 | Gerard's Monument |  |
6
In Saviour's Church of a Sabbath day,
Three souls were wont to kneel and pray,—
A woman, a youth, and a maid were they;
God rest those souls wherever they be!
They knelt and prayed among the crowd,
With downcast eyes, and faces bowed;
It was a proper sight to see.
Three souls were wont to kneel and pray,—
A woman, a youth, and a maid were they;
God rest those souls wherever they be!
They knelt and prayed among the crowd,
With downcast eyes, and faces bowed;
It was a proper sight to see.
The woman was old, was withered and worn,
And her bearing told of a low degree;
The youth had been stricken before he was born.
Crook'd and stunted and pale was he;
But the maiden glowed like a rosy morn;
Valery of the Vale hight she.
And her bearing told of a low degree;
The youth had been stricken before he was born.
Crook'd and stunted and pale was he;
But the maiden glowed like a rosy morn;
Valery of the Vale hight she.
And near to where they knelt and prayed,
Two figures in carven stone were laid;
First came the dame, and then the knight,
Still and stony, rigid and white;
Two figures in carven stone were laid;
First came the dame, and then the knight,
Still and stony, rigid and white;
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Then Valery with her hands upraised,
Her cheeks as summer blossoms clear,
Her lips more ripe than summer fruit,
Her eyelids dropped in holy fear
Over the eyes too bright to suit
The twilight place; her budding life
That shone so fair, so fresh and rife,
That some in praying there paused amazed,
And sighed unwittingly, “God be praised!”
Her cheeks as summer blossoms clear,
Her lips more ripe than summer fruit,
Her eyelids dropped in holy fear
Over the eyes too bright to suit
The twilight place; her budding life
That shone so fair, so fresh and rife,
That some in praying there paused amazed,
And sighed unwittingly, “God be praised!”
The ancient woman said in her prayer:
“Mother Mary! take to thy care
Two poor lambs and fold them well,—
Pasture them better than I can tell.
The keep it totters, is empty and cold,
We cling like ivy on a wall;
Remember the young, nor forget the old;—
Hast room enow in thy heart for all.”
“Mother Mary! take to thy care
Two poor lambs and fold them well,—
Pasture them better than I can tell.
The keep it totters, is empty and cold,
We cling like ivy on a wall;
Remember the young, nor forget the old;—
Hast room enow in thy heart for all.”
The youth with the faded, restless eye,
Writhing, wringing, his long, lean hands,
Prayed thus: “Ye powers of earth and sky,
I ask not a rood of my father's lands;
Never their goodly blood shall flow
In veins whose fountain my heart hath been,
Nor ever that heart may feel the glow
Of another's beating with nought between;
Living unloving, and dying alone,
The blighted shoot of a perishing tree,
Save me from living and dying unknown,
To lift up a name and to make it mine own;
A name so bright that the mole must see,
So high, that the scorner shall bend the knee!”
Writhing, wringing, his long, lean hands,
Prayed thus: “Ye powers of earth and sky,
I ask not a rood of my father's lands;
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In veins whose fountain my heart hath been,
Nor ever that heart may feel the glow
Of another's beating with nought between;
Living unloving, and dying alone,
The blighted shoot of a perishing tree,
Save me from living and dying unknown,
To lift up a name and to make it mine own;
A name so bright that the mole must see,
So high, that the scorner shall bend the knee!”
The blooming maid as she bent in prayer
Beneath her glory of red gold hair,
Had a saintly light on her face so fair.
She prayed as the rich and high should pray,
Giving her prayers like alms away;
She prayed like a fond and favoured child,
Whose winsome pleadings have ever beguiled.
“Maiden sweet, with the mother's heart,
Mary! flower of all the earth!
Canst thou, pitiful as thou art,
Count our sorrows for nothing worth?
Never, no! tho' I wist not well.
Wherefore my mother's son was hurled
Out so poor on the plenteous world,
I do know—thou hast heard me tell,—
Sitting still at his restless feet,—
That love it worketh like a spell;
And I do love thee, Maiden sweet!”
