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Show OUR. LITERARY TABLE "THE TALISMAN." Although the Age of Chivalry has passed, fiction still weaves upon : her loom, the shimmering web of romantic deeds wrought by gallant knights whose hearts have long since ceased to throb beneath their broken shields. No master hand has more skillfully taken up the threads of mediaeval and modern events or woven them into more elaborate designs upon the sombre background of history than Walter Scott. Though the first star of fiction to rise upon the horizon of the nineteenth century, the dawn of the twentieth still finds Walter Scott's brightness un-eclipsed un-eclipsed by the myriad hosts of lessor luminaries that adorn the literary heavens. Could the romancer have chosen a richer epoch in the world's history around which to weave his fancy than the Third CrUFade an f ;:i h in which the whole Christian world throbbed with the r-ame grand desire; de-sire; an epoch which shone with the deeds of chivalrous chival-rous knights and the virtures of unsullied womanhood; woman-hood; an epoch which could glory in the exploits of a " hero incapable of aught but the bravest and noblest of heroism? , Among that vast host of Crusaders, in whose heart did the noble cause of the combat burn with more unselfish fire than in that of Richard Plantagenet, the most colossal figure in "The Talisman." On the battlefield of that long-contested strife around -which -the story is -woven no more striking figures stand out as opposing element? than Galadin. the noblest type of the Mohammedan East, and Richard, Rich-ard, the ideal Goliath of the Christian West. Filled with the resoive of Christianity the noble resolve to keep sacred the land where the Day-Star of Redemption had risen. Richard the lion-hearted, the proudest boast of Europe, displays his Norman might and strength, which strangely contrasts with the keen alertness of his noble enemy, Saladin. Skillfully does "Scott illustrate the great conflict in the. incident of the mace and veil. Wielding his ponderous battle ax, Richard cleaves in twain the steel-mace as a woodman might sever a sapling from the, bough, while equally skilled in the Oriental craft of swordsmanship, Saladin lays his veil loosely1 across his saber while with exquisite dexterity he severs it in two with a single stroke. The real hero of the Talisman is David of Huntingdon', Hunt-ingdon', Scotland's heir, the story of whose career is interwoven with some of the finest touches of character char-acter portrayed a quality which places Walter Scott's novels pre-eminently above the average. Throughout the story this interesting character remains re-mains veiled under the unassuming title of "The Knight of the Sleeping Leopard," and as champion of the Christian faith he makes the luminous glory of the cross far outshine the fiery splendor of the crescent. What stronger parallel could be drawn between the belief of the Saracen scattering his love among the slaves who form his harem, and the Christian's faith which binds his love whole and entire to one noble woman, than Scott has drawn in the dialogue between Saladin and the Christian Knight at the fount of the Crystal Spring? In this scene the hero so ably defeats the arguments argu-ments of the infidel when he compares "the love which binds a true knight to one only fair and faithful, faith-ful, to the rem entire, while the scattered affection the infidel flings away among hi3 enslaved wives and half wedded slaves is worthless as the sparkling shiv- ,. ers of the broken diamond. t The thread of deepest interest running through the romance is the homage paid to the influence of true womanhood in the person of Edith Plantagenet, who is truly: modeled after the "Mother' Divjne," "'Our tainted nature's solitary boast." Did royalty ever place a diadem upon a worthier i head, of the blood of kings flow In nobler veins than Edith Plantagenet's? To her as the woman most worthy of a true knight's devotion the hero pays the homage of a noble heart, and to her he owes the noblest victories won over his weaker self. The character of the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, although viewed from a bigoted standpoint, gives a true picture of the evil engendered by a greed of wealth, which was undermining the very foundation founda-tion of an order once such a staunch pillar of the Christian faith. Although Scott, is as varied and original as the theme with Which his fancy deals, yet in none of his works .does he present a more striking picture of the past, tinted with the most brilliant hues of chivalry and romance, than in "The Talisman." When we consider the number of Scott's works and realize that his characters are never duplicated, we cannot fail to appreciate hi3 wonderful gift of story telling. What a glamour of romance surrounds the principal . characters that figured in the Third Crusade, particularly that of the villain, who is set ' forth with great dramatic force. Perhaps no other writer has rivaled Scott in bis power of blending- the realistic scenes of history with the imaginative pictures of fancy, which leave such an indelible impression on the mind. Who can forget the weird spell the "Wizard of, the North" casts around the midnight scene in the Hermit of Engaldis' cell. In this age, in which the novel plays so important a part on the stage of literature; lit-erature; since it is the form in which almost every author expresses his thoughts, whether they flow in the lighted streams of fiction, or in the deeper channels chan-nels of philosophy, the novels of , Walter Scott still enhance the brightness of the passing pageantry on the