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Alfred Austin - The Human Tragedy ACT II
Work rating: Low

1 2 
Personages:
     Olympia—
     Godfrid—
     Gilbert—
     Olive.

      Protagonists:
     Love—
     Religion.


Place: Spiaggiascura—Milan—Florence.
Time: March 1858-May  1859

 There is a little city in the South,
 A silent little city by the sea,
 Where a swift Alpine torrent finds its mouth,
 And billowy mountains subside smilingly.
 It knows nor weeping skies nor dewless drouth,
 No seasons, save when April`s glancing glee
 Slow steadies unto Summer`s still—poised wing,
 Or mimic Winter lifts the mask from Spring.

 Once on a time it was a famous city,
 Famous for love, and song, and stately strife,
 When men were knightly still, and women witty,
 And court and camp with revelry were rife.
 Now is it hushed as long—forgotten ditty,
 Secluded almshouse of a bankrupt life,
 Refuge for him, who, after days of riot,
 Seeketh the safe monotony of quiet.

 No traveller`s busy footstep cometh there,
 No pallid form, more painlessly to die;
 No gainful barter thither doth repair;
 Even the boatman`s oar and net pass by.
 No clattering wheel and whip offend the air;
 Its streets but lead to mountain, sea, and sky,
 And, when gaunt Winter stalks our shivering isle,
 Bask, backed by hills, in ocean`s rippling smile.

 Within it is a lovelier little chapel
 Than ever wealth ordained or genius planned
 For those famed shrines where art and splendour grapple,
 Vainly, to blend the beautiful and grand.
 No gold adorns it, and no jewels dapple,
 No boastful words attest the builder`s hand;
 Sacred to prayer, but quite unknown to fame,
 Maria Stella Maris is its name.

 Breaks not a morning but its snow—white altar
 With fragrant mountain flowers is newly dight;
 Comes not a noon but lowly murmured psalter
 Again is said with unpretentious rite;
 Its one sole lamp is never known to falter
 In faithful watch through the long hush of night;
 From dawn till gloaming, open to devotion
 Its portal stands, and to the swell of ocean.

 Never did form more lissom thread the dance
 Than hers that scours the hill to find it flowers;
 Never did sweeter lips or holier glance
 Watch for the striking of the sacred hours;
 No hands so leal e`er decked the warrior`s lance,
 As those which tend its lamp as darkness lours;
 And never since dear Christ expired for man,
 Had holy shrine so pure a sacristan.

 Beyond its threshold she nor hearth nor home,
 As tender maidens wont, had e`er possessed:
 Only a window just above the foam,
 Less like a chamber than a sea—bird`s nest.
 No mother`s voice forbade her steps to roam,
 No father`s joy enslaved her to his breast;
 And all but answered, asked you of her line,
 ``A daughter of the sunlight and the shrine.``

 This year when streams enfranchised by the Spring
 Came bounding to the ocean from the wolds,
 Just as the callow broods were `tempting wing,
 And bleating voices heard about the folds,
 And almond blossoms trusty news did bring
 Rude winds had scampered to their northern holds,
 Within the chapel a strange face was seen,
 Where for long days no stranger`s face had been.

 When transubstantiated wine and bread
 In mystic mass renewed the gainful loss
 Of cruel Calvary, or tonsured head
 From carven pulpit banned as worthless dross
 All that the flesh can win, or doleful tread
 Followed the tearful Stations of the Cross,
 At Vespers` chant, at Benediction`s prayer,
 Or Quarant` Ore, was the stranger there.

 Presence so constant she could scarcely fail,
 Despite her own devotion, to perceive;
 Since there, as elsewhere, save the old and frail,
 Or such as had some sudden cause to grieve,
 Or when the Church`s mandate must prevail,
 Men came but seldom, and to quickly leave.
 So she gave thanks one callous bosom less
 Should mitigate the Sacred Heart`s distress.

 Oft had he come, and knelt, and gone away,
 Often returned and often knelt again,
 Before her eyes, which, too absorbed to stray,
 And not avoiding, rarely met the ken,—
 As though as yet she scarcely knew that they
 Had aught to do with, aught to fear from, men,—
 Fell upon his, which, wont on her to gaze,
 Forgot to curb their burning look of praise.

 Perhaps the woman`s instinct failed in her.
 Perhaps a maiden`s bashfulness is more
 A matron`s lesson than our lips aver.
 Shrank not her clear gray eyes his gaze before,
 But dipping finger so as scarce to stir
 The water in the stoup beside the door,
 She held it out towards his without dismay,
 Turned, knelt, and crossed herself, and went her way.

 Half a moon later, while the morn, yet early,
 Smiled to the sound of reawakening trills,
 When, though the mist, discomfited and surly,
 Slowly retreating, hugged the higher hills,
 On slopes below, the wild—rose blossom pearly
 Sparkled with scented dew its sleep distils,
 And None`s faint bells afar were heard to chime,
 Their eyes and hands met for a second time.

