THE STEWARD. A BALLAD OF DEATH.

A Beggar wandered forth to beg. (A soul may dwell in Heaven or Hell.) At night he groaned aloud, when passed One bearing stores the King wished last. “Now give me food, for the dear Christ’s sake,” (Or Heaven or Hell—O, choose ye well.) Moaned he the weak, stretching his hand. I trow men fear the final strand. The Steward stopped, and smiled, and bowed. (One ward may tell of Heaven or Hell.) Softly he spoke: “A fitting thing, To give you food and rob the King!” The one moved on, the one moved not. (A soul may dwell in Heaven or Hell.) The Steward sold one half the bread. Next morning the Beggar was dead. The jester told the King the tale. (A soul shall dwell in Heaven or Hell.) A woman gazing at the King, Shrieked—to his knees she did not cling. The King’s sword pushed the Steward on, (Who can foretell the depths of Hell?) And the King smiled as on the band Outside a door he laid his hand. C. P. N.