"ULULU! ululu! wail for the dead, Green grow the grass of Fingal on his head; And spring-flowers blossom, ere elsewhere appearing, And shamrocks grow thick on the martyr for Erin. Ululu! ululu! soft fall the dew On the feet and the head of the martyred and true." For a while they tread In silence dread-- Then muttering and moaning go the crowd, Surging and swaying like mountain cloud, And again the wail comes wild and loud. "Ululu! ululu! kind was his heart! Walk slower, walk slower, too soon we shall part. The faithful and pious, the Priest of the Lord, His pilgrimage over, he has his reward. "By the bed of the sick, lowly kneeling, To God with the raised cross appealing-- He seems still to kneel, and he seems still to pray, And the sins of the dying seem passing away. "In the prisoner's cell, and the cabin so dreary, Our constant consoler, he never grew weary; But he's gone to his rest, And he's now with the blest, Where tyrant and traitor no longer molest-- Ululu! ululu! wail for the dead! Ululu! ululu! here is his bed." Short was the ritual, simple the prayer, Deep was the silence, and every head bare; The Priest alone standing, they knelt all around, Myriads on myriads, like rocks on the ground. Kneeling and motionless.-- "Dust unto dust." "He died as becometh the faithful and just-- Placing in God his reliance and trust;" Kneeling and motionless-- "Ashes to ashes"-- Hollow the clay on the coffin-lid dashes; Kneeling and motionless, wildly they pray, But they pray in their souls, for no gesture have they-- Stern and standing--oh! look on them now! Like trees to one tempest the multitude bow. HYMN FOR THE DEAD. NEWMAN. Help, Lord, the souls which Thou hast made, The souls to Thee so dear, In prison, for the debt unpaid Of sins committed here. Those holy souls, they suffer on, Resign'd in heart and will, Until Thy high behest is done, And justice has its fill. For daily falls, for pardon'd crime, They joy to undergo The shadow of Thy cross sublime, The remnant of Thy woe. Help, Lord, the souls which Thou hast made, The souls to Thee so dear, In prison, for the debt unpaid Of sins committed here. Oh! by their patience of delay, Their hope amid their pain, Their sacred zeal to burn away Disfigurement and stain; Oh! by their fire of love, not less In keenness than the flame, Oh! by their very helplessness, Oh! by Thy own great Name, Good Jesu, help! sweet Jesu, aid The souls to Thee most dear, In prison, for the debt unpaid Of sins committed here. THE TWO STUDENTS. The Abbé de Saint Pierre, says Collin de Plancy, has given a long account, in his works, of a singular occurrence which took place in 1697, and which we are inclined to relate here: