BY OWEN MEREDITH, pseud. CF Why, let the stricken deer go weep, The hart ungallèd play; For some must watch, while some must sleep; -Hamlet. NEW YORK: JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER. 1892. LUCILE. PART I. CANTO I. I. LETTER FROM THE COMTESSE DE NEVERS TO LORD ALFRED VARGRAVE. "I HEAR from Bigorre you are there. I am told (When we parted as friends, soon mere strangers to grow), Your last words recorded a pledge-what you will- The letters I ask you, my lord, to return, I desire to receive from your hand. You discern A month in these mountains. Miss Darcy, perchance, Of her courtship, and spare you one day from your place I desire nothing more, and I trust you will feel I desire nothing much. "Your friend always, "LUCILE." II. Now in May Fair, of course-in the fair month of May- Of Fair May, in May Fair, there can be no reason Why, when quietly munching your dry toast and butter, Your nerves should be suddenly thrown in a flutter |