He hath bought her for a gun and a knife!
And the Curate replies: “O profligate,
O Prodigal Son! return once more
To the open arms and the open door
Of the Church, or ever it be too late. 260
Thank God, thy father did not live
To see what he could not forgive;
On thee, so reckless and perverse,
He left his blessing, not his curse.
But the nearer the dawn the darker the night, 265
And by going wrong all things come right;
Things have been mended that were worse,
And the worse, the nearer they are to mend.
For the sake of the living and the dead,
Thou shalt be wed as Christians wed, 270
And all things come to a happy end.”
O sun, that followest the night,
In you blue sky, serene and pure,
And pourest thine impartial light
Alike on mountain and on moor, 275
Pause for a moment in thy course,
And bless the bridegroom and the bride!
O Gave, that from thy hidden source
In you mysterious mountain-side
Pursuest thy wandering way alone, 280
And leaping down its steps of stone,
Along the meadow-lands demure
Stealest away to the Adour,
Pause for a moment in thy course
To bless the bridegroom and the bride! 285
The choir is singing the matin song,
The doors of the church are opened wide,
The people crowd, and press, and throng
To see the bridegroom and the bride.
They enter and pass along the nave; 290
They stand upon the father’s grave;
The bells are ringing soft and slow;
The living above and the dead below
Give their blessing on one and twain;
The warm wind blows from the hills of Spain, 295
The birds are building, the leaves are green,
And Baron Castine of St. Castine
Hath come at last to his own again.
The Student’s Second Tale: Finale
“Nunc plaudite!” the Student cried,
When he had finished; “now applaud,
As Roman actors used to say
At the conclusion of a play;”
And rose, and spread his hands abroad, 5
And smiling bowed from side to side,
As one who bears the palm away.
And generous was the applause and loud,
But less for him than for the sun,
That even as the tale was done 10
Burst from its canopy of cloud,
And lit the landscape with the blaze
Of afternoon on autumn days,
And filled the room with light, and made
The fire of logs a painted shade. 15
A sudden wind from out the west
Blew all its trumpets loud and shrill;
The windows rattled with the blast,
The oak-trees shouted as it passed,
And straight, as if by fear possessed, 20
The cloud encampment on the hill
Broke up, and fluttering flag and tent
Vanished into the firmament,
And down the valley fled amain
The rear of the retreating rain. 25
Only far up in the blue sky
A mass of clouds, like drifted snow
Suffused with a faint Alpine glow,
Was heaped together, vast and high,
On which a shattered rainbow hung, 30
Not rising like the ruined arch
Of some aerial aqueduct,
But like a roseate garland plucked
From an Olympian god, and flung
Aside in his triumphal march. 35
Like prisoners from their dungeon gloom,
Like birds escaping from a snare,
Like school-boys at the hour of play,
All left at once the pent-up room,
And rushed into the open air; 40
And no more tales were told that day.
PART THIRD.
Prelude III.
THE EVENING came; the golden vane
A moment in the sunset glanced,
Then darkened, and then gleamed again,
As from the east the moon advanced
And touched it with a softer light; 5
While underneath, with flowing mane,
Upon the sign the Red Horse pranced,
And galloped forth into the night.
But brighter than the afternoon
That followed the dark day of rain, 10
And brighter than the golden vane
That glistened in the rising moon,
Within, the ruddy fire-light gleamed;
And every separate window-pane,
Backed by the outer darkness, showed 15
A mirror, where the flamelets gleamed
And flickered to and fro, and seemed
A bonfire lighted in the road.
Amid the hospitable glow,
Like an old actor on the stage, 20
With the uncertain voice of age,
The singing chimney chanted low
The homely songs of long ago.
The voice that Ossian heard of yore,
When midnight winds were in his hall; 25
A ghostly and appealing call,
A sound of days that are no more!
And dark as Ossian sat the Jew,
And listened to the sound, and knew
The passing of the airy hosts, 30
The gray and misty cloud of ghosts
In their interminable flight;
And listening muttered in his beard,
With accent indistinct and weird,
“Who are ye, children of the Night?” 35
Beholding his mysterious face,
“Tell me,” the gay Sicilian said,
“Why was it that in breaking bread
At supper, you bent down your head
And, musing, paused a little space, 40
As one who says a silent grace?”
The Jew replied, with solemn air,
“I said the Manichæan’s prayer.
