sabbath-morn,
How many a loving band

Of kindly Christian people came
With their children by the hand.

"I see them kneeling, side by side,
Each to the other known,

Like groups of saints together set—
But I kneel all alone!

"Oh, 'tis a pleasant sight to me!
And yet my heart doth ache,
To see such holy happiness
That I can not partake!

"Why is it thus, I pray thee tell, That none with me abide ?

Oh, for a loving sister,

To worship at my side!

"Father, I scarce know who I am,

Save of a lineage high,
And that the story of my house

Is a dark, sad history.

"Thou hast been a righteous friend to meI have loved thee many a year

But, father, why alone I dwell,
I pray thee let me hear!"

For a moment's space, the grave old man
No answer made at all;

The tears were in his mild, grey eyes,
And yet no tear did fall.

"Hearken to me, my Magdalene,"
At length he did reply :—
"Thou art the sole surviving stem
Of a great old family.

"I can remember when this house
Was full of sons and daughters;
When its fortunes all seemed flourishing
As willows by the waters.

"Daughters and sons, I mind me well
What a noble band were there;
The sons all goodly men of might,
The daughters wondrous fair.

"I can recall this solitude,

An ever-changing crowd;

And the silence of these chambers vast

Was riot long and loud.

"I will not tell thee, Magdalene,

Of heartlessness and crime;

Enough, the wrath of Heaven did scourge The evil of that time.