474

THE ORGAN OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

Than to ride, without blood, to the north
Brazos side,

And await her,—and wait till the next hollow

moon

And the howling of beasts like the sound of thunder,

Beasts burning and blind and forced onward and over,

Hung her horn in the palms, when surely As the passionate flame reached around them

and soon

And swift she would join me, and all would

be well

Without bloodshed or word. And now as

she fell

From the front, and went down in the ocean
of fire,

The last that I saw was a look of delight
That I should escape,-a love,-a desire,—
Yet never a word, not a look of appeal,—
Lest I should reach hand, should stay hand
or stay heel

One instant for her in my terrible flight.

Then the rushing of fire rose around me and under,

and wove her

Hands in their hair, and kissed hot till they

died,

Till they died with a wild and a desolate

moan,

As a sea heart-broken on the hard brown
stone,

And into the Brazos I rode all alone-
All alone, save only a horse long-limbed,
And blind and bare and burnt to the skin.
Then just as the terrible sea came in
And tumbled its thousands hot into the tide,
Till the tide blocked up and the swift stream
brimmed

In eddies, we struck on the opposite side.

T

THE ORGAN OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

HE sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the abbey. I could only hear, now and then, the distant voice of the priest repeating the evening service, and the faint responses of the choir; these paused for a time, and all was hushed. The stillness, the desertion and obscurity that were gradually prevailing around, gave a deeper and more solemn interest to the place:

For in the silent grave no conversation,

No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers,
No careful father's counsel-nothing's heard,
For nothing is, but all oblivion,

Dust, and an endless darkness.

Suddenly the notes of the deep-laboring organ burst upon the ear, falling with doubled and redoubled intensity, and rolling, as it were, huge billows of sound. How well do their volume and grandeur accord with this mighty building! With what pomp do they swell through its vast vaults, and breathe their awful harmony through these caves of death, and make the silent sepulchre vocal! And now they rise in triumph and acclamation, heaving higher and higher their accordant notes, and piling