LAYS OF THE SAINTLY.

BY THE LONDON HERMIT,

AUTHOR OF "SONGS OF SINGULARITY," "PEEPS AT LIFE, &c.

No. 5.-ST. GENEVIÈVE.

O, PARIS! Paris! when thy masked balls

Fill with the young and gay, the fair and frail,
To revel thro' the night in dazzling halls
Where virtue certainly doth not prevail;
When thousands play-wards on the Sabbath flock,
To see the last new "spicy" bouffe or ballet,
To drink in Hervé, Offenbach, Lecocq,

And chuckle o'er each too-suggestive sally;
When pert cocottes, supreme in gilded vice,
Along the streets their tinsel splendours flaunt,
And all that's "naughty" is so far from "nice
As to obtrude in every public haunt,-
Who would suppose thou hast for patroness
A virgin Saint of wondrous holy living?
If she can know thee, yet protect and bless,
Her nature must indeed be most forgiving!

I.

St. Geneviève was nurtur'd in Nanterre,
In the fifth century; and 'neath the wing
Of great St. Germain, Bishop of Auxerre,
Her holy growth progress'd with rapid spring;
The angels of the skies,
Rejoicing in her birth,
Therein did recognize

A sister come on earth;

And so they made a rare
"Fête extraordinaire;"

They set the planets whirling

In mazy dance,

All over France,

Like girls that follow Girling;

Angelic lights

(So Giry writes)

Jump'd thro' the clouds quite frisky,

As if the Deuce

Had broken loose,

And taken-too much whisky!

No wonder by such deeds our Saint's renown
Soon burst the limits of her native town.
At home she was beset with sordid cares,
Her mundane mother saw that her affairs
Domestic suffer'd from the girl's neglect,
To this Gerontia strongly did object,
Forbade her going to church six times a week,
And, on remonstrance, slapp'd her on the cheek:

Such sacrilege unpunish'd could not go,
That slap was answer'd by a harder blow;
For Dame Gerontia soon was stricken blind,
And for two years in total darkness pined;

Till Geneviève, by prayer, her sight restored.

Her parents saw they could no more afford
To thwart a child so back'd by Heaven's grace:
They let her a monastic life embrace.

IV.

A beldame " came down like a wolf on the fold,"
Stole Geneviève's sandals, so holey and old,

And "toted them home," where this naughty old soul
Became on a sudden as blind as a mole;

'Twas fearful to witness her horror and fright,
For blindness at best is a terrible sight;
She took up the shoes, not to sell or to "swop"
With travelling Jew or at pawnbroker's shop,
But back to the owner, and own'd to the theft,
And begg'd for the sense which her vengeance had reft.
Kind Geneviève never such plea could refuse—
"I'll give you your sight if you'll give me my shoes,"
And added, while pulling one on with a strain,
"Mind, don't put your foot in it this way again!

V.

So fared many more 'gainst the Saint who transgress'd.
One woman-no doubt by the demon possess'd—
With deep curiosity ventured to pry

Where, closely conceal'd from humanity's eye,

The maid had withdrawn to her sanctum sanctorum.
The eyes of the spy felt a darkness come o'er 'em,

And not till her Saintship came out of her cell

The sinner was freed from the terrible spell;

That sanctified hand scarce her forehead had cross'd

Ere came in perfection the sight she had lost.

On other occasions did blindness descend

On those who St. Geneviève chanced to offend;

Whilst those, we suppose, who most pleased her, she blest With sharpness of vision beyond all the rest.

VI.

Success on earth, too well we know,
Arouseth green-eyed jealousie ;
"Tho' chaste as ice and pure as snow,"
From slander none are wholly free.

Evil with good its war will wage

And till the Right its foe shall quell, Make earth the Devil's acting-stage, The battlefield of heaven and hell;

So Geneviève, so good and pure,

Was even branded as impostor,
And ere she made her footing sure,

What pain and anguish did it cost her!
But virtue in the end must win,
However sinners may resist,

Anon the maid rejoiced in

The love of every pietist;

Pupils were placed beneath her care,
And nuns she train'd in holy ways,
While godly people everywhere

Pronounced her name with reverent praise;
Far nations saw with great content

The heavenly radiance that did fill ber,

And our old friend Stylites sent

His blessing-posted at his pillar.

VII.

The virtues of St. Geneviève,

Her power and fame among the French,

So made the Devil fume and rave,

He long'd her holy star to quench;

He did put out her candle's light,

And when she came, the church was dark; She touch'd the wick, which soon was bright, Relumed as by some heavenly spark,

For Geneviève possess'd the gift

Of making fire by touch alone;

Such privilege conduced to thrift,

For May and Bryant were unknown,

Tho' Lucifer, call'd otherwise "Old Scratch,"
Burnt freely, yet he seldom found his match.

VIII.

The Devil he sat on a flask of oil,

A practical joke loved he,

And deem'd all mortals his lawful spoil;

So laugh'd to himself in glee,

To think of the girl who carried the cruet;

"O wouldn't she drop me and run if she knew it!"

For he wore his best invisible coat;

But soon he alter'd his joysome note—

A little way off from his moving perch

St. Geneviève stood at the door of her church,

And Satan trembled in every limb,

For Geneviève's eyes were fix'd on him.