Gerard's Monument And Other Poems. By Emily Pfeiffer: 2nd Ed., Revised and Enlarged |
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 | Gerard's Monument |  |
The vane which pointed Saviour's spire
Was hardly tipped with sudden fire,
When Valery, from out the deep
Sweet silence of a maiden's sleep,
Broke, as the morning from the mist
Was breaking even now, and wist
Not well—half-dreaming as she lay,
While yet no nestling was astir—
If she had wakened up the day,
Or if the day had wakened her.
Was hardly tipped with sudden fire,
When Valery, from out the deep
Sweet silence of a maiden's sleep,
Broke, as the morning from the mist
Was breaking even now, and wist
Not well—half-dreaming as she lay,
While yet no nestling was astir—
If she had wakened up the day,
Or if the day had wakened her.
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Belike she wakened to a thought
That lay in ambush through the night,
But with the lifted vane had caught
The first faint glimmer of the light,
For springing up as one in haste
No earliest span of time to waste,
She stepped from out her morning bath
And left upon the floor a path,
Such as had made her goings known
Wherever barefoot she had flown:
Two slender heels were printed there,
Ten little toes in order fair;
The arch between them had not pressed
The ground, but might be fondly guessed.
Her beauty then in russet gown
She sheathed, and kneeling humbly down,
Prayed that the Christ, whose crown of thorn
Was placed upon his head in scorn,
Who lowly lived and patient died,
With outcast men on either side,
Would smooth her brother's path of pride.
That lay in ambush through the night,
But with the lifted vane had caught
The first faint glimmer of the light,
For springing up as one in haste
No earliest span of time to waste,
She stepped from out her morning bath
And left upon the floor a path,
Such as had made her goings known
Wherever barefoot she had flown:
Two slender heels were printed there,
Ten little toes in order fair;
The arch between them had not pressed
The ground, but might be fondly guessed.
Her beauty then in russet gown
She sheathed, and kneeling humbly down,
Prayed that the Christ, whose crown of thorn
Was placed upon his head in scorn,
Who lowly lived and patient died,
With outcast men on either side,
Would smooth her brother's path of pride.
And then a sweet, grave face she bent
Over a coffer, and undid
The lock, and softly raised the lid;
And diving to its depths she sent
A pliant hand that deftly caught
Its prize, and to the surface brought
A jewel of a rare device,
Of craft most subtle, quaint, and nice;
A thing to clasp the throat and swathe
With broken gleams of light the breast,
With rain of quivering fringe to bathe
In shower of summer gold, the vest
Down to the zone. It might have been
The gorget of a fairy queen.
21
The lock, and softly raised the lid;
And diving to its depths she sent
A pliant hand that deftly caught
Its prize, and to the surface brought
A jewel of a rare device,
Of craft most subtle, quaint, and nice;
A thing to clasp the throat and swathe
With broken gleams of light the breast,
With rain of quivering fringe to bathe
In shower of summer gold, the vest
Down to the zone. It might have been
The gorget of a fairy queen.
Alack, it was the only wealth,—
Barring her soul and body's health
And beauty,—of a noble maid
In homespun russet gown arrayed;
Her only wealth, and eke her dower,
All that a mother's love had power
To snatch and save from out the wave
That washed so bare the lonely tower.
And then,—her fortune in her hand,—
The maiden stood, and swept the land
Low-lying in the morning sun,
With eager glance in search of one
She held would now be on his way
To carry off the Popinjay.
Barring her soul and body's health
And beauty,—of a noble maid
In homespun russet gown arrayed;
Her only wealth, and eke her dower,
All that a mother's love had power
To snatch and save from out the wave
That washed so bare the lonely tower.
And then,—her fortune in her hand,—
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Low-lying in the morning sun,
With eager glance in search of one
She held would now be on his way
To carry off the Popinjay.
And riding slowly from the town,
To tighten rein upon the down,
She spied the goldsmith, and stood still
To see him swiftly lift the hill.
And still, when on the topmost rise,
The firwood closed him from her eyes,
She watched the wood a little space,—
A smiling doubt upon her face.
