Legends and Lyrics Volume I Part 11

And as the boy brought water, And loosed the rein, he heard The sweetest voice that thanked him In one low gentle word; She turned her blue eyes from him, Looked up, and smiled to see The hanging purple blossoms Upon the Judas Tree;

And showed it with a gesture, Half pleading, half command, Till he broke the fairest blossom, And laid it in her hand; And she tied it to her saddle With a ribbon from her hair, While her happy laugh rang gaily, Like silver on the air.

But the champing steeds were rested-- The hors.e.m.e.n now spurred on, And down the dusty highway They vanished and were gone.

Years pa.s.sed, and many a traveller Paused at the old inn-door, But the little milk-white pony And the child returned no more.

Years pa.s.sed, the apple-branches A deeper shadow shed; And many a time the Judas Tree, Blossom and leaf, lay dead; When on the loitering western breeze Came the bells' merry sound, And flowery arches rose, and flags And banners waved around.

Maurice stood there expectant: The bridal train would stay Some moments at the inn-door, The eager watchers say; They come--the cloud of dust draws near-- 'Mid all the state and pride, He only sees the golden hair And blue eyes of the bride.

The same, yet, ah, still fairer; He knew the face once more That bent above the pony's neck Years past at that inn-door: Her shy and smiling eyes looked round, Unconscious of the place, Unconscious of the eager gaze He fixed upon her face.

He plucked a blossom from the tree-- The Judas Tree--and cast Its purple fragrance towards the Bride, A message from the Past.

The signal came, the horses plunged-- Once more she smiled around: The purple blossom in the dust Lay trampled on the ground.

Again the slow years fleeted, Their pa.s.sage only known By the height the Pa.s.sion-flower Around the porch had grown; And many a pa.s.sing traveller Paused at the old inn-door, But the bride, so fair and blooming, The bride returned no more.

One winter morning, Maurice, Watching the branches bare, Rustling and waving dimly In the grey and misty air, Saw blazoned on a carriage Once more the well-known s.h.i.+eld, The stars and azure fleurs-de-lis Upon a silver field.

He looked--was that pale woman, So grave, so worn, so sad, The child, once young and smiling, The bride, once fair and glad?

What grief had dimmed that glory, And brought that dark eclipse Upon her blue eyes' radiance, And paled those trembling lips?

What memory of past sorrow, What stab of present pain, Brought that deep look of anguish, That watched the dismal rain, That watched (with the absent spirit That looks, yet does not see) The dead and leafless branches Upon the Judas Tree.

The slow dark months crept onward Upon their icy way, 'Till April broke in showers And Spring smiled forth in May; Upon the apple-blossoms The sun shone bright again, When slowly up the highway Came a long funeral train.

The bells toiled slowly, sadly, For a n.o.ble spirit fled; Slowly, in pomp and honour, They bore the quiet dead.

Upon a black-plumed charger One rode, who held a s.h.i.+eld, Where stars and azure fleurs-de-lis Shone on a silver field.

'Mid all that homage given To a fluttering heart at rest, Perhaps an honest sorrow Dwelt only in one breast.

One by the inn-door standing Watched with fast-dropping tears The long procession pa.s.sing, And thought of bygone years,

The boyish, silent homage To child and bride unknown, The pitying tender sorrow Kept in his heart alone, Now laid upon the coffin With a purple flower, might be Told to the cold dead sleeper; The rest could only see A fragrant purple blossom, Plucked from a Judas Tree.

VERSE: VOICES OF THE PAST

You wonder that my tears should flow In listening to that simple strain; That those unskilful sounds should fill My soul with joy and pain-- How can you tell what thoughts it stirs Within my heart again?

You wonder why that common phrase, So all unmeaning to your ear, Should stay me in my merriest mood, And thrill my soul to hear-- How can you tell what ancient charm Has made me hold it dear?

You marvel that I turn away From all those flowers so fair and bright, And gaze at this poor herb, till tears Arise and dim my sight-- You cannot tell how every leaf Breathes of a past delight.

You smile to see me turn and speak With one whose converse you despise; You do not see the dreams of old That with his voice arise-- How can you tell what links have made Him sacred in my eyes?

Oh, these are Voices of the Past, Links of a broken chain, Wings that can bear me back to Times Which cannot come again-- Yet G.o.d forbid that I should lose The echoes that remain!

VERSE: THE DARK SIDE

Thou hast done well, perhaps, To lift the bright disguise, And lay the bitter truth Before our shrinking eyes; When evil crawls below What seems so pure and fair, Thine eyes are keen and true To find the serpent there: And yet--I turn away; Thy task is not divine-- The evil angels look On earth with eyes like thine.

Thou hast done well, perhaps, To show how closely wound Dark threads of sin and self With our best deeds are found.

How great and n.o.ble hearts, Striving for lofty aims, Have still some earthly cord A meaner spirit claims; And yet--although thy task Is well and fairly done, Methinks for such as thou There is a holier one.

Shadows there are, who dwell Among us, yet apart, Deaf to the claim of G.o.d, Or kindly human heart; Voices of earth and heaven Call, but they turn away, And Love, through such black night, Can see no hope of day; And yet--our eyes are dim, And thine are keener far-- Then gaze till thou canst see The glimmer of some star.

The black stream flows along, Whose waters we despise-- Show us reflected there Some fragment of the skies; 'Neath tangled thorns and briars, (The task is fit for thee,) Seek for the hidden flowers, We are too blind to see; Then will I thy great gift A crown and blessing call; Angels look thus on men, And G.o.d sees good in all!

VERSE: A FIRST SORROW

Arise! this day shall s.h.i.+ne, For evermore, To thee a star divine, On Time's dark sh.o.r.e.

Till now thy soul has been All glad and gay: Bid it awake, and look At grief to-day!

No shade has come between Thee and the sun; Like some long childish dream Thy life has run:

But now the stream has reached A dark, deep sea, And Sorrow, dim and crowned, Is waiting thee.

Each of G.o.d's soldiers bears A sword divine: Stretch out thy trembling hands To-day for thine!

To each anointed Priest G.o.d's summons came: Oh, Soul, he speaks to-day And calls thy name.

Then, with slow reverent step, And beating heart, From out thy joyous days, Thou must depart.

And, leaving all behind, Come forth, alone, To join the chosen band Around the throne.

Raise up thine eyes--be strong, Nor cast away The crown, that G.o.d has given Thy soul to-day!

VERSE: MURMURS

Why wilt thou make bright music Give forth a sound of pain?

Why wilt thou weave fair flowers Into a weary chain?