Gerard's Monument And Other Poems. By Emily Pfeiffer: 2nd Ed., Revised and Enlarged |
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| II. |
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| VI. |
 | Gerard's Monument |  |
The keep was tottering to its fall,
But Ivy clamped the failing wall;
And on the side that faced the down
The ivy had a berry crown;
And where the ocean's bitter breath
Had caught it, still it clung in death,
And over cracks and weather-stains
It started out like swollen veins.
And every day at the turn of the tide,
The ancient tower had grown to be
More and more a thing of the sea.
For every day the sea would hide
Some ocean gift in the dinted side
Of the rock whereon it grew, and take
Some earthly product for keep-sake.
And every day at the set of the sun
The earth had lost and the ocean won
By the soft exchange, and had grown to be
More and more the prize of the sea.
But Ivy clamped the failing wall;
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The ivy had a berry crown;
And where the ocean's bitter breath
Had caught it, still it clung in death,
And over cracks and weather-stains
It started out like swollen veins.
And every day at the turn of the tide,
The ancient tower had grown to be
More and more a thing of the sea.
For every day the sea would hide
Some ocean gift in the dinted side
Of the rock whereon it grew, and take
Some earthly product for keep-sake.
And every day at the set of the sun
The earth had lost and the ocean won
By the soft exchange, and had grown to be
More and more the prize of the sea.
And every day at early dawn,
When Gerard looked from his turret high,
A little more of light had gone
From land, and sea, and sky.
And every day his tale of work
Was rendered under greater irk;
And every eve the twilight stole
A little sooner o'er the whole;
And every night he lay awake
And thought the day would never break,
And heard the sobbing of the waves
At work within the lonely caves
That mined the turret where he lay
Wishing like Paulus, for the day.
When Gerard looked from his turret high,
A little more of light had gone
From land, and sea, and sky.
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Was rendered under greater irk;
And every eve the twilight stole
A little sooner o'er the whole;
And every night he lay awake
And thought the day would never break,
And heard the sobbing of the waves
At work within the lonely caves
That mined the turret where he lay
Wishing like Paulus, for the day.
And sometimes forth the moon would come
And gaze upon him white and dumb;
And sometimes he would choose a star
And send his curious thought afar
To meet it at its awful source,
Or follow on its lonely course.
But oft to him his kinsfolk came
From out the past and stood around;
He knew each one by sight and name,
He knew their voices' various sound,
And stalwart warriors, armour clad,
Would look on him with eyes so sad,
That his, which had been dry for years,
Were wetted with self-pitying tears.
And sometimes when his sister came
Bringing the morning in her hair,
And in her eyes the pure soft flame
Of human love, and cleared the air
Of thick night-fancies with her breath,
And with her hands' cool pressure chased
The vagrant thoughts which burn to waste,—
So with quick life abashing death,—
Those tears of lonely anguish yet
On Gerard's wasted cheek were wet.
And Gerard, risen in his bed,
Would sit and wander with his eyes
About her brows, her cheek, her head,
And hold her hand on such a wise
As they who drown will clutch and clasp
The one thing steady to their grasp.
And gaze upon him white and dumb;
And sometimes he would choose a star
And send his curious thought afar
To meet it at its awful source,
Or follow on its lonely course.
But oft to him his kinsfolk came
From out the past and stood around;
He knew each one by sight and name,
He knew their voices' various sound,
And stalwart warriors, armour clad,
Would look on him with eyes so sad,
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Were wetted with self-pitying tears.
And sometimes when his sister came
Bringing the morning in her hair,
And in her eyes the pure soft flame
Of human love, and cleared the air
Of thick night-fancies with her breath,
And with her hands' cool pressure chased
The vagrant thoughts which burn to waste,—
So with quick life abashing death,—
Those tears of lonely anguish yet
On Gerard's wasted cheek were wet.
And Gerard, risen in his bed,
Would sit and wander with his eyes
About her brows, her cheek, her head,
And hold her hand on such a wise
As they who drown will clutch and clasp
The one thing steady to their grasp.
And loosing of his hold at length,
When he had won a little strength,
Gerard would say: “Now let us put
The time to profit; hand and foot
We two must work to mark the place
Where I was baffled in the chase;
Great God! if any step were lost
Of those I conquered at such cost!
