An Ancient Toast

“I drink to one.” he said, “whose image never may depart. Deep graven on a grateful heart till memory is dead.”

To one whose love, for me shall last. When lighter passions shall have passed. So holy tis, and true, to one whose love hath longer dwelt. More deeply fixed, more keenly felt, than any pledged by you. Each guest upstarted at the word, and laid a hand upon his sword. With fiery flashing eye, and Stanley said; “We crave the name, Proud Knight, of this most peerless dame, whose love you count so high.” St. Leon paused, as if he would not breathe her name in careless mood, thus lightly to another. Then bent his noble head as though to give that name the reverence due, and gently said, “My mother!”