Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

The fiend he flung her on the horse, And he leapt up before,

And the loud commotion, like the rushing of And away like the lightning's speed they

ocean,

Grew momently more and more, And strokes as of a battering ram, Did skake the strong church-door.

The bellmen they, for very fear,
Could toll the bell no longer,
And still as louder grew the strokes,
Their fear it grew the stronger.

The monk and nun forgot their beads, They fell on the ground in dismay, There was not a single saint in heaven To whom they did not pray.

And the choristers' song, which late was so strong,

Falter'd with consternation, For the church did rock as an earthquakeshock

Uplifted its foundation.

And a sound was heard like the trumpet's blast,

That shall one day wake the dead, The strong church-door could bear no more, And the bolts and the bars they fled.

And the tapers' light was extinguish'd quite,
And the choristers faintly sung,
And the priests dismay'd panted and pray'd
And on all Saints in Heaven for aid

They call'd with trembling tongue.

went,

And she was seen no more.

They saw her no more, but her cries shrieks

For four miles round they could hear. And children at rest at their mothers' breas Started and screamed with fear.

ST. GUALBERTO.

ADDRESSED ΤΟ A FRIEND.

THE work is done, the fabric is complete; Distinct the Traveller sees its distant tove. Yet ere his steps attain the sacred seat, Must toil for many a league and many an hour Elate the Abbot sees the pile and knows Stateliest of convents now, his new Moscer

rose.

Long were the tale that told Moscera's prid Its columns cluster'd strength and lofty stat How many a saint bedeck'd its sculptur

side,

What intersecting arches graced its gatr. Its towers how high, its massy walls he strong, These fairly to describe were sure a tedi song.

Yet while the fane rose slowly from the Where art exhausted decks the sumptuons

ground,

But little store of charity, I ween,
The passing pilgrim at Moscera found;
And often there the mendicant was seen

Hopeless to turn him from the convent-door,
For this so costly work still kept the brethren
poor.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

hall, Can poor and sordid huts beseem the Lord of all?

[blocks in formation]

'Twas but a sorry welcome then you found, With that Gualberto cried in fervent tone: And such as suited ill a guest so dear; O, Father, hear me! if this splendid pile The pile was ruinous old, the base unsound; Was for thine honour rear'd, and thine alone, It glads me more to bid you welcome here, Bless it, oh Father, with thy fostering smile! For you can call to mind our former state! Still may it stand, and never evil know, Come, brother, pass with me the new Mos-Long as beside its walls the eternal stream

cera's gate.

shall flow.

So spake the cheerful Abbot, but no smile But, Lord, if vain and worldly-minded men
Of answering joy relax'd Gualberto's brow; Have wasted here the wealth, which thou
hast lent,
He raised his hand and pointed to the pile:
Moscera better pleased me then, than now!
A palace this, befitting kingly pride!
Will holiness, my friend, in palace-pomp
abide?

To pamper worldly pride; frown on it then!
Soon be thy vengeance manifestly sent!
Let yonder brook that flows so calm beside,
Now from its base sweep down the unholy
house of pride!

Aye, cries Rodulfo, 'tis a stately place!
And pomp becomes the house of worship | He said,—and lo the brook no longer flows!
The waters pause, and now they swell on
high;

well.

Nay scowl not round with so severe a face! When earthly kings in seats of grandeur dwell,

High and more high the mass of water grows;
The affrighted brethren from Moscera fly,

And on their Saints and on their God they call, For now the mountain-bulk o'ertops the convent-wall.

| George, dost thou deem the legendary derdi
Of Romish saints a useless medley store
Of lies, that he flings time away who reads!
And wouldst thou rather bid me puzzle s'e
Matter and Mind and all the eternal round

It falls, the mountain-bulk, with thundering Plunged headlong down the dark and father

sound!

[blocks in formation]

less profound?

[blocks in formation]

As we write novels to instruct our youth,
Went travelling on, its origin forgot,
Till at the length it past for gospel-truth
A fair account! and shouldst thou like the
plea,

Wells would have fallen, dear George, our Thank thou thy valued friend, dear George, country's pride; who taught it me vain,

And Canning's stately church been rear'd in

Nor had the traveller Ely's tower descried, Which when thou seest far o'er the fenny plain,

Dear George, I counsel thee to turn that way, Its ancient beauties sure will well reward delay.

And we should never then have heard, I
think,
At evening-hour, great Tom's tremendous
knell.
The fountain-streams that now in Christ-
Church stink,

Had Niagara'd o'er the quadrangle;
But, as 'twas beauty that deserved the flood,
I ween, dear George, thy own old Pompey
might have stood.

Then had not Westminster, the house of God,
Served for a concert-room, or signal-post;
Old Thames, obedient to the father's nod,
Had swept down Greenwich, England's
noblest boast;

And, eager to destroy the unholy walls,
Fleet-ditch had roll'd up hill to overwhelm
St. Paul's.

All is not false which seems at first a lie.
Fernan Antolinez a Spanish knight,
Knelt at the mass, when lo! the troops hard by
Before the expected hour began the fight.
Though courage, duty, honour, summer'i
there,

He chose to forfeit all, not leave unfinish't
prayer.

But while devoutly thus the unarm'd knight
Waits till the holy service should be o'er.
Even then the foremost in the furious fight
Was he behold to bathe his sword in gare.
First in the van his plumes were seen to play.
And Spain to him decreed the glory of the day.

The truth is told, and all at once exclaim.
His guardian angel Heaven had deign'd u
send;

And thus the tale is handed down to fame
Now if our good Sir Fernan had a friend
Who in the hour of danger served him well.
Dear George, the tale is true, and yet
miracle.

I am not one who scan with scornful eyes Save when a falling leaf came fluttering by, The dreams which make the enthusiast's Save the near brooklet's stream that murbest delight; mur'd quietly.

Nor thou the legendary lore despise
If of Gualberto yet again I write,
How first impell'd he sought the convent-cell;
A simple tale it is, but one that pleased me
well.

[blocks in formation]

Is there who has not felt the deep delight, The hush of soul, that scenes like these impart?

The heart they will not soften is not right, And young Gualberto was not hard of heart. Yet sure he thinks revenge becomes him well, When from a neighbouring church he heard the vesper-bell.

The Catholic who hears that vesper-bell, Howe'er employ'd, must send a prayer to Heaven.

In foreign lands I liked the custom well, For with the calm and sober thoughts of

It well accords; and

even

wert thou journeying there,

It chanced that one in kindred near allied
Was slain by his hereditary foe;
Much by his sorrow moved and more by pride,
The father vow'd that blood for blood should It would not hurt thee, George, to join that

[blocks in formation]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]
« AnteriorContinua »