Through issues that were blind to me,
Some future thought may wander free,
And men will bless me when they say:
“So far he came upon the way.”
And then they noted in a book,
Step upon step, the path he took,
To lose at last in empty air
All shows however strong or fair;
Leaving for souls unborn to find
The hidden path beyond the wind.
When he had won a little strength,
Gerard would say: “Now let us put
The time to profit; hand and foot
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Where I was baffled in the chase;
Great God! if any step were lost
Of those I conquered at such cost!
Through issues that were blind to me,
Some future thought may wander free,
And men will bless me when they say:
“So far he came upon the way.”
And then they noted in a book,
Step upon step, the path he took,
To lose at last in empty air
All shows however strong or fair;
Leaving for souls unborn to find
The hidden path beyond the wind.
And when the day was half-way done,
And she from household tasks had won
Some further salvage, she would come
Again, and would resume the sum
Of work, that finished, should release
A spirit to its final peace.
And she from household tasks had won
Some further salvage, she would come
Again, and would resume the sum
Of work, that finished, should release
A spirit to its final peace.
The sun was sinking, round and red,
When Valery to Gerard said:
“Beseech you, brother, now give o'er.”
And Gerard thought awhile, and took
A deeper breath; then closed the book,
Smiling: “I've measured work and strength,
And find them fairly of a length;
The record is so nearly done,
To-night I may behold the sun.”
So Gerard Tyldesley worked no more.
When Valery to Gerard said:
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And Gerard thought awhile, and took
A deeper breath; then closed the book,
Smiling: “I've measured work and strength,
And find them fairly of a length;
The record is so nearly done,
To-night I may behold the sun.”
So Gerard Tyldesley worked no more.
He worked no more, but for a space
Sat gazing westward from his place,
His hand upon her lifted head,
She sitting at his feet; so fled
The moments with the flitting sun;
But there are moments, dearly won
From time, so precious with the deep
Things of the soul, that they will keep
Fresh amid chance, and change, and strife;
Pure samples of our vanished life.
And such an hour was this; had they
Two lingered earth-bound till to-day,
They could at will have felt again
That rare keen breath of bliss and pain
That held them silent, with their eyes
Drinking in light from other skies,
The while they watched the orb descend,
And waited for the seeming end.
Sat gazing westward from his place,
His hand upon her lifted head,
She sitting at his feet; so fled
The moments with the flitting sun;
But there are moments, dearly won
From time, so precious with the deep
Things of the soul, that they will keep
Fresh amid chance, and change, and strife;
Pure samples of our vanished life.
And such an hour was this; had they
Two lingered earth-bound till to-day,
They could at will have felt again
That rare keen breath of bliss and pain
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Drinking in light from other skies,
The while they watched the orb descend,
And waited for the seeming end.
The sun was dropping, red and round,
And still with rays of glory crowned,
Into a royal purple cloud,
A fringéd mantle, or a shroud;
And dotterels circling down to land
Upon the barren isles of sand,
With dusky backs and breasts of snow
Seemed in mid-air to come and go;
While on the bosom of the beach,
That soon they might no longer reach,
The little wavelets broke in plaint
O'ertaken by the soft constraint,
Which, howsoever they might chide,
Still drew them with the ebbing tide.
And still with rays of glory crowned,
Into a royal purple cloud,
A fringéd mantle, or a shroud;
And dotterels circling down to land
Upon the barren isles of sand,
With dusky backs and breasts of snow
Seemed in mid-air to come and go;
While on the bosom of the beach,
That soon they might no longer reach,
The little wavelets broke in plaint
O'ertaken by the soft constraint,
Which, howsoever they might chide,
Still drew them with the ebbing tide.
A step upon the turret stair,—
No wandering of the prisoned air,—
A wafting step which seemed to bring
A man before you, as the wing
Will bear the bird where it would be:
It was the goldsmith,—none but he.
No wandering of the prisoned air,—
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A man before you, as the wing
Will bear the bird where it would be:
It was the goldsmith,—none but he.
He paused a moment, for the hour
Was weighted with an unseen power.