Ah, little deemed she, smiling there—
That maiden with the lustrous hair—
Of summer sunshine that could smite
A burnished head with living light;
And gather glances from afar,
As surely as a guiding star!
To tighten rein upon the down,
She spied the goldsmith, and stood still
To see him swiftly lift the hill.
And still, when on the topmost rise,
The firwood closed him from her eyes,
She watched the wood a little space,—
A smiling doubt upon her face.
Ah, little deemed she, smiling there—
That maiden with the lustrous hair—
Of summer sunshine that could smite
A burnished head with living light;
And gather glances from afar,
As surely as a guiding star!
The goldsmith pausing on the height,
Beheld his day-star burning bright,—
A little spark which lit a whole
Sweet perfect picture in his soul.
So gazing till the maiden went
Upon her unknown purpose bent,
He waited till his star glanced out
In darkness;—when he turned about.
Quoth he, “I'd liefer die unshriven
Than have so pure an image driven
Out from my thoughts by churlish play.”
So home again he wore his way;—
Heard Saviour's bells for matins chime,
And breathed the fragrance of the thyme.
“Good luck,” cried he, “to the Popinjay,—
It may shoot itself for me to-day!”
Beheld his day-star burning bright,—
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Sweet perfect picture in his soul.
So gazing till the maiden went
Upon her unknown purpose bent,
He waited till his star glanced out
In darkness;—when he turned about.
Quoth he, “I'd liefer die unshriven
Than have so pure an image driven
Out from my thoughts by churlish play.”
So home again he wore his way;—
Heard Saviour's bells for matins chime,
And breathed the fragrance of the thyme.
“Good luck,” cried he, “to the Popinjay,—
It may shoot itself for me to-day!”
The goldsmith slowly paced the down,
The maiden hurried through the town;
And over the morning dew she flew,
To spurn the street with dainty feet.
When to the goldsmith's she came near,
Her heart so beat for haste and fear,
That lacking breath, she made a stand,
Still with her fortune in her hand;
And pausing, looked within before
She entered at the open door.
The maiden hurried through the town;
And over the morning dew she flew,
To spurn the street with dainty feet.
When to the goldsmith's she came near,
Her heart so beat for haste and fear,
That lacking breath, she made a stand,
Still with her fortune in her hand;
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She entered at the open door.
The overhanging gables made
A pregnant mystery of shade,
And over the goldsmith's ordered wealth
The daylight crept as if by stealth,—
Save where it broke upon the lid
Of cup, or chafing-dish, or slid
About a vase, or struck a blade
With lightning; or, where many-rayed
And quivering on a golden urn,
A mimic sun would seem to burn.
A pregnant mystery of shade,
And over the goldsmith's ordered wealth
The daylight crept as if by stealth,—
Save where it broke upon the lid
Of cup, or chafing-dish, or slid
About a vase, or struck a blade
With lightning; or, where many-rayed
And quivering on a golden urn,
A mimic sun would seem to burn.
When Valery of the Vale stood there,
Unhooded by her rebel hair,
That sunbeam left the urn, to smite
Her golden head with dancing light.
Unhooded by her rebel hair,
That sunbeam left the urn, to smite
Her golden head with dancing light.
The 'prentice lad, he was not one
To blink because he saw the sun;
A flippant answer he had given
Untroubled to the queen of heaven.
And lending half an eye and ear
The while she made her wishes clear,
He finished toying with his nails
To throw her necklet in the scales.
“Three ounces, seven grains,” quoth he,
“Of gold as pure as gold can be;
And you shall have its worth and weight
In ducats, and I will not bate
A denyer for its cranks and curls,
Its form so fashionless, with whorls,
Like empty sea-shells.” “Let it be
A bargain, and have done,” quoth she.
To blink because he saw the sun;
A flippant answer he had given
Untroubled to the queen of heaven.
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The while she made her wishes clear,
He finished toying with his nails
To throw her necklet in the scales.
“Three ounces, seven grains,” quoth he,
“Of gold as pure as gold can be;
And you shall have its worth and weight
In ducats, and I will not bate
A denyer for its cranks and curls,
Its form so fashionless, with whorls,
Like empty sea-shells.” “Let it be
A bargain, and have done,” quoth she.
