Alas! a listening traitor, Ere waned the morning star, Prompted by hate and malice, Had spread the secret far; And Roberval rose furious, In wild ungoverned rage, Against the hated heretics, A deadly war to wage.

Fast bind the men in irons, The women thrust, he said, Into a boat with fire-arms, Some powder, meat and bread, For see! the Isle of Demons Lies close athwart our lee, And they the fit companions Of its horned fiends shall be.

The wild, infernal orgies Of these winged imps of night Yet fill the air with horror, And thrill it with affright; To these I now consign them, Quick, thrust them out to sea, And through a life of torture May they repentant be.

Thus Roberval, the Viceroy, Thundered his fierce commands, As Leon, Marguerite's husband Burst from his iron bands, Plunged headlong in the wild flood And toward the threatening sh.o.r.e, Swam boldly forth'--defiant Of him and ocean's roar.

The swimmer and the boat's crew Long fought for life and breath, And all appeared together Entering the jaws of death, As Roberval steered from them, Outbreathing curses loud, And imprecations furious That stout hearts chilled and cowed.

The ship receded--vanished, Leaving the wave-tossed three All valiantly contending With the belated sea.

The swimmer battled fiercely, With ocean's maddening strife, As the frail women bravely Contended for dear life.

Till haply, thanks to heaven, They're saved, for see, they stand Linked heart and hand together, The three once more on land.

'Tis said infernal demons, Beset them day and night, And with their shrieks satanic Chilled them with dire affright.

But a strong hand celestial Was ever interposed, And round about them ever A viewless barrier closed.

Unutterably hideous, Th' infernal brood of h.e.l.l, Howling in baffled fury, Around them powerless fell.

In course of time kind heaven Gave them a baby boy, Who filled their hearts with rapture, And thrilled them to new joy, But death soon stole their treasure, Then Leon made his own The Norman nurse then summoned, And Marguerite was alone!

Alone on that dread island, In whose accursed soil Her loved ones found unhallowed rest From harrowing care and toil.

Still courage never failed her, Though fettered to the sod Where hideous fiends a.s.sailed her, To try her faith in G.o.d.

Though foes came gathering round her, Appalling to the view, From upper as from nether worlds, And nearer lurking drew, Of these, grim bears were foremost, Who boldly round her close, But with her gun brave Marguerite Slew three of these fierce foes.

Thus, though most gently nurtured, This maiden rose to be A heroine undaunted On the lone isle of the sea, And Leon was a hero, Who risked fame, fortune, life, To be the sworn defender Of helpless maid and wife.

Two dreary years of warfare Had pa.s.sed o'er Marguerite's head, Crowded with deeds heroic, Since she with Leon wed, When, far at sea some whalers Observed a curling smoke Rise from the haunted island, Which fear and wonder woke.

Was it the trick of demons To lure them to the sh.o.r.e, And lead them on to ruin, As many had been before?

They thought it was, and kept aloof, Then vague surmises made.

That some unhappy mortal Might need their timely aid.

So, triumphing o'er terror, They warily drew nigh, Descried a female figure Waving her signals high; Clothed in the skins of white bears, So lovely she appeared, That the brave-hearted sailors Most gladly toward her steered.

Thus Marguerite was rescued, Through a heaven-directed chance, Restored to home and country In her beloved France.

'Tis said the baffled demons At her departure fled, And never to the island Again their legions led.

Firm in her new faith, Marguerite Was a brave pioneer, Of those devoted Hugenots, To true hearts justly dear, Who, half a century after, Composed that st.u.r.dy flock, Who from the good ship _May Flower_ Landed on Plymouth rock.

And who shall say how many This n.o.ble woman led, To break their bonds asunder, Who were to priestcraft wed?

And as I close this ballad, Historically true, Learn, reader, that its heroes Toiled not in vain for you.

NOTE--Isles of Demons: one of two islands north-east of Newfoundland supposed to have been given over to the fiends, from whom they derive their name, variously called by Thevet Isle de Fische, Isle de Roberval, and Isle of Demons. The Isle Fichet of Sanson and the Fishot Island of some modern maps.

THE BROOKLYN CATASTROPHE OF DECEMBER 5TH, 1876.

Twas eve in Brooklyn, and the bracing air Of northern regions fanned the city fair, Urging life's currents to a generous flow And quick'ning nerve and pulse to joyful glow.

A touching tragedy had been installed Within the theatre, "The Orphans" called, One of the most successful dramas sage, America has placed upon the stage.

To it for peaceful recreation strayed Scores of the citizens, _en fete_ arrayed, Some with beloved ones whom they hoped one day, Might be their partners through life's checkered way.

Others formed parties from the family group, Maidens and children in the joy of youth, Glad schoolboys taken for reward or treat, And worthless idlers sauntering from the street.

Many a fond and loving pair were there Who in each other's joys and griefs had share; Grave statesmen, merchants, all in that brief hour, Sat spell-bound by the dramatist's rare power.

When in an instant the appalling cry Of fire! fire!! fire!!! was heard resounding high; The terror-stricken crowd in blank dismay Rushed frantically towards each narrow way.

No ears had they for the brave girl who sought To counsel in that hour with horror fraught, Who cried "We are between you and the fire, Be calm, for G.o.d's sake, in this danger dire."

[Footnote: On the first alarm of fire and whilst others were escaping, Miss Kate Claxton with three other actors came bravely forward to the footlights uttering these words of pa.s.sionate entreaty.]

Those nearest haply reached the narrow way, And thanking G.o.d, emerged from the affray, Whilst others stumbled, dazed with terror wild And soon in tangled heaps lay powerless piled.

In wildest proxysms of fear and pain, Each sought his giddy footing to retain, Whilst piercing cries of agonized despair, Rose through the gloomy smoke-charged stifling air.

Then suffocation, oft more merciful Than fire, its victims claimed to lull, Scared victims, gasping for that precious air, Which fire and smoke alike refused them there.

Fast hurried on the greedy tongues of fire, To make of those dread mounds a funeral pyre, As raging onward o'er their victims broke, The fearful conflict of the fire and smoke.

Dread was the scene o'er which the Fire King laughed As he his bowl of frantic pleasure quaffed, Whilst the doomed structure tottered in the girth Of his wild, bellowing, satanic mirth.

Strong men and feeble women, young and old, Statesmen, financiers, and warriors bold, Who were a short hour since elate with pride.

Now charred and calcined, slumber side by side.

The fierce insatiate fire-fiend raging flew In wild demoniac rage the structure through, Tearing down rafters, hurling to the ground, Props, pillars roof-beams with appalling sound.

Oh! what a scene of strife raged wildly there, 'Mid cries for help and struggles of despair; All human efforts powerless to a.s.suage, The greedy fire-fiend's devastating rage.

The fiery monster dashed away all trace, Of that late mimic world of beauteous grace, Swallowing in a fleet, wrathful breath of rage, All the vain baubles of the tinseled stage.

All the wild tumult has subsided now, Hushed is the pleading prayer and woe strung vow, Breathed by fond parents, brothers, husbands, wives Of near three hundred late exultant lives!

Then, as the demon's rage was well nigh spent, He o'er the drenched and trampled corses bent, Effacing as he best could, every trace Of recognition from each ghastly face.

Drunken and gorged the sated fire-fiend spread His gloomy sable shroud about the dead, And left the fort he could not longer hold Conquered by man's heroic efforts bold.