Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, was brought to the court of the King, (Monarch of Leinster, MacEnda, whose praises the poets would sing). “Hither, O monarch,” said Duffy, “I’ve come with a maiden to sell; Buy her and bind her to bondage--she’s needing such discipline well!” Ah, but ’twas wise was the King. From the maid to the chieftain he turned; Mildness he saw in her face, in the other ’twas anger that burned; “This is no bondmaid, I’ll swear it, O chief, but a girl of your own. Why sells the father the flesh of his flesh and the bone of his bone?” Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, was mute while her father replied-- “Monarch, this maid has no place as the child of a chieftain of pride. Beggars and wretches whose wounds would the soul of a soldier affright, Sure, ’tis on these she is wasting my substance from morning till night!” Ah, but ’twas bitter was Duffy; he spoke like a man that was vext. Musing, the monarch was silent; he pondered the question perplexed. “Maiden,” said he, “if ’tis true, as I’ve just from your father heard tell, Might it not be, as my bondmaid, you’d waste all my substance as well?” Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, made answer. “O monarch,” she said, “Had I the wealth from your coffers, and had I the crown from your head-- Yea, if the plentiful yield of the broad breasts of Erin were mine, All would I give to the people of Christ who in poverty pine.” Ah, but ’twas then that the King felt the heart in his bosom upleap, “I am not worthy,” he cried, “such a maiden in bondage to keep! Here’s a king’s sword for her ransom, and here’s a king’s word to decree Never to other than Christ and His poor let her servitude be!” ROSA MYSTICA BY DENIS A. MCCARTHY O Mystic Rose, in God’s fair garden growing, O Mystic Rose, in Heaven’s high courtyard blowing-- Make sweet, make sweet the pathway I am going, O Mystic Rose! The darkling, deathward way that I am going, O Mystic Rose! O Rose, more white than snow-wreath in December! O Rose, more red than sunset’s dying ember, My sins forget, my penitence remember, O Mystic Rose! Though all should fail, I pray that thou remember, O Mystic Rose! O Mystic Rose, the moments fly with fleetness; To judgment I, with all my incompleteness-- But thou, make intercession by thy sweetness, O Mystic Rose! Be near to soothe and save me by the sweetness, O Mystic Rose! THE POOR MAN’S DAILY BREAD BY DENIS A. MCCARTHY Not only there where jewelled vestments blaze, And princely prelates bow before Thy shrine, Where myriads line the swept and garnished ways Through which is borne Thy Majesty Divine-- O Jesus of the ever loving heart, Not only there Thou art!