I only walk among the fields, beneath the autumn sun,

With my dead father, hand in hand, as I have often done.
Evil Spirit.

Forbear that dream-forbear that dream!

Onora in sleep.

Nay, sweet fiend, let me go

I never more can walk with him, oh, never more but so.
For they have tied my father's feet beneath the kirkyard stone,—
Oh, deep and straight; oh, very straight! they move at nights
alone :

And then he calleth through my dreams, he calleth tenderly,-
"Come forth, my daughter, my beloved, and walk the fields with
me!"

Evil Spirit.

Forbear that dream, or else disprove its pureness by a sign.
Onora in sleep.

Speak on, thou shalt be satisfied! my word shall answer thine.
I hear a bird which used to sing when I a child was praying;
I see the poppies in the corn, I used to sport away in.—

What shall I do-tread down the dew, and pull the blossoms blowing?

Or clap my wicked hands to fright the finches from the rowen ? Evil Spirit.

Thou shalt do something harder still. Stand up where thou dost stand,

Among the fields of Dreamland, with thy father, hand in hand, And clear and slow, repeat the vow-declare its cause and kind, Which, not to break in sleep or wake, thou bearest on thy mind. Onora in sleep.

I bear a vow of wicked kind, a vow for mournful cause:

I vowed it deep, I vowed it strong-the spirits laughed applause : The spirits trailed, along the pines, low laughter like a breeze, While, high atween their swinging tops, the stars appeared to freeze.

Evil Spirit.

More calm and free,—speak out to me, why such a vow was made
Onora in sleep.

Because that God decreed my death, and I shrank back afraid.
Have patience, O dead father mine! I did not fear to die ;—
I wish I were a young dead child, and had thy company!
I wish I lay beside thy feet, a buried three-year child,
And wearing only a kiss of thine, upon my lips that smiled!

The linden-tree that covers thee, might, so, have shadowed twain-
For death itself I did not fear-'tis love that makes the pain.
Love feareth death. I was no child-I was betrothed that day;
I wore a troth-kiss on my lips, I could not give away.
How could I bear to lie content and still beneath a stone,
And feel mine own Betrothed go by-alas! no more mine own,—
Go leading by, in wedding pomp, some lovely lady brave,
With cheeks that blushed as red as rose, while mine were cold
in grave?

How could I bear to sit in Heaven, on e'er so high a throne,
And hear him say to her-to her! that else he loveth none?
Though e'er so high I sate above, though e'er so low he spake,
As clear as thunder I would hear the new oath he might take—
That hers, forsooth, are heavenly eyes-ah me! while very dim
Some heavenly eyes (indeed of Heaven!) would darken down
to him.

Evil Spirit.

Who told thee thou wert called to death?

Onora in sleep.

I sate all night beside thee— The grey owl on the ruined wall shut both his eyes to hide thee ; And ever he flapped his heavy wing, all brokenly and weak, And the long grass waved against the sky, around his gasping beak. I sate beside thee all the night, while the moonlight lay forlorn, Strewn round us like a dead world's shroud, in ghastly fragments

torn.

And through the night, and through the hush, and over the flapping wing,

We heard, beside the Heavenly Gate, the angels murmuring :We heard them say, "Put day to day, and count the days to seven, "And God will draw Onora up the golden stairs of Heaven : "And yet the Evil ones have leave that purpose to defer, "For if she has no need of HIM, He has no need of her Evil Spirit.

Speak out to me-speak bold and free.

Onora in sleep.

And then I heard thee say,

"I count, upon my rosary brown, the hours thou hast to stay! "Yet God permits us Evil ones to put by that decree,

"Since if thou hast no need of HIM, He has no need of thee"And if thou wilt forego the sight of angels, verily

Thy true love gazing on thy face, shall guess what angels be

"Nor bride shall pass, save thee"

hand's acold

The meadows seem . . .

Evil Spirit.

...

Alas!-my father's

Forbear the dream, or let the vow be told!
Onora in sleep.

I vowed upon thy rosary brown, this string of antique beads,
By charnel lichens overgrown, and dank among the weeds-
This rosary brown, which is thine own,-lost soul of buried nun—
Who, lost by vow, wouldst render now all souls alike undone ;-
I vowed upon thy rosary brown,—and, till such vow should break,
A pledge always of living days, 'twas hung around my neck-
I vowed to thee on rosary, (Dead father, look not so!),

I would not thank God in my weal, nor seek God in my woe.
Evil Spirit.

And canst thou prove.

Onora in sleep.

O love-my love! I felt him near again!

I saw his steed on mountain-head, I heard it on the plain!
Was this no weal for me to feel?—is greater weal than this?
Yet when he came, I wept his name and the angels heard but his
Evil Spirit.

Well done, well done!

Onora in sleep.

Ay me! the sun . . . the dreamlight 'gins to pine,—

...

Ay me! how dread can look the Dead !-Aroint thee, father mine!

She starteth from slumber, she sitteth upright,

And her breath comes in sobs while she stares through the night,
There is nought. The great willow, her lattice before,
Large-drawn in the moon, lieth calm on the floor;
But her hands tremble fast as their pulses, and, free
From the death-clasp, close over-the BROWN ROSARY.

THIRD PART.

'Tis a morn for a bridal; the merry bride-bell

Rings clear through the greenwood that skirts the chapelle
And the priest at the altar awaiteth the bride,

And the sacristans slyly are jesting aside

At the work shall be doing.

While down through the wood rides that fair company,
The youths with the courtship, the maids with the glee,—
Till the chapel-cross opens to sight, and at once
All the maids sigh demurely, and think for the nonce,
"And so endeth a wooing!"

And the bride and the bridegroom are leading the way,
With his hand on her rein, and a word yet to say:
Her dropt eyelids suggest the soft answers beneath,—
And the little quick smiles come and go with her breath,
When she sigheth or speaketh.

And the tender bride-mother breaks off unaware
From an Ave, to think that her daughter is fair,—
Till in nearing the chapel, and glancing before,
She seeth her little son stand at the door,-
Is it play that he seeketh?

Is it play? when his eyes wander innocent-wild,
And sublimed with a sadness unfitting a child!
He trembles not, weeps not-the passion is done,
And calmly he kneels in their midst, with the sun
On his head like a glory.

"O fair-featured maids, ye are many!" he cried,—
"But, in fairness and vileness, who matcheth the bride?
O brave-hearted youths, ye are many! but whom,
For the courage and woe, can ye match with the groom,
As ye see them before ye?"

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 unprovèd.

"Bring the charge, prove the charge, brother! speak it aloudLet thy father and hers 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 belovèd!”

Then out laughed the bridegroom, and out laughed 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 hear-
Be 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?"