 | Gerard's Monument |  |
The goldsmith in these eerie days
Would steal behind, and stand a-gaze
Upon his waning wife, or he
Would serve her on his bended knee,
Or seek with arts of moving speech
The frozen source of tears to reach;—
Or pray her to appoint some pain,
Some mighty strain for heart and brain,
Some penance that would hold a dim,
Faint hope that she would smile again,
Though haply never more for him.
Would steal behind, and stand a-gaze
Upon his waning wife, or he
Would serve her on his bended knee,
Or seek with arts of moving speech
The frozen source of tears to reach;—
Or pray her to appoint some pain,
Some mighty strain for heart and brain,
Some penance that would hold a dim,
Faint hope that she would smile again,
Though haply never more for him.
She was compliant, soft, and meek,
She let his kisses press her cheek;
But still in answer to his moan,
She said: “My heart is turned to stone.”
She let his kisses press her cheek;
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She said: “My heart is turned to stone.”
But sometimes when she little wist
Would come sweet kisses still unkist,
Left over from the plenteous past—
To die upon her lips unblest,
To mock them from their marble rest.—
Mock them for they had kissed their last.
Then she alone would make her moan:
“Oh God, my heart is turned to stone!”
Would come sweet kisses still unkist,
Left over from the plenteous past—
To die upon her lips unblest,
To mock them from their marble rest.—
Mock them for they had kissed their last.
Then she alone would make her moan:
“Oh God, my heart is turned to stone!”
And then, his arm with fever strung,
Quick through the house his hammer rung
With nervous beat that did convulse
Its silence like a throbbing pulse.
And so a silver coffin rose
To sight,—a shrine that should enclose
A wasted body, wildly rent
Asunder from a soul that went
Unshriven to a doubtful goal.
And thus was Gerard's monument
Upreared in penitence and dole.
The goldsmith was not one to count
His work too costly, or to mount
The worth of gems or precious ores
With purpose to enlarge his stores;
But working on the monument,
He reckoned every moment spent;
And working on it for a year,
He prized each hour, and prized it dear.
He measured and he sounded it:
“'T is solid silver every whit,—
Of fashion and device most rare,—
And I have sought to make it fair.”
But still he added work and stuff,
Nor ever felt it fair enough.
Yet when that silver coffer went
To Saviour's Church, beyond compare,
It was the fairest monument
Of any in the chapel there.
And there were masses daily said
In church for the unshriven dead;
But one there was who never wept,
Who seldom spoke, nor ever slept;
Who never had been seen to pray
For soul or body since that day
When she had knelt in direst need,
Nor God nor man had seemed to heed.
Quick through the house his hammer rung
With nervous beat that did convulse
Its silence like a throbbing pulse.
And so a silver coffin rose
To sight,—a shrine that should enclose
A wasted body, wildly rent
Asunder from a soul that went
Unshriven to a doubtful goal.
And thus was Gerard's monument
Upreared in penitence and dole.
102
His work too costly, or to mount
The worth of gems or precious ores
With purpose to enlarge his stores;
But working on the monument,
He reckoned every moment spent;
And working on it for a year,
He prized each hour, and prized it dear.
He measured and he sounded it:
“'T is solid silver every whit,—
Of fashion and device most rare,—
And I have sought to make it fair.”
But still he added work and stuff,
Nor ever felt it fair enough.
Yet when that silver coffer went
To Saviour's Church, beyond compare,
It was the fairest monument
Of any in the chapel there.
And there were masses daily said
In church for the unshriven dead;
But one there was who never wept,
Who seldom spoke, nor ever slept;
Who never had been seen to pray
103
When she had knelt in direst need,
Nor God nor man had seemed to heed.
| Gerard's Monument | |