The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth LongfellowPart 21 out of 32
Feed my sheep. When thou wast young thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst Whither thou wouldst; but when thou shalt be old, Thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and other men Shall gird and carry thee whither thou wouldst not. Follow thou me! JOHN, aside. It is a prophecy Of what death he shall die. PETER, pointing to JOHN. Tell me, O Lord, And what shall this man do? CHRISTUS. And if I will He tarry till I come, what is it to thee? Follow thou me! PETER. Yea, I will follow thee, dear Lord and Master! Will follow thee through fasting and temptation, Through all thine agony and bloody sweat, Thy cross and passion, even unto death! EPILOGUE SYMBOLUM APOSTOLORUM PETER. I believe in God the Father Almighty; JOHN. Maker of heaven and Earth; JAMES. And in Jesus Christ his only Son, our Lord; ANDREW. Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary; PHILIP. Suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; THOMAS. And the third day He rose again from the dead; BARTHOLOMEW. He ascended into Heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; MATTHEW. From thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead. JAMES, THE SON OF ALFHEUS. I believe in the Holy Ghost; the holy Catholic Church; SIMON ZELOTES. The communion of Saints; the forgiveness of sins; JUDE. The resurrection of the body; MATTHIAS. And the Life Everlasting. FIRST INTERLUDE THE ABBOT JOACHIM A ROOM IN THE CONVENT OF FLORA IN CALABRIA. NIGHT. JOACHIM. The wind is rising; it seizes and shakes The doors and window-blinds and makes Mysterious moanings in the halls; The convent-chimneys seem almost The trumpets of some heavenly host, Setting its watch upon our walls! Where it listeth, there it bloweth; We hear the sound, but no man knoweth Whence it cometh or whither it goeth, And thus it is with the Holy Ghost. O breath of God! O my delight In many a vigil of the night, Like the great voice in Patmos heard By John, the Evangelist of the Word, I hear thee behind me saying: Write In a book the things that thou hast seen, The things that are, and that have been, And the things that shall hereafter be! This convent, on the rocky crest Of the Calabrian hills, to me A Patmos is wherein I rest; While round about me like a sea The white mists roll, and overflow The world that lies unseen below In darkness and in mystery. Here in the Spirit, in the vast Embrace of God's encircling arm, Am I uplifted from all harm The world seems something far away, Something belonging to the Past, A hostelry, a peasant's farm, That lodged me for a night or day, In which I care not to remain, Nor, having left, to see again. Thus, in the hollow of Gods hand I dwelt on sacred Tabor's height, When as a simple acolyte I journeyed to the Holy Land, A pilgrim for my master's sake, And saw the Galilean Lake, And walked through many a village street That once had echoed to his feet. There first I heard the great command, The voice behind me saying: Write! And suddenly my soul became Illumined by a flash of flame, That left imprinted on my thought The image I in vain had sought, And which forever shall remain; As sometimes from these windows high, Gazing at midnight on the sky Black with a storm of wind and rain, I have beheld a sudden glare Of lightning lay the landscape bare, With tower and town and hill and plain Distinct and burnt into my brain, Never to be effaced again! And I have written. These volumes three, The Apocalypse, the Harmony Of the Sacred Scriptures, new and old, And the Psalter with Ten Strings, enfold Within their pages, all and each, The Eternal Gospel that I teach. Well I remember the Kingdom of Heaven Hath been likened to a little leaven Hidden in two measures of meal, Until it leavened the whole mass; So likewise will it come to pass With the doctrines that I here conceal. Open and manifest to me The truth appears, and must be told; All sacred mysteries are threefold; Three Persons in the Trinity, Three ages of Humanity, And holy Scriptures likewise three, Of Fear, of Wisdom, and of Love; For Wisdom that begins in Fear Endeth in Love; the atmosphere In which the soul delights to be And finds that perfect liberty Which cometh only from above. In the first Age, the early prime And dawn of all historic time, The Father reigned; and face to face He spake with the primeval race. Bright Angels, on his errands sent, Sat with the patriarch in his tent; His prophets thundered in the street; His lightnings flashed, his hailstorms beat; In earthquake and in flood and flame, In tempest and in cloud He came! The fear of God is in his Book; The pages of the Pentateuch Are full of the terror of his name. Then reigned the Son; his Covenant Was peace on earth, good-will to man; With Him the reign of Law began. He was the Wisdom and the Word, And sent his Angels Ministrant, Unterrified and undeterred, To rescue souls forlorn and lost, The troubled, tempted, tempest-tost To heal, to comfort, and to teach. The fiery tongues of Pentecost His symbols were, that they should preach In every form of human speech From continent to continent. He is the Light Divine, whose rays Across the thousand years unspent Shine through the darkness of our days, And touch with their celestial fires Our churches and our convent spires. His Book is the New Testament. These Ages now are of the Past; And the Third Age begins at last. The coming of the Holy Ghost, The reign of Grace, the reign of Love Brightens the mountain-tops above, And the dark outline of the coast. Already the whole land is white With Convent walls, as if by night A snow had fallen on hill and height! Already from the streets and marts Of town and traffic, and low cares, Men climb the consecrated stairs With weary feet, and bleeding hearts; And leave the world and its delights, Its passions, struggles, and despairs, For contemplation and for prayers In cloister-cells of coenobites. Eternal benedictions rest Upon thy name, Saint Benedict! Founder of convents in the West, Who built on Mount Cassino's crest In the Land of Labor, thine eagle's nest! May I be found not derelict In aught of faith or godly fear, If I have written, in many a page, The Gospel of the coming age, The Eternal Gospel men shall hear. Oh may I live resembling thee, And die at last as thou hast died; So that hereafter men may see, Within the choir, a form of