The Story
of Saville
In the midst of the vacillant spectres secure to one real true thing.
And April arrived and the sward to the foot was spongily tender and wet,
And the ice-bound brooks broke loose and ran singing a canzonet,
And coral the maple-buds shone overhead, and mayweed and thistles and dill
Were springing as if but to honor and please sweet arbutus-laden Saville,
And Kyrle stood erect and majestic, awaiting her, seeming again
Sovereign and lord of his turbulent fate, self-poised and a man among men.
He had something to tell her—yet where was the need? Her knowledge preceded his own—
She must have incited her lady L’Estrange, a power behind the throne,—
The picture was sold to that lady, no more should it languish unseen,
But was called to its rightful station, the home of a social queen,
And the lady had paid a liberal price, almost a fabulous sum;
A monarch’s fee, and ’twas through Saville that this fortunate chance had come,
