Their laugh-like, delicate, cresting foam,
The psalm-tune you know it-Martyrdom-
The grand old psalm-tune, Martyrdom.
She stood and mov'd not the little white
Clouds tost in the sky like the blue sea's foam.

I said, 'You are mine now, death's or mine;
Love and wife.' And she lookt at me

To understand; and I told her all,

Saying, 'Take your choice, my heart or the sea.
Choose and quickly; no use to call,

For none will hear. Is it I or the brine,
The bitter, deadly glaucous brine?'

Brevity is the soul of wit ;

Why should I make my story long?
I know the tide came swift and strong;
I know no man could fight with it,
And what could a fetter'd woman do?
Lie and say, 'I promise you

All

you wish if you set me free?'
Or lie to Hugh and God for me?
That? She lie? Do martyrs so?
Just one exceeding bitter cry

Went from her lips, and then she grew
Quite still, and settled herself to die.

The air was warm, the sky was blue,
And, at first, the sea rose calm and slow.

The shore stretcht out in a headland small, A 'beaked promontory' small,

Whereon if I stood, I could see her plain.

I climb'd the place: I recall the pain
As I struck my knee against a stone,—
Should I remember that at all

Had I been mad?-The place was o'ergrown
With stubbed heather soft that felt.

I sat me down and lookt. A belt
Of sea had cover'd the barnacles,

And I saw no green slime now; and bells,
Church-bells, I think, were in my ear.

And she was there, and her face shone clear
As a star within the grisly blue,

And her little snood was loost, and brown
Bright hair was all about her-I knew
And saw, and I left her there to drown.

What is it someone somewhere saith
About being faithful unto death?
Well-well-the native savagery
Of the sea-I told you here the sea
Was wild and strong ?-awoke at last,
And a little tempest sang i' the blast,
And grew to a wild roar presently.
And I saw only the fierce big sea,
With a trail of weed upon its breast;

And heard the waters moan and roar,
And the cry of the gulls upon the shore ;
And I saw the sun slope to the west,
Saw it or felt-Let be, let be."

THE STORY OF ARGALUS AND

PARTHENIA.

A Transcript from the Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia, Book I.

WHEN the good king, Basilius, come to years
More than decaying, (he was king of all

Arcadia) took Gynecia to his wife,

Came with her a young lord nam'd Argalus,

Who was her cousin-german; thither led
By honour partly and the love of her,

And partly by the humour of youth, which aye
Thinks that is good whose good he doth not see.

And in that lord he won so great increase

Of knowledge that, when years were spent, he shew'd
In all his actions such a virtuous mind,
He was Arcadia's glory: a gentleman
Rarely accomplisht, excellently learn'd,

Without vain-glory; valiant too-the earth

Holds not a man that hath perform'd more acts

Heroical than he; for valour of mind

And strength of body, none to him preferr'd,

If any equall'd; yet so valiant that

To none he ever durst do injury.

In 'haviour surely sober, ever wise,

To musing somewhat giv'n, but ne'er uncourteous ;

His word led by his thought and follow'd of
His deed; more liberal than magnificent.

In sum, I say, such man was Argalus,
The nicest eye could find no spot in him,
Unless the over-vehement constancy
Of spotless love be counted for a spot.

The young lord Clitiphon, the king's sister's son, (His mother married with good lord Kalander) Haunted the company of Argalus

More than of any other, and between

These twain a liking and a friendliness

Sprang up and brought forth this that you shall hear.

It fell upon a time that Clitiphon
Brought Argalus to a great lady's house-

His father's sister's house he brought him to—
Who had one child, Parthenia; fair indeed,
And fairer much her fairness was, ywis,

Seeing 'twas but a fair ambassador

Of a fair mind exceeding, full of wit

Which better lov'd to judge itself than shew,

Her speech being rare as precious, and her silence

No sullenness, her modesty sincere,

And her shamefastness without ignorance.