PENTARGAN BAY.

Beeny did not quiver,

Juliot grew not gray,

Thin Valency's river

Held its wonted way.

Bos seemed not to utter

Dimmest note of dirge,

Targan mouth a mutter

To its creamy surge.

Yet though these, unheeding,

Listless, passed the hour

Of her spirit's speeding,

She had, in her flower,

Sought and loved the places -

Much and often pined

For their lonely faces

When in towns confined.

Why did not Valency

In his purl deplore

One whose haunts were whence he

Drew his limpid store?

Why did Bos not thunder,

Targan apprehend

Body and breath were sunder

Of their former friend?