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Founded on an Old French Legend
THE FETTERED Spirits linger | |
| In purgatorial pain, | |
| With penal fires effacing | |
| Their last faint earthly stain, | |
| Which Life’s imperfect sorrow | 5 |
| Had tried to cleanse in vain. | |
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| Yet, on each feast of Mary | |
| Their sorrow finds release, | |
| For the Great Archangel Michael | |
| Comes down and bids it cease; | 10 |
| And the name of these brief respites | |
| Is called “Our Lady’s Peace.” | |
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| Yet once—so runs the Legend— | |
| When the Archangel came | |
| And all these holy spirits | 15 |
| Rejoiced at Mary’s name; | |
| One voice alone was wailing, | |
| Still wailing on the same. | |
| |
| And though a great Te Deum | |
| The happy echoes woke, | 20 |
| This one discordant wailing | |
| Through the sweet voices broke; | |
| So when St. Michael questioned, | |
| Thus the poor spirit spoke:— | |
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| “I am not cold or thankless, | 25 |
| Although I still complain; | |
| I prize our Lady’s blessing | |
| Although it comes in vain | |
| To still my bitter anguish, | |
| Or quench my ceaseless pain. | 30 |
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| “On earth a heart that loved me, | |
| Still lives and mourns me there, | |
| And the shadow of his anguish | |
| Is more than I can bear; | |
| All the torment that I suffer | 35 |
| Is the thought of his despair. | |
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| “The evening of my bridal | |
| Death took my Life away; | |
| Not all Love’s passionate pleading | |
| Could gain an hour’s delay. | 40 |
| And he I left has suffered | |
| A whole year since that day. | |
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| “If I could only see him,— | |
| If I could only go | |
| And speak one word of comfort | 45 |
| And solace,—then, I know | |
| He would endure with patience, | |
| And strive against his woe.” | |
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| Thus the Archangel answered:— | |
| “Your time of pain is brief, | 50 |
| And soon the peace of Heaven | |
| Will give you full relief; | |
| Yet if his earthly comfort | |
| So much outweighs your grief, | |
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| “Then through a special mercy | 55 |
| I offer you this grace,— | |
| You may seek him who mourns you, | |
| And look upon his face, | |
| And speak to him of comfort | |
| For one short minute’s space. | 60 |
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| “But when that time is ended, | |
| Return here, and remain | |
| A thousand years in torment, | |
| A thousand years in pain: | |
| Thus dearly must you purchase | 65 |
| The comfort he will gain.” * * * * * | |
| The Lime-trees’ shade at evening | |
| Is spreading broad and wide; | |
| Beneath their fragrant arches, | |
| Pace slowly, side by side, | 70 |
| In low and tender converse, | |
| A Bridegroom and his Bride. | |
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| The night is calm and stilly, | |
| No other sound is there | |
| Except their happy voices: | 75 |
| What is that cold bleak air | |
| That passes through the Lime-trees | |
| And stirs the Bridegroom’s hair? | |
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| While one low cry of anguish, | |
| Like the last dying wail | 80 |
| Of some dumb, hunted creature, | |
| Is borne upon the gale:— | |
| Why does the Bridegroom shudder | |
| And turn so deathly pale? * * * * * | |
| Near Purgatory’s entrance | 85 |
| The radiant Angels wait; | |
| It was the great St. Michael | |
| Who closed that gloomy gate, | |
| When the poor wandering spirit | |
| Came back to meet her fate. | 90 |
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| “Pass on,” thus spoke the Angel; | |
| “Heaven’s joy is deep and vast; | |
| Pass on, pass on, poor Spirit, | |
| For Heaven is yours at last; | |
| In that one minute’s anguish | 95 |
| Your thousand years have passed.” | |
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