“‘And since of deadly deeds he sang Above him we will sing The Death that saved: and we from him Will keep the gadfly’s wing. “‘For him an age, for us an hour, Here, like a cradled child, Shall sleep the man whose hand was red, Whose heart was undefiled.’ “Patrick! That vision, was it truth? Or fancy’s mocking gleam? That I should tarry till He came-- ’Twas not, ’twas not a dream! “And wondrous is mine age, I know; For whiter than the thorn Was this once-honored head before The men now white were born: “And on my Oscar’s grave three elms Have risen: and mouldered three: And on my father’s grave, the oak Is now a hollow tree.” Then said the monks, “His brain is hurt”: But Patrick said, “They lie! Thou God that lov’st thy gray-haired child, Would I for him might die!” And Patrick cried, “Oisin! the thirst Of God is in thy breast! He who has dealt thy heart the wound Ere long will give it rest!” FOOTNOTE: [57] Pronounced _Oiseen_. A JEWISH CONVERT: A REMINISCENCE OF VIENNA. Among the pleasant capitals of Europe through which a long tour carried the writer of this sketch, one of the most brilliant is Vienna. It has many associations of genius to consecrate it; Mozart and Beethoven, not to mention many lesser princes of music, found there both home and appreciation; it has been the resort of elegance, the _rendezvous_ of talent, the paradise of diplomacy, even while graver ecclesiastical and historical events have centred in it. It has its old cathedral, which, though disfigured by some unfortunate internal bungling of the style of the Renaissance, nevertheless has not lost its impression of religious solemnity, heightened by the deep, narrow, and sombre choir with the wonderful windows of old stained glass. Inimitable and unapproachable even in its fragmentary state, this old glass is perhaps the most interesting thing in the old church of St. Stephen, if we except the stone pulpit, cunningly carved and placed in a recess of the exterior wall of the building, the pulpit from which, so runs Viennese tradition, the second Crusade was publicly preached. There is among the records of the foundations at St. Stephen’s one that sets forth the desire and prayer of the people, during a pestilence in the middle ages, that a Mass should be daily offered in that church for the cessation of the epidemic. Tradition says that a great wind arose, and the pestilence was stopped. The Mass, however, continues to be said daily, and it certainly is a remarkable fact that there is not one day in the year, summer or winter, wet or dry, when the wind does not blow in Vienna. The Austrian capital, however, has yet more interesting associations for us than are called up by the cathedral, and the many other monuments and chapels by which it is historically distinguished.