The Message to the Iron Foundry

A GOD-REVERING youth, we learn,
"Was gentle Fridolin:
Reared by the Countess Von Savern,
His childhood knew no sin.
Oh! she was mild — so mild and good!
But even Caprice's harshest mood
He would have borne, this duteous boy,
And borne, for love of GOD, with joy.

From streaky gleam of morning's light
Until the vesper-toll,
He wrought for her with earnest might,
He gave her heart and soul.
"Best, rest, my child!" the dame would cry:
Then tears would fill the Page's eye,
But still he toiled, and seemed to feel
The labor lost that wanted zeal.

And therefore did the Countess raise
Him o'er her menials all,
And from her lovely lips his praise
Was hourly heard to fall.
Her knave or page he scarce was named;
His heart a filial interest claimed:
And often would her pleasured glance
Dwell on his comely countenance.

Now in the huntsman Robert, this
Begot the wrath of Hell.
With Envy's devilish venom his
Black breast began to swell;
And listening to the Tempter's word,
Straightway one day he sought his Lord,
Fresh from the chase, and strewed with art
Doubt's darkling seeds within his heart.

"How blest are you, my noble master!''1
So spake his cunning deep —
"No spectral omens of disaster
Affright your golden sleep.
You have a pure and virtuous wife,
Of rarest worth and purest life,
Whose ever-spotless faith to stain
Seducers might attempt in vain."

Then loured his Master's brow of gloom —
"What trumpery dost thou rave?
Shall Man on Woman's troth presume?
What shifts as shifts the wave
Soon falls the losel wheedler's prey:
My trust, I trow, hath sterner stay.
Is here no gallant fop to earn
Smiles from the Countess Von Savern."

Quoth Robert, "Right, my Lord! — In sooth
He should but move your scorn,
Your pity. Most audacious youth!
A thrall, a vassal born,
To lift his wanton eyes to her,
His Lady and his Fosterer!"
"Ha!" cried the other, startled, " How?
Who? Where? What youth? How sayest thou?"

"What! Wis you not, ray Lord, the tale
They babble far and nigh?
Nay, now, methinks you fain would veil
The truth. Well, so shall I."
"Man!" cried the other, u mock me not!
Speak! else I stab thee on the spot!
Who dares to think on Cunigond?"
"My Lord, that smock-faced page beyond.

"In sooth he ... seems ... a shapely springald,"
He said with damning art,
While cold and hot the quick blood tingled
About his listener's heart.
"And marked you never, even by chance,
How she, not you, absorbs his glance,
And how he leans, with lovesick air,
At table o'er your Lady's chair?

"Look! Read, my Lord, these amorous lines —
Mark how his feelings burn;
He owns the love with which he pines,
And asks a like return.
Your highsoul'd Consort, with a view
To spare him, screens his guilt from you.
... But I have idly vexed your ear,
For what, my Lord, have you to fear?"

At once into a neighboring wood
The Count in frenzy rode,
Wherein an Iron-foundry stood,
Whose furnace redly glowed.
Here, late and early, swinking hands,
Fed volumed flames and blazing brands,
While sparkles flew, and bellows roar'd,
And molten ore in billows poured.

Here waves on waves, fires hot and hotter,
In raging strength were found;
Huge millwheels, turned by foaming water,
Clanged clattering round and round.
Harsh engines brattled night and day;
The thunderous hammer stunned alway.
With sledgeblows blended, which descended
Till even the stubborn iron bended.

And, beckoning there to workmen two,
He called them from their task,
And spake: " The FIRST who comes to you
From me, and thus shall ask —
'Have ye fulfilled the Count's desire?'
Him cast in yonder furnace-fire,
So that his bones be cindered white,
And he no more may blast my sight!"

This dark behest the monsters twain
Enjoyed with bloody zest,
For anvil-dead had longtime lain
The heart in cither's breast, —
And fiercelier now they blow the fire,
Till palier shoots its flame and higher,
And glare thereon with gloating eyes,
Impatient for the sacrifice.

