His flock, along the woodland's edge with relics. sprinkled o'er

Of last night's snow, beneath a sky threatening the fall of more,

ΙΟ

Where tufts of herbage tempted each, were busy at their feed,

And the poor Boy was busier still, with work of anxious heed.

There was he, where of branches rent and withered and decayed,

For covert from the keen north wind, his hands a hut had made.

A tiny tenement, forsooth, and frail, as needs.

must be

15

A thing of such materials framed, by a builder

such as he.

The hut stood finished by his pains, nor seemingly lacked aught

That skill or means of his could add, but the architect had wrought

Some limber twigs into a Cross, well-shaped

with fingers nice,

To be engrafted on the top of his small edifice.

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That Cross he now was fastening there, as the surest power and best

For supplying all deficiencies, all wants of the rude nest

In which, from burning heat, or tempest driving far and wide,

The innocent Boy, else shelterless, his lonely head must hide.

That Cross belike he also raised as a standard for the true

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And faithful service of his heart in the worst that might ensue

Of hardship and distressful fear, amid the houseless waste

Where he, in his poor self so weak, by Providence was placed.

-Here, Lady! might I cease; but nay, let us before we part

With this dear holy shepherd-boy breathe a prayer of earnest heart,

30

That unto him, where'er shall lie his life's appointed way,

The Cross, fixed in his soul, may prove an allsufficing stay.

1842. (?)

XIX.

THE POET'S DREAM.

SEQUEL TO THE NORMAN BOY."

JUST as those final words were penned, the sun broke out in power,

And gladdened all things; but, as chanced, within that very hour,

Air blackened, thunder growled, fire flashed from clouds that hid the sky,

And for the Subject of my Verse I heaved a pensive sigh.

Nor could my heart by second thoughts from heaviness be cleared,

5

For bodied forth before my eyes the crosscrowned hut appeared;

And while around it storm as fierce seemed troubling earth and air,

I saw, within, the Norman Boy kneeling alone in prayer.

The Child, as if the thunder's voice spake with articulate call,

Bowed meekly in submissive fear, before the Lord of All;

ΙΟ

His lips were moving; and his eyes, upraised to sue for grace, With soft illumination cheered the dimness of that place.

How beautiful is holiness!-what wonder if the sight,

Almost as vivid as a dream, produced a dream at night ?

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It came with sleep and showed the Boy, no cherub, not transformed, But the poor ragged Thing whose ways my human heart had warmed.

Me had the dream equipped with wings, so I took him in my arms,

And lifted from the grassy floor, stilling his faint alarms,

And bore him high through yielding air my debt of love to pay,

By giving him, for both our sakes, an hour of holiday.

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I whispered, "Yet a little while, dear Child! thou art my own,

To show thee some delightful thing, in country or in town.

What shall it be? a mirthful throng? or that holy place and calm

St. Denis, filled with royal tombs, or the Church of Notre Dame ?

"St. Ouen's golden Shrine? Or choose what else would please thee most

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Of any wonder Normandy, or all proud France, can boast!"

My Mother," said the Boy, was born near to a blessed Tree,

The Chapel Oak of Allonville; good Angel, show it me!"

On wings, from broad and stedfast poise let loose by this reply,

For Allonville, o'er down and dale, away then did we fly;

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O'er town and tower we flew, and fields in May's fresh verdure drest;

The wings they did not flag; the Child, though grave, was not deprest.

But who shall show, to waking sense, the gleam of light that broke

Forth from his eyes, when first the Boy looked down on that huge oak,

For length of days so much revered, so famous where it stands

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For twofold hallowing-Nature's care, and work of human hands?

Strong as an Eagle with my charge I glided round and round

The wide-spread boughs, for view of door, window, and stair that wound

Gracefully up the gnarled trunk; nor left we unsurveyed

The pointed steeple peering forth from the centre of the shade.

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I lighted-opened with soft touch the chapel's iron door,

Past softly, leading in the Boy; and while from roof to floor,

From floor to roof, all round his eyes the Child with wonder cast,

Pleasure on pleasure crowded in, each livelier than the last.

For, deftly framed within the trunk, the sanctuary showed,

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By light of lamp and precious stones, that glimmered here, there glowed,

Shrine, Altar, Image, Offerings hung in sign of gratitude;

Sight that inspired accordant thoughts; and speech I thus renewed:

"Hither the Afflicted come, as thou hast heard thy Mother say,

And, kneeling, supplication make to our Lady de la Paix;

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What mournful sighs have here been heard, aud, when the voice was stopt

By sudden pangs, what bitter tears have on this pavement dropt!