He paused, and sobbing on the beach
They three could hear the waves beseech
The steadfast shore to hold them back,
Or else to follow on their track.
Was weighted with an unseen power.
He paused, and sobbing on the beach
They three could hear the waves beseech
The steadfast shore to hold them back,
Or else to follow on their track.
Of all the mighty warrior band
That nightly at his couch would stand,
Gerard had seen no form, no face,
More noble or of manlier grace
Than that which rose before him then,—
From head to heel a man of men.
The faded walls, the sunken floor,
The broken pictures in the glass,
Seemed each to shrink and pale before
The goldsmith as they saw him pass.
That nightly at his couch would stand,
Gerard had seen no form, no face,
More noble or of manlier grace
Than that which rose before him then,—
From head to heel a man of men.
The faded walls, the sunken floor,
The broken pictures in the glass,
Seemed each to shrink and pale before
The goldsmith as they saw him pass.
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So bright upon him was the sheen
Of youth, so rich the flush of health,
That low things grew to look more mean,
And poor things poorer for his wealth.
Of youth, so rich the flush of health,
That low things grew to look more mean,
And poor things poorer for his wealth.
He spoke: “I come not here as one
Claiming a wife who fain would shun
His presence, but as faithful groom
To guard a lady through the gloom.”
Claiming a wife who fain would shun
His presence, but as faithful groom
To guard a lady through the gloom.”
And Gerard answered, keen and shrill:
“Be husband, groom, or what you will;
My need is sorest now, and she
Will stay and watch this hour with me.”
“Be husband, groom, or what you will;
My need is sorest now, and she
Will stay and watch this hour with me.”
Whereon his sister bent her head:
“Gerard is sick,” was all she said.
“Gerard is sick,” was all she said.
“I would that I had such a hold
Upon your love; but I am bold
To think your brother somewhat strains
The means that are so rich in gains.”
Upon your love; but I am bold
To think your brother somewhat strains
The means that are so rich in gains.”
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“It is the sun that burns so red,
For he is ashen pale,” she said.
And he was pale as pale could be;
But paler than the pale was she.
For he is ashen pale,” she said.
And he was pale as pale could be;
But paler than the pale was she.
The goldsmith gauging of her fears,
Grew mad, and madder at her tears.
“I call to wit the God above,
You wrong him by your too-much love!
With mien so fierce, so bright of eye,
How think you that a man should die?”
Grew mad, and madder at her tears.
“I call to wit the God above,
You wrong him by your too-much love!
With mien so fierce, so bright of eye,
How think you that a man should die?”
“That light,” she moaned beneath her breath,
“Is wrath, and wrath for him means death.”
“Is wrath, and wrath for him means death.”
A man encircled in his ire
Is closed as in a wall of fire,—
An inner hell beyond the reach
Of woman's tears, or woman's speech.
For all he knew of spoken word,
For all he felt of touch, or tone,
For all he heard of sigh, or moan,—
The goldsmith might have stood alone.
Is closed as in a wall of fire,—
An inner hell beyond the reach
Of woman's tears, or woman's speech.
For all he knew of spoken word,
For all he felt of touch, or tone,
For all he heard of sigh, or moan,—
The goldsmith might have stood alone.
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And words of passion, long-repressed,
Now fell like blows upon a breast
So soft with pity, and dismay,
That as they smote they seemed to slay.
He charged them with his broken oath,
His honest purpose, wronged by both;
His fury like a tempest drave
His thought before it; as the wave
Is breasted by the straining bark,
So Valery in the loveless dark
Wrestled for more than life, wailed, wept,
Clung to his hands, then desperate swept
Her tears away and knelt distraught,
Abjured him by their love, besought
His ear in many a word or tone
Coined, tuned for him, and him alone.
In vain; she beat against the wind
Which thundered at her deaf and blind;
He cast her off; his soul at strife
Thronged all the issues of his life.
Now fell like blows upon a breast
So soft with pity, and dismay,
That as they smote they seemed to slay.
