Christine.
73
'Twas Raymond's love: her braided hair
Was bright, for gems and gold were there.
Christine had sometimes feared to guess
Her rival's wealth of loveliness.
But now—oh, thus had Raymond sold
His heart, his once fond heart, for gold!
Oh! all but this she could have borne—
But not to feel for Raymond scorn.
She left the gallery; next day
A pilgrim at an altar lay.—
The chapel hung with silk and flower,
Meet for Lord Raymond's bridal hour:—
A boy so wan, so delicate,
No marvel at his early fate!
A chain of gold lay on the shrine,
And underneath a faultering line:
"An offering for the happiness
Of him whom my love could not bless."
All felt it was a woman's prayer—
It was Christine had perished there!
L. E. L.