 The bright incarnate spirit of the Morn,
 Upon a stone mid—stream he saw her stand,
 Atiptoe, straining at a snow—white thorn,
 Whose bloom provoked but still escaped her hand.
 He, though of gracious courtesy inborn,
 Yet by a sight so fairylike unmanned,
 Sat like a statue that hath long while caught,
 And keeps, immutable, some selfish thought.

 The ripple of the streamlet past her feet,
 White thorn above her, whiter robe around,
 The linnet—pipings nigh, the distant bleat,
 Spiral lark—music in the blue sky drowned,
 Blending of all, melodious and sweet,
 To superficial sense and soul profound,
 Steeped him in such oblivious trance, indeed
 He in her beauty quite forgot her need.

 Reaching a branch, she clutched it, but, alack!
 It yielded as but yields a half—bent bow,
 And with a sharp rebound sprang loosely back,
 And all the bloom came showering down like snow,
 Dappling the dark stream with a milk—white track;
 But where it fell on her, you could not know.
 And then she gave a foiled despairing cry,
 That sounded half a prayer and half a sigh.

 Swift at the sound from selfish trance he woke,
 And started up, and hastened to her aid;
 Sprang o`er the stepping stones, and deftly broke
 A loftier bough in lovelier bloom arrayed,
 And, as he tendered, reverently spoke:
 ``I pray you, sinless maiden.`` And she said,
 ``Thanks, gentle sir; my flowers are not for me,
 But for our Lady`s shrine afront the sea.``

 ``Then place these there,`` he said, ``unless, indeed,
 By my base touch their virtue be annulled;
 And when your lips for other sinners plead,
 Breathe one kind orison for him who culled.
 In this cold world, where sunless lives we lead,
 Faith oft grows petrified, contrition dulled;
 But who would not feel blest to know that prayers
 Mounted from lips like yours to ears like Hers?

 ``And if such favour may a stranger ask,``
 He said in accents chivalrous and free,
 That screened no foul presumption with fair mask,
 ``May I your pious steps accompany?
 I still perchance can aid you in your task,
 To crown with flowers our Lady of the Sea;
 Or if that office but for you be meet,
 May I not help to bear them to her feet?``

 Hers was a heart that knew not to deny.
 Like the benign Madonna she adored,
 She looked down ever with consenting eye
 And smiling tenderness, whoe`er implored.
 So, while the candid gaze made sure reply,
 From parted lips a gracious welcome poured.
 ``Come then,`` she said, ``but quickly; we are late.
 We must not make our loving Lady wait.``

 So down the dewy hill they swift descended,
 She treading first, he following fast behind;
 Anon by tracks that deviously wended,
 Now by smooth paths as straight as blows the wind;
 Until the vineyards and the city blended,
 And then those vanished, and their ears resigned
 The mountain torrent`s intermittent roar
 For the tired waves that fainted on the shore.

 The little temple`s door stood open wide,
 And all the place by sunshine was possessed,
 From the groined roof which time had slowly dyed,
 Down to the inlaid altar whitely dressed.
 But the smooth walls that rose on either side,
 Were marble; marble was the floor you pressed;
 So that, withal, the spot seemed fresh and cool,
 Even as shady grove or reedy pool.

 Full on the left an antique pulpit rose,
 Of structure quaint, and it was marble too,
 Where hands long numb had carven, as they chose,
 Odd allegories, fair and foul to view.
 Here virgins, calm as newly fallen snows,
 Bearing curved palms, and singing hymns to you;
 There long lank demons gnawing damnëd souls,
 And bastard animals, and nightmare scrolls.

 But from these fancies twain you turned full soon,
 For on the right the mild Madonna stood,
 Down from her flowing hair to sandal—shoon
 The mystic type of maiden motherhood.
 Below her feet there curved a crescent moon,
 And all the golden planets were her hood;
 In comely folds her queenly garb was moulded,
 And over her pure breast her hands were folded.

 She looked the most immortal mortal being
 That ever yet descended from the skies,
 As one who seemed to see all, without seeing,
 And without ears to hear man`s smothered sighs;
 With all our discords the one note agreeing,
 `Mid death and hate a love that never dies;
 A tranquil silence amid fretful din,
 And still the sinless confidant of sin.

 And now the mountain maiden spread the store
 Of wondrous whiteness from the hawthorn bower
 Culled by the stranger, on the marble floor,
 And from her lap discovered many a flower:
 Proud cyclamens on long lithe stems that soar,
 Retiring violets that meekly cower
 Among green leaves, lilies that know not fear,
 And the blue stars to parting lovers dear.

 All these her fingers fancifully wrought
 Into festoons and wreaths and posies fair;
 Then from an inner sanctuary brought
 Vases of delicate tint but simplest ware,
 And round the statue, nimbly as her thought,
 Ranged them, till not a single spot seemed bare.
 Whereon she back retired a little space,
 And eyed her handiwork with questioning face.

