, 1872-11-04
THE LEGEND OF S. VITALlS.

vttAlis stcod before his cell and unused,
"*Of women coueth wdckedness,' SO spake
Jesus, the son Of sirach, speaking truth.
/ thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast led my feet
Fur from the perilous Why's wherein they stand
Watching for souls Of men, for, since closed
Ny mothers eyes in death, have not looked
On face Of woman, and my heart i fixed
Not to regard it till the day die"
And peace was within his soul, but ere he slept
He read the Gospe],-how the woman stood
Behind the Christ and washed His feet with team,
Christ seemed to walk beside him In his dreams
Through The great sinful & q tcty; foul ot tongue,
Pointed, and said, " Ny sisters, shall they die 2"
And The monk woke, and thought, at is Is snare
But night BY night he found the dream return,
And ever saw within the yearning eyes
4 mighHer love, and beard the pleading voice
Broken With tears SO after counsel %?.l M sought
Much mused he going how the work might speed,
And doubted much, and, when he reached the town,
Stood In the turmoil Us a man amazed.
Then wandering, as it seemed, with atnless feet,
Came to quay from which they loaded wheat
On corn-ships bound for Rome. A sailor cried,
Mocking his garb, "Ho! 6uggard, wilt thou work7"
And the rough voice was as tie voice Of God,
Scattering his doubt for all the day he worked
Hard, rs for life, then going, wage In hond,
Found one who issued to her evil trade,
And gave and whispered, From the brother, Christ
Sin not tonight; !" then followed to her house,
Needless what men might say, and while she slept
Wrestlod with prayer and weeping for her soul.
So did be many days, but some, who saw
The man 60 to and fro In evil haunts,
o4t0A1
F.se mo1f T. in @ honest f st sa1efs d3,t T. thou must
But he was silent, or with brief reply,
It To my own Lord answer" went his way;
For much he feared lest they the thrice accursed
Who nve by others sin, should mar the work.
But not the less-for never yet was 1nnid
That ehrank from i'll with kcener pang Of shame
Tho iron pierced bis soul, and all his cry,
Save but for those the lost ones whom he sought
Was ever his,-"Lord, let my cause be known;
Let Thy word I1y me, living, Lord, or dead
And oft at MONDAY, in the pause Of toll,
His thoughts unbidden travelled to the home
OF the old peaceful days, the rock-bnilt cell,
The garden In the 1edges Of the cliff,
With melon gay, and pulse, and climbing gourd;
And the great desert sleeping in the sun,
ChangeesHly calm; and meath the furthest sky,
The green Nile -watercd fields and shining stream.
But at the last it CHANGED, that coming forth
From some iu-famed abode, passer-by
EspIed and sInote him, harder than he wot.
And he, as knowing that the end was come,
Cried, Man, thou snitest sore, but all the town
Shall hear the blow which Will Emite thee back"
Then staggered, bleeding, wounded to the death,
To such laeau chamber as he called his own.
Hut one poor wanderer, whom bis love had brought
TO life from paths Of death, Ind marked the deed;
And her nor oath Of silence, nor the thought
How all her shameful past must spring to light,
Kept, but she told her tale and every word,
Heard through the stormy passion Of her sobs,
Pierced dagger to the strikers heart,
Till grovelng on the ground. Lord II he criod,
ssForgive me, I have slain Thy sweetest SAINT"
Then rose and hasted, seeking for the monk,-
And the crowd grew behind him aa he ran.
Dead on his knees they found him, with Q scroll
Judge nosght 6ejore tse te till Christ shat eorne,
bringing to day the hidden things Of night
And making plain the counscts Of the hedrt;"
walked Patriarch, priests, and nobles, IS WIS meet
And great throng OF women, happy wiyes,
And mothers best In wed1ock- bands, and some,
His sisters, and the monk had worked his work.
London Spectator.