 | The works of Francis Thompson |  |
221
THE HOUSE OF SORROWS
I.
Of the white purity
They wrought my wedding-dress,
Inwoven silverly—
For tears, as I do guess.
Oh, why did they with tears inweave my marriage-dress?
They wrought my wedding-dress,
Inwoven silverly—
For tears, as I do guess.
Oh, why did they with tears inweave my marriage-dress?
A girl, I did espouse
Destiny, grief, and fears;
The love of Austria's house
And its ancestral years
I learned; and my salt eyes grew erudite in tears.
Destiny, grief, and fears;
The love of Austria's house
And its ancestral years
I learned; and my salt eyes grew erudite in tears.
Devote our tragic line—
One to his rebel's aim,
One to his ignorant brine,
One to the eyeless flame:
Who should be skilled to weep but I, O Christ's dear Dame?
One to his rebel's aim,
One to his ignorant brine,
One to the eyeless flame:
Who should be skilled to weep but I, O Christ's dear Dame?
222
Give one more to the fire,
One more for water keep:
O Death, wilt thou not tire?
Still Austria must thou reap?
Can I have plummetless tears, that still thou bidd'st ‘Weep, weep!’?
One more for water keep:
O Death, wilt thou not tire?
Still Austria must thou reap?
Can I have plummetless tears, that still thou bidd'st ‘Weep, weep!’?
No—thou at length with me
Too far, Dark Fool, hast gone!
One costly cruelty
Voids thy dominion:
I am drained to the uttermost tear: O Rudolph, O my son!
Too far, Dark Fool, hast gone!
One costly cruelty
Voids thy dominion:
I am drained to the uttermost tear: O Rudolph, O my son!
Take this woof of sorrows,
Son of all Women's Tears!
I am not for the morrows,
I am dead with the dead years.
Lo, I vest Thee, Christ, with my woven tears!
Son of all Women's Tears!
I am not for the morrows,
I am dead with the dead years.
Lo, I vest Thee, Christ, with my woven tears!
My bridal wreath take thou,
Mary! Take Thou, O Christ,
My bridal garment! Now
Is all my fate sufficed,
And, robed and garlanded, the victim sacrificed.
Mary! Take Thou, O Christ,
My bridal garment! Now
Is all my fate sufficed,
And, robed and garlanded, the victim sacrificed.
II
The Son of Weeping heard,
The gift benignly saw;
The Women's Pitier heard.
Together, by hid law,
The life-gashed heart, the assassin's healing poniard, draw.
The gift benignly saw;
The Women's Pitier heard.
223
The life-gashed heart, the assassin's healing poniard, draw.
Too long that consummation
The obdurate seasons thwart;
Too long were the sharp consolation
And her breast apart;—
The remedy of steel has gone home to her sick heart.
The obdurate seasons thwart;
Too long were the sharp consolation
And her breast apart;—
The remedy of steel has gone home to her sick heart.
Her breast, dishabited,
Revealed, her heart above,
A little blot of red,—
Death's reverent sign to approve
He had sealed up that royal tomb of martyred love.
Revealed, her heart above,
A little blot of red,—
Death's reverent sign to approve
He had sealed up that royal tomb of martyred love.
Now, Death, if thou wouldst show
Some ruth still left in store,
Guide thou the armèd blow
To strike one bosom more,
Where any blow were pity, to this it struck before!
Some ruth still left in store,
Guide thou the armèd blow
To strike one bosom more,
Where any blow were pity, to this it struck before!
In the opening stanzas the Empress Elizabeth of Austria addresses first Our Lady, then the ‘Dark Fool’ Death, and finally the Son of Sorrows, in allusion to the griefs of her own and her husband's line: the shooting of Maximilian of Mexico, her sister's burning at the Paris Bazar de la Charité, the drowning of the Archduke John and of the mad King of Bavaria, and the tragedy of the Crown Prince Rudolph. Her own assassination was the immediate occasion of these verses; and the traditional offering of her wedding-wreath to a Madonna-shrine and the making of her wedding-gown into priestly vestments elucidate other references in the text.
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