The Argosy — page 313: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

292 The Fair of Cuers. become its possessor, was kind enough to waive his claim for a week to give me to-day, my revenge. It is absolutely impossible that I should lose, as you will soon see.” Alas, poor unhappy woman! when she rose from that table,shehad lost not only her Paris hotel but all that remained of her estate in Provence, the home of her childhood, the birthplace of her noble ancestors. She went forth a beggar. Nothing is positively known of her end, but she is supposed to have perished from want in the first terrible days of 1793. SOS SS THE LEGEND OF THE POOR SOUL. By G.: B.“ STUART A poor soul that in durance lay, And two blue eyes his glance beguiled, Thus wept and sighed by night and day: |And cheeks that blushed and lips that ‘‘Could I but see my love again, smiled, Then would I gladly suffer pain, And warm, live hands that held him Would groan and agonise in tears, tight— And purge my sin a thousand years, The poor soul shivered at the sight, Only once more to see his face!” And with faint words she led away— There passed an Angel by that place, | ‘‘ Here is no place for me to stay, And heard the sad, repeated cry Ah, kind, strong Angel let me go, Of the poor soul in misery. Back to my torment-life below, Then, with his mighty wings outspread, | For better far, that fire and tears, He bent above the suffering dead, Prolonged for thrice a thousand years, And lifting up the weeping soul, Than this which I to-day have borne! Fled thro’ that realm of grief and dole:| Better to taste, than man’s false scorn, Through the dim wastes of empty space, | The bitterest drop in God's deep cup!” Where flutt’ring ghosts in vain gave/Once more the Angel caught her up, chase— And fled from earth—and the poor soul Till, far beyond all gloom and dearth, | Hid from her eyes the nearing goal. They lighted on the pleasant earth. But onward as they winged their flight, The clear soft air grew warm and bright, "Twas Maytime, and the fields were glad| And as they swiftly passed along, With many a laughing lass and lad. There met them burst of sweetest song, Then spoke the Angel, ‘‘ Where is he, / Till once again the Angel stayed, Thy love, whom thou hast come to see?’’| And to his sad companion said : And the soul answered, ‘‘ Ah, not here, |‘* Look up, take heart, unveil thine eyes, He has no heart for joy and cheer, And enter into Paradise!” He whom I seek is weeping lone, 1 know it, by my burial stone. ‘Alas! I have not purged my sin!” My heart, which still keeps troth with |‘‘ Still,” said the Angel, ‘‘enter in ! his, For in that moment’s agony, Tells me that there my dear one is!”’ | When thou didst learn man’s treachery, Thy purgatorial term was o'er, Alas, beside the burial stone, Thou might’st not, could'st not suffer The dear one sat, but not alone— more, He recked not of the maiden dead. And, in God’s Name, we welcome thee Upon his breast a golden head, To inmost Heaven's felicity.” COMMCE MOOK<SacCOhA