POETRY.
THE ARCHBISHOP OF BELGRADE.
HE raised his reverend hands to Heaven, and blessed
The kneeling murderers with unfaltering tongue : The robes of peace he wore, and on his breast The golden sign of our redemption hung.
From those calm skies no sudden lightnings broke ; Justice awhile her righteous doom delayed ; And underneath the cloud of incense smoke The assassins still knelt, smiling, unafraid.
Yet these were they whose coward arms had wrought.
The foulest act that stains our later time ; And reeking from their work they came and sought Their Primate's benediction on that crime.
For though no flaming scourge their guilt chastise, And unavenged yon helpless victims bleed; Though Servia's folk look on with alien eyes, And some approve, and all condone, the deed : These pious souls desire one sanction more, And, ill-content, for holier warrant yearn,— The Church must praise her servants' zeal before Untroubled peace may to their hearts return.
And so in Belgrade's minster, yesterday, A priest of Christ those midnight murderers blessed ; And Christ's own cross upon his bosom lay, And left no brand upon the traitor's breast !
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