Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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THE DARK ANGEL. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
THE DARK ANGEL.
In the fair and free beginning of the bright and happy years,I was born in shine and shadow
Of the mountain and the meadow,
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Ah, the prophet found me helpful and the priest he bound me slave,
And in temples dim and awful
With their bloody rites unlawful
I was present at the sacrifice and dug the victim's grave.
Out of ghastly groves that stretched strange arms and reared a horrid head
Making dusky court and column,
With a murmur sad and solemn
I arose in garments grey and held my converse with the dead.
Weeping mothers knew and cursed me as they heard my trailing robe,
When it rustled round the bosom
With its lily baby blossom,
As I came in mournful mission for the treasures of the globe.
And the children fled with seared and sobbing breasts when I drew near
From my ghostly track of terror,
And the foot that with no error
Strode straight onward though through iron ranks of clashing sword and spear.
But I see nought of the sadness with these eyes bereaved and blind,
And from trodden paths of duty
Yet I reap my bliss and beauty,
Though I leave such ruined homes, and scared and broken hearts behind.
I am simply a Dark Angel and must go where I am bid
On my errand long and lonely,
Up and down the earth, and only
In the curtained haunts of twilight and the tomb or coffin-lid.
And I strike in love and mercy and the majesty of strength,
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Or the ribald lips more prayerful
And to light the world with vigils through its corridors at length.
If I bring but shade and sorrow and my trembling touch is cold
And to weakness gloom and anguish,
While the little flowerets languish
At my breath, it is because my sleepless frame is thin and cold.
But I am the foe of sickness and I ever fight with sin
On my veiled and endless journey,
Like a knight who rides a tourney
For the beautiful and noble and is sure that he must win.
Though I forage oft with famine and the pestilence and blood
And red clouds of wrathful sunset,
And no night can stay my onset,
Yet I fill the shrines with suppliants and cleanse the tainted flood.
For where love is baulked or powerless I know my task, I hear,
And from stormy deeps or stillness
In the brooding hour of illness
I awake, with all my scourges of the Night—for I am FEAR.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |