But on a sudden ceased the sound: Like ghosts the people gathered round, And on the keys they found his fallen head.
The silent organ had received The master's broken heart relieved, And he was white and dead.
THE MONK.
I.
In Nino's chamber not a sound intrudes Upon the midnight's tingling silentness, Where Nino sits before his book and broods, Thin and brow-burdened with some fine distress, Some gloom that hangs about his mournful moods His weary bearing and neglected dress: So sad he sits, nor ever turns a leaf-- Sorrow's pale miser o'er his hoard of grief.
II.
Young Nino and Leonora, they had met Once at a revel by some lover's chance, And they were young with hearts already set To tender thoughts, attuned to romance; Wherefore it seemed they never could forget That winning touch, that one bewildering glance: But found at last a shelter safe and sweet, Where trembling hearts and longing hands might meet.
III.
Ah, sweet their dreams, and sweet the life they led With that great love that was their bosoms' all, Yet ever shadowed by some circling dread It gloomed at moments deep and tragical, And so for many a month they seemed to tread With fluttering hearts, whatever might befall, Half glad, half sad, their sweet and secret way To the soft tune of some old lover's lay.
IV.
But she is gone, alas he knows not where, Or how his life that tender gift should lose: Indeed his love was ever full of care, The hasty joys and griefs of him who woos, Where sweet success is neighbour to despair, With stolen looks and dangerous interviews: But one long week she came not, nor the next, And so he wandered here and there perplext;
V.
Nor evermore she came. Full many days He sought her at their trysts, devised deep schemes To lure her back, and fell on subtle ways To win some word of her; but all his dreams Vanished like smoke, and then in sore amaze From town to town, as one that crazed seems, He wandered, following in unhappy quest Uncertain clues that ended like the rest.
VI.
And now this midnight, as he sits forlorn, The printed page for him no meaning bears; With every word some torturing dream is born; And every thought is like a step that scares Old memories up to make him weep and mourn.
He cannot turn but from their latchless lairs, The weary shadows of his lost delight Rise up like dusk birds through the lonely night.
VII.
And still with questions vain he probes his grief, Till thought is wearied out, and dreams grow dim.
What bitter chance, what woe beyond belief Could keep his lady's heart so hid from him?
Or was her love indeed but light and brief, A passing thought, a moment's dreamy whim?
Aye there it stings, the woe that never sleeps: Poor Nino leans upon his book, and weeps.
VIII.
Until at length the sudden grief that shook His pierced bosom like a gust is past, And laid full weary on the wide-spread book, His eyes grow dim with slumber light and fast; But scarcely have his dreams had time to look On lands of kindlier promise, when aghast He starts up softly, and in wondering wise Listens atremble with wide open eyes.
IX.
What sound was that? Who knocks like one in dread With such swift hands upon his outer door?
Perhaps some beggar driven from his bed By gnawing hunger he can bear no more, Or questing traveller with confused tread, Straying, bewildered in the midnight hoar.
Nino uprises, scared, he knows not how, The dreams still pale about his burdened brow.
X.
The heavy bolt he draws, and unawares A stranger enters with slow steps, unsought, A long robed monk, and in his hand he bears A jewelled goblet curiously wrought; But of his face beneath the cowl he wears For all his searching Nino seeth nought; And slowly past him with long stride he hies, While Nino follows with bewildered eyes.
XI.
Straight on he goes with dusky rustling gown.
His steps are soft, his hands are white and fine; And still he bears the goblet on whose crown A hundred jewels in the lamplight shine; And ever from its edges dripping down Falls with dark stain the rich and lustrous wine, Wherefrom through all the chamber's shadowy deeps A deadly perfume like a vapour creeps.
XII.
And now he sets it down with careful hands On the slim table's polished ebony; And for a space as if in dreams he stands, Close hidden in his sombre drapery.
"Oh lover, by thy lady's last commands, I bid thee hearken, for I bear with me A gift to give thee and a tale to tell From her who loved thee, while she lived, too well."
XIII.
The stranger's voice falls slow and solemnly.
Tis soft, and rich, and wondrous deep of tone; And Nino's face grows white as ivory, Listening fast-rooted like a shape of stone.
Ah, blessed saints, can such a dark thing be?
And was it death, and is Leonora gone?
Oh, love is harsh, and life is frail indeed, That gives men joy, and then so makes them bleed.
XIV.
"There is the gift I bring"; the stranger's head Turns to the cup that glitters at his side: "And now my tongue draws back for very dread, Unhappy youth, from what it must not hide.
The saddest tale that ever lips have said; Yet thou must know how sweet Leonora died, A broken martyr for love's weary sake, And left this gift for thee to leave or take."
XV.
Poor Nino listens with that marble face, And eyes that move not, strangely wide and set.
The monk continues with his mournful grace: "She told me, Nino, how you often met In secret, and your plighted loves kept pace Together, tangled in the self-same net; Your dream's dark danger and its dread you knew, And still you met, and still your passion grew.
XVI.