But alas! the summer's blight,

The dread disease that none can say,
The pestilence that walks by night,
Took the young bride's sight away.

All at the father's stern command was changed;
Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged;
Wearied at home, ere long the lover fled;
Returned but three short days ago,

The golden chain they round him throw,
He is enticed, and onward led

To marry Angela, and yet

Is thinking ever of Margaret.

Then suddenly a maiden cried,

66

Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate!

Here comes the cripple Jane!" And by a fountain's side
A woman, bent and gray with years,
Under the mulberry-trees appears,
And all towards her run, as fleet
As had they wings upon their feet.

It is that Jane, the cripple Jane,
Is a soothsayer, wary and kind.
She telleth fortunes, and none complain.
She promises one a village swain,
Another a happy wedding-day,
And the bride a lovely boy straightway.
All comes to pass as she avers;
She never deceives, she never errs.

But for this once the village seer
Wears a countenance severe,

And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white
Her two eyes flash like cannons bright
Aimed at the bridegroom in waistcoat blue,
Who, like a statue, stands in view;
Changing colour, as well he might,
When the beldame, wrinkled and gray,
Takes the young bride by the hand,
And, with the tip of her reedy wand,
Making the sign of the cross, doth say :-

66

Thoughtless Angela, beware!

Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom,

Thou diggest for thyself a tomb!"

And she was silent; and the maidens fair
Saw from each eye escape a swollen tear;
But on a little streamlet silver-clear,

What are two drops of turbid rain?
Saddened a moment, the bridal train
Resumed the dance and song again;
The bridegroom only was pale with fear;
And down green alleys

Of verdurous valleys,
With merry sallies,

They sang the refrain:

"The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom,
So fair a bride shall leave her home!
Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!"

"He has arrived! arrived at last! Yet Jane has named him not these three days past; Arrived! yet keeps aloof so far!

And knows that of my night he is the star!
Knows that long months I wait alone, benighted,
And count the moments since he went away!
Come! keep the promise of that happier day,
That I may keep the faith to thee I plighted!
What joy have I without thee? what delight?
Grief wastes my life, and makes it misery;
Day for the others ever, but for me

For ever night! for ever night!

When he is gone 'tis dark! my soul is sad!
I suffer! O my God! come, make me glad.
When he is near, no thoughts of day intrude;
Day has blue heavens, but Baptiste has blue eyes!
Within them shines for me a heaven of love,
A heaven all happiness, like that above,

No more of grief! no more of lassitude!
Earth I forget,-and heaven, and all distresses,
When seated by my side my hand he presses;
But when alone, remember all!

Where is Baptiste? he hears not when I call!
A branch of ivy, dying on the ground,
I need some bough to twine around!
In pity come! be to my suffering kind!
True love, they say, in grief doth more abound!
What then. when one is blind?

"Who knows? perhaps I am forsaken!
Ah! woe is me! then bear me to my grave!
O God! what thoughts within me waken!
Away! he will return! I do but rave!

He will return! I need not fear!
He swore it by our Saviour dear;
He could not come at his own will;
Is weary, or perhaps is ill!

Perhaps his heart, in this disguise,

Prepares for me some sweet surprise!

But some one comes! Though blind, my heart can see! And that deceives me not! 'tis he! 'tis he!"

And the door ajar is set,

And poor, confiding Margaret

Rises, with outstretched arms, but sightless eyes; "Tis only Paul, her brother, who thus cries:

66

Angela the bride has passed!

I saw the wedding guests go by;

Tell me, my sister, why were we not asked?
For all are there but you and I!"

A

cry the blind girl gave, but nothing said; A milky whiteness spreads upon her cheeks; An icy hand, as heavy as lead,

Descending, as her brother speaks,

Upon her heart, that has ceased to beat,
Suspends awhile its life and heat.

She stands beside the boy, now sore distressed,
A wax Madonna as a peasant dressed.

At length the bridal song again
Brings her back to her sorrow and pain.

"Hark! the joyous airs are ringing!
Sister, dost thou hear them singing?
How merrily they laugh and jest!
Would we were bidden with the rest!
I would don my hose of homespun gray,
And my doublet of linen striped and gay;
Perhaps they will come; for they do not wed
Till to-morrow at seven o'clock, it is said!"
"I know it!" answered Margaret;
Whom the vision, with aspect black as jet,
Mastered again; and its hand of ice
Held her heart crushed, as in a vice!

"Paul, be not sad! "Tis a holiday;
To-morrow put on thy doublet gay!
But leave me now for a while alone."
Away, with a hop and a jump, went Paul,
And, as he whistled along the hall,
Entered Jane, the crippled crone.

"Holy Virgin! what dreadful heat!

I am faint, and weary, and out of breath!
But thou art cold,-art chill as death!
My little friend! what ails thee, sweet?"
"Nothing! I heard them singing home the bride;
And, as I listened to the song,

I thought my turn would come ere long,
Thou knowest it is at Whitsuntide.
Thy cards forsooth can never lie,
To me such joy they prophesy,

Thy skill shall be vaunted far and wide
When they behold him at my side.

And poor Baptiste, what sayest thou?

It must seem long to him ;-methinks I see him now!" Jane, shuddering, her hand doth press:

"Thy love I cannot all approve;

We must not trust too much to happiness;-
Go, pray to God, that thou mayst love him less!"

66

The more I pray, the more I love!

It is no sin, for God is on my side!"

It was enough; and Jane no more replied.

Now to all hope her heart is barred and cold;
But to deceive the beldame old

She takes a sweet, contented air;
Speaks of foul weather or of fair,
At every word the maiden smiles:
Thus the beguiler she beguiles;

So that, departing at the evening's close,

She says,

66 She may be saved! she nothing knows!"

Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress !

Now that thou wouldst, thou art no prophetess!
This morning, in the fulness of thy heart,

Thou wast so, far beyond thine art!

III.

Now rings the bell, nine times reverberating,
And the white daybreak, stealing up the sky
Sees in two cottages two maidens waiting,
How differently!

Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed,

The one puts on her cross and crown,
Decks with a huge bouquet her breast,
And flaunting, fluttering up and down,
Looks at herself, and cannot rest.

The other, blind, within her little room,
Has neither crown nor flower's perfume;
But in their stead for something gropes apart
That in a drawer's recess doth lie,
And, 'neath her bodice of bright scarlet dye,
Convulsive clasps it to her heart.

The one, fantastic, light as air,
'Mid kisses ringing,

And joyous singing,

Forgets to say her morning prayer!

The other, with cold drops upon her brow,
Joins her two hands, and kneels upon the floor,
And whispers, as her brother opes the door,
"O God! forgive me now!”

And then the orphan, young and blind,
Conducted by her brother's hand,

Towards the church, through paths unscanned,

With tranquil air, her way doth wind.

Odours of laurel, making her faint and pale,

Round her at times exhale,

And in the sky as yet no sunny ray,
But brumal vapours gray.

Near that castle, fair to see,

Crowded with sculptures old, in every part,
Marvels of nature and of art,

And proud of its name of high degree,
A little chapel, almost bare,

At the base of the rock is builded there;
All glorious that it lifts aloof,

Above each jealous cottage roof,

Its sacred summit, swept by autumn gales,
And its blackened steeple high in air,

Round which the osprey screams and sails.

"Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by !"

Thus Margaret said. "Where are we? we ascend!"
"Yes; seest thou not our journey's end?
Hearest not the osprey from the belfry cry?
The hideous bird, that brings ill luck, we know!
Dost thou remember when our father said,

The night we watched beside his bed,

'O daughter, I am weak and low;