Part 19 (2/2)
And when I heard the convent door Behind me close, to ope no more, I felt it smite me like a blow, Through all my limbs a shudder ran, And on my bruised spirit fell The dampness of my narrow cell As night-air on a wounded man, Giving intolerable pain.
But now a better life began, I felt the agony decrease By slow degrees, then wholly cease, Ending in perfect rest and peace!
It was not apathy, nor dulness, That weighed and pressed upon my brain, But the same pa.s.sion I had given To earth before, now turned to heaven With all its overflowing fulness.
Alas! the world is full of peril!
The path that runs through the fairest meads, On the sunniest side of the valley, leads Into a region bleak and sterile!
Alike in the high-born and the lowly, The will is feeble, and pa.s.sion strong.
We cannot sever right from wrong; Some falsehood mingles with all truth; Nor is it strange the heart of youth Should waver and comprehend but slowly The things that are holy and unholy!
But in this sacred and calm retreat, We are all well and safely s.h.i.+elded From winds that blow, and waves that beat, From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat, To which the strongest hearts have yielded.
Here we stand as the Virgins Seven, For our celestial bridegroom yearning; Our hearts are lamps forever burning, With a steady and unwavering flame, Pointing upward, forever the same, Steadily upward toward the Heaven!
The moon is hidden behind a cloud; A sudden darkness fills the room, And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, s.h.i.+ne like jewels in a shroud.
On the leaves is a sound of falling rain; A bird, awakened in its nest, Gives a faint twitter of unrest, Then smoothes its plumes and sleeps again.
No other sounds than these I hear; The hour of midnight must be near.
Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue Of riding many a dusty league; Sink, then, gently to thy slumber; Me so many cares enc.u.mber, So many ghosts, and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: I will go down to the chapel and pray.
V.
A COVERED BRIDGE AT LUCERNE.
_Prince Henry_. G.o.d's blessing on the architects who build The bridges o'er swift rivers and abysses Before impa.s.sable to human feet, No less than on the builders of cathedrals, Whose ma.s.sive walls are bridges thrown across The dark and terrible abyss of Death.
Well has the name of Pontifex been given Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder And architect of the invisible bridge That leads from earth to heaven.
_Elsie_ How dark it grows!
What are these paintings on the walls around us?
_Prince Henry_ The Dance Macaber!
_Elsie_ What?
_Prince Henry_ The Dance of Death!
All that go to and fro must look upon it, Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath, Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright, Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it.
_Elsie._ O, yes! I see it now!
_Prince Henry_ The grim musician Leads all men through the mazes of that dance, To different sounds in different measures moving; Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum, To tempt or terrify.
_Elsie_ What is this picture?
_Prince Henry_ It is a young man singing to a nun, Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling Turns round to look at him, and Death, meanwhile, Is putting out the candles on the altar!
_Elsie_ Ah, what a pity 't is that she should listen to such songs, when in her orisons She might have heard in heaven the angels singing!
_Prince Henry_ Here he has stolen a jester's cap and bells, And dances with the Queen.
_Elsie_ A foolish jest!
_Prince Henry_ And here the heart of the new-wedded wife, Coming from church with her beloved lord, He startles with the rattle of his drum.
_Elsie_ Ah, that is sad! And yet perhaps 't is best That she should die, with all the suns.h.i.+ne on her, And all the benedictions of the morning, Before this affluence of golden light Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray, Then into darkness!
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