The bread and the wine had a doom, For these were the folk of the air; He sat and played in a dream Of her long dim hair.

He played with the merry old men, And thought not of evil chance, Until one bore Bridget his bride Away from the merry dance.

He bore her away in his arms, The handsomest young man there, And his neck and his breast and his arms Were drowned in her long dim hair.

O'Driscoll got up from the gra.s.s And scattered the cards with a cry; But the old men and the dancers were gone As a cloud faded into the sky.

He knew now the folk of the air, And his heart was blackened by dread, And he ran to the door of his house; Old women were keening the dead.

And he heard high up in the air A piper piping away; And never was piping so sad And never was piping so gay.

THE RECONCILIATION: A. MARGARET RAMSAY

"The snow has ceased, the wind has hushed, The moon shines fair and clear, The night is drawing on apace, Yet Evan is not here.

"The deer is couched among the fern, The bird sleeps on the tree; O what can keep my only son, He bides so long from me?"

"O mother, come and take your rest, Since Evan stays so late; If we leave the door unbarred for him, What need to sit and wait?"

"Now hold your peace, my daughter, Be still and let me be, I will not seek my bed this night Until my son I see."

And she has left the door unbarred, And by the fire sat still; She drew her mantle her about As the winter night grew chill.

The moon had set beyond the moor, And half the night had gone, When standing silent by her side She saw Evan her son.

"I did not hear your step, Evan, Nor hear you lift the pin."

"I would not wake my sister, mother, So softly I came in."

"Now sit ye down and rest, Evan, And I will give you meat."

"I have been with my cousin John, mother, And he gave me to eat."

"Then have ye laid the quarrel by That was 'twixt him and you, And given each other pledge of faith Ye will be friends anew?"

"We have laid the quarrel by, mother, Forevermore to sleep, And he has given me his knife, As pledge of faith to keep."

"O is it blood or is it rust That makes the knife so red, Or is it but the red firelight That's shining on the blade?"

"No rust is on the blade, mother, Nor the firelight's ruddy hue; The bright blood ran upon the knife To seal our compact true."

"O is it with the pale gray gleam That comes before the dawn, Or are ye weary with the road That ye look so ghastly wan?"

"A long and weary road, mother, I fared to reach my home, And I must get me to my bed That waits for me to come."

"The night is bitter cold, Evan, See that your bed be warm, And take your plaid to cover you, Lest the cold should do you harm."

"Yes, cold, cold is the night, mother, Yet soundly do I rest, With the bleak North wind to cover me, And the snow white on my breast."

THE PRIEST'S BROTHER: DORA SIGERSON SHORTER

Thrice in the night the priest arose From broken sleep to kneel and pray.

"Hush, poor ghost, till the red c.o.c.k crows, And I a Ma.s.s for your soul may say."

Thrice he went to the chamber cold Where, stiff and still uncoffined His brother lay, his beads he told, And "Rest, poor spirit, rest," he said.

Thrice lay the old priest down to sleep Before the morning bell should toll; But still he heard--and woke to weep-- The crying of his brother's soul.

All through the dark, till dawn was pale, The priest tossed in his misery, With m.u.f.fled ears to hide the wail The voice of that ghost's agony.

At last the red c.o.c.k flaps his wings, To trumpet of a day new born.

The lark, awaking, soaring, sings Into the bosom of the morn.

The priest before the altar stands He hears the spirit call for peace; He beats his breast with shaking hands.

"Oh, Father, grant this soul's release.

Most Just and Merciful, set free From Purgatory's awful night This sinner's soul, to fly to Thee And rest forever in Thy sight."

The Ma.s.s is over--still the clerk Kneels pallid in the morning glow.

He said, "From evils of the dark Oh, bless me, father, ere you go.

"Benediction, that I may rest, For all night did the banshee weep."

The priest raised up his hands and blest-- "Go now, my child, and you will sleep."

The priest went down the vestry stair, He laid his vestments in their place, And turned--a pale ghost met him there With beads of pain upon his face.

"Brother," he said, "you have gained me peace, But why so long did you know my tears, And say no Ma.s.s for my soul's release To save the torture of those years?"

"G.o.d rest you, brother," the good priest said, "No years have pa.s.sed--but a single night."

He showed the body uncoffined And the six wax candles still alight.

The living flowers on the dead man's breast Blew out a perfume sweet and strong.

The spirit paused ere he pa.s.sed to rest-- "G.o.d save your soul from a night so long."

THE BALLAD OF JUDAS ISCARIOT: ROBERT BUCHANAN

'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot Lay in the Field of Blood; 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot Beside the body stood.

Black was the earth by night, And black was the sky: Black, black were the broken clouds, Though the red Moon went by.

'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot Strangled and dead lay there; 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot Looked on in its despair.

The breath of the World came and went Like a sick man's in rest; Drop by drop on the World's eyes The dews fell cool and blest.

Then the soul of Judas Iscariot Did make a gentle moan-- "I will bury underneath the ground My flesh and blood and bone.

"I will bury it deep beneath the soil, Lest mortals look thereon, And when the wolf and raven come My body will be gone!