XXVII.

Hang up my harp again! I have no voice for song. Not song but wail, and mourners pale, Not bards, to love belong. O failing human love! O light, by darkness known! O false, the while thou treadest earth! O deaf beneath the stone! Margret, Margret.

_ISOBEL'S CHILD._

----so find we profit, By losing of our prayers.

SHAKESPEARE.