He charged them with his broken oath,
His honest purpose, wronged by both;
His fury like a tempest drave
His thought before it; as the wave
Is breasted by the straining bark,
So Valery in the loveless dark
Wrestled for more than life, wailed, wept,
Clung to his hands, then desperate swept
Her tears away and knelt distraught,
Abjured him by their love, besought
His ear in many a word or tone
Coined, tuned for him, and him alone.
In vain; she beat against the wind
Which thundered at her deaf and blind;
He cast her off; his soul at strife
Thronged all the issues of his life.
Then Gerard rose with sobbing breath,
Wrath wrestling hand to hand with death;
Hard, struggling words of pride and scorn
Pressed to his lips, and fell still-born;
The shadows of the final ill,
The last defeat, were on him, still
With crippled frame and stature low
Upreared to meet his stalwart foe,
One faint protecting hand he spread
Before his sister's prostrate head.
Wrath wrestling hand to hand with death;
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Pressed to his lips, and fell still-born;
The shadows of the final ill,
The last defeat, were on him, still
With crippled frame and stature low
Upreared to meet his stalwart foe,
One faint protecting hand he spread
Before his sister's prostrate head.
O wall of fire! O burning night
Of sin, that blinds with lying light!
The goldsmith felt his wrath defied
By those sad eyes from which there shone,
High in unconquerable pride,
A spirit tameless as his own,
And saw a man who forced a shield
Betwixt two hearts by love annealed.
Of sin, that blinds with lying light!
The goldsmith felt his wrath defied
By those sad eyes from which there shone,
High in unconquerable pride,
A spirit tameless as his own,
And saw a man who forced a shield
Betwixt two hearts by love annealed.
“No more,” he thundered, “hold your hand!
The thing you seem to claim is mine;
But death or hell I will withstand
The greed that overleaps that line!
I grudge you not my wasted store,
Glut your fell fires, then beg for more,—
But I defy you and the arts
Would lure from me, or rive in parts,
My proper prize, my treasure-trove,—
My whole, my perfect pearl of love!”
The thing you seem to claim is mine;
But death or hell I will withstand
The greed that overleaps that line!
I grudge you not my wasted store,
Glut your fell fires, then beg for more,—
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Would lure from me, or rive in parts,
My proper prize, my treasure-trove,—
My whole, my perfect pearl of love!”
His voice, which like a trumpet stirred
The shuddering air, was felt as heard;
As Gerald reeled before the blast
Back in his place to gasp his last,
The frail, offending hand, swept down,
Lit on his sister's golden crown.
The shuddering air, was felt as heard;
As Gerald reeled before the blast
Back in his place to gasp his last,
The frail, offending hand, swept down,
Lit on his sister's golden crown.
The goldsmith turned and made a stand,
Faced round, and saw the lingering hand,
And met the soul which seemed to rise
In flaming scorn from Gerard's eyes.
Faced round, and saw the lingering hand,
And met the soul which seemed to rise
In flaming scorn from Gerard's eyes.
His madness spoke: “You fret in vain,
This chafing can but clinch your chain;
Fume as you may, writhe as you will,—
A debtor is a bondman still?”
This chafing can but clinch your chain;
Fume as you may, writhe as you will,—
A debtor is a bondman still?”
Brute passion in its fierce revolt
Mastered him wholly. As a bolt
Is thrown from out a cloud, so fell
These words to break like light from hell
On Valery's heart. Base words which told
Her brother of the chain of gold
Which bound him; light accurst which shone
Upon an image overthrown,—
The god-like image of her knight,—
The man who overmatching men
Had spared to gild his name in fight
Because no dragon had been found
That dared dispute with him the ground.
That image, flawless, undefiled,
Virgin of fame,—which won the child
Of dead Crusaders from her dream
Of maidenhood,—showed in that gleam
A craven foe, with arm unknown
To knighthood, striking at the lone
And fallen. So her god was hurled
From heaven, and falling, shook the world.
Mastered him wholly. As a bolt
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These words to break like light from hell
On Valery's heart. Base words which told
Her brother of the chain of gold
Which bound him; light accurst which shone
Upon an image overthrown,—
The god-like image of her knight,—
The man who overmatching men
Had spared to gild his name in fight
Because no dragon had been found
That dared dispute with him the ground.
