 | The Burden of the Bell and Other Lyrics |  |
110
DOLORES in the CHURCH of St. CUNEGUNDE.
Storm under heaven—no moon, no star; but by the moaning sea,
In the convent church of St. Cunegunde, thrice deep the shadows be,
Night, and the Doom of God, and Death, are there,—the awful Three.
In the convent church of St. Cunegunde, thrice deep the shadows be,
Night, and the Doom of God, and Death, are there,—the awful Three.
She lieth in shroud on the catafalque; and the taper's fitful glare
Giveth ghostly light to the pallid brow and the black and sweeping hair
And the unclosed eyes, one tale that tell—one fearful tale, despair.
Giveth ghostly light to the pallid brow and the black and sweeping hair
And the unclosed eyes, one tale that tell—one fearful tale, despair.
She lieth a corpse on the catafalque, what time the priest doth pray,
In the choir, to the good St. Cunegunde and the mother of God alway,
While the incense-smoke around the bier up-curleth dim and grey.
In the choir, to the good St. Cunegunde and the mother of God alway,
While the incense-smoke around the bier up-curleth dim and grey.
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Despair, despair! through the priestly chant—through the muttered mass, despair—
St. Cunegunde, Mary, mother of God, they heed nor vow, nor prayer,
For the unclosed eyes one tale reveal,—one tale, despair, despair.
St. Cunegunde, Mary, mother of God, they heed nor vow, nor prayer,
For the unclosed eyes one tale reveal,—one tale, despair, despair.
Approach, lift up the pall,—behold! oh, rich and perfect form!
Oh! royal brow and lip and cheek, unmarred by strife and storm!
Meet shrine was that for lofty soul, ere flawed by mortal sin.—
Meet, the rapt worship of the world, to challenge and to win—
Meet shrine for passion—holy saints! 'twas passion dwelt therein!
Oh! royal brow and lip and cheek, unmarred by strife and storm!
Meet shrine was that for lofty soul, ere flawed by mortal sin.—
Meet, the rapt worship of the world, to challenge and to win—
Meet shrine for passion—holy saints! 'twas passion dwelt therein!
Her life was passion: on one die each earthly hope was thrown,
All hope—it failed,—heaven's lightnings fell, and smote their victim prone—
Lo, on the gilded catafalque, she lieth here alone!
Vain, vain the uplifted palms,—ay, vain that sweet and solemn song;
Hence black stoled ministrants, depart, with all your chanting throng!
And ye, saints, martyrs, angels, all that breathe heaven's blessed air,
Divide, make way before the throne, for one heart-broken prayer,—
God, God, the all-merciful! Christ-God! revoke that doom, despair!
All hope—it failed,—heaven's lightnings fell, and smote their victim prone—
Lo, on the gilded catafalque, she lieth here alone!
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Hence black stoled ministrants, depart, with all your chanting throng!
And ye, saints, martyrs, angels, all that breathe heaven's blessed air,
Divide, make way before the throne, for one heart-broken prayer,—
God, God, the all-merciful! Christ-God! revoke that doom, despair!
| The Burden of the Bell and Other Lyrics | |