Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/170
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THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU.
xiii.
For it will shed o'er years to come
The rosy glow of life's first light,
And in its glad and guarded home,
Will keep the lyre of feeling bright.
For it will shed o'er years to come
The rosy glow of life's first light,
And in its glad and guarded home,
Will keep the lyre of feeling bright.
xiv.
Then tell ns not the dream will fade;
Youth's fairy world, with glowing sky—
Go drink the wave in the heart's deep shade;
And life's romance will never die.
Then tell ns not the dream will fade;
Youth's fairy world, with glowing sky—
Go drink the wave in the heart's deep shade;
And life's romance will never die.
The Martyrs of Royal-Lieu.
The Abbess of Royal-Lieu fell a victim to the revolutionary madness. She and her numerous sisterhood were led to the scaffold on the same day. On their way from the prison to the guillotine, they all chanted the Veni Creator. Their arrival at the place of execution did not interrupt their strains; one head fell, and ceased to join its voice with the celestial chorus—but the song continued. The Abbess suffered last; and her single voice still raised the devout versicle. It ceased at once—and the silence of death ensued.—Madame Campan's Memoirs.
i.
Dark clouds are hurrying through the sky,
'Tis autumn's fitful eve;
And the dying breeze is murmuring by,
With a sound that makes one grieve;
A stifling heat is in the air;
Like the sultry breath of a lion's lair;
And unseen fingers weave
A giant shade of shadows dun,
Around the broad red sinking sun!
Dark clouds are hurrying through the sky,
'Tis autumn's fitful eve;
And the dying breeze is murmuring by,
With a sound that makes one grieve;
A stifling heat is in the air;
Like the sultry breath of a lion's lair;
And unseen fingers weave
A giant shade of shadows dun,
Around the broad red sinking sun!
ii.
Bursting with wrath, yon angry cloud
Seems to pause in its mid career,
As the striving steps of the crushing crowd
To one gory spot draw near:—
What mean their yells of horrid glee?
Those tossing heads, like a stormy sea,
Clenched hands and brows severe?
Whence come that savage, tiger brood,
To glut their demon lust for blood?
Bursting with wrath, yon angry cloud
Seems to pause in its mid career,
As the striving steps of the crushing crowd
To one gory spot draw near:—
What mean their yells of horrid glee?
Those tossing heads, like a stormy sea,
Clenched hands and brows severe?
Whence come that savage, tiger brood,
To glut their demon lust for blood?