That image, flawless, undefiled,
Virgin of fame,—which won the child
Of dead Crusaders from her dream
Of maidenhood,—showed in that gleam
A craven foe, with arm unknown
To knighthood, striking at the lone
And fallen. So her god was hurled
From heaven, and falling, shook the world.
“Godfrey!” She wailed the goldsmith's name,
As from her heart there leaped the flame
And sentence of a fiery shame:
Shame, ruthless shame, that wastes and sears,
Shame, hot incendiary, that clears
Love's vernal groves, and quells its tears.
The cry that broke from Valery's lips
Was heard on board the out-bound ships,
Where hearts of men who scoffed at fear
Stopped beating for their ears to hear.
As from her heart there leaped the flame
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Shame, ruthless shame, that wastes and sears,
Shame, hot incendiary, that clears
Love's vernal groves, and quells its tears.
The cry that broke from Valery's lips
Was heard on board the out-bound ships,
Where hearts of men who scoffed at fear
Stopped beating for their ears to hear.
Yet none of all those sails in sight
But safely came to port again;
If wreck there were that summer night
It was not on the summer main.
But safely came to port again;
If wreck there were that summer night
It was not on the summer main.
But wreck there was; o'er one white soul
The billows of the tempest roll;
With that wild cry, that voice of doom,
A life had foundered in the gloom,—
Gone down and down amongst the waves
That yawned as in a hundred graves
Around her, and lay buried there
Past rescue in her love's despair.
The billows of the tempest roll;
With that wild cry, that voice of doom,
A life had foundered in the gloom,—
Gone down and down amongst the waves
That yawned as in a hundred graves
Around her, and lay buried there
Past rescue in her love's despair.
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When Valery rose again, she rose
As rise the fragments of a wreck,
Moved in new courses by the throes
Of a past passion, but no more
To put to sea, or steer to shore
With new-born purpose strong or weak.
So, guided as a body dead
By impulse of a spirit fled,
She—gathering in one glance the two
Before her—to the goldsmith threw
A gesture of the hand:
“Farewell!”
More lorn than wildest words could tell.
As rise the fragments of a wreck,
Moved in new courses by the throes
Of a past passion, but no more
To put to sea, or steer to shore
With new-born purpose strong or weak.
So, guided as a body dead
By impulse of a spirit fled,
She—gathering in one glance the two
Before her—to the goldsmith threw
A gesture of the hand:
“Farewell!”
More lorn than wildest words could tell.
And then she turned from him and knelt
Again, and then the goldsmith felt
The deepening silence of the room,—
And lonely in the gathering gloom;
And weary eyes, no longer bright,
Were hardly lifted to the height
Of his; and then a voice which still
Bore witness to a tyrant will,
Pierced through the silence: “I must go,—
My work unfinished,—but I trow
This graceless body, frail and bent,
Will lie beneath a monument
More rich and fair
Beyond compare
Than any in the chapel there;
And I shall owe it to your hand,
Good Goldsmith!” So the weird command
Died out on Gerard's dying breath,—
And then the silence was of death.
Again, and then the goldsmith felt
The deepening silence of the room,—
And lonely in the gathering gloom;
And weary eyes, no longer bright,
Were hardly lifted to the height
Of his; and then a voice which still
Bore witness to a tyrant will,
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My work unfinished,—but I trow
This graceless body, frail and bent,
Will lie beneath a monument
More rich and fair
Beyond compare
Than any in the chapel there;
And I shall owe it to your hand,
Good Goldsmith!” So the weird command
Died out on Gerard's dying breath,—
And then the silence was of death.
And Valery knelt, the while a soul
Took stormy passage to its goal.
And then she knelt beside the dead,
And loud the “Miserere” said;
Turning a blank white face above,
That caught no light from heaven or love.
Took stormy passage to its goal.
And then she knelt beside the dead,
And loud the “Miserere” said;
Turning a blank white face above,
That caught no light from heaven or love.
His fiery wrath had passed as smoke;
To outward sense the goldsmith woke;
And saw the ruins of his life,—
The silent corpse,—the praying wife.
To outward sense the goldsmith woke;
And saw the ruins of his life,—
The silent corpse,—the praying wife.