air, Standing with arms outstretched in prayer, As one that hath been crucified! My work is finished; I am strong In faith and hope and charity; For I have written the things I see, The things that have been and shall be, Conscious of right, nor fearing wrong; Because I am in love with Love, And the sole thing I hate is Hate; For Hate is death; and Love is life, A peace, a splendor from above; And Hate, a never-ending strife, A smoke, a blackness from the abyss Where unclean serpents coil and hiss! Love is the Holy Ghost within Hate the unpardonable sin! Who preaches otherwise than this Betrays his Master with a kiss! PART TWO THE GOLDEN LEGEND PROLOGUE THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL Night and storm. LUCIFER, with the Powers of the Air, trying to tear down the Cross. LUCIFER. Hasten! hasten! O ye spirits! From its station drag the ponderous Cross of iron, that to mock us Is uplifted high in air! VOICES. Oh, we cannot! For around it All the Saints and Guardian Angels Throng in legions to protect it; They defeat us everywhere! THE BELLS. Laudo Deum verum! Plebem voco! Congrego clerum! LUCIFER. Lower! lower! Hover downward! Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and Clashing, clanging to the pavement, Hurl them from their windy tower. VOICES. All thy thunders Here are harmless! For these bells have been anointed, And baptized with holy water! They defy our utmost power. THE BELLS. Defunctos ploro! Pestem fugo! Festa decoro! LUCIFER. Shake the casements! Break the painted Panes, that flame with gold and crimson; Scatter them like leaves of Autumn, Swept away before the blast! VOICES. Oh, we cannot! The Archangel Michael flames from every window, With the sword of fire that drove us Headlong, out of heaven, aghast! THE BELLS. Funera plango! Fulgura frango! Sabbata pango! LUCIFER. Aim your lightnings At the oaken, Massive, iron-studded portals! Sack the house of God, and scatter Wide the ashes of the dead! VOICES. Oh, we cannot! The Apostles And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, Stand as warders at the entrance, Stand as sentinels o'erhead! THE BELLS. Excito lentos! Dissipo ventos! Paco cruentos! LUCIFER. Baffled! baffled! Inefficient, Craven spirits! leave this labor Unto time, the great Destroyer! Come away, ere night is gone! VOICES. Onward! onward! With the night-wind, Over field and farm and forest, Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, Blighting all we breathe upon! They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant. CHOIR. Nocte surgentes Vigilemus omnes! I THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE A chamber in a tower. PRINCE HENRY sitting alone, ill and restless. Midnight. PRINCE HENRY. I cannot sleep! my fervid brain Calls up the vanished Past again, And throws its misty splendors deep Into the pallid realms of sleep! A breath from that far-distant shore Comes freshening ever more and more, And wafts o'er intervening seas Sweet odors from the Hesperides! A wind, that through the corridor Just stirs the curtain, and no more, And, touching the aolian strings, Faints with the burden that it brings! Come back! ye friendships long departed! That like o'erflowing streamlets started, And now are dwindled, one by one, To stony channels in the sun! Come back! ye friends, whose lives are ended, Come back, with all that light attended, Which seemed to darken and decay When ye arose and went away! They come, the shapes of joy and woe, The airy crowds of long ago, The dreams and fancies known of yore, That have been, and shall be no more. They change the cloisters of the night Into a garden of delight; They make the dark and dreary hours Open and blossom into flowers! I would not sleep! I love to be Again in their fair company; But ere my lips can bid them stay, They pass and vanish quite away! Alas! our memories may retrace Each circumstance of time and place, Season and scene come back again, And outward things unchanged remain; The rest we cannot reinstate; Ourselves we can not re-create; Nor set our souls to the same key Of the remembered harmony! Rest! rest! Oh, give me rest and peace! The thought of life that ne'er shall cease Has something in it like despair, A weight I am too weak to bear! Sweeter to this afflicted breast The thought of never-ending rest! Sweeter the undisturbed and deep Tranquillity of endless sleep! A flash of lightning, out of which LUCIFER appears, in the garb of a travelling Physician. LUCIFER. All hail, Prince Henry! PRINCE HENRY, starting. Who is it speaks? Who and what are you? LUCIFER. One who seeks A moment's audience with the Prince. PRINCE HENRY. When came you in? LUCIFER. A moment since. I found your study door unlocked, And thought you answered when I knocked. PRINCE HENRY. I did not hear you. LUCIFER. You heard the thunder; It was loud enough to waken the dead. And it is not a matter of special wonder That, when God is walking overhead, You should not hear my feeble tread. PRINCE HENRY. What may your wish or purpose be? LUCIFER. Nothing or everything, as it pleases Your Highness. You behold in me Only a travelling Physician; One of the few who have a mission To cure incurable diseases, Or those that are called so. PRINCE HENRY. Can you bring The dead to life? LUCIFER. Yes; very nearly. And, what is a wiser and better thing, Can keep the living from ever needing Such an unnatural, strange proceeding, By showing conclusively and clearly That death is a stupid blunder merely, And not a necessity of our lives. My being here is accidental; The storm, that against your casement drives, In the little village below waylaid me. And there I heard, with a secret delight, Of your maladies physical and mental, Which neither astonished nor dismayed me. And I hastened hither, though late in the night, To proffer my aid! PRINCE HENRY, ironically. For this you came! Ah, how can I ever hope to requite This honor from one so erudite? LUCIFER. The honor is mine, or will be when I have cured your disease. PRINCE HENRY. But not till then. LUCIFER. What is your illness? PRINCE HENRY. It has no name. A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, As in a kiln, burns in my veins, Sending up vapors to the head; My heart has become a dull lagoon, Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains; I am accounted as one who is dead, And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon. LUCIFER. And has Gordonius the Divine, In