The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker Edited from the original manuscripts and annotated copies together with a prefatory notice and bibliography by Alfred Wallis |
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THE LEGEND OF SAINT CECILY. |
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 | The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker |  |
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THE LEGEND OF SAINT CECILY.
“Brought an Angel down.”
Uprose the morning with a ruddy glow!
Uprose her gentle forehead, wreathed with day!
The mountain-top—the wood—the river's flow,
Gleamed softly—and aloud the matin-lay
Of singing birds, their leafy bowers below,
Swelled into song to greet the Orient ray;
While yet the sun, full-quivered, paused on high,
To launch his arrowy beams along the sky.
Uprose her gentle forehead, wreathed with day!
The mountain-top—the wood—the river's flow,
Gleamed softly—and aloud the matin-lay
Of singing birds, their leafy bowers below,
Swelled into song to greet the Orient ray;
While yet the sun, full-quivered, paused on high,
To launch his arrowy beams along the sky.
Then, at the casement of his chosen bride,
A young man listened to a sweeter song;
Fair Cecily's—of all her race the pride—
What eye could greet a lovelier in the throng?
To win her vows how many a knight had sighed,
With mortal love her virgin life to wrong:
But what was earth with all its golden glare?
Her eyes were heavenward, and her soul was there.
A young man listened to a sweeter song;
Fair Cecily's—of all her race the pride—
What eye could greet a lovelier in the throng?
To win her vows how many a knight had sighed,
With mortal love her virgin life to wrong:
But what was earth with all its golden glare?
Her eyes were heavenward, and her soul was there.
The maiden chants, her Saviour's grace to sing;
Her harp is mingled with that thrilling sound;
The music trembles on the quivering string,
Like some sweet sorcery of enchanted ground.
Well might an Angel-hand the magic bring,
That first in sainted Cecily was found—
The spell that bade the awful organ roll
The storm of music o'er the shuddering soul.
Her harp is mingled with that thrilling sound;
The music trembles on the quivering string,
Like some sweet sorcery of enchanted ground.
Well might an Angel-hand the magic bring,
That first in sainted Cecily was found—
The spell that bade the awful organ roll
The storm of music o'er the shuddering soul.
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The youth drew near with glad and blushing brow,
“It is the day,” he said, “the morning beams!
Friends wait with anxious ears our uttered vow—
See! on the temple-dome the sunlight gleams;
The wreath, the sacrifice are ready now;
The multitude along the pathway streams—
Lo! the priests beckon, and the guests are loud,
And the wide gates enfold a gathering crowd.”
“It is the day,” he said, “the morning beams!
Friends wait with anxious ears our uttered vow—
See! on the temple-dome the sunlight gleams;
The wreath, the sacrifice are ready now;
The multitude along the pathway streams—
Lo! the priests beckon, and the guests are loud,
And the wide gates enfold a gathering crowd.”
She lifted up her voice. “What then? Shall I,
The vassal of the Lord, become thy slave,
To live a common life beneath the sky!
I, that my vows to Jesu-Master gave?
He, the good Shepherd, rules me with His eye,
My God to follow, and thy wrath to brave!
Would that thou durst at yon true altar stand,
Where I am safe, amid the Angel-band.”
The vassal of the Lord, become thy slave,
To live a common life beneath the sky!
I, that my vows to Jesu-Master gave?
He, the good Shepherd, rules me with His eye,
My God to follow, and thy wrath to brave!
Would that thou durst at yon true altar stand,
Where I am safe, amid the Angel-band.”
Mute with deep sorrow, still he stood, and stern;
Away! away! a sad and last adieu!
And yet, fond hope, his lingering feet return,
Once more the sorrow of her eye to view:
He smiled, to hide the love that yet would yearn;
“Hast thou,” he said, “an angel tried and true?
Show me thy friend! let me but see him shine!
My heart shall bend to thee! thy God be mine.”
Away! away! a sad and last adieu!
And yet, fond hope, his lingering feet return,
Once more the sorrow of her eye to view:
He smiled, to hide the love that yet would yearn;
“Hast thou,” he said, “an angel tried and true?
Show me thy friend! let me but see him shine!
My heart shall bend to thee! thy God be mine.”
“It shall be done!” the unshrinking maiden said,
“The Lord will yield His trusting handmaid grace;”
The bridegroom went, with slow and mournful tread,
Once more, at evening-tide, that path to trace.
He came! he saw! O vision fair and dread!
The maiden at the altar bowed her face;
Her starry eyes were rapt in trusting prayer,
And o'er that brow an Angel stood, on air!
“The Lord will yield His trusting handmaid grace;”
The bridegroom went, with slow and mournful tread,
Once more, at evening-tide, that path to trace.
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The maiden at the altar bowed her face;
Her starry eyes were rapt in trusting prayer,
And o'er that brow an Angel stood, on air!
Death-tokens held that spirit in his hand!
He laid a rose upon the young man's breast.
The maiden took a lily of the land—
Those flowers, the symbols of a martyr's rest;
Thereby the twain could meekly understand
That life would fleetly fade and death was best.
Both fell for God! and now in every tongue
Valerien lives, and Cecily is sung.
He laid a rose upon the young man's breast.
The maiden took a lily of the land—
Those flowers, the symbols of a martyr's rest;
Thereby the twain could meekly understand
That life would fleetly fade and death was best.
Both fell for God! and now in every tongue
Valerien lives, and Cecily is sung.
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