The Portress

L'ENVOI, TO M. L.
Fair Saint! who, in thy brightest day
Of life's meridian joys,
Hast turn'd thy serious thoughts away
From fashion's fleeting toys,
And fasten'd them with lofty view
Upon the Only Good and True,
Come, listen to me while I tell
A tale of holy miracle.
Come! fly with me on fancy's wing
To that far, sea-girt strand,
The clime of sunshine, love, and spring,
Thy favorite Spanish land!
And lo! before our curious eyes
An ancient city's turrets rise,
"And circled by its moss-grown wall,
There stands a vast, baronial hall.
And opposite, a convent pile
Its massy structure rears,
And in the chapel's vaulted aisle
A holy shrine appears:
And at the shrine devoutly bent,
There kneels a lovely penitent,
In sable vesture, sadly fair,
Come — listen with me to her prayer
ballad.
"Blest shrines! from which in evil hour
My erring footsteps stray'd,
Oh! grant your kind protecting power!
To a repentant maid!
Sweet Virgin! if in other days
I sang thee hymns of love and praise,
And plaited garlands for thy brow,
Oh! listen to thy votary now!
"The robe, in which thy form is drest,
These patient fingers wrought;
The flowers that bloom upon thy breast
With loving zeal I brought;
That holy cross, of diamond clear,
I often wash'd with many a tear,
And dried again in pious bliss,
Sweet Virgin! with a burning kiss.
"And when by cruel arts betray'd,
My wayward course began,
And I forsook thy holy shade,
With that false-hearted man,
I breathed to thee my parting prayer,
And gave me to thy gentle care;
Sweet Virgin! hear thy votary's vow,
And grant her thy protection now!"
Unhappy Margaret! she had been
The fairest and the best,
In pious zeal and modest mien
Outshining all the rest;
And was so diligent withal,
That she had won the trust of all,
And by superior order sate
As Portress at the convent gate.
And well she watch'd that entrance o'er ;-
Ah! had she known the art
To guard as faithfully the door
Of her own virgin heart.
But when the glozing tempter came
With honied words of sin and shame,
She broke her order's sacred bands,
And follow 'd him to distant lands.
And there, in that delicious clime
Of song, romance, and flowers,
While guilty love was in its prime,
They dream'd away the hours;
But soon possession's touch of snow
Subdued his passion's fiery glow,
Converting love to scorn and hate,
And he has left her desolate.
And she from Madrid's courtly bowers
A weary way has gone,
To seek in old Palencia's towers
False-hearted Alarcon
His hall is vacant: not a beam
Is from the windows seen to-gleam,
Nor sound of life is heard to pour
From balcony or open door.
But lo! where in the cool moonlight,
Her home of former years,
The well-known convent opposite
Its massy structure rears:
And open stands the chapel door,
Saying, with mute language, to the poor,
The heavy-laden, and distrest,
"Come in! and I will give you rest!"
And she has enter'd, and has knelt
Before the blessed shrine,
And stealing o'er her senses felt
An influence divine;
And the false world's corrupt control
No more can subjugate her soul,
Where thoughts, of innocence again,
With undivided empire reign.
Again she sees her quiet cell.
And the trim garden there;
Again she hears the matin bell,
That summons her to prayer;
Again she joins, in chorus high,
The strain of midnight minstrelsy,
That lifts her with each thrilling tone,
In transport to the eternal throne.
"Ah! who will give me back?" she said,
With hotly-gushing tears,
"The blameless heart, the guiltless head
Of my departed years'?
What heavenly power can turn aside
The course of time's unchanging tide,
And make the Penitent again
The Pure one, that she might have been!"
While musing thus, around the dome,
She casts a vacant glance;
She sees, emerging from the gloom,
A graceful form advance.
Proceeding forth with noiseless feet,
From a far chapel's dim retreat,
The figure, clad in nun's array,
Along the pavement took her way.
