“From Heaven? Have I cut the throat of her
Who gave me birth? or at a church taper
Lighted my pipe? or dared I, like the Jews,
The holy crucifix ’mong thistles bruise?
What is it, thou accursèd year of God,—
Why must I bear so terrible a load?
“’Twas not enough my darling they denied
To me! They’ve hunted her to death!” he cried;
And then he knelt, and kissed her passionately;
And all the people, when they saw how greatly
His heart was wrung, felt theirs too swell with pain,
And wept aloud above the stricken twain.
Then, as the sound of many waters, falling
Far down a rocky valley, rises calling
Unto the shepherd high the hills among,
Rose from the church a sound of full-choired song,
And all the temple trembled with the swell
Of that sweet psalm the Santen sing so well:—
“Saints of God, ere now sea-faring
On these briny plains of ours,
Who have set a temple bearing
Massy walls and snowy towers,
“Watch the wave-tossed seaman kindly;
Lend him aid the bark to guide;
Send him fair winds, lest he blindly
Perish on the pathless tide!
“See the woman poor and sightless:
Ne’er a word she uttereth;
Dark her days are and delightless,—
Darkness aye is worse than death.
“Vain the spells they have told o’er her,
Blank is all her memory.
Queens of Paradise, restore her!
Touch those eyes that they may see!
“We who are but fishers lowly,
Lift our hearts ere forth we go;
Ye, the helpful saints and holy,
Fill our nets to overflow.
“So, when penitents heart-broken,
Sue for pardon at your door,
Flood their souls with peace unspoken,
White flowers of our briny moor!”
So prayed the Santen, with tears and strong crying.
Then came the patrons to the maid low-lying,
And breathed a little life into her frame;
So that her wan eyes brightened, and there came
A tender flush of joy her visage over,
At the sweet sight of Vincen bent over her.