The Haunted Hour Part 2

The lads are gaming with the girls, and laughing by the fire.

But Mollie in the cold, dark night, has found her heart's desire.

ON KINGSTON BRIDGE: ELLEN M.H. CORTISSOZ

(On All Souls' Night the dead walk on Kingston Bridge.--_Old Legend._)

On Kingston Bridge the starlight shone Through hurrying mists in shrouded glow; The boding night-wind made its moan, The mighty river crept below.

'Twas All Souls' Night, and to and fro The quick and dead together walked, The quick and dead together talked, On Kingston Bridge.

Two met who had not met for years; Once was their hate too deep for fears: One drew his rapier as he came, Upleapt his anger like a flame.

With clash of mail he faced his foe, And bade him stand and meet him so.

He felt a graveyard wind go by Cold, cold as was his enemy.

A stony horror held him fast.

The Dead looked with a ghastly stare, And sighed "I know thee not," and pa.s.sed Like to the mist, and left him there On Kingston Bridge.

'Twas All Souls' Night, and to and fro The quick and dead together walked, The quick and dead together talked, On Kingston Bridge.

Two met who had not met for years: With grief that was too deep for tears They parted last.

He clasped her hand, and in her eyes He sought Love's rapturous surprise.

"Oh, Sweet!" he cried, "hast thou come back To say thou lov'st thy lover still?"

--Into the starlight, pale and cold, She gazed afar--her hand was chill: "Dost thou remember how we kept Our ardent vigils?--how we kissed?-- Take thou these kisses as of old!"

An icy wind about him swept; "I know thee not," she sighed, and pa.s.sed Into the dim and shrouding mist On Kingston Bridge.

'Twas All Souls' Night, and to and fro The quick and dead together walked, The quick and dead together talked, On Kingston Bridge.

ALL SOULS' NIGHT: LOUISA HUMPHREYS

Canice the priest went out on the Night of Souls; "Stay, oh stay," said the woman who served his board "Stay, for the path is strait with pits and holes, And the night is dark and the way is lone abroad; Stay within because it is lone, at least."

"Nay, it will not be lone," said Canice the priest.

Dim without, and a dim, low-sweeping sky; A scent of earth in the night, of opened mould; A listening pause in the night--and a breath pa.s.sed by-- And its touch was cold, was cold as the graves are cold Canice went on to the waste where no men be; "Nay, I will not be lone to-night," said he.

Shades that flit, besides the shades of the night; Rustling sobs besides the sobs of the wind; Steps of feet that pace with his on the right, Steps that pace on the left, and steps behind.

"Nay, no fear that I shall be lone, at least!

Lo, there are throngs abroad," said Canice the priest.

Deathly hands that pluck at his ca.s.sock's hem; Sighings of earthly breath that smite his cheek; Canice the priest swings on, atune with them, Hears the throbbings of pain, and hears them speak; Hears the word they utter, and answers "Yea!

Yea, poor souls, for I heed; I pray, I pray."

Lo, a gleam of gray, and the dark is done; Hark, a bird that trills a song of the light.

Canice hies him home by the s.h.i.+ne of the sun.

What to-day of those pallid wraiths of the night?

What of the woeful notes that had wailed and fled?

"Maria, ora pro illis!" Canice said.

"ALL THE LITTLE SIGHING SOULS"

MARY SHEPHERDESS: MARJORIE L.C. PICKTHALL

When the heron's in the high wood and the last long furrow's sown With the herded cloud before her and her sea-sweet raiment blown Comes Mary, Mary Shepherdess, a-seeking for her own.

Saint James he calls the righteous folk, Saint John he calls the kind, Saint Peter seeks the valiant men all to loose or bind, But Mary seeks the little souls that are so hard to find.

All the little sighing souls born of dust's despair, They who fed on bitter bread when the world was bare, Frighted of the glory gates and the starry stair.

All about the windy down, housing in the ling, Underneath the alder-bough linnet-light they cling, Frighted of the s.h.i.+ning house where the martyrs sing.

Crying in the ivy-bloom, fingering at the pane, Grieving in the hollow dark, lone along the lane, Mary, Mary Shepherdess gathers them again.

And O the wandering women know, in workhouse and in shed, They dream on Mary Shepherdess with doves about her head, And pleasant posies in her hand, and sorrow comforted.

Saying: there's my little la.s.s, faring fine and free, There's the little lad I laid by the holly tree, Dreaming: There's my nameless bairn laughing at her knee.

When the bracken-harvest's gathered and the frost is on the loam When the dream goes out in silence and the ebb runs out in foam, Mary, Mary Shepherdess, she leads the lost lambs home.

If I had a little maid to turn my tears away, If I had a little lad to lead me when I'm gray, All to Mary Shepherdess they'd fold their hands and pray.

THE LITTLE GHOST: KATHERINE TYNAN

The stars began to peep Gone was the bitter day, She heard the milky ewes Bleat to their lambs astray.

Her heart cried for her lamb Lapped cold in the churchyard sod, She could not think on the happy children At play with the Lamb of G.o.d.

She heard the calling ewes And the lambs answer alas!

She heard her heart's blood drip in the night, As the ewes' milk on the gra.s.s.

Her tears that burnt like fire So bitter and slow ran down She could not think on the new-washed children Playing by Mary's gown.

Oh, who is this comes in Over her threshold stone?

And why is the old dog wild with joy Who all day long made moan?

This fair little radiant ghost, Her one little son of seven, New 'scaped from the band of merry children In the nurseries of Heaven.

He was all clad in white Without a speck or stain; His curls had a ring of light, That rose and fell again.

"Now come with me, my own mother, And you shall have great ease, For you shall see the lost children Gathered at Mary's knees."

Oh, lightly sprang she up Nor waked her sleeping man, And hand in hand with the little ghost Through the dark night she ran.

She is gone swift as a fawn, As a bird homes to its nest, She has seen them lie, the sleepy children, 'Twixt Mary's arm and breast.

At morning she came back; Her eyes were strange to see.

She will not fear the long journey, However long it be.

As she goes in and out She sings unto hersel'; For she has seen the mother's children And knows that it is well.