It was his faith, — perhaps is mine, —
That life in all its forms is one, 45
And that its secret conduits run
Unseen, but in unbroken line,
From the great fountain-head divine
Through man and beast, through grain and grass.
Howe’er we struggle, strive, and cry, 50
From death there can be no escape,
And no escape from life, alas!
Because we cannot die, but pass
From one into another shape:
It is but into life we die. 55
“Therefore the Manichæan said
This simple prayer on breaking bread,
Lest he with hasty hand or knife
Might wound the incarcerated life,
The soul in things that we call dead: 60
‘I did not reap thee, did not bind thee,
I did not thrash thee, did not grind thee,
Nor did I in the oven bake thee!
It was not I, it was another
Did these things unto thee, O brother; 65
I only have thee, hold thee, break thee!’”
“That birds have souls I can concede,”
The Poet cried, with glowing cheeks;
“The flocks that from their beds of reed
Uprising north or southward fly, 70
And flying write upon the sky
The biforked letter of the Greeks,
As hath been said by Rucellai;
All birds that sing or chirp or cry,
Even those migratory bands, 75
The minor poets of the air,
The plover, peep, and sanderling,
That hardly can be said to sing,
But pipe along the barren sands, —
All these have souls akin to ours; 80
So hath the lovely race of flowers:
Thus much I grant, but nothing more.
The rusty hinges of a door
Are not alive because they creak;
This chimney, with its dreary roar, 85
These rattling windows, do not speak!”
“To me they speak,” the Jew replied;
“And in the sounds that sink and soar,
I hear the voices of a tide
That breaks upon an unknown shore!” 90
Here the Sicilian interfered:
“That was your dream, then, as you dozed
A moment since, with eyes half-closed,
And murmured something in your beard.”
The Hebrew smiled, and answered, “Nay; 95
Not that, but something very near;
Like, and yet not the same, may seem
The vision of my waking dream;
Before it wholly dies away,
Listen to me, and you shall hear.” 100
The Spanish Jew’s Tale
Azrael
KING SOLOMON, before his palace gate
At evening, on the pavement tessellate
Was walking with a stranger from the East,
Arrayed in rich attire as for a feast,
The mighty Runjeet-Sing, a learned man, 5
And Rajah of the realms of Hindostan.
And as they walked the guest became aware
Of a white figure in the twilight air,
Gazing intent, as one who with surprise
His form and features seemed to recognize; 10
And in a whisper to the king he said:
“What is you shape, that, pallid as the dead,
Is watching me, as if he sought to trace
In the dim light the features of my face?”
The king looked, and replied: “I know him well; 15
It is the Angel men call Azrael,
‘T is the Death Angel; what hast thou to fear?”
And the guest answered: “Lest he should come near,
And speak to me, and take away my breath!
Save me from Azrael, save me from death! 20
O king, that hast dominion o’er the wind,
Bid it arise and bear me hence to Ind.”
The king gazed upward at the cloudless sky,
Whispered a word, and raised his hand on high,
And lo! the signet-rig of chrysoprase 25
On his uplifted finger seemed to blaze
With hidden fire, and rushing from the west
There came a mighty wind, and seized the guest
And lifted him from earth, and on they passed,
His shining garments streaming in the blast, 30
A silken banner o’er the walls upreared,
A purple cloud, that gleamed and disappeared.
Then said the Angel, smiling: “If this man
Be Rajah Runjeet-Sing of Hindostan,
Thou hast done well in listening to his prayer; 35
I was upon my way to seek him there.”
The Spanish Jew’s Tale: Interlude
“O EDREHI, forbear to-night
Your ghostly legends of affright,
And let the Talmud rest in peace;
Spare us your dismal tales of death
That almost take away one’s breath; 5
So doing, may your tribe increase.”
Thus the Sicilian said; then went
And on the spinet’s rattling keys
Played Marianina, like a breeze
From Naples and the Southern seas, 10
That brings us the delicious scent
Of citron and of orange trees,
And memories of soft days of ease
At Capri and Amalfi spent.
“Not so,” the eager Poet said; 15
“At least, not so before I tell
The story of my Azrael,
An angel mortal as ourselves,
Which in an ancient tome I found
Upon a convent’s dusty shelves, 20
Chained with an iron chain, and bound
In parchment, and with clasps of brass,
Lest from its prison, some dark day,
It might be stolen or steal away,
While the good friars were singing mass. 25
“It is a tale of Charlemagne,
When like a thunder-cloud, that lowers
And sweeps from mountain-crest to coast,
With lightning flaming through its showers,
He swept across the Lombard plain, 30
Beleaguering with his warlike train
Pavia, the country’s pride and boast,
The City of the Hundred Towers.”
