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THE LAY OF THE BROWN ROSARY
129
Out spake the bride's mother—"The vileness is thine,
If thou shame thine own sister, a bride at the shrine!"
Out spake the bride's lover—"The vileness be mine,
If he shame mine own wife at the hearth or the shrine,
    And the charge be unproved.

"Bring the charge, prove the charge, brother! speak it aloud—
Let thy father and her's hear it deep in his shroud!"—
"0 father, thou seest—for dead eyes can see—
How she wears on her bosom a brown rosarie,
    O my father belovèd! "

Then outlaughed the bridegroom, and outlaughed withal
Both maidens and youths, by the old chapel-wall—
"So she weareth no love-gift, kind brother," quoth he,
"She may wear, an she listeth, a brown rosarie,
    Like a pure-hearted lady! "

Then swept through the chapel, the long bridal train!
Though he spake to the bride she replied not again:
On, as one in a dream, pale and stately she went,
Where the altar-lights burn o'er the great sacrament,
    Faint with daylight, but steady.

But her brother had passed in between them and her,
And calmly knelt down on the high-altar stair—
Of an infantine aspect so stern to the view,
That the priest could not smile on the child's eyes of blue,
    As he would for another.

He knelt like a child marble-sculptured and white,
That seems kneeling to pray on the tomb of a knight,
With a look taken up to each iris of stone
From the greatness and death where he kneeleth, but none
    From the face of a mother.

"In your chapel, O priest, ye have wedded and shriven
Fair wives for the hearth, and fair sinners for Heaven!