his famous Lily of Medicine,-- I see the book lies open before you,-- No remedy potent enough to restore you? PRINCE HENRY. None whatever! LUCIFER. The dead are dead, And their oracles dumb, when questioned Of the new diseases that human life Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. Consult the dead upon things that were, But the living only on things that are. Have you done this, by the appliance And aid of doctors? PRINCE HENRY. Ay, whole schools Of doctors, with their learned rules; But the case is quite beyond their science. Even the doctors of Salern Send me back word they can discern No cure for a malady like this, Save one which in its nature is Impossible and cannot be! LUCIFER. That sounds oracular! PRINCE HENRY. Unendurable! LUCIFER. What is their remedy? PRINCE HENRY. You shall see; Writ in this scroll is the mystery. LUCIFER, reading. "Not to be cured, yet not incurable! The only remedy that remains Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins, Who of her own free will shall die, And give her life as the price of yours!" That is the strangest of all cures, And one, I think, you will never try; The prescription you may well put by, As something impossible to find Before the world itself shall end! And yet who knows? One cannot say That into some maiden's brain that kind Of madness will not find its way. Meanwhile permit me to recommend, As the matter admits of no delay, My wonderful Catholicon, Of very subtile and magical powers! PRINCE HENRY. Purge with your nostrums and drugs infernal The spouts and gargoyles of these towers, Not me! My faith is utterly gone In every power but the Power Supernal! Pray tell ne, of what school are you? LUCIFER. Both of the Old and of the New! The school of Hermes Trismegistus, Who uttered his oracles sublime Before the Olympiads, in the dew Of the early dusk and dawn of time, The reign of dateless old Hephaestus! As northward, from its Nubian springs, The Nile, forever new and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty mystic stream has rolled; So, starting from its fountain-head Under the lotus-leaves of Isis, From the dead demigods of eld, Through long unbroken lines of kings Its course the sacred art has held, Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices. This art the Arabian Geber taught, And in alembics, finely wrought, Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered The secret that so long had hovered Upon the misty verge of Truth, The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech! Like him, this wondrous lore I teach! PRINCE HENRY. What! an adept? LUCIFFR. Nor less, nor more! PRINCE HENRY. I am a reader of your books, A lover of that mystic lore! With such a piercing glance it looks Into great Nature's open eye, And sees within it trembling lie The portrait of the Deity! And yet, alas! with all my pains, The secret and the mystery Have baffled and eluded me, Unseen the grand result remains! LUCIFER, showing a flask. Behold it here! this little flask Contains the wonderful quintessence, The perfect flower and efflorescence, Of all the knowledge man can ask! Hold it up thus against the light! PRINCE HENRY. How limpid, pure, and crystalline, How quick, and tremulous, and bright The little wavelets dance and shine, As were it the Water of Life in sooth! LUCIFER. It is! It assuages every pain, Cures all disease, and gives again To age the swift delights of youth. Inhale its fragrance. PRINCE HENRY. It is sweet. A thousand different odors meet And mingle in its rare perfume, Such as the winds of summer waft At open windows through a room! LUCIFER. Will you not taste it? PRINCE HENRY. Will one draught Suffice? LUCIFER. If not, you can drink more. PRINCE HENRY. Into this crystal goblet pour So much as safely I may drink, LUCIFER, pouring. Let not the quantity alarm you; You may drink all; it will not harm you. PRINCE HENRY. I am as one who on the brink Of a dark river stands and sees The waters flow, the landscape dim Around him waver, wheel, and swim, And, ere he plunges, stops to think Into what whirlpools he may sink; One moment pauses, and no more, Then madly plunges from the shore! Headlong into the mysteries Of life and death I boldly leap, Nor fear the fateful current's sweep, Nor what in ambush lurks below! For death is better than disease! An ANGEL with an aeolian harp hovers in the air. ANGEL. Woe! woe! eternal woe! Not only the whispered prayer Of love, But the imprecations of hate, Reverberate For ever and ever through the air Above! This fearful curse Shakes the great universe! LUCIFER, disappearing. Drink! drink! And thy soul shall sink Down into the dark abyss, Into the infinite abyss, From which no plummet nor rope Ever drew up the silver sand of hope! PRINCE HENRY, drinking. It is like a draught of fire! Through every vein I feel again The fever of youth, the soft desire; A rapture that is almost pain Throbs in my heart and fills my brain O joy! O joy! I feel The band of steel That so long and heavily has pressed Upon my breast Uplifted, and the malediction Of my affliction Is taken from me, and my weary breast At length finds rest. THE ANGEL. It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air has been taken! It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken! It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow! It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow! With fiendish laughter, Hereafter, This false physician Will mock thee in thy perdition. PRINCE HENRY. Speak! speak! Who says that I am ill? I am not ill! I am not weak! The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er! I feel the chill of death no more! At length, I stand renewed in all my strength Beneath me I can feel The great earth stagger and reel, As if the feet of a descending God Upon its surface trod, And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel! This, O brave physician! this Is thy great Palingenesis! Drinks again. THE ANGEL. Touch the goblet no more! It will make thy heart sore To its very core! Its perfume is the breath Of the Angel of Death, And the light that within it lies Is the flash of his evil eyes. Beware! Oh, beware! For sickness, sorrow, and care All are there! PRINCE HENRY, sinking back. O thou voice within my breast! Why entreat me, why upbraid me, When the steadfast tongues of truth And the flattering hopes of youth Have all deceived me and betrayed me? Give me, give me rest, oh rest! Golden visions wave and hover, Golden vapors, waters streaming, Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming! I am like a happy lover, Who illumines life with dreaming! Brave physician! Rare physician! Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission! His head falls on his book. THE ANGEL, receding. Alas! alas! Like a vapor the golden vision Shall fade and pass, And thou wilt find in thy heart again Only the blight of pain, And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition! COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE HUBERT standing by the gateway. HUBERT. How sad the grand old castle looks! O'erhead, the unmolested rooks Upon the turret's windy top Sit, talking of the farmer's crop Here in the court-yard springs the grass, So few are now the feet that pass; The stately peacocks, bolder grown, Come hopping down the steps of stone, As if the castle were their own; And I, the poor old senesehal, Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. Alas! the merry guests no more Crowd through the hospitable door; No eyes with youth and passion shine, No cheeks glow redder than the wine; No song, no laugh, no jovial din Of drinking wassail to the pin; But all is silent, sad, and drear, And now the only sounds I hear Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, And horses stamping in their stalls! A horn sounds. What ho! that merry, sudden blast Reminds me of the days long past! And, as of old resounding, grate The heavy hinges of the gate, And, clattering loud, with iron clank, Down goes the sounding bridge of plank, As if it were in haste to greet The pressure of a traveller's feet! Enter WALTER the Minnesinger. WALTER. How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely! No banner flying from the walls, No pages and no seneschals, No warders, and one porter only! Is it you, Hubert? HUBERT. Ah! Master Walter! WALTER. Alas! how forms and faces alter! I did not know you. You look older! Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner, And you stoop a little in the shoulder! HUBERT. Alack! I am a poor old sinner, And, like these towers, begin to moulder; And you have been absent many a year! WALTER. How is the Prince? HUBERT. He is not here; He has been ill: and now has fled. WALTER. Speak it out frankly: say he's dead! Is it not so? HUBERT. No; if you please, A strange, mysterious disease Fell on him with a sudden blight. Whole hours together he would stand Upon the terrace in a dream, Resting his head upon his hand, Best pleased when he was most alone, Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone, Looking down into a stream. In the Round Tower, night after night, He sat and bleared his eyes with books; Until one morning we found him there Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon He had fallen from his chair. We hardly recognized his sweet looks! WALTER. Poor Prince! HUBERT. I think he might have mended; And he did mend; but very soon The priests came flocking in, like rooks, With all their crosiers and their crooks, And so at last the matter ended. WALTER. How did it end? HUBERT. Why, in Saint Rochus They made him stand and wait his doom; And, as if he were condemned to the tomb, Began to mutter their hocus-pocus. First, the Mass for the Dead they chanted, Then three times laid upon his head A shovelful of churchyard clay, Saying to him, as he stood undaunted, "This is a sign that thou art dead, So in thy heart be penitent!" And forth from the chapel door he went Into disgrace and banishment, Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, And hearing a wallet, and a bell, Whose sound should be a perpetual knell To keep all travellers away. WALTER. Oh, horrible fate! Outcast, rejected, As one with pestilence infected! HUBERT. Then was the family tomb unsealed, And broken helmet, sword, and shield Buried together, in common wreck, As is the custom when the last Of any princely house has passed, And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, A herald shouted down the stair The words of warning and despair,-- "O Hoheneck! O Hoheneck!" WALTER. Still in my soul that cry goes on,-- Forever gone! forever gone! Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, Like a black shadow, would fall across The hearts of all, if he should die! His gracious presence upon earth Was as a fire upon a hearth; As pleasant songs, at morning sung, The words that dropped from his sweet tongue Strengthened our hearts; or heard at night Made all our slumbers soft and light. Where is he? HUBERT. In the Odenwald. Some of his tenants, unappalled By fear of death, or priestly word,-- A holy family, that make Each meal a Supper of the Lord,-- Have him beneath their watch and ward, For love of him, and Jesus' sake! Pray you come in. For why should I With out-door hospitality My prince's friend thus entertain? WALTER. I would a moment here remain. But you, good Hubert, go before, Fill me a goblet of May-drink, As aromatic as the May From which it steals the breath away, And which he loved so well of yore; It is of him that I would think. You shall attend me, when I call, In the ancestral banquet-hall. Unseen companions, guests of air, You cannot wait on, will be there; They taste not food, they drink not wine, But their soft eyes look into mine, And their lips speak to me, and all The vast and shadowy banquet-hall Is full of looks and words divine! Leaning over the parapet. The day is done; and slowly from the scene The stooping sun up-gathers his spent shafts, And puts them back into his golden quiver! Below me in the valley, deep and green As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts We drink its wine, the swift and mantling river Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions, Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent, And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent! Yes, there it flows, forever, broad and still As when the vanguard of the Roman legions First saw it from the top of yonder hill! How beautiful it is! Fresh fields of wheat, Vineyard and town, and tower with fluttering flag, The consecrated chapel on the crag, And the white hamlet gathered round its base, Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet, And looking up at his beloved face! O friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er! II A FARM IN THE ODENWALD A garden; morning; PRINCE HENRY seated, with a book. ELSIE at a distance