“Most Just and Merciful, set free
From Purgatory’s awful night
This sinner’s soul, to fly to Thee,
And rest for ever in Thy sight.”
The Mass 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 Mass for my soul’s release,
To save the torture of all those years?”
“God rest you, brother,” the good priest said,
“No years have passed—but a single night.”
He showed the body uncoffinèd,
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 passed to rest—
“God save your soul from a night so long.”
THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE BLACK HOUND
Who knocks at the Geraldine’s door to-night
In the black storm and the rain?
With the thunder crash and the shrieking wind
Comes the moan of a creature’s pain.
And once they knocked, yet never a stir
To show that the Geraldine knew;
And twice they knocked, yet never a bolt
The listening Geraldine drew.