To Fridolin the huntsman speeds,
And speaks with oily tone — •
"Companion mine, the Master needs
Thy presence: go alone!"
He went: then spake the Count, "Must waste
No time, but to the Foundry haste,
And ask the furnace-men this word —
'Have ye obeyed the Count, my Lord?' "

Said Fridolin, " Without delay."
But pausing musefully,
Perchance, he thought, my Lady may
Have some commands for me.
Anon before the Dame he stands,
And speaks: "My Lord the Count commands
Me to the Foundry; so, if thou
Wouldst aught, I bide thy bidding now."

Replied the Dame, with silvery tone —
"My son lies ill, alas!
Else I to-day had gladly gone
To hear the holy Mass.
Go thou, my child, instead, and be
Thine orisons to GOD for me,
So, when thy sins are blanched by Heaven,
Mine too, I trust, may be forgiven."

The Page received with joy the glad
And everwelcome order;
But ere with bounding step he had
Attained the village border,
Hark! toll! and toll! the Minster-bell
Pealed out with clear and solemn swell,
Inviting chosen souls to share
The Eucharistic banquet there.

"If GOD shall call thee o'er and o'er,
Resist not thou His will,"
He said, and entered at the door,
But all within was still;
For these were harvest-days, and now
Men toiled afield with sweltering brow,
Nor clerk was nigh, nor choral throng
To serve at Mass with answering song.

Eftsoons the aisle he therefore trod,
And filled the sexton's post:
Said he, " The time we give to GOD,
Be sure, is never lost.'1
The stole upon the Priest he placed,
And bound the cincture round his waist,
And then prepared the water-glass
And sacred chalice-cup for Mass.

AVhich finished with decorous haste,
The novice did not falter,
But walked before the Priest, and placed
The missal on the altar;
And knelt at left and right hand duly,
And answered reverently and truly;
And as the Priest the Sanctus sang,
His little bell three times he rang.

And when the Priest, inclining lowly,
Knelt humbly to adore
The present GOD whom, pure and holy,
In hand upraised he bore,
The bell again went tinkling, tinkling,
To give the throng the usual inkling,
And all, adoring CHRIST, and kneeling,
Then beat their breasts with contrite feeling.

He thus accomplished all with ease,
By quick perceptive thought,
For he those hallowed usages
From childhood had been taught;
Nor tired when at the close the Priest
Pronounced the Ite: Missa est,
And, turning round, bestowed aloud
His blessing on the assembled crowd.

Book, stole, and cup he then restored,
Each to its place anew,
And, having clean'd the altarboard,
He noiselessly withdrew,
And towards the wood, his purposed goal,
Retook his way with placid soul,
And, as his prayers were uncompleted,
Twelve Paternosters more repeated.

And reaching soon the hammerers den,
Mid smoke and storming fires,
He stopped and asked — " Have you, ye men,
Done what the Count desires?"
When, pointing towards the furnace wide,
And grimly grinning, one replied —
"The cindered bones require no bellows —
The Count may style us dexterous fellows!"

He bears the answer to his Master,
Who spies him with surprise,
And, as he nears him, fast and faster,
Almost mistrusts his eyes.
"Unhappy wretch! Whence comest thou?"
"This moment from the Foundry." " How I
Thou hast been loitering, then, elsewhere?"
"My Lord, I stopped for Mass and prayer, —

"For when this morning I retired
With your command, I sought
Your spouse, if haply she required
My services in aught,
Who bade me hear the Mass: content
And willing, I obeyed and went;
And thrice I said my rosary
For her and your prosperity."

The Count, amazed and quivering, gazed,
While terror blanched his cheek.
"And what reply was given thee by
The Foundry-workmen? Speak!"
"Obscure, my Lord, it seemed: One showed
Me where the horrid furnace glowed,
And grinned, and thus his answer flowed —
1 The cindered bones require no bellows:
The Count may style us dexterous fellows !' "

"And Robert?" asked the Count — and strange
Sensations iced his blood —
"Didst thou not meet him on thy range?
I sent him to the wood."
"My Lord, in wood or mead around
No trace of Robert have I found."
"Then," cried the Count, with reverent fear,
"GOD has Himself passed judgment here!"

And yielding to a softer mood,
The unconscious Page he led
Before his spouse (who understood
The mystery not), and said —
"Be kind and bounteous tow'rds this child;
No angel is more undefiled.
THOUGH MEN MISJUDGE, CONDEMN, DISTRUST,
GOD AND HIS SAINTS WATCH O'ER THE JUST."