[Footnote 1: La Harpe said that these last twenty lines were the most beautiful verses in the French tongue. They necessarily lose considerably in the translation.] REQUIEM ÆTERNAM. T. D. MCGEE. [This beautiful requiem, written March 6th, 1868 (St. Victor's Day), on the death of an intimate friend, acquires a new pathos and a new solemnity, from the fact that its gifted author met his death at the hands of an assassin but one month later, on the 7th of April of the same year. Like Mozart, he wrote his own requiem] Saint Victor's Day, a day of woe, The bier that bore our dead went slow And silent gliding o'er the snow-- _Miserere Domine!_ With Villa Maria's faithful dead, Among the just we make his bed, The cross, he loved, to shield his head-- _Miserere Domine!_ The skies may lower, wild storms may rave Above our comrade's mountain grave, That cross is mighty still to save-- _Miserere Domine!_ Deaf to the calls of love and care, He bears no more his mortal share, Nought can avail him now but prayer-- _Miserere Domine!_ To such a heart who could refuse Just payment of all burial dues, Of Holy Church the rite and use? _Miserere Domine!_ Right solemnly the Mass was said, While burn'd the tapers round the dead, And manly tears like rain were shed-- _Miserere Domine!_ No more St. Patrick's aisles prolong The burden of his funeral song, His noiseless night must now be long-- _Miserere Domine!_ Up from the depths we heard arise A prayer of pity to the skies, To Him who dooms or justifies-- _Miserere Domine!_ Down from the skies we heard descend The promises the Psalmist penned, The benedictions without end-- _Miserere Domine!_ Mighty our Holy Church's will To shield her parting souls from ill, Jealous of Death, she guards them still-- _Miserere Domine!_ The dearest friend will turn away, And leave the clay to keep the clay, Ever and ever she will stay-- _Miserere Domine!_ When for us sinners at our need, That mother's voice is raised to plead, The frontier hosts of heaven 'take heed-- _Miserere Domine!_ Mother of Love! Mother of fear, And holy Hope, and Wisdom dear, Behold we bring thy suppliant here-- _Miserere Domine!_ His glowing heart is still for aye, That held fast by thy clemency, Oh! look on him with loving eye-- _Miserere Domine!_ His Faith was as the tested gold, His Hope assured, not over-bold, His Charities past count, untold-- _Miserere Domine!_ Well may they grieve who laid him there, Where shall they find his equal--where? Nought can avail him now but prayer-- _Miserere Domine!_ Friend of my soul, farewell to thee! Thy truth, thy trust, thy chivalry; As thine? so may my last end be! _Miserere Domine!_ APPENDIX ASSOCIATION OF MASSES AND STATIONS OF THE CROSS FOR THE BELIEF OF THE HOLY SOULS.