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THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS.
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Gone as the year at the dying fall—
To-morrow, to-day, yesterday, never—
  Gone once for all.

Came at length the starting-day,
With last words, and last, last words to say,
With bodiless cries from far away—
Chiding wailing voices that rang
Like a trumpet-call to the tug and fray;
  And thus they sang:

"Is there life?—the lamp burns low;
Is there hope?—the coming is slow:
The promise promised so long ago,
The long promise, has not been kept.
Does she live?—does she die?—she slumbers so
  Who so oft has wept.

"Does she live?—does she die?—she languisheth
As a lily drooping to death,
As a drought-worn bird with failing breath,
As a lovely vine without a stay,
As a tree whereof the owner saith
  'Hew it down to-day.'"

Stung by that word the Prince was fain
To start on his tedious road again.
He crossed the stream where a ford was plain,
He clomb the opposite bank though steep,
And swore to himself to strain and attain
  Ere he tasted sleep.