DEFENCE OF PRA DEL TOR.

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gorge in which the Piedmontese army was imprisoned. Tearing up the great stones with which the hill-side was strewn, the Vaudois sent them

rolling down upon the host. Unable to advance from the wall of dead in front, and unable to flee from the ever accumulating masses behind, the

692

THE CHILDREN'S CHURCH.

soldiers were crushed in dozens by the falling rocks. Panic set in; and famine in such a position was dreadful. Wedged together on the narrow ledge, with a murderous rain of rocks falling on them, their struggles to escape was frightful. They jostled one another, and trod each other under foot, while vast numbers fell over the precipice, and were dashed on the rocks or drowned in the torrent.

When those at the entrance of the valley who were watching the result saw the crystal of the Angrogna begin about midday to be changed into blood, "Ah!" said they, "the Pra del Tor has been taken; La Trinita has triumphed; then flows the blood of the Vaudois." And, indeed, the Count on beginning his march that morning is said to have boasted that by noon the torrent of the Angrogna would be seen to change color; and so in truth it did. Instead of a pellucid stream, rolling along on a white gravelly bed, which is its usual appearance at the mouth of the valley, it was now deeply dyed from recent slaughter. But when the few who had escaped the catastrophe returned to tell what had that day passed within the defiles of the Angrogna, it was seen that it was not the blood of the Vaudois, but the blood of the ruthless invaders, which dyed the waters of the Angrogna. The Count withdrew on that same night, to return no more to the Valley.

T

THE CHILDREN'S CHURCH.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF PAUL GEROT.

HE bells of the church are ringing,
Papa and mamma are both gone;
And three little children sit singing
Together this still Sunday morn.

While the bells toll away in the steeple,
Though too small to sit still in a pew,
These busy, religious small people
Determined to have their church too.

So as free as the birds or the breezes
By which their fair ringlets are fanned,
Each rogue sings away as he pleases,
With book upside-down in his hand.
Their hymn has no sense in its letter,

Their music no rythm nor tune;
Our worship perhaps may be better,

But theirs reaches God quite as soon.

Their angels stand close to the Father,

His Heaven is made bright by these

flowers;

And the dear God above us would rather

Hear praise from their lips than from ours.

Sing on, little children, your voices

Fill the air with contentment and love;
All nature around you rejoices

And the birds warble sweetly above.
Sing on, for the proudest orations,

The liturgies sacred and long,
The anthems and worship of nations
Are poor, to your innocent song.
Sing on: our devotion is colder,

Though wisely our prayers may be planned,
For often we, too, who are older,

Hold our book the wrong way in our hand.

And the tide drifts the sea-sand in the streets Of the drowned city. Thou, meanwhile, afar

In the green chambers of the middle sea, Where broadest spread the waters and the line

Sinks deepest, while no eye beholds thy
work,

Creator! thou dost teach the coral worm
To lay his mighty reefs. From age to age,
He builds beneath the waters, till, at last,
His bulwarks overtop the brine, and check
The long wave rolling from the southern
pole

Welters in shallows, headlands crumble down, To break upon Japan.

With the three charms of riches, beauty, Week followed week, and, it must be confest,

dress,

He did not, as he ought,

The bridegroom and the bride had both been blest:

Think of aught else; so no inquiry made he Month after month had languidly transpired. As to the temper of the lady.

And here was certainly a great omission;

None should accept of Hymen's gentle fet

ter,

"For worse or better,"

Both parties became tired:
Year after year dragged on;
Their happiness was gone.

Ah! foolish pair!
"Bear and forbear,"

Why, husband, are you deaf? Go to the "Sir," said the husband "it is most true;