 ``There, it is done, tho` ill. Now let us kneel,
 And beg our gracious Mother to accept
 Our tribute poor, since paid with homage leal.``
 Therewith a pace or two she forward stepped,
 And her fair knees the marble fair did feel.
 He just a little way behind her crept,
 And, forcing his proud limbs to bend, obeyed
 Her sovran word, and watched her as she prayed.

 Her hands were clasped, her eyes cast meekly down,
 Down her smooth cheek the tender tear—drop stole,
 And under kerchief white and bodice brown
 Heaved the pure tumult of her sinless soul.
 Oh! soon the Lady with the starry crown
 Will sure, he thought, step from her flowery knoll,
 And, subtly quickened by celestial charms,
 Enfold this virgin form in virgin arms!

 How long she thus remained, he noted not,
 But, like to one whose count of time is stayed,
 Still as she knelt, knelt rooted to the spot,
 And when she rose, rose, following like a shade;
 And still, the place, the hour, the scene forgot,
 Though sooth he should have bidden adieu, delayed;
 Until she timorously broke the spell
 With the faint words: ``I thank you, sir; farewell!``

 ``Farewell!`` he said,—her shadow even in speech;
 But the sad sound dissolved his sunny dream:
 ``Farewell, farewell! but may we, I beseech,
 Not meet once more beside the rippling stream,
 Or on the grassy slope, or pebbly beach,
 Or even here, which meeter still would seem?
 And, to befriend me, tell me, ere I go,
 The name in Heaven by which you are known below!``

 ``Still come, at your good will,`` she frankly said,
 ``Where the hills rise, or where the long waves fall,
 Or where the stream runs babbling o`er its bed,
 Or in this chapel, dearest spot of all,
 And you by me will still be welcomëd,
 If you, like me, will be my Lady`s thrall.
 My name, sir, is Olympia.`` ``Godfrid, mine.``
 And so they parted, with no further sign.

 And she within the little chapel kept;
 But he went downward to the shining shore.
 The sun yet higher along the heavens had stept,
 Withal to him it glowed not as before.
 The morning`s magic from the hills had crept,
 The little city a dimmed lustre wore;
 The waves had lost their music, and his breast
 Heaved, beneath load of vacancy opprest.

 Not of the climes where song and sunshine steep
 The blood in honeyed idleness was he,
 Where waking hours are but a conscious sleep,
 And noons, like nights, delicious vacancy;
 But of that restless race who work and weep,
 Whose hearths are warded by the surly sea,
 A swordlike stock, half vigour and half gloom,
 Which, when it smites not, must itself consume.

 But he had fallen upon mournful times
 When all great deeds were stagnant. Tales of fame
 His isle still haunted, and in sounding rhymes
 Were sometimes sung, barren of future aim.
 The leaders of the land were supple mimes,
 Greedy of passing plaudits, sold to shame;
 By whose base drugs, into deep slumber cast,
 A once great Realm lay pillowed on its past.

 The sacred Sceptre`s virtue was confessed
 Therein no more; no man no man obeyed.
 They had disarmed Authority; the best
 Were worst of all, few, feeble, and afraid.
 Religion, long inviolable guest,
 A menial first, an alien now was made;
 There was no end, no means, to prompt or please,
 Save poor brute toil, or rich imbruted ease.

 But he was of the strain of those who still
 Are noble or are nothing; who in days,
 Empty of worthy purpose, curb their will,
 And, though instinct with action, stand and gaze.
 Secluded vale and solitary hill
 Are more to them than ignominious praise;
 And o`er the world when night and dark are drawn,
 Silent they wait till God brings back the dawn.

 So home he left, and o`er the vain—ploughed sea,
 Through groaning cities, and long, silent fields,
 Past poplars tall, and many a crocused lea,
 To where the vine its clustering fruitage yields,
 Onward he journeyed, until herb and tree
 Still scantier grew, and their protecting shields
 The Alps threw out, and on his cheek he felt
 Airs that but blow from snows that never melt.

 Yet not longwhile within the cold embrace
 Of the unruffled mountains did he stay,
 Nor by hushed lakes that still reflect their face,
 Darkly by night, translucently by day,
 But by snow—suckled torrents sought to trace
 His devious, lone, and uninstructed way,
 Until they led him to that tideless sea
 That laps the shore of what was Italy.

 Thence to Spiaggiascura passed he on,
 That silent little city by the shore,
 Whence stir of busy life longwhile hath gone,
 And where the laugh of youth is heard no more.
 He fain earth`s fardels ne`er again would don,
 But henceforth only simple right implore
 To sit i` the sun, and wise ensample win
 From pale Lent lilies that nor toil nor spin.

 The tenderness which drenches the lone mind,
 Insensibly as dew distilled at night,
 Made him, of late, cast many a look behind
 Of fondness towards a Creed abandoned quite.
 He felt his hands clasped by a parent kind
 In infant prayer; he saw each dear old rite;
 He heard the hymns of childhood, and he breathed
 The scent of flowers with sacred incense wreathed.

