Those shields their covering late from foot to helm — Shrinking, so seemed it, till above them beamed Shoulders and heads. So close that fight, their crests, That waved defiance, mingled in mid-air; While all along the circles of their shields And all adown their swords, ran, mad with rage, Of vengeance on the Gael. That tumult scared Served him no more; and through his fenceless side Hurled forth this taunt: "The Firbolg, bribed by Meave, Has sold his ancient friend!" Ferdia next, "No Firbolg he, that man in Scatha's Isle, Who won a maid, then left her!" Backward stepped And raised him in his arms, and laid him down Thus Leagh. He answered, waking, "Let them come! To me what profit if I live or die? The man I loved is dead." - AUBREY DE VERE. VANQUISHERS OF THE MIGHTY For a long time the last of the captains had held destiny in his grasp; the Alps and Pyrenees had trembled under him; Europe was listening in silence to the thunder of his thought; when, tired of the sphere in which glory had spent itself to please him, he threw himself on to the confines of Asia. There his eye became troubled, and his eagles turned back for the first time. What had he met with? A general superior to himself? No! A yet unvanquished army? No. Was age laying its icy hand on his genius? No. What had he then met with? He had met with the protector of the weak, the refuge of the oppressed, the defender of human liberty; he had met with space, and all his power had crumbled beneath his feet. If God has created such barriers in the very bosom of nature, it is because He has had compassion on us. He knew all that forced unity involved of disaster for the human race, and He prepared for us, in the mountains and the deserts, inaccessible retreats. He hollowed out the rock of St. Anthony and St. Paul the first hermit; He made nests to which the eagle would not come to tear away the little ones of the dove. O inaccessible mountains, eternal snows, burning sands, noxious marshes, destructive climates, we thank you for the past, and we trust you for the future! Yes, you will keep us free; you will ever protect us against the mighty of this world; you will not allow chemistry to prevail against nature, and to convert the globe, so well studded by the hand of God, into a horrible and narrow dungeon, where fire and sword will be the first minions of a merciless autocracy. -FATHER LACORDAIRE. MOTHER OF THE SACRED HEART Thy sacred heart, dear Mother, was the shrine Mary, Mother of Jesus, look thou down On thy dear children, from heaven above, Our tears of repentance will gem thy crown; Thy love and compassion will soothe pain's smart; Pray for us, Mother of the Sacred Heart. HENRY COYLE. FROM "THE DREAM OF GERONTIUS" I went to sleep; and now I am refresh'd, I hear no more the busy beat of time, No, nor my fluttering breath, nor struggling pulse; I had a dream; yes: some one softly said Ah! whence is this? What is this severance? Into the very essence of my soul; And the deep rest, so soothing and so sweet, Because I have nought else to feed upon. |