roiieirs hmmkm for sss2,
Beside the year's dark portal
Jack Paost hath the porter's chair,
And closely he scans each mortal
Who seeketh entrance there;
Well-fed, well-clad, to dinner
In wealth unquestion'd goes ;
ftut your poor and shivering binner
He taketh by the nose.
With a grasp, as of a giant,
He will nip you an army dead ;
With a hand as a lady's pliant,
He will weave you a tiny thread.
Oh, bitter's the curse he mutters,
As through the streets he roams,
And, through chinks of close-barred shutters,
Hears mirth in fire-lit homes.
Then, from such doorways turning,
He seeks the poor man's hearth,
Whereon no fire is burning.
And chills his winter mirth,
But hard though the old boy's heart is,
He hath a social soul,
And he gives his winter parties
For a d^nce about the Pole.
THE TRUE LEGEND OF SAINT
VALENTINE.
lSt. Valentine wmaLady.—Mate, Valentin.
—Fem.y Valentine. Vide the " Huguenots.1'}
In the cold court of Saint Louis the coldest
maid, I ween,
Was the noblest and the loveliest, the Lady
Valentin e.
In vain love breathed about her, from hearts,
and lips, and eyes ;
She was blind to lovers' gazings, and deaf to
lovers' sighs.
The quantity of billets donx she got, quite
drore her wild;
Her toilet every morning with the horrid
things wai piled ;
They were on her plate at dinner; they
waylaid her on the stairs ;
She found them in her mass-book when she
knelt to 6ay her prayers.
There were twenty Knights adventurers,
that ever rode in arms,
To maintain against all corners this cruel
lady's charms ;
And scarce a day but one of them was
brought home on a bier ;
But, the cruel Ladt Valentine, she never
shed a tear.
Thua loved, but all unloving, Master Cupid
she defied,
(She fancied it was piety, but it was only
pride,)
Till tired of court and courtiers, she sought
the cloister's pale,
And calmly had her hair cut ofL, and calmly
took the veil.
" And now," she thought, " I've found the
life that fits a maiden pure,"
And she tried hard to look humble, but she
only looked demure;
She was sure of all the sisters to he earliest
at Matins,
And wore her sackcloth with more pride
than e'er she wore her satins.
But still, somehow or other, she never went
to bed,
But the thought of those sad billets doux
would come into her head ;
She missed them on her table, and un-
wittingly she sighed,
When, on opening her mass-book, she ne'er
found one inside.
She put on hair shirts, coarse
ever wore before ;
Much as she'd always flogged herself, she
flogged herself si ill more ,
Easting and penance she essayed, but it was
all in vain ;
Love would keep burning in her heart, and
boiling in her biain.
The Convent and the Country round were
filled with admiration
Of her tastings, and her floggings, and her
self-mortification;
They chose her for their Abbess, ere a year
and a day:
But the struggle was too much for her—she
slowly pined away.
One night unto her pallet side she called the
nuns, and said,
"No doubt they'll make a saint of me, as
soon as I am dead.
Remember, sisters, if they do, the patron
saint I '11 be
Of lovers and of ladies—who shall warning
take by me."
At this, the holy sisters looked perfectly
aghast;
Of all things in her sainted head they fancied
love the last;
But sadly Biuiled Saint Valentine—and
smiling so she died,
Eor well she knew how sore they rue who
battle love with pride.
Vol. 22.
Alk. (a)
Beside the year's dark portal
Jack Paost hath the porter's chair,
And closely he scans each mortal
Who seeketh entrance there;
Well-fed, well-clad, to dinner
In wealth unquestion'd goes ;
ftut your poor and shivering binner
He taketh by the nose.
With a grasp, as of a giant,
He will nip you an army dead ;
With a hand as a lady's pliant,
He will weave you a tiny thread.
Oh, bitter's the curse he mutters,
As through the streets he roams,
And, through chinks of close-barred shutters,
Hears mirth in fire-lit homes.
Then, from such doorways turning,
He seeks the poor man's hearth,
Whereon no fire is burning.
And chills his winter mirth,
But hard though the old boy's heart is,
He hath a social soul,
And he gives his winter parties
For a d^nce about the Pole.
THE TRUE LEGEND OF SAINT
VALENTINE.
lSt. Valentine wmaLady.—Mate, Valentin.
—Fem.y Valentine. Vide the " Huguenots.1'}
In the cold court of Saint Louis the coldest
maid, I ween,
Was the noblest and the loveliest, the Lady
Valentin e.
In vain love breathed about her, from hearts,
and lips, and eyes ;
She was blind to lovers' gazings, and deaf to
lovers' sighs.
The quantity of billets donx she got, quite
drore her wild;
Her toilet every morning with the horrid
things wai piled ;
They were on her plate at dinner; they
waylaid her on the stairs ;
She found them in her mass-book when she
knelt to 6ay her prayers.
There were twenty Knights adventurers,
that ever rode in arms,
To maintain against all corners this cruel
lady's charms ;
And scarce a day but one of them was
brought home on a bier ;
But, the cruel Ladt Valentine, she never
shed a tear.
Thua loved, but all unloving, Master Cupid
she defied,
(She fancied it was piety, but it was only
pride,)
Till tired of court and courtiers, she sought
the cloister's pale,
And calmly had her hair cut ofL, and calmly
took the veil.
" And now," she thought, " I've found the
life that fits a maiden pure,"
And she tried hard to look humble, but she
only looked demure;
She was sure of all the sisters to he earliest
at Matins,
And wore her sackcloth with more pride
than e'er she wore her satins.
But still, somehow or other, she never went
to bed,
But the thought of those sad billets doux
would come into her head ;
She missed them on her table, and un-
wittingly she sighed,
When, on opening her mass-book, she ne'er
found one inside.
She put on hair shirts, coarse
ever wore before ;
Much as she'd always flogged herself, she
flogged herself si ill more ,
Easting and penance she essayed, but it was
all in vain ;
Love would keep burning in her heart, and
boiling in her biain.
The Convent and the Country round were
filled with admiration
Of her tastings, and her floggings, and her
self-mortification;
They chose her for their Abbess, ere a year
and a day:
But the struggle was too much for her—she
slowly pined away.
One night unto her pallet side she called the
nuns, and said,
"No doubt they'll make a saint of me, as
soon as I am dead.
Remember, sisters, if they do, the patron
saint I '11 be
Of lovers and of ladies—who shall warning
take by me."
At this, the holy sisters looked perfectly
aghast;
Of all things in her sainted head they fancied
love the last;
But sadly Biuiled Saint Valentine—and
smiling so she died,
Eor well she knew how sore they rue who
battle love with pride.
Vol. 22.
Alk. (a)