 For not in scorn, but he, bowed—down and blenched,
 Had passed out from the Temple. Ere he went,
 With secret tears the altar—steps he drenched,
 Aware he sped to utter banishment.
 From home, hearth, Heaven, reluctant heart he wrenched,
 The stern exiler of his past content;
 Bidding adieu to Faiths which, well he knew,
 Cease not to comfort, ceasing to be true.

 Thus with mute wisdom seated in his mind,
 And tenderness chief tenant of his heart,
 He left the wasteful, turbid strifes behind,
 In which the understanding ne`er takes part;
 And, by his very loneliness inclined
 To welcome a new anodyne for smart
 Not yet quite old, he found his footsteps halt
 Where Spiaggiascura fronts the waters salt.

 There found he all the disenchanted crave:
 Beauty, and solitude, and simple ways;
 The quiet—shining hills, the long lithe wave,
 Now white—fringed fretting into rough—curved bays,
 Now swirling smoothly where the flat sand gave
 A couch whereon to end its stormy days;
 Plain folk and primitive, made courteous by
 Traditions old; and a cerulean sky.

 In this new home, the fretful or the proud
 Had trivial deemed, he with a windless will
 Let his soul rest, as rests a summer cloud
 On the soft summit of a rounded hill.
 He joined the little city`s mimic crowd
 On early market morns, when down each rill
 That marks a mountain track, with faces brown
 Tall peasant folk came winding to the town.

 But long before the sun was hot and high,
 They up the hill again were mounting slow,
 And soon their forms were lost in cleft and sky.
 Then Godfrid through the quiet streets would go,
 Greeting and greeted by chance passer—by,
 Or sometimes halting where, with locks of snow,
 A bent old dame sate spinning at her door,
 Then saunter downward to the vacant shore.

 But now the spot endeared to him before
 By fair simplicity and lonely grace,
 Had to his heart grown dearer more and more,
 Since he had gazed upon Olympia`s face,
 Had seen her with up—raisëd eyes adore
 The sinless Mother in the sacred place,
 And carried in his arms her garlands sweet,
 Swift down the hill following her fawnlike feet.

 He thought how good, how restful it would be,
 How cool of shade when fierce suns glare and scorch,
 What placid haven from a plunging sea,
 If he within the little temple`s porch
 Might dwell in reverent quietude, while she,
 Purer of heart, still fed the altar`s torch,
 And live, despite his doubt, to her almost
 As near as she to Heaven`s angelic host.

 He saw her with the broadening sunlight come
 Over the hills, over the mountains gray;
 He heard her in the rising dawn—wind`s hum,
 He felt her in the warmth of growing day.
 She sang to him when all the groves were dumb,
 Peopled the pine—slope`s solitary way,
 Walked the long sands, leaving no print the while,
 And in the rippling wave infused her smile.

 Thus while his heart grew rooted to the spot,
 The sea lay dimpling with perpetual smiles,
 Calm as a babe that sleeps within its cot,
 And hushed as lake, dotted with fairy isles.
 The winds were all shut up in Æolus` grot,
 Heaven free from cloud that darkens or defiles,
 And not the frailest blossom fluttered down
 From drooping branch within the tiny town.

 But when a sunny sevennight had passed,
 Up from the south there came a trailing cloud,
 And in its train an ever—rising blast,
 That soon was singing high in sail and shroud;
 And, as it waxed, the sky grew overcast,
 Lurid and low;—whereat the breakers proud
 Curved their strong crests, flung up their forelocks hoar,
 And, madly rearing, plunged against the shore.

 And still as waned the day the wrathful ocean
 Higher and higher rose, and to and fro
 The slippery billows slid in shapeless motion,
 Now dense and dark, now shivered into snow;
 Then once again as thick as hell—hag`s potion,
 Clotted with briny litter from below:
 Like leaden coffins yawning first to sight,
 Then swiftly hidden with fringed shrouds of white.

 And where the sun would have been seen to set,
 If sun had been, the sky was darkened most,
 And drooped the welkin lower and lower yet,
 As Night stole on without her starry host.
 Anon, with flapping wings and stormy threat,
 Foul seagulls came, and screamed along the coast;
 Then utter dark closed in, before, behind,
 And over all loud growled the wolfish wind.

 `Twas midnight, and the waves were rolling in;
 But in the little town were none who slept,
 Save dotage deaf or childhood free from sin.
 Pale in their beds, the rest scared vigil kept,
 Crossing themselves, and listening to the din;
 And, as it swelled, the women wailed and wept,
 And wrung their hands, thinking of those at sea,
 Then hushed their babes, waked by the threnody.

 But one there was who neither wept nor prayed,
 Nor sought a wakeful mockery of repose,
 Was by the restless waves unrestful made,
 And whose wild pulse still with the billows rose.
 He, through the darkness, lone and unafraid,
 Courted the storm and braved the tempest`s blows,
 Heard the rough surf`s reverberating beat,
 And felt the firm shore shake beneath his feet.

 When all at once he marked a steady star
 Spangle the gloom,—small, but surpassing bright,
 Which seemed to shine nor near nor yet afar,
 But glow suspended on the breast of night.
 `Twas luminous as clear—faced planets are,
 And then he saw it was the succouring light,
 The Stella Maris, that Madonna`s flower
 Tended within the lonely chapel tower.

 It led him on; he left the deafening tide,
 And to the silent portal nearer drew,
 Until no more the star could be descried,
 The low porch hiding the tall tower from view.
 But still across the bounding waters wide
 Its steadfast ray a rippling pathway threw:
 A glittering wedge of light that clave in twain
 The obdurate dense night and murky main.

 But now the chapel door was closed and barred;
 So on the smooth cold step he sat him down,
 And pitying thought of the stout hearts that warred
 With the fell surge, or dropped their hold to drown.
 Ah me! but life is dear, and death is hard,
 Though, when life smiles, we only fret and frown;
 From its full breast, sick nurslings, turn and cry,
 To clutch it wildly as the stream runs dry.

 So for awhile he mused. But soon his brain,
 Careless to solve, let go the tangled theme;
 And then strange thoughts, a desultory train,
 Unbidden came and went, as in a dream.
 Now he was tossing on the seething main,
 Now at a shrine, lit by one pale lamp`s gleam,
 Kneeling with worshippers composed in prayer;—
 And then, anon, whirled thro` the empty air.

 How long he thus sat dream—bound, could be known
 To darkness only. But at length he heard
 A sound that neither was the billow`s moan,
 Nor howl of storm, nor scream of wheeling bird.
 The porch behind him shook, and the numb stone
 Whereon he sat, it seemed to him, was stirred;
 And in the doorway, wimpled with a hood
 Of flowing folds, the mild Madonna stood.

 So, for an instant, to his sight it seemed;
 But, by the fantasy not long beguiled,
 He saw it was Olympia`s self that beamed
 Upon the darkness and the waters wild.
 Yet was she heavenly as the thing he dreamed,
 As pure, as potent, pitiful, and mild;
 And at her beck he looked to see dismissed
 The unruly winds, and the loud billows whist.

 But still the storm raged on. ``Olympia! see,
 See, I am here!`` he said, still cowering down;
 And when she heard him not, about her knee
 His arms he curved, and kissed her sacred gown.
 ``Godfrid!`` she cried, ``Godfrid! oh, come with me,
 Come quick within, and pray for those that drown!
 In vain I watch and sue with many a tear;
 But if we both should pray, She still will hear.``

 ``She hear!`` he pleaded; ``hearken rather thou!``
 Holding her robe, and suppliant at her feet;
 ``For never storm broke over failing prow
 As on my breast life`s whelming billows beat.
 A long—tossed mariner I, behold me now
 Straining to shore, craving for haven meet.
 Oh, lift me, feeble, from these fearful waves,
 And fold me, shipwrecked, to the heart that saves!``

 ``O Godfrid, talk not wildly thus!`` she said;
 ``I will be tender, so you will be calm;
 There is no woe can not be comforted,
 And for worst wound Heaven holds some blessëd balm.
 I ne`er wore heavy heart or aching head,
 But that I found, in psalter or in psalm,
 Or silent mental prayer, or simple beads,
 A swift and certain medicine for my needs.``

 ``Yes, but,`` he answered, ``mine a deeper woe,
 Than bead, or prayer, or psalm can hope to probe.
 I at my mother`s knee was taught to throw
 Myself on Heaven, and cling to Mary`s robe;
 But, like yon waves that wander to and fro,
 Homeless and aimless through the whirling globe,
 I flow now where Fate bids me, nor demand
 Why there I ebb, and here I hug the strand.

 ``Still to the Sovereign Will I humbly bow,
 If I no longer grace or gifts implore;
 And, Heaven`s own handmaid, listen to my vow,
 Or Hope will die, where Faith had died before.
 And see, Olympia!—is`t not so?—I now
 But seek one intermediary more.
 You through Madonna all your wants prefer;
 Well, I will pray to you, then you to Her.``

 Then rising, with his face he sought her face;
 But on what altered sight his sight now fell!
 Though buried in her hands, withal apace
 From her loved eyes he saw the tear—drops well.
 And as he strove, with reverent embrace
 And words of pious tenderness to quell
 Her surging grief, ``Not pray! Not pray!`` she cried;
 Then bared her gaze, and wailed out at his side:

 ``Alas! that ever by the rippling stream,
 Under the blossoming thorn, our steps did meet!
 Alas, alas, that I to you should seem
 Winsome, and you to me undreamt—of sweet!
 I thought you loved Madonna; was it a dream
 I saw you carry garlands to her feet?
 I told you—did I not?—I was her child,
 Hers only, wholly, till you came and smiled.

 ``And I am Hers—not yours, not yours indeed.
 Nay, urge not, speak not, Godfrid! for your tongue
 Is but a dagger from whose strokes I bleed.
 Hither return when the first lark hath sung,
 And I meanwhile will watch, and weep, and plead
 You yet may pray, even as you prayed when young.
 Now go and rest! And in her hallowed keeping
 Madonna hold you, while your cares are sleeping.``

 She ceased, and with the cadence seemed to raise
 Her hands to bless, whereat he bowed his head.
 But when again he craved her lenient gaze,
 The door was closed, the angelic vision fled.
 Alone and outcast in the moaning ways
 He stood, with winds and billows for his bed:
 It seemed as if Heaven`s self had thrust him out
 To utter darkness, for the fiends to flout.

 Radiant with smiles, with limbs of rosy hue,
 Up from Tithonus` couch Aurora came,
 Her golden chariot scattering sparks of dew,
 Her glowing coursers breathing genial flame;
 And, as of old, the glorious retinue
 Of youth and beauty trumpeted her fame.
 Fleet from her presence fled the winds; the waves
 Crouched at her feet, owning themselves her slaves.

 You cannot kill the Gods. Their shadows still
 The cherished rites of Pagan eld renew,
 Haunt the cool grot, or scour the thymy hill,
 And in the wood their wanton sports pursue.
 This very morn I heard Pan`s pastoral quill,
 And tracked Diana`s sandals o`er the dew,
 Caught dimpled Venus veiled in feathery foam,
 And Faunus scampering to his sylvan home.

 And if Jove prove not the last god dethroned,
 But Heaven at length Olympus` fate should feel,
 Deem not, withal, its choirs shall be disowned,
 Or dumb oblivion o`er its seraphs steal.
 Still shall calm Stephen smile on martyrs stoned,
 Fair sinners still to Magdalen appeal;
 Cecilia`s touch still wake the sacred lyre,
 And lamblike Agnes spotless loves inspire.

 Such were the thoughts that stirred in Godfrid`s brain,
 When morning rose above the horizon`s rim,
 And once again he slowly sought to gain
 Olympia`s side, as she had bidden him.
 There was a silence on the shimmering main,
 And the white city did in sunshine swim;
 You would have thought the griefs that make men gray,
 Had, like the storm, been spirited away.

 The chapel door stood open wide; the air,
 Within, was sweet and fragrant as the clove.
 Gold—dappled bees were humming everywhere,
 Fancying Madonna`s shrine a honeyed grove;
 And, overhead, fluttered by coming care,
 A little bird flew to and fro, and strove
 To find some niche secure from ravage rude,
 Where it might build its nest, and rear its brood.

 Over the marble pavement pure as snow,
 Faint yellow butterflies flickered, gaily dight,
 Whose shifting shadows you might scarcely know
 From golden flaws within the spotless white.
 But for the rest, around, above, below,
 There was no breath, no stir, no sound, no sight;
 It was as quiet as could quiet be,
 And all the place seemed lapped in vacancy.

 The glamour that in silent beauty dwells
 Chased for awhile the pain love`s doubtful daring
 Woke in his heart; but soon, despite its spells,
 He felt the moments somewhat sadly wearing;
 Till from the sacristy, with snow—white bells,
 Olympia came, a lily lilies bearing,
 And, having laid them at Madonna`s feet,
 Gazed on him salutation sad but sweet.

 On her young cheek no more that rose did blow
 Such as from hedgerow in lush June you pull,
 But, in its stead, her face was washed with woe,
 Though of the sort which maketh beautiful;
 Her large orbs, swart and satin as the sloe,
 Whose lustrous light no sorrow could annul,
 Yet wore a strangely grave and settled look,
 Like a dark pool, and not the laughing brook.

 ``Tell me my fate!`` he cried, seizing her hand.
 ``Your fate!`` she answered, ``tell me rather mine!
 Bend pride`s stiff knee; no longer grace withstand,
 And ours shall be the bliss for which you pine.
 If not, then Heaven hath this dear bounty banned,
 And my poor heart must your rich heart resign.
 I am Madonna`s child, come life what may,
 Come death! O Godfrid! kneel with me and pray!``

 There was a moment`s hush, brief but intense,
 Long as perhaps a billow hangs to break.
 Then, with a heaving of the bosom, whence,
 More than the lips, the answer came, he spake,
 And said ``I cannot!`` frightening thus suspense,
 Which fled, and left a more enduring ache.
 But tight he clutched her hand, as, in the wave,
 Men bent on death still strive themselves to save.

 And as he held her thus, her sight grew dim,
 Her other hand on Mary did she lay,
 And turned from him to her, from her to him,
 As soul and sense alternately did sway;
 Like one of those primeval seraphim,
 Pure spirit, but love—chained to a child of clay,
 Immortal born, with just that mortal leaven,
 Seduced to earth, but quick recalled to Heaven.

 When suddenly across her infirm gaze,
 Bewildered lips, and vacillating gait,
 There rushed a quick resolve, such as betrays
 The heart when hope at bay grows desperate.
 Lifting her hand from off the statue`s base,
 She clutched his arm as though she clutched at Fate,
 And, gasping, said, ``Will you with me repair
 Where Milan`s spires go up to heaven like prayer?

 ``For in its busy ways and sinful crowd,
 There is, as I have heard, a marble pile,
 Whose topmost pinnacles are lost in cloud,
 And, ere the mountains, catch day`s dawning smile.
 The gorgeous palaces that house the proud,
 Yield to its spacious nave and thick—trunked aisle,
 And wealth and pomp of courts are sordid things,
 To its rich worship of the King of kings.

 ``And learnëd men its famous Chapter fill,
 Learnëd and breathed on by the Holy Ghost,
 Chief among whom, in days they talk of still,
 This little town could for its pastor boast.
 He in my budding soul was first to instil
 Sweet precepts, tidings from the heavenly host,
 Love of my dear Madonna, and a life
 That never thought to find in fondness, strife.

 ``Come, let us go, and, if you will, afoot,
 And to that far—off goal make pilgrimage;
 And our joint journey in your heart may put
 Wise counsel, and your cruel doubts assuage.
 If not, then he—for I will set him to`t,—
 With heavenly argument and reason sage
 Shall melt the ear which to my prayer is cold,
 And win you back, lost sheep, to Christ`s dear fold.``

 Now woke the morn, fresh as a maiden wakes,
 And, while the world still slept, forth hand in hand
 Went Godfrid and Olympia. Lagging flakes
 Of silvery mist, by light gales curled and fanned,
 Fled up the hill; from feathery—foliaged brakes
 There rang melodious matins; on the sand,
 And on the sea, glistened a pearly dew;
 And, over both, bright bent the heavens blue.

 He had a leathern satchel at his back,
 And in her breast a missal small she bore;
 And, their sole burden these, they took the track
 That lies between the mountains and the shore.
 On the smooth main was many a white—sailed smack,
 Upon the hillside many a ruin hoar;
 With many a fluttering wing the air was sown,
 But on the mountain road themselves alone.

 Soon as they reached the last and loftiest crest
 Whence could Spiaggiascura be descried,
 Halting, they took their first brief snatch of rest,
 By a bright well that bubbled at their side.
 There, as she said a prayer within her breast,
 He prayerless gazed upon the prospect wide;
 And then the twain, hands linking as before,
 Strode on, nor saw the little city more.

 Through smiling tracts, defended from the snows,
 All the year basking in the sun`s warm ray,
 And fanned by every genial gale that blows,
 Tracts that are Eden still, their journey lay.
 Leftward the far—receding mountains rose,
 Upon the right ranged headland, creek, and bay,
 And jutting promontories, round which the bright
 Blue ocean ended in a fringe of white.

  High up the hill were smooth steep pastures green,
 Whence tinkling herd—bells fitful reached the ear;
 And in the rough and bosky clefts between,
 Browsed shaggy goats, clambering where all was sheer:
 While, but half heard, and only faintly seen,
 There a thin silvery thread, a white speck here,
 Dashed the precipitous torrent, soon to flow
 Glibly adown the gradual slope below:

 The smiling slope with olive groves bedecked,
 Now darkly green, now, as the breeze did stir,
 Spectral and white, as though the air were flecked
 With elfin branches tipped with gossamer;
 And then so faint, Godfrid could scarce detect
 Which the gray hillside, which the foliage fair;
 Until once more it dense and sombre grew,
 Again to shift, just as the zephyr blew.

 Nigher their ken were mulberry, fig, and vine,
 This linked to those in many a long festoon,
 `Neath which the wise, when days are long, recline,
 Reaping the hours in a deep golden swoon.
 The tendrils yet had but begun to twine
 Round the pale stems that would be hidden soon;
 But, in the cradling furrows lodged between,
 Peeped sprouting maize, and grasses newly green.

 And here and there with glistering lemon bowers
 The lower landward terraces were crowned,
 Or shapely orange groves, whose fragrant flowers
 Make of the land a bride the whole year round.
 Pink petals from the almond fell in showers,
 Making a vernal carpet for the ground;
 Over the walls peered tufts of yellow broom,
 And oleanders reddening into bloom.

 And ever and anon some quiet town
 Came into view, and thro` it straight they passed,
 Though once mayhap its name had won renown
 In this strange world, where nothing great doth last.
 With braided hair, bronzed limbs, and girded gown,
 Ranged round a fountain flowing clear and fast,
 Their eyes as bright as day, yet dark as night,
 Bent stalwart women, washing linen white.

 And round the open thresholds children fair,
 Happy and lithe as lizards, romped and ran,
 Their grandams sitting by in sunny chair;
 But, in the ways, never a sign of man.
 He was away, driving the ox—drawn share,
 Trimming the vine—clasped elm to shapely span,
 Or through his maize in many a trivial course
 Scattering the rampart torrent`s forward force.

