Only an end that met the soul of one
Small singer of the nineteenth century,
Who felt her heart burn in her at the words,
"And bade her never open it till she
Were come to the extremest misery."

I think she must have found another aunt
And gain'd another nut.-Though fairy tales
Delight to deal in sevens and in threes,
I let the third gift go and keep the two.

This was the word went with the second nut,
"Break this when thou dost know there is no need
To break the other." And she faintly smil'd,—

"I think that will be in the day of joy,
The day of joy that I shall never see."

Suppose a woman with a gift like this,
Not to be us'd till she herself was come
Unto the very extremest misery

That ever tongue could speak of-how of it?-
May it be thus ?—

The princess must go on

Smitten of sorrow, driven of remorse,

Seeking and never finding, till her limbs

Refus'd to bear her up, and so she cast

Her length upon a rocky beach, 'neath cliffs

White, sharp, and strong and stern, around whose base

Beat that eternal trouble of the sea.

"And now," she said, "the time is surely come, The very extremest time of misery,

For what I seek is gone, and power to seek
Is gone." But lo, a voice that whisper'd, "Nay,
For will to seek is thine; till that be gone
Thou art not come to thy extremest woe."

And so she rose and still pursued her way,
Bedrencht with rain, or faint for extreme heat,
Footsore and tir'd; and yet there never came
A moment in the which to pause and say,
"Now am I come to woe's extremity."

And on her way she sang this song of hers.

"I may not find thee, O my love of loves; My sin it was that drave thee from my side, My suffering would I give to bring thee back. Unfaith of mine hath struck thee like a flash Of lightning, and I cannot see thy face. My loss I know, but thine, who hast lost the light Of earth and all the sweets of human joy And grandeur of human suffering, know I not; I love thee and seek, though finding never come."

So cried she weeping, in a stranger land,
And the men said, "Behold, the maid is mad!"
And took her up in their ungentle arms

And bare her to a dungeon underground,
And left her there; so she was all alone
With flitter-mice and heavy dark and damp,
And silence; and on her bosom lay her nut,
And yet she brake it not.

But lo! a cry

Smote through the horrible darkness on her ear;
And, sharp upon her brain, no need of sense,
There came the knowledge that he lay close by,
Prison'd and tortur'd: then she lifted up
Her voice, that bare exceeding love and ruth
In a strong cry upon her lover's name.

But it sank quivering on the darkness' heart,
And could not reach him, for the walls were thick.
Then moan'd she in her grief, "The time is come,
My most extremest time of misery,

For I am fain to help and cannot help ;

No darker time can come."

But the same voice

That stay'd her heretofore, rose up, and said,
"Thou hast the will to help, if not the power;
Therefore thou art not in extremest woe."

And then the princess askt, "Is there yet more?"
And this the answer, "Not for thee, O child,
The extremest misery tongue can utter forth,
Or shuddering silence hold upon her breast;
Seeing that all the suffering laid on thee

Hath quicken'd thee, not kill'd thee: sharp regrets
For sin have prickt thee on, not stung to death :
Great waters going over thee washt clean,

Not drown'd thee: therefore rise and break the nut
Whose breaking was to be when thou wert sure
Thy woe should never be extremest woe."

And so she brake the nut-and then-there came
That which I know not how to tell-great joy

And peace and strength-and came for both of them,
The seeker and the sought.

I dedicate

This little tale to You, for You will know :
And, if some throw the thing aside, because

I have mixt the thought of separate centuries
And thence brought forth some strange inconsequence,
I shall be satisfied, if You approve.

If any shrug the shoulder, saying, "Well,
But Mopsa never would have ended thus."
You know I never said or thought she would.

GOOD-BYE.

THERE is no one but you with me now? it is well, for I

wanted to say

A word in your ear alone, before I am taken away.

Stoop to me, love, till I touch your brow with my lips again—

I wish they could smooth away the furrows of care and pain.

Don't fret-there is comfort to come, and it must be best,

I know,

Because it was God's sweet will that I should arise and

go;

But if He had left me a while, had left me to be your

wife,

I should have made you forget the sorrow that gloom'd your life.

I know it, my dear, my dear; the wisest and best of you all

Have been snar'd from the heights of their strength and faith into sudden fall;