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! '—

O father, thou seest-for dead eyes can see

How she wears on her bosom a brown rosary,

O my father beloved!'

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 rosary,

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! But this fairest my sister, ye think now to wed, Bid her kneel where she standeth, and shrive her instead— O shrive her and wed not!'

In tears, the bride's mother,

Sir priest, unto thee

Would he lie, as he lied to this fair company!'

In wrath, the bride's lover,- The lie shall be clear! Speak it out, boy! the saints in their niches shall hearBe the charge proved or said not!'

Then serene in his childhood he lifted his face,
And his voice sounded holy and fit for the place-
'Look down from your niches, ye still saints, and see
How she wears on her bosom a brown rosary!
Is it used for the praying?'

The youths looked aside-to laugh there were a sin— And the maidens' lips trembled from smiles shut within : Quoth the priest, Thou art wild, pretty boy! Blessed she Who prefers at her bridal a brown rosary

To a worldly arraying!'

The bridegroom spake low and led onward the bride,
And before the high altar they stood side by side:
The rite-book is opened, the rite is begun,

They have knelt down together to rise up as one--
Who laughed by the altar?

The maidens looked forward, the youths looked around,— The bridegroom's eye flashed from his prayer at the

sound;

And each saw the bride, as if no bride she were,
Gazing cold at the priest without gesture of prayer.
As he read from the psalter.

The priest never knew that she did so, but still
He felt a power on him too strong for his will,
And whenever the Great Name was there to be read,
His voice sank to silence-THAT could not be said,
Or the air could not hold it.

‘I have sinned,' quoth he, ‘I have sinned, I wot '— And the tears ran adown his old cheeks at the thought; They dropped fast on the book, but he read on the same,And aye was the silence where should be the NAME,— As the choristers told it.

The rite-book is closed, and the rite being done
They who knelt down together, arise up as one :
Fair riseth the bride—Oh, a fair bride is she,—
But, for all (think the maidens) that brown rosary,
No saint at her praying!

VOL. II.

D

What aileth the bridegroom? He glares blank and

wide

Then suddenly turning he kisseth the bride

His lip stung her with cold: she glanced upwardly mute : Mine own wife,' he said, and fell stark at her foot

In the word he was saying.

They have lifted him up,—but his head sinks away,
And his face showeth bleak in the sunshine and grey.
Leave him now where he lieth-for oh, never more
Will he kneel at an altar or stand on a floor!
Let his bride gaze upon him!

Long and still was her gaze, while they chafed him there
And breathed in the mouth whose last life had kissed her,
But when they stood up-only they! with a start
The shriek from her soul struck her pale lips apart-
She has lived, and forgone him!

And low on his body she droppeth adown'Didst call me thine own wife, beloved-thine own? Then take thine own with thee! thy coldness is warm To the world's cold without thee! Come, keep me from harm

In a calm of thy teaching!"

She looked in his face earnest long, as in sooth

There were hope of an answer,--and then kissed his mouth,

And with head on his bosom, wept, wept bitterly,'Now, O God, take pity-take pity on me!

God, hear my beseeching!'

She was 'ware of a shadow that crossed where she lay;
She was 'ware of a presence that withered the day-
Wild she sprang to her feet,—' I surrender to thee
The broken vow's pledge, the accursed rosary,-
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 at 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

'Mother, brother, pull the flowers I planted in the spring And smiled to think I should smile more upon their gathering.