And speaking thus, adown the street
They heard the clank of horse's feet,
That halted as the gold was flung
Into the scale; and as it rung
Smiting the counter, on the floor
There stole a shadow from the door,
Which darkened her from feet to breast,
But spared the glory of the rest.
And shrinkingly as Valery turned,
She saw the goldsmith's eyes that burned
Right on her through the dim half-light
In which he stood eclipsed; all bright
And glowing where he bore the brunt
Of summer sunshine, but in front
A darkened image, grandly tall,
And nobly beautiful withal.
They heard the clank of horse's feet,
That halted as the gold was flung
Into the scale; and as it rung
Smiting the counter, on the floor
There stole a shadow from the door,
Which darkened her from feet to breast,
But spared the glory of the rest.
And shrinkingly as Valery turned,
She saw the goldsmith's eyes that burned
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In which he stood eclipsed; all bright
And glowing where he bore the brunt
Of summer sunshine, but in front
A darkened image, grandly tall,
And nobly beautiful withal.
He doffed his cap and entered in;
To wear it he had deemed a sin;
He thought—“This rare old shop of mine,
Gra'mercy, it has grown a shrine.”
He said: “Bright lady, speak your will,
That knowing it, I may fulfil.”
To wear it he had deemed a sin;
He thought—“This rare old shop of mine,
Gra'mercy, it has grown a shrine.”
He said: “Bright lady, speak your will,
That knowing it, I may fulfil.”
Then straight she told him how she had
Her necklet to the 'prentice lad
Sold for its weight in coinéd gold.
Whereon he raised it fold on fold;
Its supple chains together caught
By quaintest fancies, deftly wrought,
He eyed an instant, and then glanced
Up at the lady, and stood tranced
One giddy moment in his place,—
So wrought on him that gracious face.
Her necklet to the 'prentice lad
Sold for its weight in coinéd gold.
Whereon he raised it fold on fold;
Its supple chains together caught
By quaintest fancies, deftly wrought,
He eyed an instant, and then glanced
Up at the lady, and stood tranced
One giddy moment in his place,—
So wrought on him that gracious face.
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He pressed the vision from his eyes,
And to the 'prentice lad quoth he:
“You serve my customers this wise
When I am not at hand to see?
Lack you the grace that should discern
How dullards such as you might learn
Lessons from this that scarce could reach
The wisest through the port of speech?
See you no worth in loving thought?
As craftsman, do you count for nought
Such perfect craft? Go, ‘dust to dust’
Is still the word; you see the crust
Which life informs, the life you miss.
Begone, sir knave; I'll look to this.
By'r Lady, it is well I came
To free my dealing from such blame
As you had tarnished it withal.”
Again he let the necklet fall
Into the scale, and times twice ten
He weighted it up with gold, and then
He took it in his hands again,
And over it he closed the twain;
Trembling a little as he drew
It in and out, and through and through.
His ringing voice grew strangely soft—
“Say, lady, have you worn it oft?”
“Nay, never a time at all,” quoth she,
“'Tis new as morning light for me.”
He laid it on the counter down
And bent his dazzled eyes above:
“I thought it worth a sovereign crown,—
I find it is not worth your glove.”
And to the 'prentice lad quoth he:
“You serve my customers this wise
When I am not at hand to see?
Lack you the grace that should discern
How dullards such as you might learn
Lessons from this that scarce could reach
The wisest through the port of speech?
See you no worth in loving thought?
As craftsman, do you count for nought
Such perfect craft? Go, ‘dust to dust’
Is still the word; you see the crust
Which life informs, the life you miss.
Begone, sir knave; I'll look to this.
By'r Lady, it is well I came
To free my dealing from such blame
As you had tarnished it withal.”
Again he let the necklet fall
Into the scale, and times twice ten
He weighted it up with gold, and then
He took it in his hands again,
And over it he closed the twain;
Trembling a little as he drew
It in and out, and through and through.
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“Say, lady, have you worn it oft?”
“Nay, never a time at all,” quoth she,
“'Tis new as morning light for me.”
