And on its pathway blest The ransomed throng, in garments washed and white, May safely pass to love's fair realm of light, To heaven's perfect rest. THE FEAST OF ALL SOULS IS THE COUNTRY. _From the French of Fontanes_. [1] [Footnote 1: Louis, Marquis de Fontanes, Peer of France, and Member of the French Academy.] ANNA T. SADLIER E'en now doth Sagittarius from on high, Outstretch his bow, and ravage all the earth, The hills, and meadows where of flowers the dearth Already felt, like some vast ruins lie. The bleak November counts its primal day, While I, a witness of the year's decline, Glad of my rest, within the fields recline. No poet heart this beauty can gainsay, No feeling mind these autumn pictures scorn, But knows how their monotonous charms adorn. Oh, with what joy does dreamy sorrow stray At eve, slow pacing, the dun-colored vale; He seeks the yellow woods, and hears the tale Of winds that strip them of their lonely leaves; For this low murmur all my sense deceives. In rustling forests do I seem to hear Those voices long since still, to me most dear. In leaves grown sere they speak unto my heart. This season round the coffin-lid we press, Religion wears herself a mourning dress, More grand she seems, while her diviner part At sight of this, a world in ruins, grows. To-day a pious usage she has taught, Her voice opens vaults wherein our fathers dwell. Alas, my memory doth keep that thought. The dawn appeareth, and the swaying bell Mingles its mournful sound with whistling winds, The Feast of Death proclaiming to the air. Men, women, children, to the Church repair, Where one, with speech and with example binds These happy tribes, maintaining all in peace. He follows them, the first apostles, near, Like them the pastor's holy name makes dear. "With hymns of joy," said he, "but yesterday We celebrated the triumphant dead Who conquer'd heav'n by burning zeal, faith-fed. For plaintive shades, whom sorrow makes his prey We weep to-day, our mourning is their bliss, All potent prayer is privileged in this, Souls purified from sin by transient pain It frees; we'll visit their most calm domain. Man seeks it, and descends there every hour. But dry our tears, for now celestial rays The grave's dim region swift shall penetrate; Yea, all its dwellers in their primal state Shall wake, behold the light in mute amaze. Ah, might I to that world my flight then wing In triumph to my God, my flock recovered bring."