world-wide stage of literature. MARY DONAGHT, '04. Sacred Heart Academy, Ogden, Utah. . LAST OF MAY. In the mystical dim of the temple In the dream-haunted dim of the day, The sunlight spoke soft to the shadows . , nd said: "With my gold and your gray f Let us meet at the shrine of the Virgin, And ere her fair feast pass away, Let us weave there a mantle of glory To deck the last evening of May." The tapers were lit on the altar," .With garlands of lilies between, And the steps leading up to the statue Flashed bright with the roses red sheen; The sungleams came down from the heavens . Like angels, to hallo wthe scene. And they seemed to kneel down with the shadows That crept to the shrine of the Queen. The singers, their hearts in their voices, Had chanted the anthems of old, -And the last trembling wave of the Vespers On the far shores of silence had rolled. And there at the Queen-Virgin's altar The sun wove the mentle of gold. While the hands of the twilight were weaving A fringe for the flash of each fold. And wavelessly, in the deep silence. Three banners hung peaceful and low ' They bore the bright blue of the heavens. They wore the pure white of the snow And beneathsthem fair children were kneeling.V Whose faces, with graces aglow, ' . J Seemed 6inless, In land that is sinful, And woeless, in life full of woe. Their heads wore the veil of the lily. Their brows wore the wreath of the rose, And their hearts, like their flutterless banners, Were stilled in a holy repose. Their shadowless eyes were uplifted. Whole glad gaae would never disclose .That from eyes that are most like the heaven3 The dark rain of teat s soonest flows. ' - The banners were borne to the railing, A. ' Beneath them a group from paeh bqp.v I And they bent their bright f..H3 f,n- tv biX,-, I That fell from the priests lifted hivi1"1 ' I Aud he signed the three fair, siik-n srHnH.Url3 1 "i With a sign never foe c.,ulrl v. it 'nyt.-in, i 3 I What stirred them? The breeze of th-' ..'. . Or a breath from the far angel-!,iri,i ; 'a"'s' Then came, two by two, to the ;iit ir i The young and the pure and tho W.r, Their faces the mirror of heaven. Their hands Mcled meekly in ..... .. .They came for- simple blue ribhot:. " For love of Christ's Mother t" v i;-Aml i;-Aml I believe with the ehildr-n of M i : .- The angels of Mary were there. Ah. faith! simple faith of the rhii ir--' You still shame the faith f the ...i..-;-Ah. love! simple love -of tho- little. You still warm the love .if the ml.;-And ml.;-And the beautiful God who is wand. Far out in the .vorhl's dreary wor' I. I Finds a home in the hearts uf th- chil.ir. ?i And a rest with the Iambs' ..f the f.yl. r Swept a voice, whs it uafui! (-n h.'-av.- ri? Heard you ever the sea when it sit c;s. i Where it sleeps on the she re in the runt-nr.: " f Heard you ever tho- hymns the hre,v,,. ,v:,z f From the hearts of a thousand bright suin . j " Heard you ever the bird, when she yon ; -; ' To th clouds, till she seems t be ,,n!y A song of a shadow on 'wings? Came a voter; and an Ave Mari Rose out of a heart rapture-thrilled. And in the embrace of its music The souls of a thousand lay stilled. j A voice with the tones of an angel 1 I Never flower such a sweetness distilled, f It faded away but the temple r With its perfume of worship was filled. ? S ; Then back to the Queen Virgin's altar The white veils swept on, two by two; And the holiest halo of heaven Flashed out from the ribbons of blue: And they laid down the wreaths of the rosos j Whose hearts were as puie as their hue: - Ah! they to the Christ are the truest. Whose loves to the Mother are true! And thus, in the dim of the temple. In the dream-haunted dim of the day. The angels and Children of Mary Met ere their Queen's feast passed a war. Where the sungleams knelt down with th -shadows. And wove with their gold and their gray A mantle of grace and of glory For the last lovely evening of May. Father Abram J. Ryan. THE TWO-FOLI MAY. BY REV. PATRICK CRONIN. Thy merry welcome, gladsome May. The wild birds all are sweetly singing'. And every village heart today Is joyous where thy flowers are springing. Oh, where hast thou been all the year? ; Day dreaming in thy home of roses? Or swelling youthful hearts anear . . To breathe the sigh that love discloses? Full brightly gleams thy robe of green. j-uu Drigntiy gleams rny rooe or green. And soft thy young cheek freshly glowing: - The wild flowers all proclaim thee Queen s And crown thy golden tresses flowing. Oh. make thy home no mare afar: We'll wreathe thee here a fairy fountain, ! And light it with the evening star j ' When twilight steals adown the mountain. I Remain, the lonely home to cheer: Remain, the gloomful path to brighten; Remain to dry the mourner's tear And many a weary heart to lighten. Ah. sweetest May, whose pleasures bring My wandering thoughts to hours long perisheS, Where, oh, w here is my lost spring. The friends I loved, the hopes I cherished? ' Alas! they come not in the breeze. With merry laugh or blowing roses! I Nor in the flow'ring orchard trees, Where mute at eve the bird reposes. Another May, then, will I woo. Another purer, rarer maiden: -TMy springtime hopes, ah! she'll renew. And soothe this heart with sorrow laden. Her songs breathe not the purple wine, Her roses bloom to wither never; Her joy, her love, are not like thine, To please awhile, then pain forever. To yonder dome of starry blue. Where sweetly dwells this Queen of Ocean, Shall hence arise my song anew. Shall hence ascend my soul's devotion. And She, this restless heart of clay . Will sweetly soothe beyond all other; And she shall be my fadeless May . . ', Mary, Jesu's Virgin Mother! |
