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A ROYAL PRINCESS.
173
"One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head,
Whimpering because a girl had snatched his crust oi bread:
Then he dropped; when some one raised him, it turned out he was dead."

"After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh:
"If bread's the staff of life they must walk without a staff."
"While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff."

These passed. "The king:" stand up. Said my father with a smile:
"Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile,
She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?"

He too left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait,—
I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate)—
Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state;

Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene,
There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between;
Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen?