legends and lyrics - second series(传奇和抒情歌谣2)-第2节
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pageant bright and fair； And all the lovely ladies who were there。 But half
incredulous she heard。 Could this … This be the world？ this place of love
and bliss！ Where then was hid the strange and hideous charm； That never
failed to bring the gazer harm？ She crossed herself； yet asked； and listened
still； And still the knight described with all his skill The glorious world of
joy； all joys above； Transfigured in the golden mist of love。 Spread； spread
your wings； ye angel guardians bright； And shield these dazzling phantoms
from her sight！ But no； days passed； matins and vespers rang； And still the
quiet Nuns toiled； prayed； and sang； And never guessed the fatal； coiling
net Which every day drew near； and nearer yet； Around their darling； for
she went and came About her duties； outwardly the same。 The same？ ah；
no！ even when she knelt to pray； Some charmed dream kept all her heart
away。 So days went on； until the convent gate Opened one night。 Who
durst go forth so late？ Across the moonlit grass； with stealthy tread； Two
silent； shrouded figures passed and fled。 And all was silent； save the
moaning seas； That sobbed and pleaded； and a wailing breeze That sighed
among the perfumed hawthorn trees。
What need to tell that dream so bright and brief； Of joy unchequered
by a dread of grief？ What need to tell how all such dreams must fade；
Before the slow； foreboding； dreaded shade； That floated nearer； until
pomp and pride； Pleasure and wealth； were summoned to her side。 To bid；
at least； the noisy hours forget； And clamour down the whispers of regret。
Still Angela strove to dream； and strove in vain； Awakened once； she could
not sleep again。 She saw； each day and hour； more worthless grown The
heart for which she cast away her own； And her soul learnt； through
bitterest inward strife； The slight； frail love for which she wrecked her life；
The phantom for which all her hope was given； The cold bleak earth for
which she bartered heaven！ But all in vain； would even the tenderest heart
Now stoop to take so poor an outcast's part？
Years fled； and she grew reckless more and more； Until the humblest
peasant closed his door； And where she passed； fair dames； in scorn and
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pride； Shuddered； and drew their rustling robes aside。 At last a yearning
seemed to fill her soul； A longing that was stronger than control： Once
more； just once again； to see the place That knew her young and innocent；
to retrace The long and weary southern path； to gaze Upon the haven of
her childish days； Once more beneath the convent roof to lie； Once more
to look upon her homeand die！ Weary and wornher comrades； chill
remorse And black despair； yet a strange silent force Within her heart； that
drew her more and more … Onward she crawled； and begged from door to
door。 Weighed down with weary days； her failing strength Grew less each
hour； till one day's dawn at length； As first its rays flooded the world with
light； Showed the broad waters； glittering blue and bright； And where；
amid the leafy hawthorn wood； Just as of old the quiet cloister stood。
Would any know her？ Nay； no fear。 Her face Had lost all trace of youth；
of joy； of grace； Of the pure happy soul they used to know … The novice
Angelaso long ago。 She rang the convent bell。 The well…known sound
Smote on her heart； and bowed her to the ground； And she； who had not
wept for long dry years； Felt the strange rush of unaccustomed tears；
Terror and anguish seemed to check her breath； And stop her heart。 Oh
God！ could this be death？ Crouching against the iron gate； she laid Her
weary head against the bars； and prayed： But nearer footsteps drew； then
seemed to wait： And then she heard the opening of the grate； And saw the
withered face； on which awoke Pity and sorrow； as the portress spoke； And
asked the stranger's bidding： 〃Take me in；〃 She faltered； 〃Sister Monica；
from sin； And sorrow； and despair； that will not cease； Oh； take me in； and
let me die in peace！〃 With soothing words the Sister bade her wait； Until
she brought the key to unbar the gate。 The beggar tried to thank her as she
lay； And heard the echoing footsteps die away。 But what soft voice was
that which sounded near； And stirred strange trouble in her heart to hear？
She raised her head； she sawshe seemed to know … A face that came from
long； long years ago： Herself； yet not as when she fled away； The young
and blooming novice； fair and gay； But a grave woman； gentle and serene：
The outcast knew itWHAT SHE MIGHT HAVE BEEN。 But； as she
gazed and gazed； a radiance bright Filled all the place with strange and
sudden light； The Nun was there no longer； but instead； A figure with a
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circle round its head； A ring of glory； and a face； so meek； So soft； so
tender 。 。 。 Angela strove to speak； And stretched her hands out； crying；
〃Mary mild； Mother of mercy； help me！help your child！〃 And Mary
answered； 〃From thy bitter past； Welcome； my child！ oh； welcome home at
last！ I filled thy place。 Thy flight is known to none； For all thy daily
duties I have done； Gathered thy flowers； and prayed； and sung； and slept；
Didst thou not know； poor child； THY PLACE WAS KEPT？ Kind hearts
are here； yet would the tenderest one Have limits to its mercy： God has
none。 And man's forgiveness may be true and sweet； But yet he stoops to
give it。 More complete Is Love that lays forgiveness at thy feet； And
pleads with thee to raise it。 Only Heaven Means CROWNED； not
VANQUISHED； when it says 'Forgiven！'〃 Back hurried Sister Monica； but
where Was the poor beggar she left lying there？ Gone； and she searched in
vain； and sought the place For that wan woman with the piteous face： But
only Angela at the gateway stood； Laden with hawthorn blossoms from the
wood。 And never did a day pass by again； But the old portress； with a sigh
of pain； Would sorrow for her loitering： with a prayer That the poor
beggar； in her wild despair； Might not have come to any ill； and when She
ended； 〃God forgive her！〃 humbly then Did Angela bow her head； and say
〃Amen！〃 How pitiful her heart was！ all could trace Something that
dimmed the brightness of her face After that day； which none had seen
before； Not troublebut a shadownothing more。
Years passed away。 Then； one dark day of dread Saw all the sisters
kneeling round a bed； Where Angela lay dying； every breath Struggling
beneath the heavy hand of death。 But suddenly a flush lit up her cheek；
She raised her wan right hand； and strove to speak。 In sorrowing love they
listened； not a sound Or sigh disturbed the utter silence round。 The very
tapers' flames were scarcely stirred； In such hushed awe the sisters knelt
and heard。 And through that silence Angela told her life： Her sin； her flight；
the sorrow and the strife； And the return； and then clear； low and calm；
〃Praise God for me； my sisters；〃 and the psalm Rang up to heaven； far and
clear and wide； Again and yet again； then sank and died； While her white
face had such a smile of peace； They saw she never heard the music cease；
And weeping sisters laid her in her tomb； Crowned with a wreath of
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perfumed hawthorn bloom。
And thus the Legend ended。 It may be Something is hidden in the
mystery； Besides the lesson of God's pardon shown； Never enough
believed； or asked； or known。 Have we not all； amid life's petty strife；
Some pure ideal of a noble life That once seemed possible？ Did we not
hear The flutter of its wings； and feel it near； And just within our reach？
It was。 And yet We lost it in this daily jar and fret； And now live idle in a
vague regret。 But still OUR PLACE IS KEPT； and it will wait； Ready for
us to fill it； soon or late： No star is ever lost we once have seen； We a
