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THE LAY OF THE BROWN ROSARY
Her mother sate silent—too tender, I wis,
Of the smile her dead father smiled dying to kiss;
But the boy started up, pale with tears, passion-wrought,
"O wicked fair sister, the hills utter nought!
If he cometh, who told thee?"
Of the smile her dead father smiled dying to kiss;
But the boy started up, pale with tears, passion-wrought,
"O wicked fair sister, the hills utter nought!
If he cometh, who told thee?"
"I know by the hills," she resumed calm and clear,
"By the beauty upon them that he is anear!
Did they ever look so since he bade me adieu?
Oh, love in the waking, sweet brother, is true
As St. Agnes in sleeping."
"By the beauty upon them that he is anear!
Did they ever look so since he bade me adieu?
Oh, love in the waking, sweet brother, is true
As St. Agnes in sleeping."
Half-ashamed and half-softened, the boy did not speak,
And the blush met the lashes which fell on his cheek:
She bowed down to kiss him—Dear saints, did he see
Or feel on her bosom the brown rosarie—
That he shrank away weeping?
And the blush met the lashes which fell on his cheek:
She bowed down to kiss him—Dear saints, did he see
Or feel on her bosom the brown rosarie—
That he shrank away weeping?
PART SECOND.
A bed—Onora sleeping. Angels, but not near.
First Angel.
Must we stand so far, and she
So very fair?
Second Angel.
As bodies be.
First Angel.
And she so mild?
Second Angel.
As spirits, when
They meeken, not to God but men.
First Angel.
And she so young,—that I who bring
Good dreams for saintly children, might
Mistake that small soft face to-night,
And fetch her such a blessed thing,
Must we stand so far, and she
So very fair?
Second Angel.
As bodies be.
First Angel.
And she so mild?
Second Angel.
As spirits, when
They meeken, not to God but men.
First Angel.
And she so young,—that I who bring
Good dreams for saintly children, might
Mistake that small soft face to-night,
And fetch her such a blessed thing,