He laid it on the counter down
And bent his dazzled eyes above:
“I thought it worth a sovereign crown,—
I find it is not worth your glove.”
Oh, but her blood, a gradual flame,
Neck, cheek, and brow, in turns o'ercame;
All but her eyes, that were so bold
In maidenhood they could behold
With steadfast orb that noon-day light
Which beats upon the soul so bright,
That life's sweet morning in its beam
Shows pallid as a fading dream.
The goldsmith dared not lift his face,
But light of love filled all the place;
It crept from 'neath his sheathèd eyes,
And wrapt her in a golden cloud,
Wherein she could but breathe in sighs,
Wherein her heart beat strong and loud.
She was a maiden of high degree,
And so loved gentle courtesy;
She was a maiden of ancient race,
And so loved honour and knightly grace,
She had a heart to defend the right,
So loved all signs of lordly might;
She was a maiden young and fair,
And saw all courtesy stand there,
All honour, grace, and strength, well shown
Through favour that might match her own.
Neck, cheek, and brow, in turns o'ercame;
All but her eyes, that were so bold
In maidenhood they could behold
With steadfast orb that noon-day light
Which beats upon the soul so bright,
That life's sweet morning in its beam
Shows pallid as a fading dream.
The goldsmith dared not lift his face,
But light of love filled all the place;
It crept from 'neath his sheathèd eyes,
And wrapt her in a golden cloud,
Wherein she could but breathe in sighs,
Wherein her heart beat strong and loud.
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And so loved gentle courtesy;
She was a maiden of ancient race,
And so loved honour and knightly grace,
She had a heart to defend the right,
So loved all signs of lordly might;
She was a maiden young and fair,
And saw all courtesy stand there,
All honour, grace, and strength, well shown
Through favour that might match her own.
The goldsmith was a merchant wight,
Had fashioned you a chain or ring;
But his manners had not shamed a knight,
His mien had well become a king.
Had fashioned you a chain or ring;
But his manners had not shamed a knight,
His mien had well become a king.
Oh, moments all too passing sweet,
Moments in passing all too fleet!
She turned to go for maidenhood
Who still for dear delight had stood.
With lowered lids, to hide the glow
Of eyes inept, she turned to go;
Dark was the space about the door,
The goldsmith had been there before,
And kneeling, barred the passage where
She else had met the sunlit air.
This moment from the stores of time
Was his,—he caught it in its prime,
To make of it a crown which he
Might wear through all eternity.
Moments in passing all too fleet!
She turned to go for maidenhood
Who still for dear delight had stood.
With lowered lids, to hide the glow
Of eyes inept, she turned to go;
Dark was the space about the door,
The goldsmith had been there before,
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She else had met the sunlit air.
This moment from the stores of time
Was his,—he caught it in its prime,
To make of it a crown which he
Might wear through all eternity.
So strong and sweet the words he spake,
When first his passion's torrent brake
The bounds where it had chafed for years,—
So sweet, so strong, it drew sweet tears
From Valery's eyes which, as she bent
Above his face, his cheeks besprent.
He murmured: “Were I black as night,
Such baptism had washed me white.”
He said: “But I do bear a name
Knows no dishonour, nor much blame,
And hold a heart which high endeavour
Shall raise to be your throne for ever.
Of mortal presence—foul or fair—
The spot has been for ever bare,
And still for ever, if you hold
My pleading to be over bold,
'T will be a vision-haunted place,
Barren of every living grace.”
When first his passion's torrent brake
The bounds where it had chafed for years,—
So sweet, so strong, it drew sweet tears
From Valery's eyes which, as she bent
Above his face, his cheeks besprent.
He murmured: “Were I black as night,
Such baptism had washed me white.”
He said: “But I do bear a name
Knows no dishonour, nor much blame,
And hold a heart which high endeavour
Shall raise to be your throne for ever.
Of mortal presence—foul or fair—
The spot has been for ever bare,
And still for ever, if you hold
My pleading to be over bold,
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Barren of every living grace.”
He was a man, and she a maid
To love's appeal first giving ear;
Count it not strange if she essayed
To speak, and failed for joy or fear.
