And oh, and oh, said the babes both,

Where living waters rin,

There, as the snaw beneath her feet,

Wash her twa hands from sin !

66 From The Rose."

PARADISE AND THE PERI.

MOORE.

[EXTRACT.]

BUT hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air,

From Syria's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers, where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod

Kneels, with his forehead to the south,
Lisping the eternal name of God

From purity's own cherub mouth,
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray bird of Paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,
And seeking for its home again!

THE CHILD AND THE FAWN.

M. R.

THE dew still hung upon the grass,

And on the gossamer,

And on the heavy foliage,

The trees in summer wear ;

And little drops fell twinkling down

Upon the tresses

grey,

Of him who trod the forest path,

In trouble and dismay.

It was a hermit, good and old,

Who wandered through the shade,

In trouble that his little fawn

Had into danger strayed.

And now the hunter's savage hounds
Pursued it through the wood,

The milk-white fawn that loved so well

The hermit, old and good.

Its ivory hoofs scarce touched the ground,

So eager was the chase,

Whilst piteous tears ran pleadingly

Adown its velvet face.

The savage hounds rushed headlong up,

The hunters hurried on,

Up, up a narrow stony path,

With bright green moss o'ergrown.—

When lo! they paused as wonder-struck,
For in the holly-shade,
There stood a little angel child,

Alone, but undismayed;

With curls of cloudy golden light;
And eyes like drops of dew
That underneath a summer sky
Reflect unspotted blue;

Its hands were folded on its breast,

Like saint before a cross,

And still it stood, with rosy feet,

Upon the dewy moss.

THE LEGEND OF SANTAREM.

FIRST PART.

COME listen to a monkish tale of old,

Right catholic, but puerile some may deem Who all unworthy their high notice hold

Aught but grave truths, and lofty learned theme; Too wise for simple pleasure, smiles, and tears, Dreams of our earliest, purest, happiest years.

Come listen to the legend; for of them
Surely thou art not; and to thee I'll tell
How on a time in holiest Santarem,

Strange circumstance miraculous befell
Two little ones, who to the sacred shrine
Came daily, to be schooled in things divine.

Twin sisters-orphan innocents were they ;
Most pure I ween, from all but th' olden taint,
Which only Jesus' blood can wash away;

And holy as the life of holiest saint
Was his, that good Dominican's, who fed
His master's lambs with more than daily bread.

The children's custom, while that pious man
Fulfilled the various duties of his state,
Within the spacious church as Sacristan,

Was on the altar steps to sit and wait,
Nestling together ('t was a lovely sight!)
Like the young turtle-doves of Hebrew rite.

A small, rich chapel was their sanctuary,
While thus abiding :—with adornment fair
Of curious carved work, wrought cunningly,
In all quaint patterns, and devices rare :
And even there, above the altar, smiled,
From Mary-mother's arms, the Holy Child,-

Smiled on his infant guests, as there below, On the fair altar steps, those young ones spread (Nor aught irreverent in such act I trow,)

Their simple morning meal of fruit and bread. Such feast not ill beseemed the sacred dome— Their Father's house, is the dear children's home.

At length it chanced, that on a certain day,
When Frey Bernardo to the chapel came,
Where patiently was ever wont to stay

His infant charge; with vehement acclaim,
Both lisping creatures forth to meet him ran,
And each to tell the same strange tale began.

M