Beneath her glory of red gold hair,
Had a saintly light on her face so fair.
She prayed as the rich and high should pray,
Giving her prayers like alms away;
She prayed like a fond and favoured child,
Whose winsome pleadings have ever beguiled.
“Maiden sweet, with the mother's heart,
Mary! flower of all the earth!
Canst thou, pitiful as thou art,
Count our sorrows for nothing worth?
Never, no! tho' I wist not well.
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Out so poor on the plenteous world,
I do know—thou hast heard me tell,—
Sitting still at his restless feet,—
That love it worketh like a spell;
And I do love thee, Maiden sweet!”
“Holy mother—the heart of a man—
A heart like his, so stormy and wild,—
Think of it, doomed by a cruel ban,
To beat in the feeble breast of a child!
Mother, I would not have thee weep—
Hast wept such tears in days long past—
And so thou see'st I strive to keep
Mine own from falling hot and fast;
But, oh! belike thine heart will bleed
In thinking on my mother's son,
And, flowing out in gracious deed,
Some bounty for his need be won.
And Jesu who hast crowns and thrones
Men cannot see for lust and pride,—
Who rainedst light when men rained stones
On Martyr Stephen ere he died,—
O Lord, if from thy holy place
Thou notest what we have or lack,
Pay Gerard with some inward grace,
Each outward good thou holdest back.”
A heart like his, so stormy and wild,—
Think of it, doomed by a cruel ban,
To beat in the feeble breast of a child!
Mother, I would not have thee weep—
Hast wept such tears in days long past—
And so thou see'st I strive to keep
Mine own from falling hot and fast;
But, oh! belike thine heart will bleed
In thinking on my mother's son,
And, flowing out in gracious deed,
Some bounty for his need be won.
And Jesu who hast crowns and thrones
Men cannot see for lust and pride,—
Who rainedst light when men rained stones
On Martyr Stephen ere he died,—
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Thou notest what we have or lack,
Pay Gerard with some inward grace,
Each outward good thou holdest back.”
Uprose the suppliants one and all;
The halting youth of stature small,
And the blooming maiden straight and tall,
Went linked together adown the aisle.
The maiden's hand was lightly pressed
On Gerard's arm, where, unconfessed,
It guided while it seemed to rest;
Oh maiden heart so full of guile!
The maiden's head, no longer bowed,
Was held on high; some called her proud,—
I wis she but defied the throng
To gaze too strangely, or too long.
The halting youth of stature small,
And the blooming maiden straight and tall,
Went linked together adown the aisle.
The maiden's hand was lightly pressed
On Gerard's arm, where, unconfessed,
It guided while it seemed to rest;
Oh maiden heart so full of guile!
The maiden's head, no longer bowed,
Was held on high; some called her proud,—
I wis she but defied the throng
To gaze too strangely, or too long.
Oh kindly beauty, to keep the eye
From dwelling on meaner sights near by;
When they passed together, that unmatched pair,
Men only said: “Dear God, how fair!”
From dwelling on meaner sights near by;
When they passed together, that unmatched pair,
Men only said: “Dear God, how fair!”
Her crispèd locks of ruddy gold
Over her stately shoulders rolled,
And surging downward, by the way
Scattered a mist of gleaming spray.
Her eyes had the tinct of Spanish wine,
Bright as mirror, and deep as mine;
Beneath her kirtle of faded silk,
Was a bosom as white as new-drawn milk;
Of sheen as fresh as the coming rose,
Over a virgin's bower that blows;
But a heart most womanly dwelt within.
God teach them better who count that sin.
Over her stately shoulders rolled,
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Scattered a mist of gleaming spray.
Her eyes had the tinct of Spanish wine,
Bright as mirror, and deep as mine;
Beneath her kirtle of faded silk,
Was a bosom as white as new-drawn milk;
Of sheen as fresh as the coming rose,
Over a virgin's bower that blows;
But a heart most womanly dwelt within.
God teach them better who count that sin.
