what doth she see?
By light of burning reek,
An angry people huddled thick;
She hears them shout,
"Now, to your fate!
Spare ne'er the young one, nor the old,
Both work us ruin manifold.
Sold to the
demon, we must burn you straight!"
The girl fell on her knees, before the face
Of that most furious populace.
She cried, "Grandmother will you kill? Oh, pity, grace!"
"Twas of no use, the wretches, blind with fury,
In
viewing her bareheaded, in their hurry,
Saw but a cursed leman,
Sold bodily to the demon.
The fiercest
cried "Avaunt!"
While the more savage forward spring,
And on the door their feet they plant,
With fiery
brand in their hand brandishing.
"Hold! I implore you! "cried a voice, before unheard;
And sudden leapt
before the crowd like lightning with the word,
A man of stately strength and tall,
It was the noble, brave
Pascal!
"Cowards!" he cried. "What? Will you murder women then,
And burn their cot? Children of God!
Are you the same?
Tigers you are, and cannot then be men;
And after all that they have suffered! Shame!
Fall back! Fall back! I say; the walls are growing hot!"
"Then let her leave us quite, this wretched Huguenot,
For she was long since by the devil bought,
God smites us 'cause we did not drive her forth before."
"Quick!
quick!" cried Pascal, "living they will burn!
Ye dogs, who moved ye to this awful crime?"
"'Twas Marcel," they
replied. "See, now he comes in time!"
"You lie!" the soldier thundered in his turn;
"I love her, boaster, more
than thou!"
Said Pascal, "How wilt prove thy love, thou of the tender heart?"
"I come," the other said, "to
save her. I come to take her part.
I come, if so she will, to wed her, even now."
"And so am I," replied
Pascal, and steadfastly
Before his rival's eyes, as bound by some great spell.
Then to the orphan girl
turned he,
With worship all unspeakable.
"Answer me, Franconnette, and speak the truth alone;
Thou'st
followed by the wicked with spite and scorn, my own;
But we two love thee well, and ready are to brave
Death! Yes, or hell, thy precious life to save.
Choose which of us thou wilt!" "Nay," she lamented sore,
"Dearest, mine is a love that slays!
Be happy, then, without me! Forget me! Go thy Ways!"
"Happy without
thee, dear! That can I never more:
Nay, were it true, as lying rumour says,
An evil spirit ruled you o'er,
I'd rather die with you, than live bereaved days!"
When life is at its bitterest,
The voice of love aye rules
us best;
Instantly rose the girl above her mortal dread,
And on the crowd advancing straight,
"Because I
love Pascal, alone I'd meet my fate!
Howbeit his will is law," she said,
"Wherefore together let our souls
be sped."
Then was Pascal in heav'n, and Marcel in the dust laid low;
Then Pascal sought his gallant
rival, saying,
"I am more blest than thou! Forgive! thou'rt brave, I know,
Some squire9 should follow
me to death; then wilt thou not
Serve me? I have no other friend!" Marcel seemed dreaming;
And now he
scowled with wrath, and now his eyes were kindling;
Terrible was the battle in his mind;
Till his eye fell on
Franconnette, serene and beaming,
But with no word for him; then pale, but smilingly,
"Because it is her
will," he said, "I follow thee."
Two weeks had passed away, and a strange nuptial train,
Adown the verdant
hill went slowly to the plain;
First came the comely pair we know, in all their bloom,
While gathered far
and wide, three deep on either side,
The ever-curious rustics hied,
Shudd'ring at heart o'er Pascal's
doom.
Marcel conducts their march, but pleasures kindly true,
Glows not upon th' unmoving face he
lifts to view.
And something glances from his eye,
That makes men shudder as they pass him by;
Yet
verily his mien triumphant is, at least
Sole master is he of this feast,
And gives his rival, for bouquet,
A supper and a ball to-day.
But at the dance and at the board
Alike, scarce one essayed a word;
None
sung a song, none raised a jest,
For dark forebodings everyone oppressed.
And the betrothed, by love's
deep rapture fascinated,
Silent and sweet, though near the fate she sad awaited,
No sound their dream
dispelled, yet hand in hand did press,
Their eyes looked ever in a visioned happiness;
And so, at last,
the evening fell.
But one affrighted woman straightway broke the spell;
She fell on Pascal's neck and
"Fly, my son!" she cried.
"I from the Sorcerer come! Fly, fly from thy false bride
The fatal sieve10 hath
turned; thy death decree is spoken!
There's sulphur fume in bridal room, and by the same dread token,
Enter it not; for if thou liv'st thou'rt lost," she sadly said;
"And what were life to me, my son, if thou wert
dead?"
Then Pascal felt his eyes were wet,
And turned away, striving to hide his face, where on
The
mother shrieked, "Ingrate! but I will save thee yet.
Thou wilt not dare!"--falling before her stricken son.
"Thou shalt now o'er my body pass, even as thou goest forth!
A wife, it seems, is all; and mother nothing
worth!
Unhappy that I am! "The crowd alas! their heavy tears ran down!
"Marcel," the bridegroom said,
"her grief is my despair;
But love, thou knowest, 's stronger yet; indeed 'tis time to go!
Only, should I
perish, let my mother be thy care." 
"I can no more," cried Marcel, "thy mother's conquered here."
And
then the valiant soldier from his eyelids brushed a tear.
"Take courage, Pascal, friend of mine
Thy Franconnette
is good and pure.
That hideous tale was told, of dark design;
But give thy mother thanks; but for her
coming, sure
This night might yet have seen my death and thine."
"What say'st thou?" "Hush! now I will