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THE LAY OF THE BROWN ROSARY
She was 'ware of a shadow that crossed where she lay;
She was 'ware of a presence that wither'd the day—
Wild she sprang to her feet,—"I surrender to thee
The broken vow's pledge,—the accursed rosarie,—
I am ready for dying!"
She was 'ware of a presence that wither'd the day—
Wild she sprang to her feet,—"I surrender to thee
The broken vow's pledge,—the accursed rosarie,—
I am ready for dying!"
She dashed it in scorn to the marble-paved ground,
Where it fell mute as snow; and a weird music-sound
Crept up, like a chill, up the aisles long and dim,—
As the fiends tried to mock at the choristers' hymn,
And moaned in the trying.
Where it fell mute as snow; and a weird music-sound
Crept up, like a chill, up the aisles long and dim,—
As the fiends tried to mock at the choristers' hymn,
And moaned in the trying.
FOURTH PART.
Onora looketh listlessly adown the garden walk:
"I am weary, O my mother, of thy tender talk!
I am weary of the trees a-waving to and fro—
Of the stedfast skies above, the running brooks below;—
All things are the same but I;—only I am dreary;
And, mother, of my dreariness, behold me very weary.
"I am weary, O my mother, of thy tender talk!
I am weary of the trees a-waving to and fro—
Of the stedfast skies above, the running brooks below;—
All things are the same but I;—only I am dreary;
And, mother, of my dreariness, behold me very weary.
"Mother, brother, pull the flowers I planted in the spring
And smiled to think I should smile more upon their gathering.
The bees will find out other flowers—oh, pull them, dearest mine,
And carry them and carry me before St. Agnes' shrine."
—Whereat they pulled the summer flowers she planted in the spring,
And her and them, all mournfully, to Agnes' shrine did bring.
And smiled to think I should smile more upon their gathering.
The bees will find out other flowers—oh, pull them, dearest mine,
And carry them and carry me before St. Agnes' shrine."
—Whereat they pulled the summer flowers she planted in the spring,
And her and them, all mournfully, to Agnes' shrine did bring.
She looked up to the pictured saint, and gently shook her head—
"The picture is too calm for me—too calm for me," she said:
"The little flowers we brought with us before it we may lay,
For those are used to look at Heaven,—but I must turn away,—
Because no sinner under sun can dare or bear to gaze
On God's or angel's holiness, except in Jesu's face."
"The picture is too calm for me—too calm for me," she said:
"The little flowers we brought with us before it we may lay,
For those are used to look at Heaven,—but I must turn away,—
Because no sinner under sun can dare or bear to gaze
On God's or angel's holiness, except in Jesu's face."
