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"
The Knight withdrew abashed; the people all
Led home the steed in triumph to his stall.
The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee,
And cried aloud: "Right well it pleaseth me!
Church-bells at best but ring us to the door;
But go not into mass; my bell doth more:
It cometh into court and pleads the cause
Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws;
And this shall make, in every Christian clime,
The Bell of Atri famous for all time."


THE STORM.
BY ADELAIDE PROCTOR.

The tempest rages wild and high,
The waves lift up their voice and cry
Fierce answers to the angry sky,--
Miserere Domine.
Through the black night and driving rain,
A ship is struggling, all in vain
To live upon the stormy main;--
Miserere Domine.
The thunders roar, the lightnings glare,
Vain is it now to strive or dare;
A cry goes up of great despair,--
Miserere Domine.
The stormy voices of the main,
The moaning wind, the pelting rain
Beat on the nursery window pane:--
Miserere Domine.


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