And something rising in my throat
Made it so hard for me to speak,
I turned away and left a tear
Lying upon his sunburned cheek.

THE MIDNIGHT MASS.

AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

THE light lay trembling in a silver bar
Along the western borders of the sky;
From out the shadowy dome a little star

Stole forth to keep its patient watch on high; And night came down, with solemn soft embrace, On storied Brittany.

Another night lay over all the land—

The dark of hell, and lurid with its fire. She heard the roar of fiends: she saw the brand Flung red and hissing over roof and spire; She saw her golden spurs and reaping-hooks Tossed on the funeral pyre.

She stood in calm defiance, while the flood Swept over her ;—while everywhere was seen Her dim, majestic cities drenched in blood;

Ashes and smoke where temple walls had been; And high on woodland knoll and market-place, The ghastly guillotine.

THE MIDNIGHT MASS.

"Twas hard to tear her peasant-souls apart

From priest and liege, and clinging faith of old; 'Twas hard to bend the strong and simple heart

By fear of torture or by love of gold:
For nought those gory hands could offer them
Might consciences be sold.

"No tower or belfry shall be left to stand.”

Saint André swore, and waved his cap of red; "You shall have naught in all this cursed land For sign of your superstition,-it is dead!" A peasant heard, and raised his eyes to heaven ;"You'll leave the stars," he said.

True were the priest and people, each to each,
And all alike to their unlettered creed;

No violent force of sophistry could reach

Their rough-hewn faith in bitter time of need.
They died with deaf ears and dumb mouths; and theirs
Was martyrdom indeed!

Night-midnight-lay beneath her silver lamps;

Her deep sleep broken by the fitful glare

Of bivouac fires in noisy village camps,

And hoarse shouts mellowed through the listening air Save only where the sea-waves washed the coast"Twas still and quiet there:

The heave and swell, and sudden, plunging dash
Against the low rocks lying in their reach;
The hissing shingle, and the sweet, free plash
Of long-drawn breakers on the open beach;
And now and then, in momentary pause,
The curlews mournful screech.

181

The soft, low gurgle in the hollowed track
Through reaf and boulder; and the rippling fall
Of idle wandering waters, swirling back

From secret tryst in Naiad's rocky hall ;—
Only these sounds-save that deep monotone
Which held and hushed them all.

Only these sounds? Was nothing to be heard
But voice of breaker as it rose and fell,
The kelpie's song, the wailing of a bird?
Ay, far and faint amid the restless swell,
One other voice stole whispering through the air-
The chime of a silver bell.

It came from dim mid-ocean, wild and free,
To listening ears, in silence of the night;
And watchful eyes saw, out upon the sea
And 'neath the stars, a little twinkling light—
Now lost behind a waving mountain-top,

Now shining clear and bright.

Softly the fisher's boats began to glide

From shadowy rock and sheltered cave and creek; Bronzed men and gentle maidens, side by side, Dipped muffled oars; no woman hand was weak, All eyes turned, wistful, to the beacon-lamp; But no one dared to speak.

The scattered specks, with each its little crowd,
Drew near, converging on the distant bark;
The sweet bell rang out louder and more loud,

The light shone bright and brighter in the dark; And soon a hundred lips burst forth in praiseFor all had reached the ark.

THE MIDNIGHT MASS.

There was the priest, with whom they came to sup,
White-hair'd and holy, by his humble board;
There, amid light and darkness lifted up,

The blessed rood, by simple eyes adored.
Each head was bowed, each pious knee was bent
In presence of the Lord.

Ah! 'twas a grand cathedral where they knelt !
Grand was the organ-music-vast the crypt
Wherein its wild, mysterious echoes dwelt ;
And fresh and pure the incense, as it slipp'd
Down shining floor and down wide altar-steps,
With frosted silver tipp'd.

Grand was the darken'd aisles and solemn nave—
The domed roof magnificently high—

The airy walls and mighty architrave—

The sweet star-tapers that could never die ! And grander still its purity of peace,

Its untouched sanctity.

The worn and weary ones came there to search
For rest and hope in Holy Eucharist;
There-in the splendour of that solemn church—
They-priest and people, communed with the Christ;
Thus with all other temples overthrown-

They kept His sacred tryst.

With calm, grave eyes and even-pulsing breath,
They dipped their still oars in the darken'd space,
Strong now the hands fast rowing back to death !--
And strong the simple hearts, new clothed in grace—
The hush'd and quiet souls-ere long to meet

Their Saviour face to face.

183

ADA CAMBRIDGE.

HASSAN TO HIS MARE.

COME, my beauty! come my desert darling!
On my shoulder lay thy glossy head!
Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty,
Here's the half of Hassan's scanty bread.

Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty!
And thou know'st my water-skin is free:
Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant,
And my strength and safety lie in thee.

Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses!
Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye:
Thou art glad when Hassan mounts the saddle--
Thou art proud he owns thee: so am I.

Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses, Prancing with their diamond-studded reins; They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetness When they course with thee the desert-plains!

Let the Sultan bring his famous horses,

Let him bring his golden swords to me— Bring his slaves, his eunuchs, and his harem; He would offer them in vain for thee.

We have seen Damascus, O my beauty!
And the splendour of the Pashas there:

What's their pomp and riches? Why, I would not
Take them for a handful of thy hair!