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THE SILVER CHALICE.

Them buzzing back the guard, that led in one

Pale as the sea beneath the noonday sun.

She lookt and saw the King: he, statue-like,

A dull dead ashen-gray to the very lips,

Rose, stretching forth one hand, the carven arm

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O' the seat, as he would crush it into dust,

Clutching with the other; she beheld his eyes

Dim on the sudden, thro' her tears or his,

And thought, "He loves me still, and let me die;

Knowing he loves me, I am glad to die!"

Then that one spake the irrevocable doom:

"The Queen hath plotted death for the kingdom's heir,

Hence ruin to the land; for whoso aims

At crown is foe to people: both are one.

So let her die the death!"

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