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THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU.

BY ALARIC A. WATTS.

The Abbess of Royal-Lieu fell a victim to the revolutionary madness. She and her numerous sisterhood were led to the scaffold on the same day. On their way from the prison to the guillotine, they all chanted the Veni Creator. Their arrival at the place of execution, did not interrupt their strains; one head fell, and ceased to join its voice with the celestial chorus-but the song continued. The Abbess suffered last; and her single voice still raised the devout versicle. It ceased at once-and the silence of death ensued.

Madame Campan's Memoirs.

I.

DARK clouds are hurrying through the sky,

'Tis autumn's fitful eve;

And the dying breeze is murmuring by,

With a sound that makes one grieve;

A stifling heat is in the air;

Like the sultry breath of a lion's lair;

And unseen fingers weave

A giant shade of shadows dun,
Around the broad red sinking sun!

They view the reeking scaffold nigh,
With dauntless heart, untroubled eye,
Their blood so soon must stain,-
Lift up their vesper-hymn on high,
Swan-like, resolved to sing and die!

VII.

See how she bends her to the block,
The foremost of that guiltless throng,
And sings, till 'neath the headsman's stroke,
Is stayed at once her breath and song!
Yet still the angelic strain peals on
More thrilling sweet; till, one by one,
Is hushed each tuneful tongue;
And to that sainted band 't is given,
To join seraphic choirs in heaven!

IV.

But hark what thrilling sounds arise

From yon slow-moving throng; Floating like incense to the skies

In one rich tide of song!

And see, where opening to their tread
Those threatening forms give back, and led
By faith serene, yet strong,

A patient band, with tireless breath,
Prolong that prelude note of death!

V.

Theirs is no hope forlorn,-they wend

Exulting on their way;

Reckless how soon their course must end,

Their life-blood ebb away.

They seem to share one thought, one breath, And marshalled thus by faith to death,

In beautiful array,

Those martyr-sisters glide along,

Breathing their parting prayers in song!

VI.

No fears have they;-the savage crowd
May scowl on them in vain ;

Their step is firm, their bearing proud,
Unfailing still their strain!

They view the reeking scaffold nigh,
With dauntless heart, untroubled eye,
Their blood so soon must stain,—
Lift up their vesper-hymn on high,
Swan-like, resolved to sing and die!

VII.

See how she bends her to the block,
The foremost of that guiltless throng,
And sings, till 'neath the headsman's stroke,
Is stayed at once her breath and song!
Yet still the angelic strain peals on
More thrilling sweet; till, one by one,
Is hushed each tuneful tongue;
And to that sainted band 'tis given,
To join seraphic choirs in heaven!

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