Thus heralded the tale began,
And thus in sober measure ran. 35
The Poet’s Tale
Charlemagne
OLGER the Dane and Desiderio,
King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower
Stood gazing northward o’er the rolling plains,
League after league of harvests, to the foot
Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach 5
A mighty army, thronging all the roads
That led into the city. And the King
Said unto Olger, who had passed his youth
As hostage at the court of France, and knew
The Emperor’s form and face: “Is Charlemagne 10
Among that host?” And Olger answered: “No.”
And still the innumerable multitude
Flowed onward and increased, until the King
Cried in amazement: “Surely Charlemagne
Is coming in the midst of all these knights!” 15
And Olger answered slowly: “No; not yet;
He will not come so soon.” Then much disturbed
King Desiderio asked: “What shall we do,
If he approach with a still greater army?”
And Olger answered: “When he shall appear, 20
You will behold what manner of man he is;
But what will then befall us I know not.”
Then came the guard that never knew repose,
The Paladins of France; and at the sight
The Lombard King o’ercome with terror cried: 25
“This must be Charlemagne!” and as before
Did Olger answer: “No; not yet, not yet.”
And then appeared in panoply complete
The Bishops and the Abbots and the Priests
Of the imperial chapel, and the Counts; 30
And Desiderio could no more endure
The light of day, nor yet encounter death,
But sobbed aloud and said: “Let us go down
And hide us in the bosom of the earth,
Far from the sight and anger of a foe 35
So terrible as this!” And Olger said:
“When you behold the harvests in the fields
Shaking with fear, the Po and the Ticino
Lashing the city walls with iron waves,
Then may you know that Charlemagne is come.” 40
And even as he spake, in the northwest,
Lo! there uprose a black and threatening cloud,
Out of whose bosom flashed the light of arms
Upon the people pent up in the city;
A light more terrible than any darkness, 45
And Charlemagne appeared; — a Man of Iron!
His helmet was of iron, and his gloves
Of iron, and his breastplate and his greaves
And tassets were of iron, and his shield.
In his left hand he held an iron spear, 50
In his right hand his sword invincible.
The horse he rode on had the strength of iron,
And color of iron. All who went before him,
Beside him and behind him, his whole host,
Were armed with iron, and
their hearts within them 55
Were stronger than the armor that they wore.
The fields and all the roads were filled with iron,
And points of iron glistened in the sun
And shed a terror through the city streets.
This at a single glance Olger the Dane 60
Saw from the tower, and turning to the King
Exclaimed in haste: “Behold! this is the man
You looked for with such eagerness!” and then
Fell as one dead at Desiderio’s feet.
The Poet’s Tale: Interlude
WELL pleased all listened to the tale,
That drew, the Student said, its pith
And marrow from the ancient myth
Of some one with an iron flail;
Or that portentous Man of Brass 5
Hephæstus made in days of yore,
Who stalked about the Cretan shore,
And saw the ships appear and pass,
And threw stones at the Argonauts,
Being filled with indiscriminate ire 10
That tangled and perplexed his thoughts;
But, like a hospitable host,
When strangers landed on the coast,
Heated himself red-hot with fire,
And hugged them in his arms, and pressed 15
Their bodies to his burning breast.
The Poet answered: “No, not thus
The legend rose; it sprang at first
Out of the hunger and the thirst
In all men for the marvellous. 20
And thus it filled and satisfied
The imagination of mankind,
And this ideal to the mind
Was truer than historic fact.
Fancy enlarged and multiplied 25
The terrors of the awful name
Of Charlemagne, till he became
Armipotent in every act,
And, clothed in mystery, appeared
Not what men saw, but what they feared. 30
“Besides, unless my memory fail,
Your some one with an iron flail
Is not an ancient myth at all,
But comes much later on the scene
As Talus in the Faerie Queene, 35
The iron groom of Artegall,
Who threshed out falsehood and deceit,
And truth upheld, and righted wrong,
And was, as is the swallow, fleet,
And as the lion is, was strong.” 40
Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Delphi Poets Series Book 13) Page 66