th,
Kissing my lips, and begging me to wake.
I try, but fail to raise my hand again.
The trance still lasts. My eyes will not unclose;
My lips refuse the functions of their place.

XIII.

On the next day will be the funeral;
But Grace has this delayed for one week more;
Yet all in vain, I neither wake nor move.

I hear the people coming in the house,
And straight within my coffin long to rise.
I hear the pastor's prayer, and then his words,
Simple and good, and full of tender praise.
They come at last to take a parting look,
A file of faces that pass out the door.
I hear them quickly screwing down the lid;
And now the bearers take me from the house,
And push me, feet first, in the black plumed hearse.
Gianni is a bearer of my pall,
And Grace is choked with sobs, and follows on.
We reach the grave. They slowly lower me down.
Some gravel on the side is loose, and falls
Battling upon the narrow coffin lid.

Horror on horror! Let me see no more!

AFTER BURIAL.

So stands the premonition; and to-day
I look back on the words here written down,
Comparing them with what has happened since,
And find there is no flaw in any scene.

Always intending to tell Grace my fear
That some day I might be entombed alive,
I always failed, until it was too late.
But as the sod fell on the coffin-lid,
My trance was broken, and I called and screamed,
Until they drew me up from out the grave,
And breaking in my prison, set me free.

Gianni fled, fearing my face at last.
To-day I have his letter from his home,
Beneath the far-off skies of Italy,
Craving forgiveness for his wrongs to me;
Saying that he repents for all his past,
And with Christ's help, will lead a better life.
He found his wife and children overjoyed
To have him back again to their embrace.

To-morrow Grace Bernard and I shall wed.
The bell that tolled my bitter funeral knell,
Will ring, glad of my wedding and my bride--
Ring merrily round and round a jubilant peal.

There comes no premonition now to show to me
What the long future has in store for us;
But from my door I watch the sunset skies,
And see blue mountains tower o'er golden plains,
Clothed with pure beauty stretching far away.
So seems the future. I await the morn.

VEERA.

I.

THE KING'S SEAL.

While yet upon his couch our father lay,
Sick unto death, my brothers, with one mind,
Plotted abrupt destruction to my life.
I did not te