he fell
prostrate on the floor.

THE SACRIFICE.

'One day during the bloody executions which took place at Lyons, a
young girl rushed into the hall where the revolutionary tribunal
was held, and throwing herself at the feet of the judges, said:
'There remain to me of all my family only my brothers! Mother,
father, sister--you have butchered all; and now you are going to
condemn my brothers. Oh! in mercy ordain that I may ascend the
scaffold with them!' Her prayer was refused, and she threw herself
into the Rhone and perished.'

DU BROCA.

The judges have met in the council-hall,
A strange and a motley pageant, all:
What seek they? to win for their land a name
The brightest and best in the lists of fame?
The light of Mercy's all-hallowed ray
To look with grief on the culprit's way?
Nay! watch the smile and the flushing brow,
And in that crowd what read ye now?
The daring spirit and purpose high,
The fiery glance of the eagle eye
That marked the Roman's haughty pride,
In the days of yore by the Tiber's side?
The stern resolve of the patriot's breast,
When the warrior's zeal has sunk to rest?
No! Mercy has fled from the hardened heart,
And Justice and Truth in her steps depart,
And the fires of hell rage fierce and warm
Mid the fitful strife of the spirit's storm.

But a wail is borne on the troubled air:
What victim comes those frowns to dare?
'Tis woman's form and woman's eye,
That Time hath passed full lightly by;
The limner's art in vain might trace
The glorious beauty and winning grace
Of that fair girl; youth's sunny day
Flings its radiance over life's changing way:
Why has she left her princely home,
Why to that hall a suppliant come?
Her heart is sad with a deepening gloom,
For Hope has found in her heart a tomb.
With quiv'ring lip, and eye whose light
Is faint as the moon in a cloudy night,
And with cheek as pale as the crimson glow
That the sunset casts on the spotless snow;
Nerved with the strength of wild despair,
Low at their feet she pours her prayer:

'My home! my home! is desolate,
For ye have slain them all,
And cast upon the light of Love
Death's cold and fearful pall.
We knelt in agony to save
My father's silver hair,
Ye would not mark the bitter tears,
Nor list the fran