SYDNEY DOBELL

But she neither saw nor heard; And said he in her deaf ear All he had been wont to teach, All she had been fond to hear, Missall'd prayer, and solemn speech, But she answer'd not a word. Only when he turn'd to speak with those who wept about

the bed,

1 On your lives ! ' she shriek'd and cried, 'he is but newly dead ! ' Then how sadly he turn'd from her, it were wonderful to tell, And he stood beside the death-bed as by one who slumbers well, And he lean'd o'er him who lay there, and in cautious

whisper low, 4 He is not dead, but sleepeth,' said the Priest, and smooth'd

his brow.

• Sleepeth ? ' said she, looking up, and the sun rose in her face !

' He must be better than I thought, for the sleep is very sound.' ' He is better/ said the Priest, and call'd her maidens round. With them came that ancient dame who nursed her when

a child;

O Nurse ! ' she sigh'd, ' O Nurse ! ' she cried, 'O Nurse ! * and then she smiled,

And then she wept; with that they drew

About her, as of old ;

Her dying eyes were sweet and blue,

Her trembling touch was cold ;

But she said, 'My maidens true,

No more weeping and well-away ;

Let them kill the feast.

I would be happy in my soul.

"He is better," saith the Priest ;

He did but sleep the weary day,

And will waken whole.

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