Ah, meseemed that even he, Would not wait to look on me, In my years and misery, Things that he alone could heal.
In mine eyes I felt the flame Of a rage that nought could tame, And I cried and cursed his name, Till my brain began to reel.
In a moment I was 'ware, How that many watching there, Fearfully with blanch and stare, Crossed themselves, and shrank away; Then upon my reeling mind, Like a sharp blow from behind, Fell the truth, and left me blind, Hopeless now, and all astray.
O'er the city wandering wide, Seeking but some place to hide, Where the sounds of mirth had died, Through the shaken night I stole; From the ever-eddying stream Of the crowds that did but seem Like processions in a dream To my empty echoing soul.
Till I came at last alone To a hidden street of stone, Where the city's monotone On the silence fell no more.
Then I saw how one in white With a footstep mute and light, Through the shadow of the night Like a spirit paced before.
And a sudden stillness came Through my spirit and my frame, And a spell without a name Held me in his mystic track.
Though his presence seemed so mild, Yet he led me like a child, With a yearning strange and wild, That I dared not turn me back.
Oh, I could not see his face, Nor behold his utmost grace, Yet I might not change my pace Fastened by a strange belief; For his steps were sad and slow, And his hands hung straight below, And his head was bowed, as though Pressed by some immortal grief.
So I followed, yet not I Held alone that company: Every silent passer-by Paled and turned and joined with me; So we followed still and fleet, While the city street by street, Fell behind our rustling feet Like a deadened memory.
Where the sound of sin and riot Broke upon the night's dim quiet, And the solemn bells hung nigh it Echoed from their looming towers; Where the mourners wept alway, Watching for the morning grey; Where the weary toiler lay, Husbanding the niggard hours;
By the gates where all night long Guests in many a joyous throng, With the sound of dance and song, Dreamed in golden palaces; Still he passed, and door by door Opened with a pale outpour, And the revel rose no more Hushed in deeper phantasies.
As we passed, the talk and stir Of the quiet wayfarer And the noisy banqueter Died upon the midnight dim.
They that reeled in drunken glee Shrank upon the trembling knee, And their jests died pallidly, As they rose and followed him.
From the street and from the hall, From the flare of festival None that saw him stayed, but all Followed where his wonder would: And our feet at first so few Gathered as those white feet drew, Till at last our number grew To a pallid multitude;
And the hushed and awful beat Of our pale unnumbered feet Made a murmur strange and sweet, As we followed evermore.
Now the night was almost passed, And the dawn was overcast, When the stranger stayed at last At a great cathedral door.
Never word the stranger said, But he slowly raised his head, And the vast doors opened By an unseen hand withdrawn; And in silence wave on wave, Like an army from the grave, Up the aisles and up the nave, All that spectral crowd rolled on.
As I followed close behind, Knowledge like an awful wind Seemed to blow my naked mind Into darkness black and bare; Yet with longing wild and dim, And a terror vast and grim, Nearer still I pressed to him, Till I almost touched his hair.
From the gloom so strange and eery, From the organ low and dreary, Rose the wailing miserere, By mysterious voices sung; And a dim light shone, none knew, How it came, or whence it grew, From the dusky roof and through All the solemn spaces flung.
But the stranger still passed on, Till he reached the altar stone, And with body white and prone Sunk his forehead to the floor; And I saw in my despair, Standing like a spirit there, How his head was bruised and bare, And his hands were clenched before,
How his hair was fouled and knit With the blood that clotted it, Where the prickled thorns had bit In his crowned agony; In his hands so wan and blue, Leaning out, I saw the two Marks of where the nails pierced through, Once on gloomy Calvary.
Then with trembling throat I owned All my dark sin unatoned, Telling it with lips that moaned, And methought an echo came From the bended crowd below, Each one breathing faint and low, Sins that none but he might know: "Master I did curse thy name."
And I saw him slowly rise With his sad unearthly eyes, Meeting mine with meek surprise, And a voice came solemnly.
"Never more on mortal ground For thy soul shall rest be found, But when bells at midnight sound Thou must rise and come with me."
Then my forehead smote the floor, Swooning, and I knew no more, Till I heard the chancel door Open for the choristers: But the stranger's form was gone, And the church was dim and lone: Through the silence, one by one Stole the early worshippers.