A path adown the aisle was cleft,
Where the country folk stood right and left.
It fell on a day in the month of May,
There stood a man alone in the porch;
He was not like to any there,
Unless to the maiden, proud and fair,—
In soothe that twain had made a pair.
He might have looked over her golden head,
But his dark eye fed
On her face instead.
Such burning looks may fairly scorch
A maiden's cheek, if so they be
Not quenched in gentlest courtesy.
Where the country folk stood right and left.
It fell on a day in the month of May,
There stood a man alone in the porch;
He was not like to any there,
Unless to the maiden, proud and fair,—
In soothe that twain had made a pair.
He might have looked over her golden head,
But his dark eye fed
On her face instead.
Such burning looks may fairly scorch
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Not quenched in gentlest courtesy.
The man who stood in the porch alone,
He might have been a man of stone,
Wrought something larger than the life;
But waiting there in seeming rest,
One hand his cap of samite pressed;
Its fellow lay upon his breast
Firm clenched as if to quell its strife.
And e'en his eyes, those orbs of fire,
Now soft, but prone to sudden ire,
Obeyed a motion not their own,
For meeting her as she drew nigh,
She drew them on, and passing by
She left them gazing on the sky,—
Him, standing in the porch alone.
He might have been a man of stone,
Wrought something larger than the life;
But waiting there in seeming rest,
One hand his cap of samite pressed;
Its fellow lay upon his breast
Firm clenched as if to quell its strife.
And e'en his eyes, those orbs of fire,
Now soft, but prone to sudden ire,
Obeyed a motion not their own,
For meeting her as she drew nigh,
She drew them on, and passing by
She left them gazing on the sky,—
Him, standing in the porch alone.
The blooming maiden past him by,
Nor turned on him her steadfast eye;
The youth looked up and his lip grew pale;
Such god-like bearing to him was bale.
The ancient woman muttered low:
“Ye wot that sun still melteth snow!”
Nor turned on him her steadfast eye;
The youth looked up and his lip grew pale;
Such god-like bearing to him was bale.
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“Ye wot that sun still melteth snow!”
So they all past on and out at the door
Meeting the new drawn breath of spring;
And right they saw the glistering shore,
And left they heard the copses ring;—
For sun and waves they shone of yore,
And brooding birds will ever sing.
Meeting the new drawn breath of spring;
And right they saw the glistering shore,
And left they heard the copses ring;—
For sun and waves they shone of yore,
And brooding birds will ever sing.
And the three past on and out of the town,
Through the wicket gate which led to the mead,
Where Valery kilted her faded gown,
And none were near to mark or heed,
Save the humble day's-eye in the grass,
That opened wide to see her pass.
Through the wicket gate which led to the mead,
Where Valery kilted her faded gown,
And none were near to mark or heed,
Save the humble day's-eye in the grass,
That opened wide to see her pass.
The ancient woman said that night,
Combing the maiden's locks so bright,
Whence many a spark flew out in the dark:
“The goldsmith, saw ye him to-day
As he stood in the porch, so gallant and gay?”
And the maiden coldly answered “Nay.”
Combing the maiden's locks so bright,
Whence many a spark flew out in the dark:
“The goldsmith, saw ye him to-day
As he stood in the porch, so gallant and gay?”
And the maiden coldly answered “Nay.”
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“The goldsmith is a man of mark,”
Quoth ancient Margery,—so she hight;—
“He has journeyed far, he has journeyed wide,
His fame is fair as his gold is bright;
He has climbed the mount which upheld the ark,
He has seen the land where Jesus died,
And a cross of stars—a wondrous sight—
Shines over the spot if men say right.”
Said Valery, “Kiss me, and good night.”
Quoth ancient Margery,—so she hight;—
“He has journeyed far, he has journeyed wide,
His fame is fair as his gold is bright;
He has climbed the mount which upheld the ark,
He has seen the land where Jesus died,
And a cross of stars—a wondrous sight—
Shines over the spot if men say right.”
Said Valery, “Kiss me, and good night.”
| Gerard's Monument | |