THE PATRIARCH'S LAMENT. H for one draught of those | Where once my spirit worshipped when with sweet waters now That shed such freshness o'er my early life! Oh that I could but bathe my fevered brow, To wash away the dust of worldly strife, And be a simple-hearted child once more, As if I ne'er had known this world's pernicious lore! My heart is weary and my spirit pants Beneath the heat and burden of the day; Would that I could regain those shady haunts Where once with Hope I dreamed the hours away, Giving my thoughts to tales of old romance And yielding up my soul to youth's delicious sweet And passionless devotion it could twine Its strong affections round earth's earthliest things, Yet bear away no stain upon its snowy wings. What though some flowers have 'scaped the tempest's wrath? Daily they droop by nature's swift decay; What though the setting sun still lights my path? Morn's dewy freshness long has passed away. Oh, give me back life's newly-budded flowers, Let me once more inhale the breath of morning's hours! My youth, my youth! Oh, give me back my youth! Not the unfurrowed brow and blooming cheek, But childhood's sunny thoughts, its perfect truth, And youth's unworldly feelings, these I seek. Ah! who could e'er be sinless and yet sage ? Would that I might forget Time's dark and blotted page! EMMA C. EMBURY. Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss! | Which only Jesu's blood can wash away; Her lips suck forth my soul: see where it And lovely as the life of holiest saint Was his, that good Dominican's who fed His Master's lambs with more than daily bread. The children's custom, while that pious man Fulfilled the various duties of his state, Within the spacious church, as sacristan, Was on the altar-steps to sit and wait, Nestling together ('twas a lovely sight!) Like the young turtledoves of Hebrew rite. A small rich chapel was their sanctuary While thus abiding, with adornment fair Of curious carved work wrought cunningly In all quaint patterns and devices rare, And ever there above the altar smiled From Mary mother's arms the holy Child— Smiled on his infant guests as there below, On the fair altar-steps, those young ones spread (Nor aught irreverent in such act, I trow) Their simple morning meal of fruit and bread; Too wise for simple pleasure, smiles and Such feast not ill-beseemed the sacred dome: tears, Dream of our earliest, purest, happiest years. Come listen to the legend-for of them Surely thou art not-and to thee I'll tell How on a time in holiest Santarem Strange circumstance miraculous befell Two little ones who to the sacred shrine Came daily to be schooled in things divine. Twin-sisters, orphan innocents, were they; Most pure, I ween, from all but th' olden taint Their Father's house is the dear children's home. At length it chanced that on a certain day, When Frey Bernardo to the chapel came, Where patiently was ever wont to stay His infant charge, with vehement acclaim Both lisping creatures forth to meet him ran, And each to tell the same strange tale began. Father," they cried as, hanging on his gown On either side, in each perplexèd ear And if he come, say, 'Bid us, blessed Lord- The mass was said; the evening chant was We and our master-to thy heavenly board.' o'er; Hushed its long echoes through the lofty dome; And now Bernardo knew th' appointed hour That he had prayed for of a truth was come. Alone he lingered in the solemn pile Where darkness gained apace from aisle to aisle, Except that through a distant doorway | And there we leave them. Not for us to see The feast made ready that first act to crown, Nor to peruse that wondrous mystery Of the divine Menino's coming down To lead away th' elect expectant three With him that night at his own board to be. Suffice it that with him they surely were That night in Paradise, for they who came Next to the chapel found them as in prayer Still kneeling, stiffened every lifeless frame, With hands and eyes upraised, as when they died, Toward the image of the Crucified. That mighty miracle spread far and wide, And thousands came the feast of death to see, And all beholders, deeply edified, Returned to their own homes more thoughtfully, He followed where those young ones led the Musing thereon, with one great truth im way To that small chapel; like a golden clue Streamed on before that long bright sunset ray, Till at the door it stopped. Then, pass ing through, The master and his pupils side by side Knelt down in prayer before the Crucified. Tall tapers burnt before the holy shrine; Chalice and paten on the altar stood, Spread with fair damask. Of the crimson wine Partaking first alone, the living food Bernardo next with his dear children shared-Young lips, but well for heavenly food prepared. prest |