Here was a case for the priest: he heard,
Marked, inwardly digested, laid
Finger on nose, smiled, "A little bird
Chirps in my ear:" then, "Bring a spade.
Dig deeper!"—he gave the word.

And lo! when they came to the coffin-lid,
Or the rotten planks which composed it once.
Why, there lay the girl's skull wedged amid
A mint of money, it served for the nonce
To hold in its hair-heaps hid.

Louis-d'ors, some six times five;
And duly double, every piece.
Now, do you see? With the priest to shrive.
With parents preventing her soul's release
By kisses that keep alive,—

With Heaven's gold gates about to ope,
With friends' praise, gold-like, lingering still,
What instinct had bidden the girl's hand grope
For gold, the true sort—"Gold in Heaven, I hope;
But I keep earth's, if God will!"