THE MIRACLE OF THE ROSES.

BY ROBERT SOUTHEY.

There dwelt in Bethlehem a Jewish maid, And Zillah was her name, so pa.s.sing fair That all Judea spake the virgin's praise.

He who had seen her eyes' dark radiance, How it revealed her soul, and what a soul Beamed in the mild effulgence, woe to him!

For not in solitude, for not in crowds, Might he escape remembrance, nor avoid Her imaged form, which followed everywhere, And filled the heart, and fixed the absent eye.

Alas for him! her bosom owned no love Save the strong ardour of religious zeal; For Zillah upon heaven had centred all Her spirit's deep affections. So for her Her tribe's men sighed in vain, yet reverenced The obdurate virtue that destroy'd their hopes.

One man there was, a vain and wretched man, Who saw, desired, despaired, and hated her: His sensual eye had gloated on her cheek E'en till the flush of angry modesty Gave it new charms, and made him gloat the more.

She loathed the man, for Hamuel's eye was bold, And the strong workings of brute selfishness Had moulded his broad features; and she feared The bitterness of wounded vanity That with a fiendish hue would overcast His faint and lying smile. Nor vain her fear, For Hamuel vowed revenge, and laid a plot Against her virgin fame. He spread abroad Whispers that travel fast, and ill reports That soon obtain belief; how Zillah's eye, When in the temple heavenward it was raised, Did swim with rapturous zeal, but there were those Who had beheld the enthusiast's melting glance With other feelings filled:--that 'twas a task Of easy sort to play the saint by day Before the public eye, but that all eyes Were closed at night;--that Zillah's life was foul, Yea, forfeit to the law.

Shame--shame to man, That he should trust so easily the tongue Which stabs another's fame! The ill report Was heard, repeated, and believed,--and soon, For Hamuel by his well-schemed villainy Produced such semblances of guilt,--the maid Was to the fire condemned!

Without the walls There was a barren field; a place abhorred, For it was there where wretched criminals Received their death! and there they fixed the stake, And piled the fuel round, which should consume The injured maid, abandoned, as it seemed, By G.o.d and man.

The a.s.sembled Bethlehemites Beheld the scene, and when they saw the maid Bound to the stake, with what calm holiness She lifted up her patient looks to heaven, They doubted of her guilt.--

With other thoughts Stood Hamuel near the pile; him savage joy Led thitherward, but now within his heart Unwonted feelings stirred, and the first pangs Of wakening guilt, antic.i.p.ant of h.e.l.l!

The eye of Zillah as it glanced around Fell on the slanderer once, and rested there A moment; like a dagger did it pierce, And struck into his soul a cureless wound.

Conscience! thou G.o.d within us! not in the hour Of triumph dost thou spare the guilty wretch, Not in the hour of infamy and death Forsake the virtuous!--

They draw near the stake-- They bring the torch!--hold, hold your erring hands!

Yet quench the rising flames!--O G.o.d, protect, They reach the suffering maid!--O G.o.d, protect The innocent one! They rose, they spread, they raged;-- The breath of G.o.d went forth; the ascending fire Beneath its influence bent, and all its flames, In one long lightning-flash concentrating, Darted and blasted Hamuel--him alone!

Hark what a fearful scream the mult.i.tude Pour forth!--and yet more miracles! the stake Branches and buds, and spreading its green leaves, Embowers and canopies the innocent maid Who there stands glorified; and roses, then First seen on earth since Paradise was lost, Profusely blossom round her, white and red, In all their rich variety of hues; And fragrance such as our first parents breathed In Eden, she inhales, vouchsafed to her A presage sure of Paradise regained.

THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE.

BY GERALD GRIFFIN.

The joy-bells are ringing in gay Malahide, The fresh wind is singing along the seaside; The maids are a.s.sembling with garlands of flowers, And the harp-strings are trembling in all the glad bowers

Swell, swell the gay measure! roll trumpet and drum!

'Mid greetings of pleasure in splendour they come!

The chancel is ready, the portal stands wide, For the lord and the lady, the bridegroom and bride.

What years, ere the latter, of earthly delight, The future shall scatter o'er them in its flight!

What blissful caresses shall fortune bestow, Ere those dark-flowing tresses fall white as the snow!

Before the high altar young Maud stands arrayed: With accents that falter her promise is made-- From father and mother for ever to part, For him and no other to treasure her heart.

The words are repeated, the bridal is done, The rite is completed--the two, they are one; The vow, it is spoken all pure from the heart, That must not be broken till life shall depart.

Hark! 'Mid the gay clangour that compa.s.sed their car, Loud accents in anger come mingling afar!

The foe's on the border! his weapons resound Where the lines in disorder unguarded are found!

As wakes the good shepherd, the watchful and bold, When the ounce or the leopard is seen in the fold, So rises already the chief in his mail, While the new-married lady looks fainting and pale.

"Son, husband, and brother, arise to the strife, For sister and mother, for children and wife!

O'er hill and o'er hollow, o'er mountain and plain, Up, true men, and follow! let dastards remain!"

Farrah! to the battle!--They form into line-- The shields, how they rattle! the spears, how they shine!

Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rue-- On, burgher and yeoman! to die or to do!

The eve is declining in lone Malahide; The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the bride; She marks them unheeding--her heart is afar, Where the clansmen are bleeding for her in the war.

Hark!--loud from the mountain--'tis victory's cry!

O'er woodland and fountain it rings to the sky!

The foe has retreated! he flees to the sh.o.r.e; The spoiler's defeated--the combat is o'er!

With foreheads unruffled the conquerors come-- But why have they m.u.f.fled the lance and the drum?

What form do they carry aloft on his shield?

And where does he tarry, the lord of the field?

Ye saw him at morning, how gallant and gay!

In bridal adorning, the star of the day; Now, weep for the lover--his triumph is sped, His hope it is over! the chieftain is dead!

But, O! for the maiden who mourns for that chief, With heart overladen and rending with grief!

She sinks on the meadow--in one morning-tide, A wife and a widow, a maid and a bride!

Ye maidens attending, forbear to condole!

Your comfort is rending the depths of her soul: True--true, 'twas a story for ages of pride; He died in his glory--but, oh, he _has_ died!

The war-cloak she raises all mournfully now, And steadfastly gazes upon the cold brow; That glance may for ever unaltered remain, But the bridegroom will never return it again.

The dead-bells are tolling in sad Malahide, The death-wail is rolling along the seaside; The crowds, heavy-hearted, withdraw from the green, For the sun has departed that brightened the scene!

How scant was the warning, how briefly revealed, Before on that morning, death's chalice was filled!

Thus pa.s.ses each pleasure that earth can supply-- Thus joy has its measure--we live but to die!

THE DAUGHTER OF MEATH.

BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLEY.

Turgesius, the chief of a turbulent band, Came over from Norway and conquer'd the land: Rebellion had smooth'd the invader's career, The natives shrank from him, in hate, or in fear; While Erin's proud spirit seem'd slumb'ring in peace, In secret it panted for death--or release.