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That kneeling woman—from his stand
He could have touched her with the hand
But she was gone from him, as he
One while from her; the moaning sea,
Had lain between them, and less far
Had they been sundered. As a star
Removed to coldest depths of space,
He yearned towards her from his place
In utter loss; for she was fled—
Her spirit following with the dead.
He could have touched her with the hand
But she was gone from him, as he
One while from her; the moaning sea,
Had lain between them, and less far
Had they been sundered. As a star
Removed to coldest depths of space,
He yearned towards her from his place
In utter loss; for she was fled—
Her spirit following with the dead.
He wept and called upon her name;
She held on praying all the same.
He tried to win her to his heart—
Her chosen home;—but wide apart
From him, and severed from his love,
She set her stony eyes above.
She held on praying all the same.
He tried to win her to his heart—
Her chosen home;—but wide apart
From him, and severed from his love,
She set her stony eyes above.
At last she rose up in her place,
And turned to meet him face to face.
The goldsmith was a man to win
A woman in the teeth of sin;
And in his eyes were love and shame
Enough to burn out foulest blame;
But now upon this woman's sight
His beauty fell a thing to blight;
She turned from it in haste, and spread
A face-cloth to shut off the dead.
For days and nights she sat alone,
And listened dumbly to the moan
Of winds and waves, beside a bier;—
And sat and never shed a tear,
But kept the candles burning clear;
And 'twixt the day and candlelight—
The watching angels saw the sight—
Her face that waked, and his that slept
Became so like, the angels wept.
And turned to meet him face to face.
The goldsmith was a man to win
A woman in the teeth of sin;
And in his eyes were love and shame
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But now upon this woman's sight
His beauty fell a thing to blight;
She turned from it in haste, and spread
A face-cloth to shut off the dead.
For days and nights she sat alone,
And listened dumbly to the moan
Of winds and waves, beside a bier;—
And sat and never shed a tear,
But kept the candles burning clear;
And 'twixt the day and candlelight—
The watching angels saw the sight—
Her face that waked, and his that slept
Became so like, the angels wept.
And so she followed, as they bore
The body all along the shore
To Saviour's Church with chaunt and prayer,
And left it in the chapel there.
And so she came and took her place
At table, and pronounced the grace,
And carved the meat, and never said
A word to mind them of the dead.
The body all along the shore
To Saviour's Church with chaunt and prayer,
And left it in the chapel there.
And so she came and took her place
At table, and pronounced the grace,
And carved the meat, and never said
A word to mind them of the dead.
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But pining as the days grew long,
And dwindling as she sat and spun,
And growing sadder in the sun,
And waxing whiter in the breeze,
And stiller 'neath the happy trees
That opened to a burst of song,
No mortal ever saw her weep,
No angel ever watched her sleep.
And dwindling as she sat and spun,
And growing sadder in the sun,
And waxing whiter in the breeze,
And stiller 'neath the happy trees
That opened to a burst of song,
No mortal ever saw her weep,
No angel ever watched her sleep.
Oh, Jesu! she that was so bright,
How came she now to wax so white?—
The gold from out her hair to fail,—
Her tearless eyes to grow so pale?
And she who used to grandly sweep,
About the house to feebly creep?
How came she now to wax so white?—
The gold from out her hair to fail,—
Her tearless eyes to grow so pale?
And she who used to grandly sweep,
About the house to feebly creep?
Howl through the woods, when days are dark
And cold, ye stormy winds at will!
Break the dry boughs, and lash the bark,
Your wintry angers will not kill:
The blossom's withered,—stored the fruit,—
The fallen leaves renew the root.
And cold, ye stormy winds at will!
Break the dry boughs, and lash the bark,
Your wintry angers will not kill:
The blossom's withered,—stored the fruit,—
The fallen leaves renew the root.
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But when the year's fresh fountain rises,
And every branch with sap is rife,
When nature trembles into crises,
And every twig is quick with life,—
'Ware winds of March! your cruel sting
Can blast the promise of a spring.
And every branch with sap is rife,
When nature trembles into crises,
And every twig is quick with life,—
'Ware winds of March! your cruel sting
Can blast the promise of a spring.
| Gerard's Monument | |