CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI.
"After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh:
"If bread's the staff of life they must walk without a staff."
"While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff."
These passed. "The king:" stand up. Said my father with a smile:
"Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile;
She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?"
He too left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait,—
(I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate)—
Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state;
Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene,—
There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between;
Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen?
Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command:
"Charge" a clash of steel: "Charge again, the rebels stand.
Smite and spare not, hand to hand; smite and spare not, hand to hand."
