THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU.

He never said my

form was fair;

My cheek might shame the rose;
And yet the smile that other's share

O'er him a shadow throws.

Wit's arrows pass him harmless by,
A Cymon's self might move;
Each shaft diverted by a sigh,-
The eloquence of love.

And when I sing the stirring songs
That charm all other ears,

His trembling voice his purpose wrongs,
He cannot praise-for tears!

But should another claimant rise,
And gentle words bespeak,
The lightning flashes to his eyes,

The heart-blood to his cheek!

I know I rule his bosom's chords,
A despot on my throne;
When will he give his feelings words,

And take me for his own!

125

ness.

THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU.

"The Abbess and Nuns of Royal-Lieu fell victims to the revolutionary madShe and her numerous sisterhood were led to the scaffold on the same day. On their way from the prison to the guillotine, they all chaunted the Veni Creator. Their arrival at the place of execution did not interrupt their