One moment failed, for she was brave,
As brave as she was straight and true;
Her brother's need fresh courage gave,
The old love dared to face the new.
To love's appeal first giving ear;
Count it not strange if she essayed
To speak, and failed for joy or fear.
One moment failed, for she was brave,
As brave as she was straight and true;
Her brother's need fresh courage gave,
The old love dared to face the new.
She said: “I am no woman free
To entertain your courtesy,
For like a Nazarite of old
I have a vow upon me, strong
As love and death, which ere I wrong,
I'll lay me 'neath the churchyard mould.
My mother on her dying bed
Bound it upon me, heart and head,
And hand and foot, and limbs and life,
And I must keep it sooth,” she said,
“In single truth; I may not wed:
It is no dowry for a wife;
And I would keep it were I free
Of all but mine own heart,” wept she;
“It is my brother, warped and weak,
That God, no less than she, has laid
So naked on my hands, and bade
Me cover from a world so bleak.”
To entertain your courtesy,
For like a Nazarite of old
I have a vow upon me, strong
As love and death, which ere I wrong,
I'll lay me 'neath the churchyard mould.
My mother on her dying bed
Bound it upon me, heart and head,
And hand and foot, and limbs and life,
And I must keep it sooth,” she said,
“In single truth; I may not wed:
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And I would keep it were I free
Of all but mine own heart,” wept she;
“It is my brother, warped and weak,
That God, no less than she, has laid
So naked on my hands, and bade
Me cover from a world so bleak.”
The goldsmith then he rose upright;
And filled the doorway with his height;
An army's champion so looked he.
“I too will bind me with an oath:
This heart, this hand shall hold ye both,
And hold him no less close than thee!
If aught through me thy brother fail,”
The goldsmith's cheek grew ashen pale,—
“Then may the thing I hold most dear—
Thy gracious self—be turned to stone,
And leave me maddened and alone—
Alone and maddened ever here.”
And filled the doorway with his height;
An army's champion so looked he.
“I too will bind me with an oath:
This heart, this hand shall hold ye both,
And hold him no less close than thee!
If aught through me thy brother fail,”
The goldsmith's cheek grew ashen pale,—
“Then may the thing I hold most dear—
Thy gracious self—be turned to stone,
And leave me maddened and alone—
Alone and maddened ever here.”
She raised her eyes and looked at him,—
Her eyes were bright, his eyes were dim,
And rested on her cheek, rose-red,
As though they gazed upon the dead.
She called him softly by his name,
And still no note of answer came;
She laid her hand upon his arm,
And yet he hardly owned the charm;
She bowed her head upon his breast,
And in the act her love confessed.
“Oh, manhood's noble might,” thought she,
“O'erwrought by love, and love of me!”
Then first the darker vision fled,
As back he turned her radiant head,
And in a flash of silent bliss,
Their souls encountered in a kiss.
Her eyes were bright, his eyes were dim,
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As though they gazed upon the dead.
She called him softly by his name,
And still no note of answer came;
She laid her hand upon his arm,
And yet he hardly owned the charm;
She bowed her head upon his breast,
And in the act her love confessed.
“Oh, manhood's noble might,” thought she,
“O'erwrought by love, and love of me!”
Then first the darker vision fled,
As back he turned her radiant head,
And in a flash of silent bliss,
Their souls encountered in a kiss.
Rare triumph of the golden gloom,
To witness in its freshest bloom
The flower of these two lives, which first
Thus into joyous being burst.
To witness in its freshest bloom
The flower of these two lives, which first
Thus into joyous being burst.
“God grant my brother like it well,”
She said, and broke the sweet love-spell,
Then murmured: “Howsoe'er it be,
I'll be true wife to none but thee!”
She said, and broke the sweet love-spell,
Then murmured: “Howsoe'er it be,
I'll be true wife to none but thee!”
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She went, and he upon her track
Had followed, but she waved him back,
And left him in the golden gloom;—
Oh, life and love! Oh, love and doom!
Had followed, but she waved him back,
And left him in the golden gloom;—
Oh, life and love! Oh, love and doom!
| Gerard's Monument | |