 In each broad market—place a church there was,
 With campanile soaring straight in air,
 And open door for whosoe`er should pass.
 And once or twice, to say a hasty prayer,
 Olympia stole within, though he, alas!
 Without remained, mute in the noontide glare.
 But ne`er a shrine they saw which, to their mind,
 Was half so fair as that one left behind.

 When, for awhile, the sea got lost to view,
 Since landward now the hilly pathway wound,
 By aromatic pine—slopes stern of hue,
 Which shut the sunlight out, their gaze was bound.
 Beyond their ken the shaggy summits grew;
 Grimly, below them, yawned ravine profound,
 Wherethro` swift torrent a rough pathway tore,
 Filling the sombre silence with its roar.

But soon again the black pass broadened out,
 On them once more the welcome sunshine streamed,
 And budding larches, dotted sparse about
 Among dark firs, like fairy foliage gleamed.
 In valleys green they heard the shepherds shout
 To flocks that browsed and herds that dozed and dreamed;
 Torrent no more, the stream beneath them flowed,
 Devious, yet smooth, e`en as their mountain road;

 Seeking a softly undulating plain
 With straggling red—roofed villages bestrewed,
 Whence, as the light of day began to wane,
 Ave Maria rang from belfries rude.
 The air, the hills, the reappearing main,
 Felt the soft touch of twilight`s tender mood;
 And every bosom in that region fair,
 All, saving one alone, o`erflowed with prayer.

 For at the foot of a tall roadside cross,
 Whereon the martyred Godhead patient hung,
 And round whose base soft—greenly grew the moss,
 By hill—dews fed, herself Olympia flung,
 And, like to one who mourns some bitter loss,
 Yet hides the grief wherewith the heart is wrung,
 There silently to Heaven her vows preferred,
 Yet because mute, oh, not less surely heard!

 But when once more she rose up to her feet,
 Still at his side to bravely trudge along,
 Her heart, he saw, with quicker pulses beat,
 And lo! she broke, unbidden, into song.
 It was a melody unearthly sweet,
 Which the fond ear for ever would prolong;
 And with her voice, as ceased the belfries` clang,
 The craggy hollows of the mountain rang.

 Oh, Mary Mother, full of grace,
 Above all other women blest,
 Through whose pure womb our erring race
 Beholds its sin—born doom redressed,
 Pray for us!
 Thou by the Holy Ghost that wert
 With every heavenly gift begirt,
 Thou that canst shield us from all hurt,
 Pray for us! Pray for us!

 Tower of David, Ivory Tower,
 Vessel of Honour, House of Gold,
 Mystical Rose, unfading Flower,
 Sure refuge of the unconsoled,
 Pray for us!
 Mirror of Justice, Wisdom`s Seat,
 Celestial shade for earthly heat,
 The sinner`s last and best retreat,
 Pray for us! Pray for us!

 O thou of Heaven that art the gate,
 That to the feeble strength dost bear,
  To whom no outcast turns too late,
 Even when thy Son is deaf to prayer,
 Pray for us!
 O Morning Star, to chase the dark,
 Cause of our joy through care and cark,
 Thou of the Covenant the Ark,
 Pray for us! Pray for us!

 Bright Queen of the angelic choir,
 Of patriarchs, prophets, worshipped Queen!
 Queen of the martyrs proved by fire,
 And Queen of confessors serene;
 Queen of the apostolic train,
 Queen that o`er all the saints doth reign,
 O Queen conceived without a stain!
 Pray for us! Pray for us!

 So ceased the strain, and with it ceased the day.
 The mountains slowly wrapped themselves in night;
 Far off, the silent sea gloomed cold and gray,
 Sky—sundered by one long low line of white.
 Over the vale, far down, a flat mist lay,
 Which for a phantom lake bewrayed the sight;
 And louder now they heard the watchdogs bark,
 And cataracts dashing downward through the dark.

 Therefore with eager eye and quickened pace
 Descried they twinkling lights not far ahead;
 But many a zigzag yet had they to trace,
 Descending ever, ere their hopes were fed.
 At length they heard the voices of the place,
 Sought out the inn, and craved for board and bed;
 Two little sleeping chambers side by side,
 And what rude fare the mountains could provide.

 Yet as that day full many a league their feet
 Had traversed, and would dawn bring many more,
 Olympia early rose from fireside seat.
 Reverent, he saw her to her chamber door,
 Bent o`er her hand, and wished her slumber meet;
 Then, to the warm hearth fed by pine logs hoar
 Returning, sat him down, and by their light
 Mused, mute and mournful, far into the night.

 But she, when in her little room shut in,
 First, on her knees, her prayers to Heaven addressed;
 These said, her simple gown she did unpin,
 And of their robes her modest limbs divest.
 Some mountain jonquils, that had gathered been
 By Godfrid, fondly to her heart she pressed;
 Then on the pillow laid her weary head,
 And guardian angels gathered round the bed.

 So for three days they journeyed, till they came
 Where once—proud Genoa sits beside the sea,
Source
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