IX.
The serpent writhes—his last convulsions these—
Beneath the foot that tramples his crushed head.
O Lady! worker of thy Son's decrees,
Thy Rome, thy Pius trust thee. Deign to shed
Thy gracious light, lone star of troubled seas,
At whose sweet ray the ancient darkness fled!
The serpent writhes beneath thee: deign to show
He is indeed the Woman's vanquished foe!
X.
This day we hymn thy victory; and claim
Thy prayer omnipotent. Nor let it rise
For us alone, that boast to love thy name,
But those, unhappy, that have dared despise!
Who came for them, by thee it was He came,
Through thee must break unclouded to their eyes.
Ah Mother's Heart! How long, then, wilt thou wait
Till all thy children sing "Immaculate"?
B. D. H.
VANSLEB, THE ORIENTAL SCHOLAR AND TRAVELLER.
"Le contraire des bruits qui courent des affaires et des hommes est souvent la vérité.
La justice qui nous est quelquefois refusée par nos contemporains, la postérité sait nous la rendre."[101]
La Bruyere.