I am ageing now I know; That was many years ago, Yet or I shall rest below In the grave where none intrude, Night by night I roam the street, And that awful form I meet, And I follow pale and fleet, With a ghostly multitude.
Every night I see his face, With its sad and burdened grace, And the torn and bloody trace, That in hands and feet he has.
Once my life was dark and bad; Now its days are strange and sad, And the people call me mad: See, they whisper as they pass.
Even now the echoes roll From the swinging bells that toll; It is midnight, now my soul Hasten; for he glideth by.
Stranger, 'tis no phantasie: Look! my master waits for me Mutely, but thou canst not see With thy mortal blinded eye.
THE ORGANIST.
In his dim chapel day by day The organist was wont to play, And please himself with fluted reveries; And all the spirit's joy and strife, The longing of a tender life, Took sound and form upon the ivory keys; And though he seldom spoke a word, The simple hearts that loved him heard His glowing soul in these.
One day as he was wrapped, a sound Of feet stole near; he turned and found A little maid that stood beside him there.
She started, and in shrinking-wise Besought him with her liquid eyes And little features, very sweet and spare.
"You love the music, child," he said, And laid his hand upon her head, And smoothed her matted hair.
She answered, "At the door one day I sat and heard the organ play; I did not dare to come inside for fear; But yesterday, a little while, I crept half up the empty aisle And heard the music sounding sweet and clear; To-day I thought you would not mind, For, master dear, your face was kind, And so I came up here."
"You love the music then," he said, And still he stroked her golden head, And followed out some winding reverie; "And you are poor?" said he at last; The maiden nodded, and he passed His hand across his forehead dreamingly; "And will you be my friend?" he spake, "And on the organ learn to make Grand music here with me?"
And all the little maiden's face Was kindled with a grateful grace; "Oh, master, teach me; I will slave for thee!"
She cried; and so the child grew dear To him, and slowly year by year He taught her all the organ's majesty; And gave her from his slender store Bread and warm clothing, that no more Her cheeks were pinched to see.
And year by year the maiden grew Taller and lovelier, and the hue Deepened upon her tender cheeks untried.
Rounder, and queenlier, and more fair Her form grew, and her golden hair Fell yearly richer at the master's side.
In speech and bearing, form and face, Sweeter and graver, grace by grace, Her beauties multiplied.
And sometimes at his work a glow Would touch him, and he murmured low, "How beautiful she is?" and bent his head; And sometimes when the day went by And brought no maiden he would sigh, And lean and listen for her velvet tread; And he would drop his hands and say, "My music cometh not to-day; Pray God she be not dead!"
So the sweet maiden filled his heart, And with her growing grew his art, For day by day more wondrously he played.
Such heavenly things the master wrought, That in his happy dreams he thought The organ's self did love the gold-haired maid: But she, the maiden, never guessed What prayers for her in hours of rest The sombre organ prayed.
At last, one summer morning fair, The maiden came with braided hair And took his hands, and held them eagerly.
"To-morrow is my wedding day; Dear master, bless me that the way Of life be smooth, not bitter unto me."
He stirred not; but the light did go Out of his shrunken cheeks, and oh!
His head hung heavily.
"You love him, then?" "I love him well,"
She answered, and a numbness fell Upon his eyes and all his heart that bled.
A glory, half a smile, abode Within the maiden's eyes and glowed Upon her parted lips. The master said, "God bless and bless thee, little maid, With peace and long delight," and laid His hands upon her head.
And she was gone; and all that day The hours crept up and slipped away, And he sat still, as moveless as a stone.
The night came down, with quiet stars, And darkened him: in colored bars Along the shadowy aisle the moonlight shone.
And then the master woke and passed His hands across the keys at last, And made the organ moan.
The organ shook, the music wept; For sometimes like a wail it crept In broken moanings down the shadows drear; And otherwhiles the sound did swell, And like a sudden tempest fell Through all the windows wonderful and clear.
The people gathered from the street, And filled the chapel seat by seat-- They could not choose but hear.
And there they sat till dawning light, Nor ever stirred for awe. "To-night, The master hath a noble mood," they said.