Carried the Blessed Bread;
And like a councillor, did swell
In long-tailed coat, with pompous tread:
But
when the trembling maid, making a cross, essayed
To take a double portion, as her dear old grandame
bade,
Right in the view of every eye,
The sacred basket he withdrew, and passed her wholly
And so,
denied her portion of the bread whereby we live,
She, on glad Easter, doth receive
Dismissal from God's
house for aye.
The maid, trembling with fear, thought all was lost indeed!
But no! she hath a friend at
need;
'Twas Pascal, who had seen her all the while--
Pacal, whose young foot walked along the aisle,
He made the quest, and nothing loth,
In view of uncle and of nephew both,
Doth quietly to her present,
Upon a silver plate, with flowers fair blossoming,
The crown-piece5 of the Holy Sacrament--
And all the
world beholds the pious offering.
Oh! moment full of joy; her blood sprang into fleetness;
Warmth was
in all her frame, her senses thrilled with sweetness;
She saw the bread of God arisen
Out of its earthly
prison,
Thus life unto her own was given:
But wherefore did her brow quite blushing grow?
Because the
angel bright of love, I trow,
Did with her glowing breath impart
Life to the flame long smouldering in her
heart.
It did become a something strange, and passing all desire
As honey sweet, and quick as fire
Did
her sad soul illuminate
With a new being; and, though late,
She knew the word for her delight,
The fair
enigma she could guess.
People and priest all vanish'd from her sight,
She saw in all the church only
one man aright--
He whom she loved at last, with utmost gratefulness.
Then from Saint Peter's church
the throng widely dispersed,
And of the scandal they had seen, now eagerly conversed;
But lost not sight
of her at all
Who bore the Bread of Honour to the ancient dame, ere this,
She sitteth now alone, shut
in her chamber small,
While Franconnette beams brightly with her new-found bliss.
On the parched
earth, where falls the earliest dew,
As shines the sun's first rays, the winter flown--
So love's first spark
awakes to life anew,
And fills the startled mind with joy unknown.
The maiden yielded every thought to
this--
The trembling certainty of real bliss;
The lightning of a joy before improved,
Flash'd in her heart,
and told her that she loved.
She fled from envy, and from curious eyes,
And dreamed, as all have done,
their waking dreams,
Bidding in thought bright fairy fabrics rise
To shrine the loved one in their golden
gleams.
Alas! the sage is right, 'tis the distrest
Who dream the fondest, and who love the best.
But
when the saddened heart controls us quite,
It quickly turns to gall the sweets of our delight.
Then she
remembered all! The opening heaven turned grey,
Dread thought now smites her heavily.
Dreams she
of love? Why, what is she?
Sweet love is not for her! The dreaded sorcerer
Hath said she's fore-sold
for a price--a murderer!
With heart of dev'lish wrath, which whoso dares to brave
To lie with her one
night, therein shall find his grave.
She, to see Pascal perish at her side!
"Oh God! have pity on me
now!" she cried.
So, rent with cruel agonies,
And weeping very sore,
Fell the poor child upon her knees,
Her little shrine before.
"Oh, Holy Virgin!"--sighing--"on thee alone relying,
I come; I'm all astray! Father
and mother too
Are dead lang syne, and I accursed! All tongues are crying
This hideous tale! Yet save
me if't be true;
If they have falsely sworn, be it on their souls borne
When I shall bring my taper on the
fete-day morn6
Oh! blessed Mother, let me see
That I am not denied of thee!"
Brief prayer,
Though 'tis
sincere,
To Heaven mounts quickly,
Sure to have won a gracious ear;
The maid her purpose holds, and
ponders momently,
And oftentimes grows sick, and cannot speak for fear,
But sometimes taketh heart,
and sudden hope and strong
Shines in her soul, as brightest meteor gleams the sky along. 
FOURTH
PART.
The Fete at Notre Dame--Offering to the Virgin--Thunderstroke
and Taper Extinguished--The Storm
at Roquefort--Fire
at Estanquet--Triumph of Pascal--Fury of Marcel--Power of
a Mother--Bad Head and
Good Heart--Conclusion.
At last, behold the day she longed for, yet so fearfully,
But lo! the sun rose
cheerfully;
And long, long lines of white-robed village girls
From all the country round, walked tow'rds the
tinkling bells,
And soon, proud Notre Dame appeared in sight,
As 'midst a cloud of perfume!
'Twas if
the thirty hamlets in their might
Were piled together into one.
What priests! What candles! Crucifixes!
Garlands!
What Angels,7 and what banners!
You see there Artigues, Puymiral, Astafort,
Saint-Cirq,
Cardonnet, Lusignan, Brax, Roquefort,
But this year, Roquefort first, o'erleapeth all.
What crowds there
are of curious people,
To watch the girl sold to the Devil!
The news has travelled everywhere;
They know
that she, in silent prayer,
Implores the Virgin to protect her there!
Her neighbours scoff, and her menace,
But saddened friends grieve at her sore disgrace,
Love, through their heart, in fervour rills,
Each one
respects this plaintivest of girls;
And many a pitying soul a prayer said,
That some great miracle might
yet be made
In favour of this poor and suppliant maid.
She saw, rejoiced, more hope with her abode;
Though
voice of people is the voice of God!
Oh! how her heart beat as the church she neared,
'Twas for the
Virgin's indulgence she cared.
Mothers with heartaches; young unfortunates;
The orphan girls; the women