The Princess sat on her father's throne,

And looked on the halls that were all her own.

Each was filled with a moving throng

Of courtiers threading their way along.

She rose from her throne, and the voices hushed, And her dark eyes gleamed and her fair face flushed.

Then to the gray beards round she said:

"Oft ye

have told me that I must wed;

"But never there came across my way
A man who could hold my heart in sway.

"Yet now I would have you all to know
That my heart to its master must outward go.
"Four nights now, 'neath my palace wall,

I have heard a voice, and have felt its thrall,

And, oh! if the singer among you be,

Let him come forth and marry with me!"

Silence fell on the wondering crowd

As they gazed on the Princess fair and proud,
Whose heart by the power of Love was bowed.
When sudden there rose a strange, fierce cry,
From the däis behind her: "It was I."

And out there stepped from a sheltering chair
The humpbacked jester Dagobert!
Then a voice arose in the wondering hall,
That was full of gibe in its mocking call:
"Sing us the song that can so enthrall!"
And into the midst of the perfumed air
Soared the voice of the jester Dagobert,
It told of the years of sorrow and pain,
And the ceaseless thoughts of the scheming brain;
It told of the love that breathed and burned
In the shapeless body by all men spurned;

It told how the heart was brave and true
To the love and passion that in it grew;

And because of its passionate, fierce regret,
The eyes of many with tears were wet,

It ceased, and the jester raised his face
And looked at the Princess of noble race.

Would she remember his pain and woe,
And come to his side with "I love thee so!"

She turned away with a glance of scorn;
And the hunchback's love died out in its morn.
But, suddenly springing, he caught her hand:
"I was the king that could thee command!"

And for one brief moment of passionate bliss,
He pressed her lips with a burning kiss,

Swords flashed out in the courtier crowd,
And the murmurs of hate were fierce and loud:

"He dies, the varlet! Ho, draw him apart!"
But he drove his own dagger right through his heart.

And ere any could reach him the life was fled
From the shapeless body and shaggy head.

Out into the starlight, pure and fair,
Passed the soul of the jester Dagobert.

The Legend Beautiful.

"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!" That is what the Vision said.

In his chamber all alone,

Kneeling on the floor of stone,
Prayed the Monk in deep contrition.
For his sins of indecision,
Prayed for greater self-denial
In temptation and in trial;
It was noonday by the dial,
And the Monk was all alone.

Suddenly, as if it lightened,
An unwonted splendour brightened
All within him and without him
In that narrow cell of stone;
And he saw the Blessed Vision
Of our Lord, with light Elysian
Like a vesture wrapped about him,
Like a garment round him thrown.
Not as crucified and slain,
Not in agonies of pain,

Not with bleeding hands and feet,
Did the Monk his Master see;
But as in the village street,

In the house or harvest-field,

Halt and lame and blind he healed,
When he walked in Galilee.

In an attitude imploring,
Hands upon his bosom crossed,

Wondering, worshipping, adoring,

Knelt the Monk in rapture lost.

Lord, he thought, in heaven that reignest, Who am I, that thus thou deignest,

To reveal thyself to me?

Who am I, that from the centre
Of thy glory thou shouldst enter
This poor cell, my guest to be?

Then amid his exaltation
Loud the convent appalling,
From its belfry calling, calling,
Rang through court and corridor
With persistent iteration
He had never heard before.
It was now the appointed hour
When alike in shine or shower,
Winter's cold or summer's heat,
To the convent portals came
All the blind and halt and lame,
All the beggars of the street,
For their daily dole of food
Dealt them by the brotherhood;
And their almoner was he
Who upon his bended knee,
Rapt in silent ecstasy

Of divinest self-surrender,

Saw the Vision and the Splendour.

Deep distress and hesitation
Mingled with his adoration;
Should he go, or should he stay?
Should he leave the poor to wait
Hungry at the convent gate,
Till the Vision passed away?
Should he slight his radiant guest,
Slight his visitant celestial,
For a crowd of ragged, bestial
Beggars at the convent gate?
Would the Vision there remain?
Would the Vision come again?

Then a voice within his breast
Whispered, audible and clear,
As if to the outward ear:
"Do thy duty; that is best;
Leave unto thy Lord the rest!”
Straightway to his feet he started,

And with longing look intent
On the Blessed Vision bent,
Slowly from his cell departed,
Slowly on his errand went.

At the gate the poor were waiting,
Looking through the iron grating,
With that terror in the eye
That is only seen in those
Who amid their wants and woes
Hear the sound of doors that close,
And of feet that pass them by ·
Grown familiar with disfavour,
Grown familiar with the savour
Of the bread by which men die!
But to day, they knew not why,
Like the gate of Paradise
Seemed the convent gate to rise,
Like a sacrament divine

Seemed to them the bread and wine.
In his heart the Monk was praying,
Thinking of the homeless poor,
What they suffer and endure ;
What we see not, what we see ;
And the inward voice was saying:
"Whatsoever thing thou doest
To the least of mine and lowest
That thou doest unto me!"
Unto me! but had the Vision
Come to him in beggar's clothing,
Come a mendicant imploring,
Would he then have knelt adoring,
Or have listened with derision,
And have turned away with loathing?

Thus his conscience put the question,
Full of troublesome suggestion,
As at length, with hurried pace,
Towards his cell he turned his face,