gathering flowers. PRINCE HENRY, reading. One morning, all alone, Out of his convent of gray stone, Into the forest older, darker, grayer, His lips moving, as if in prayer, His head sunken upon his breast As in a dream of rest, Walked the Monk Felix. All about The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, Filling the summer air; And within the woodlands as he trod, The dusk was like the truce of God With worldly woe and care; Under him lay the golden moss; And above him the boughs of hoary trees Waved, and made the sign of the cross, And whispered their Benedicites; And from the ground Rose an odor sweet and fragrant Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant Vines that wandered, Seeking the sunshine, round and round. These he heeded not, but pondered On the volume in his hand, Wherein amazed he read: "A thousand years in thy sight Are but as yesterday when it is past, And as a watch in the night!" And with his eyes downcast In humility he said: "I believe, O Lord, What is written in thy Word, But alas! I do not understand!" And lo! he heard The sudden singing of a bird, A snow-white bird, that from a cloud Dropped down, And among the branches brown Sat singing, So sweet, and clear, and loud, It seemed a thousand harp-strings ringing. And the Monk Felix closed his book, And long, long, With rapturous look, He listened to the song, And hardly breathed or stirred, Until he saw, as in a vision, The land Elysian, And in the heavenly city heard Angelic feet Fall on the golden flagging of the street And he would fain Have caught the wondrous bird, But strove in vain; For it flew away, away, Far over hill and dell, And instead of its sweet singing He heard the convent bell Suddenly in the silence ringing For the service of noonday. And he retraced His pathway sadly and in haste. In the convent there was a change! He looked for each well-known face, But the faces were new and strange; New figures sat in the oaken stalls, New voices chanted in the choir; Yet the place was the same place, The same dusky walls Of cold, gray stone, The same cloisters and belfry and spire. A stranger and alone Among that brotherhood The Monk Felix stood. "Forty years," said a Friar, "Have I been Prior Of this convent in the wood, But for that space Never have I beheld thy face!" The heart of the Monk Felix fell And he answered, with submissive tone, This morning after the hour of Prime, I left my cell, And wandered forth alone, Listening all the time To the melodious singing Of a beautiful white bird, Until I heard The bells of the convent ringing Noon from their noisy towers. It was as if I dreamed; For what to me had seemed Moments only, had been hours!" "Years!" said a voice close by. It was an aged monk who spoke, From a bench of oak Fastened against the wall;-- He was the oldest monk of all. For a whole century Had he been there, Serving God in prayer, The meekest and humblest of his creatures. He remembered well the features Of Felix, and he said, Speaking distinct and slow: "One hundred years ago, When I was a novice in this place, There was here a monk, full of God's grace, Who bore the name Of Felix, and this man must be the same." And straightway They brought forth to the light of day A volume old and brown, A huge tome, bound In brass and wild-boar's hide, Wherein were written down The names of all who had died In the convent, since it was edified. And there they found, Just as the old monk said, That on a certain day and date, One hundred years before, Had gone forth from the convent gate The Monk Felix, and never more Had entered that sacred door. He had been counted among the dead! And they knew, at last, That, such had been the power Of that celestial and immortal song, A hundred years had passed, And had not seemed so long As a single hour! ELSIE comes in with flowers. ELSIE. Here are flowers for you, But they are not all for you. Some of them are for the Virgin And for Saint Cecilia. PRINCE HENRY. As thou standest there, Thou seemest to me like the angel That brought the immortal roses To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. ELSIE. But these will fade. PRINCE HENRY. Themselves will fade, But not their memory, And memory has the power To re-create them from the dust. They remind me, too, Of martyred Dorothea, Who from Celestial gardens sent Flowers as her witnesses To him who scoffed and doubted. ELSIE. Do you know the story Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter! That is the prettiest legend of them all. PRINCE HENRY. Then tell it to me. But first come hither. Lay the flowers down beside me, And put both thy hands in mine. Now tell me the story. ELSIE. Early in the morning The Sultan's daughter Walked in her father's garden, Gathering the bright flowers, All full of dew. PRINCE HENRY. Just as thou hast been doing This morning, dearest Elsie. ELSIE. And as she gathered them She wondered more and more Who was the Master of the Flowers, And made them grow Out of the cold, dark earth. In my heart," she said, "I love him; and for him Would leave my father's palace, To labor in his garden." PRINCE HENRY. Dear, innocent child! How sweetly thou recallest The long-forgotten legend. That in my early childhood My mother told me! Upon my brain It reappears once more, As a birth-mark on the forehead When a hand suddenly Is raised upon it, and removed! ELSIE. And at midnight, As she lay upon her bed, She heard a voice Call to her from the garden, And, looking forth from her window, She saw a beautiful youth Standing among the flowers. It was the Lord Jesus; And she went down to Him, And opened the door for Him; And He said to her, "O maiden! Thou hast thought of me with love, And for thy sake Out of my Father's kingdom Have I come hither: I am the Master of the Flowers. My garden is in Paradise, And if thou wilt go with me, Thy bridal garland Shall be of bright red flowers." And then He took from his finger A golden ring, And asked the Sultan's daughter If she would be his bride. And when she answered Him with love, His wounds began to bleed, And she said to Him, "O Love! how red thy heart is, And thy hands are full of roses." "For thy sake," answered He, "For thy sake is my heart so red, For thee I bring these roses; I gathered them at the cross Whereon I died for thee! I Come, for my Father calls. Thou art my elected bride!" And the Sultan's daughter Followed Him to his Father's garden. PRINCE HENRY. Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie? ELSIE. Yes, very gladly. PRINCE HENRY. Then the Celestial Bridegroom Will come for thee also. Upon thy forehead He will place, Not his crown of thorns, But a crown of roses. In thy bridal chamber, Like Saint Cecilia, Thou shalt hear sweet music, And breathe the fragrance Of flowers immortal! Go now and place these flowers Before her picture. A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE Twilight. URSULA Spinning. GOTTLIEB asleep in his chair. URSULA. Darker and darker! Hardly a glimmer Of light comes in at the window-pane; Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer? I cannot disentangle this skein, Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. Elsie! GOTTLIER, starting. The stopping of thy wheel Has awakened me out of a pleasant dream. I thought I was sitting beside a stream, And heard the grinding of a mill, When suddenly the wheels stood still, And a voice cried "Elsie," in my ear! It startled me, it seemed so near. URSULA. I was calling her: I want a light. I cannot see to spin my flax. Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear? ELSIE, within. In a moment! GOTTLIEB. Where are Bertha and Max? URSULA. They are sitting with Elsie at the door. She is telling them stories of the wood, And the Wolf, and little Red Ridinghood. GOTTLIEB. And where is the Prince? URSULA. In his room overhead; I heard him walking across the floor, As he always does, with a heavy tread. ELSIE comes in with a lamp. MAX and BERTHA follow her; and they all sing the Evening Song on the lighting of the lamps. EVENING SONG O gladsome light Of the Father Immortal, And of the celestial Sacred and blessed Jesus, our Saviour! Now to the sunset Again hast thou brought us; And seeing the evening Twilight, we bless thee! Praise thee, adore thee! Father omnipotent! Son, the Life-giver! Spirit, the Comforter! Worthy at all times Of worship and wonder! PRINCE HENRY, at the door, Amen! URSULA. Who was it said Amen? ELSIE. It was the Prince: he stood at the door, And listened a moment, as we chanted The evening song. He is gone again. I have often seen him there before. URSULA. Poor Prince! GOTTLIEB. I thought the house was haunted! Poor Prince, alas! and yet as mild And patient as the gentlest child! MAX. I love him because he is so good, And makes me such fine bows and arrows, To shoot at the robins and the sparrows, And the red squirrels in the wood! BERTHA. I love him, too! GOTTLIEB. Ah, yes! we all Love him from the bottom of our hearts; He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange, He gave us the horses and the carts, And the great oxen in the stall, The vineyard, and the forest range! We have nothing to give him but our love! BERTHA. Did he give us the beautiful stork above On the chimney-top, with its large, round nest? GOTTLIEB. No, not the stork; by God in heaven, As a blessing, the dear white stork was given, But the Prince has given us all the rest. God bless him, and make him well again. ELSIE. Would I could do something for his sake, Something to cure his sorrow and pain! GOTTLIEB. That no one can; neither thou nor I, Nor any one else. ELSIE. And must he die? URSULA. Yes; if the dear God does not take Pity upon him in his distress, And work a miracle! GOTTLIEB. Or unless Some maiden, of her own accord, Offers her life for that of her lord, And is willing to die in his stead. ELSIE. I will! URSULA. Prithee, thou foolish child, be still! Thou shouldst not say what thou dost not mean! ELSIE. I mean it truly! MAX. O father! this morning, Down by the mill, in the ravine, Hans killed a wolf, the very same That in the night to the sheepfold came, And ate up my lamb, that was left outside. GOTTLIEB. I am glad he is dead. It will be a warning To the wolves in the forest, far and wide. MAX. And I am going to have his hide! BERTHA. I wonder if this is the wolf that ate Little Red Ridinghood! URSULA. Oh, no! That wolf was killed a long while ago. Come, children, it is growing late. MAX. Ah, how I wish I were a man, As stout as Hans is, and as strong! I would do nothing else, the whole day long, But just kill wolves. GOTTLIEB. Then go to bed, And grow as fast as a little boy can. Bertha is half asleep already. See how she nods her heavy head, And her sleepy feet are so unsteady She will hardly be able to creep upstairs. URSULA. Goodnight, my children. Here's the light. And do not forget to say your prayers Before you sleep. GOTTLIEB. Good night! MAX and BERTHA. Good night! They go out with ELSIE. URSULA, spinning. She is a strange and wayward child, That Elsie of ours. She looks so old, And thoughts and fancies weird and wild Seem of late to have taken hold Of her heart, that was once so docile and mild! GOTTLIEB. She is like all girls. URSULA. Ah no, forsooth! Unlike all I have ever seen. For she has visions and strange dreams, And in all her words and ways, she seems Much older than she is in truth. Who would think her but fifteen? And there has been of late such a change! My heart is heavy with fear and doubt That she may not live till the year is out. She is so strange,--so strange,--so strange! GOTTLIEB. I am not troubled with any such fear; She will live and thrive for many a year. ELSIE'S CHAMBER Night. ELSIE praying. ELSIE. My Redeemer and my Lord, I beseech thee, I entreat thee, Guide me in each act and word, That hereafter I may meet thee, Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning, With my lamp well trimmed and burning! Interceding With these bleeding Wounds upon thy hands and side, For all who have lived and erred Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, Scourged, and mocked, and crucified, And in the grave hast thou been buried! If my feeble prayer can reach thee, O my Saviour, I beseech thee, Even as thou hast died for me, More sincerely Let me follow where thou leadest, Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, Die, if dying I may give Life to one who asks to live, And more nearly, Dying thus, resemble thee! THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND URSULA Midnight. ELSIE standing by their bedside, weeping. GOTTLIEB. The wind is roaring; the rushing rain Is loud upon roof and window-pane, As if the Wild Huntsman of Rodenstein, Boding evil to me and mine, Were abroad to-night with his ghostly train! In the brief lulls of the tempest wild, The dogs howl in the yard; and hark! Some one is sobbing in the dark, Here in the chamber! ELSIE. It is I. URSULA. Elsie! what ails thee, my poor child? ELSIE. I am disturbed and much distressed, In thinking our dear Prince must die; I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest, GOTTLIEB. What wouldst thou? In the Power Divine His healing lies, not in our own; It is in the hand of God alone, ELSIE. Nay, He has put it into mine, And into my heart! GOTTLIEB. Thy words are wild! URSULA. What dost thou mean? my child! My child! ELSIE. That for our dear Prince Henry's sake I will myself the offering make, And give my life to purchase his. URSULA. Am I still dreaming, or awake? Thou speakest carelessly of death, And yet thou knowest not what it is. ELSIE. 