Oh, mother, why did I begin?"
He stopped and closed his eyes with pain,
Either to keep his tears therein

Or bring that vision back again.
"You tell him.".

'Twas morning when I made the vow,
And well do I remember now
How light my heart was as I ran
Down to the sea, a happy man.
All that I passed along the way,
Sir," the lady said, The woods around me, and, above,
The plaintive cooing of the dove,
The rustling of the hidden snake,
The wild ducks swimming in the lake,
The hideous lizards large as men,
Nothing, I think, escaped me then,
And nothing will escape to-day.
I reached the shore, untied my boat,
Sprang in, and was again afloat
Upon the wild and angry sea
That must give up its pearls to me-
Its pearl of pearls. But where to go?
West of the island of Bojo,
Some six miles off, there was a view
Of the cathedral of Zèbou,

"My husband bids me tell the tale.
One day the child began to ail:
Its little cheek was first too red,
And then it was too deathly pale.
It burned with fever; inward flame
Consumed it, which no wind could cool;
We bathed it in a mountain-pool,
And it was burning all the same.
The next day it was cold—so cold
No fire could warm it; so it lay,
Not crying much, too. weak to play,
And looking all the while so old.
So fond, too, of its father, he,
Good man, was more to it than I:
The moment his light step drew nigh
It would no longer stay with me.
I said to him, 'The child will die.'
But he declared it should not be."-

my

What to do?
head

""Tis true," Relempago replied;
"I felt if Margarita died
My heart was broken. And I said,
'She shall not die till I have tried
Once more to save her.'
Then something put into
The Infant Jesus of Zèbou.
'I'll go to him: the Child Divine
Will save this only child of mine.
I will present him with a pearl,
And he will spare my little girl—
The largest pearl that I can find,
The one that shall delight his mind.
The purest, best, I give to you,
O Infant Jesus of Zèbou!'

Beneath whose dome the Child Divine
Was waiting for that pearl of mine.
Thither I went, and anchored; there
Dived fathoms down, found rocks and sands,
But no pearl-oysters anywhere,

And so came up with empty hands.
Twice, thrice, and-nothing!, Cruel sea,
Where hast thou hid thy pearls from me?
But I will have them, nor depart
Until I have them, for my heart
Would break, and my dear child would die.
She shall not die! What was that cry ?
Only the eagle's scream on high.
Fear not, Relempago!' Once more,
Down, down, along the rocks and sands
I groped in darkness, tore my hands,
And rose with nothing, as before.
'O Infant Jesus of Zèbou,
I promised a great pearl to you;
Help me to find it.' Down again,

Do take a little branch of each, and on my | I dreamed of wanderings in the woods knees I'll pray amongst the holly green; That God may bless your Christmas and be I dreamed of my own native cot and porch with your New Year's Day.

"The wind is black and bitter, and the hailstones do not spare

My shivering form, my bleeding feet and stiff

entangled hair;

with ivy screen;

I dreamed of lights for ever dimmed-of hopes that can't return

And dropped a tear on Christmas fires that nevermore can burn.

one came to buy;

Then, when the skies are pitiless, be merci- The ghost-like singer still sung on, but no ful, I say, So Heaven will light your Christmas and the The hurrying crowd passed to and fro, but coming New Year's Day."

'Twas a dying maiden sung while the cold

hail rattled down

And fierce winds whistled mournfully o'er

Dublin's dreary town;

did not heed her cry;

She uttered one low piercing moan, then cast her boughs away,

And, smiling, cried, "I'll rest with God. before the New Year's Day."

One stiff hand clutched her ivy-sprigs and On New Year's Day I said my prayers holly-boughs so fair; above a new-made grave

With the other she kept brushing the hail- Dug decently in sacred soil by Liffey's murdrops from her hair.

So grim and statue-like she seemed 'twas evident that Death

Was lurking in her footsteps, whilst her hot impeded breath

Too plainly told her early doom, though the burden of her lay

Was still of life and Christmas joys and a

happy New Year's Day.

'Twas in that broad bleak Thomas street I heard the wanderer sing;

I stood a moment in the mire beyond the ragged ring;

My heart felt cold and lonely, and my

thoughts were far away

Where I was many a Christmas-tide and happy New Year's Day.

muring wave:

The minstrel maid from earth to heaven has
winged her happy way,

And now enjoys with sister-saints an endless
New Year's Day.

A CONFESSION.

JOHN KEEGAN.

On the broad leaves played bright the trem- I marvelled at the spoiling flight of time,

Exhales its breath, and that embalms the The rose the glittering sun beheld at morn