A lantern in her hand she bore,
The shade upon her face;
And Margaret vainly scann'd it o'er,
Familiar lines to trace;
Then murmur'd, fearing to intrude,
"She is not of the sisterhood —
Perhaps a novice, who has come,
Since Margaret left her convent home."
From shrine to shrine with measured pace,
The figure went in turn,
And placed the flowers, and trimm'd the dress,
And made the tapers burn:
Nor ever rested to look back:
And Margaret follow'd in her track,
Though far behind: a charm unknown
With secret impulse led her on.
Fair sight it was, I ween, but dread
And strange as well as fair,
To see how as she visited
Each separate altar there,
A wondrous flame around it play'd,
So soft it scarcely broke the shade,
But glow'd with lustre cold and white,
Like fleecy clouds of boreal light.
Save only where around the nun
A warmer blaze it threw;
For there the bright suffusion shone
With tints of various hue;
Pale azure, clear as seraph's eyes,
Mix'd with the rose's blushing dyes,
And gathering to a halo, spread
In rainbow circles round her head.
And every flower her touch beneath
Renew'd its former bloom,
And from its bell of odorous breath,
Sent forth a sweet perfume;
And though no voice the silence stirr'd,
A low, sweet melody was heard,
That fell in tones subdued but clear,
Like heavenly music on the ear
Entranced, in ecstacies of awe,
And joy that none can tell,
The Penitent at distance saw
The beauteous miracle;
And scarce can trust the evidence
That pours in floods through every sense;
And thinks, so strange the vision seems,
That she is in the land of dreams.
At length, each altar duly dight,
And all her labors o'er,
The wondrous nun resumed the light,
And cross'd the minster floor;
Returning to the chapel shade,
From which her entrance she had made,
Along the aisle where Margaret stood,
And, passing, brush'd the maiden's hood.
Then she the stranger's mantle caught,
And something she would say,
But on her lips the unutter'd thought
In silence died away,
"What would'st thou with me, gentle one?"
In sweetest tones inquired the nun.
Poor Mab.gab.et still no language found,
But gazed intently on the ground.
"Say, then, who art thou" At her side
Pursued the form divine,
« My name is Mab.gab.et." She replied,
"It is the same with mine."
"Thy office, maiden?" "Lady dear!
For years I was a sister here;
And by superior order sate
As Portress at the convent gate."
"I too," the nun replied, "as one
Among the sisters wait,
And am to all the convent known,
As Portress at the gate."
Then first, entranced in wild amaze,
Her downcast eyes did Mab.gab.et raise
And fix them earnestly upon
The stranger's face; — it was her own!
Reflected rn that glorious nun,
She sees herself appear:
The air, the lineaments, her own,
In form and character:
The dress the same that she has worn;
The keys the same that she has borne;
Herself in person, habit, name,
At once another and the same.
Struck down with speechless ecstasy,
Astonished Margaret fell:
"Rise!" spake the vision, "I am she,
Whom thou hast served so well;
And when thou forfeitedst thy vows,
To be a perjured traitor's spouse,
And mad'st to me thy parting prayer
For my protecting love and care:
"I heard and granted thy request,
And to conceal thy shame,
I left the mansion of the blest
And took thy humble name,
Thy features, person, office, dress;
And did the duty of thy place,
And daily made report of all
In order to the principal.
"Behold! where still at every shrine
The votive taper stands;
The dress that once thou wor'st is thine,
The keys are in thy hands:
Thy fame is clear, thy trial o'er:
Then, gentle maiden! sin no more!
And think on her, who faithfully
In hours of danger thought on thee!"
A lightning flash! — a thunder peal! —
And parting o'er their heads,
The church's vaulted pinnacle
An ample passage spreads;
And lo! descending angels come
To guard their queen in triumph home,
The while the echoing minster rings
With sweetest notes from heavenly strings.
Then up, on cherub pinions borne,
The Virgin-Mother passed;
And as she rose, on the forlorn
A radiant smile she cast;
And Margaret saw, with streaming eyes
Of grateful joy, the vision rise,
And watched it till, from earthly view,
It vanished in the depths of blue.