Lyrics of the heart With other poems. By Alaric A. Watts. With forty-one engravings on steel |
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THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU. |
 | Lyrics of the heart |  |
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THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU.
The Abbess and Nuns of Royal-Lieu fell victims 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 its voice
ceased to join the celestial chorus; but the song continued. The Abbess suffered last,
and her single voice still raised the devout canticle. It ceased—and the silence of
death ensued.
MADAME CAMPAN.
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 veil of shadows dun,
Before the broad, red, sinking sun.
'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 veil of shadows dun,
Before the broad, red, sinking sun.
Black, as with wrath, yon angry cloud
Seems to pause in its mid career,
As the trampling 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?
Seems to pause in its mid career,
As the trampling steps of the crushing crowd
To one gory spot draw near:
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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?
But hark! what thrilling sounds arise
From yon slow-moving throng;
Floating like incense to the skies,
In one rich tide of song!
And see, where opening to their tread,
Those ruthless men shrink back,—and led
By Faith, serene yet strong,
A meek-eyed band, with tireless breath,
Prolong that prelude note of death!
From yon slow-moving throng;
Floating like incense to the skies,
In one rich tide of song!
And see, where opening to their tread,
Those ruthless men shrink back,—and led
By Faith, serene yet strong,
A meek-eyed band, with tireless breath,
Prolong that prelude note of death!
Theirs is no hope forlorn; they wend
Exulting on their way;
Reckless how soon their course may end,
Their life-blood ebb away;
They seem to share one thought, one breath,
And marshalled thus by Faith to death,
In beautiful array,
Those martyr Sisters glide along,
Breathing their parting prayers in song!
Exulting on their way;
Reckless how soon their course may end,
Their life-blood ebb away;
They seem to share one thought, one breath,
And marshalled thus by Faith to death,
In beautiful array,
Those martyr Sisters glide along,
Breathing their parting prayers in song!
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No fears have they; the savage crowd
May scowl on them in vain;
Their steps are firm, their bearing proud,
Unfailing still their strain.
They see the reeking scaffold nigh,
With dauntless heart, untroubled eye,
Their blood so soon must stain;
And lift their vesper hymn on high,
Swan-like, resolved to sing and die.
May scowl on them in vain;
Their steps are firm, their bearing proud,
Unfailing still their strain.
They see the reeking scaffold nigh,
With dauntless heart, untroubled eye,
Their blood so soon must stain;
And lift their vesper hymn on high,
Swan-like, resolved to sing and die.
Lo! how she bends her to the block,
The foremost of that guiltless throng,
And sings, till 'neath the headsman's stroke,
Are stayed at once her breath and song!
Yet still the' angelic strain peals on
More thrilling sweet; till, one by one,
Is hushed each tuneful tongue;
And to that sainted band 'tis given
To join seraphic choirs in heaven!
The foremost of that guiltless throng,
And sings, till 'neath the headsman's stroke,
Are stayed at once her breath and song!
Yet still the' angelic strain peals on
More thrilling sweet; till, one by one,
Is hushed each tuneful tongue;
And to that sainted band 'tis given
To join seraphic choirs in heaven!
| Lyrics of the heart | |