The Catholic World Volume Iii Part 51

"But," said the other, "I have bad memories."

The abbot answered: "They are but ghosts; fear not the dead, but the living."

2. When Agatho was dying, his brethren would have asked him some matter of business. He said to them: "Do me this charity; speak no more with me, for I am full of business already." And he died in joy.

3. An old man visited one of the fathers. The host boiled some pot-herbs, and said: "First let us do the work of G.o.d, and then let us eat."

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[ORIGINAL.]

CHRISTINE:

A TROUBADOUR'S SONG,

IN FIVE CANTOS.

BY GEORGE H. MILES. [Footnote 53]

[Footnote 53: Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by Lawrence Kehoe, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.]

(CONCLUDED.)

THE FOURTH SONG.

I.

Amid the gleam of princely war Christine sat like the evening star, Pale in the sunset's pageant bright, A separate and sadder light.

O bitter task To rear aloft that s.h.i.+ning head, While round thee, cruel whisperers ask-- "Marry, what aileth the Bridegroom gay?

The heralds have waited as long as they may.

Yet never a sign of the gallant Grey.

Is Miolan false or dead?"

II.

The Dauphin eyed Christine askance: "We have tarried too long," quoth he; "Doth the Savoyard fear the thrust of France?

By the Bride of Heaven, no laggard lance Shall ever have guard of thee!"

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You could see the depths of the dark eyes s.h.i.+ne And a glow on the marble cheek, As she whispered, "Woe to the Dauphin's line When the eagle shrieks and the red lights s.h.i.+ne Bound the towers of Pilate's Peak."

She levelled her white hand toward the west, Where the omen beacon shone; And he saw the flame on the castle crest.

And a livid glare light the mountain's breast Even down to the rus.h.i.+ng Rhone.

Never braver lord in all the land Than that Dauphin true and tried; But the rein half fell from his palsied hand And his fingers worked at the jewelled brand That shook in its sheath at his side.

For it came with a curse from earliest time, It was carved on his father's halls, It had haunted him ever from clime to clime, And at last the red light of the ancient rhyme Is burning on Pilate s walls!

Yet warrior-like beneath his feet Trampling the sudden fear, He cried, "Let thy lover's foot be fleet-- If thy Savoyard would wed thee, sweet.

By Saint Mask, he were better here!

"For I know by yon light there is danger near, And I swear by the Holy Shrine, Be it virgin spear or Miolan's heir.

The victor to-day shall win and wear This menaced daughter of mine!"

The lists are aflame with the gold and steel Of knights in their proud array, And gong and tymbalon chiming peal As forward the glittering squadrons wheel To the jubilant courser's neigh.

The Dauphin springs to the maiden's side, And thrice aloud cries he, "Ride, gallants all, for beauty ride, Christine herself is the victor's bride.

Whoever the victor be!"

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And thrice the heralds cried it aloud, While a wondering whisper ran From the central lists to the circling crowd, For all knew the virgin hand was vowed To the heir of Miolan.

Quick at the Dauphin's plighted word Full many an eve flashed fire, Full many a knight took a truer sword, Tried buckle and girth, and many a lord Chose a stouter lance from his squire.

Back to the barrier's measured bound Each gallant speedeth away; Then, forward fast to the trumpet's sound, A hundred hors.e.m.e.n shake the ground And meet in the mad melee.

Crimson the spur and crimson the spear, The blood of the brave flows fast; But Christine is deaf to the dying prayer, Blind to the dying eyes that glare On her as they look their last.

She sees but a Black Knight striking so well That the bravest shun his path; His name or his nation none may tell, But wherever he struck a victim fell At the feet of that shape of wrath.

"'Fore G.o.d," quoth the Dauphin, "that unknown sword Is making a merry day!"

But where, oh where is the Savoyard, For low in the slime of that trampled sward Lie the flower of the Dauphinee!

And the victor stranger rideth alone, Wiping his b.l.o.o.d.y blade; And now that to meet him there is none.

Now that the warrior work is done, He moveth toward the maid.

Sternly, as if he came to kill, Toward the damsel he turneth his rein; His trumpet sounding a challenge shrill, While the fatal lists of La Sone are still As he paces the purple plain.

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A hollow voice through the visor cried, "Mount to the crupper with me.

Mount, Ladye, mount to thy master's side.

For 'tis said and 'tis sworn thou shalt be the Bride Of the victor, whoever he be."

At sound of that voice a sudden flame Shot out from the Dauphin's eyes, And he said, "Sir Knight, ere we grant thy claim, Let us see the face, let us hear the name, Of the gallant who winneth the prize."

"'Tis a name you know and a face you fear,"

The Wizard Knight began; "Or hast thou forgotten that midnight drear, When my sleeping fathers felt the spear Of Vienne and Miolan?