'T is the cessation of our breath. Silent and motionless we lie; And no one knoweth more than this. I saw our little Gertrude die; She left off breathing, and no more I smoothed the pillow beneath her head. She was more beautiful than before. Like violets faded were her eyes; By this we knew that she was dead. Through the open window looked the skies Into the chamber where she lay, And the wind was like the sound of wings, As if angels came to bear her away. Ah! when I saw and felt these things, I found it difficult to stay; I longed to die, as she had died, And go forth with her, side by side. The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead And Mary, and our Lord; and I Would follow in humility The way by them illumined! URSULA. My child! my child! thou must not die! ELSIE. Why should I live? Do I not know The life of woman is full of woe? Toiling on and on and on, With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, And silent lips, and in the soul The secret longings that arise, Which this world never satisfies! Some more, some less, but of the whole Not one quite happy, no, not one! URSULA. It is the malediction of Eve! ELSIE. In place of it, let me receive The benediction of Mary, then. GOTTLIEB. Ah, woe is me! Ah, woe is me! Most wretched am I among men! URSULA. Alas! that I should live to see Thy death, beloved, and to stand Above thy grave! Ah, woe the day! ELSIE. Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie Beneath the flowers of another land, For at Salerno, far away Over the mountains, over the sea, It is appointed me to die! And it will seem no more to thee Than if at the village on market-day I should a little longer stay Than I am wont. URSULA. Even as thou sayest! And how my heart beats, when thou stayest! I cannot rest until my sight Is satisfied with seeing thee, What, then, if thou wert dead? GOTTLIEB. Ah me! Of our old eyes thou art the light! The joy of our old hearts art thou! And wilt thou die? URSULA. Not now! not now! ELSIE. Christ died for me, and shall not! Be willing for my Prince to die? You both are silent; you cannot speak This said I at our Saviour's feast After confession, to the priest, And even he made no reply. Does he not warn us all to seek The happier, better land on high, Where flowers immortal never wither; And could he forbid me to go thither? GOTTLIEB. In God's own time, my heart's delight! When He shall call thee, not before! ELSIE. I heard Him call. When Christ ascended Triumphantly, from star to star, He left the gates of heaven ajar. I had a vision in the night, And saw Him standing at the door Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid, And beckoning to me from afar. I cannot stay! GOTTLIEB. She speaks almost As if it were the Holy Ghost Spake through her lips, and in her stead: What if this were of God? URSULA. Ah, then Gainsay it dare we not. GOTTLIEB. Amen! Elsie! the words that thou hast said Are strange and new for us to hear, And fill our hears with doubt and fear. Whether it be a dark temptation Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration, We in our blindness cannot say. We must think upon it, and pray; For evil and good it both resembles. If it be of God, his will be done! May He guard us from the Evil One! How hot thy hand is! how it trembles! Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. URSULA. Kiss me. Good night; and do not weep! ELSIE goes out. Ah, what an awful thing is this! I almost shuddered at her kiss, As if a ghost had touched my cheek, I am so childish and so weak! As soon as I see the earliest gray Of morning glimmer in the east, I will go over to the priest, And hear what the good man has to say. A VILLAGE CHURCH A woman kneeling at the confessional. THE PARISH PRIEST, from within. Go, sin no more! Thy penance o'er, A new and better life begin! God maketh thee forever free From the dominion of thy sin! Go, sin no more! He will restore The peace that filled thy heart before, And pardon thine iniquity! The woman goes out. The Priest comes forth, and walks slowly up and down the church. O blessed Lord! how much I need Thy light to guide me on my way! So many hands, that, without heed, Still touch thy wounds and make them bleed! So many feet, that, day by day, Still wander from thy fold astray! Unless thou fill me with thy light, I cannot lead thy flock aright; Nor without thy support can bear The burden of so great a care, But am myself a castaway! A pause. The day is drawing to its close; And what good deeds, since first it rose, Have I presented, Lord, to thee, As offsprings of my ministry? What wrong repressed, what right maintained, What struggle passed, what victory gained, What good attempted and attained? Feeble, at best, is my endeavor! I see, but cannot reach, the height That lies forever in the light; And yet forever and forever, When seeming just within my grasp, I feel my feeble hands unclasp, And sink discouraged into night! For thine own purpose, thou hast sent The strife and the discouragement! A pause. Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck? Why keep me pacing to and fro Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, Counting my footsteps as I go, And marking with each step a tomb? Why should the world for thee make room, And wait thy leisure and thy beck? Thou comest in the hope to hear Some word of comfort and of cheer. What can I say? I cannot give The counsel to do this and live; But rather, firmly to deny The tempter, though his power be strong, And, inaccessible to wrong, Still like a martyr live and die! A pause. The evening air grows dusk and brown; I must go forth into the town, To visit beds of pain and death, Of restless limbs, and quivering breath, And sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes That see, through tears, the sun go down, But never more shall see it rise. The poor in body and estate, The sick and the disconsolate, Must not on man's convenience wait. Goes out. Enter LUCIFER, as a Priest. LUCIFER, with a genuflexion, mocking. This is the Black Pater-noster. God was my foster, He fostered me Under the book of the Palm-tree! St. Michael was my dame. He was born at Bethlehem, He was made of flesh and blood. God send me my right food, My right food, and shelter too, That I may to yon kirk go, To read upon yon sweet book Which the mighty God of heaven shook Open, open, hell's gates! Shut, shut, heaven's gates! All the devils in the air The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer! Looking round the church. What a darksome and dismal place! I wonder that any man has the face To call such a hole the House of the Lord, And the gate of Heaven,--yet such is the word. Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould; Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs! The pulpit, from which such ponderous sermons Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans, With about as much real edification As if a great Bible, bound in lead, Had fallen, and struck them on the head; And I ought to remember that sensation! Here stands the holy-water stoup! Holy-water it may be to many, But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehennae! It smells like a filthy fast-day soup! Near it stands the box for the poor, With its iron padlock, safe and sure. I and the priest of the parish know Whither all these charities go; Therefore, to keep up the institution, I will add my little contribution! He puts in money. Underneath this mouldering tomb, With statue of stone, and scutcheon of brass, Slumbers a great lord of the village. All his life was riot and pillage, But at length, to escape the threatened doom Of the everlasting penal fire, He died in the dress of a mendicant friar, And bartered his wealth for a daily mass. But all that afterwards came to pass, And whether he finds it dull or pleasant, Is kept a secret for the present, At his own particular desire. And here, in a corner of the wall, Shadowy, silent, apart from all, With its awful portal open wide, And its latticed windows on either side, And its step well worn by the beaded knees Of one or two pious centuries, Stands the village confessional! Within it, as an honored guest, I will sit down awhile and rest! Seats himself in the confessional. Here sits the priest; and faint and low, Like the sighing of an evening breeze, Comes through these painted lattices The ceaseless sound of human woe; Here, while her bosom aches and throbs With deep and agonizing sobs, That half are passion, half contrition, The luckless daughter of perdition Slowly confesses her secret shame! The time, the place, the lover's name! Here the grim murderer, with a groan, From his bruised conscience rolls the stone, Thinking that thus he can atone For ravages of sword and flame! Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly, How a priest can sit here so sedately, Reading, the whole year out and in, Naught but the catalogue of sin, And still keep any faith whatever In human virtue! Never! never! I cannot repeat a thousandth part Of the horrors and crimes and sins and woes That arise, when with palpitating throes The graveyard in the human heart Gives up its dead, at the voice of the priest, As if he were an archangel, at least. It makes a peculiar atmosphere, This odor of earthly passions and crimes, Such as I like to breathe, at times, And such as often brings me here In the hottest and most pestilential season. To-day, I come for another reason; To foster and ripen an evil thought In a heart that is almost to madness wrought, And to make a murderer out of a prince, A sleight of hand I learned long since! He comes. In the twilight he will not see The difference between his priest and me! In the same net was the mother caught! PRINCE HENRY, entering and kneeling at the confessional. Remorseful, penitent, and lowly, I come to crave, O Father holy, Thy benediction on my head. LUCIFER. The benediction shall be said After confession, not before! 'T is a God-speed to the parting guest, Who stands already at the door, Sandalled with holiness, and dressed In garments pure from earthly stain. Meanwhile, hast thou searched well thy breast? Does the same madness fill thy brain? Or have thy passion and unrest Vanished forever from thy mind? PRINCE HENRY. By the same madness still made blind, By the same passion still possessed, I come again to the house of prayer, A man afflicted and distressed! As in a cloudy atmosphere, Through unseen sluices of the air, A sudden and impetuous wind Strikes the great forest white with fear, And every branch, and bough, and spray, Points all its quivering leaves one way, And meadows of grass, and fields of rain, And the clouds above, and the slanting rain, And smoke from chimneys of the town, Yield themselves to it, and bow down, So does this dreadful purpose press Onward, with irresistible stress, And all my thoughts and faculties, Struck level by the strength of this, From their true inclination turn And all stream forward to Salem! LUCIFER. Alas! we are but eddies of dust, Uplifted by the blast, and whirled Along the highway of the world A moment only, then to fall Back to a common level all, At the subsiding of the gust! PRINCE HENRY. O holy Father! pardon in me The oscillation of a mind Unsteadfast, and that cannot find Its centre of rest and harmony! For evermore before mine eyes This ghastly phantom flits and flies, And as a madman through a crowd, With frantic gestures and wild cries, It hurries onward, and aloud Repeats its awful prophecies! Weakness is wretchedness! To be strong Is to be happy! I am weak, And cannot find the good I seek, Because I feel and fear the wrong! LUCIFER. Be not alarmed! The church is kind, And in her mercy and her meekness She meets half-way her children's weakness, Writes their transgressions in the dust! Though in the Decalogue we find The mandate written, "Thou shalt not kill!" Yet there are cases when we must. In war, for instance, or from scathe To guard and keep the one true faith We must look at the Decalogue in the light Of an ancient statute, that was meant For a mild and general application, To be understood with the reservation That in certain instances the Right
Back to Full Books |