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FRIAR PACIFICUS transcribing and illuminating.
FRIAR PACIFICUS. IT is growing dark! Yet one line more, | |
| And then my work for to-day is o’er. | |
| I come again to the name of the Lord! | |
| Ere I that awful name record, | |
| That is spoken so lightly among men, | 5 |
| Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen; | |
| Pure from blemish and blot must it be | |
| When it writes that word of mystery! | |
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| Thus have I labored on and on, | |
| Nearly through the Gospel of John. | 10 |
| Can it be that from the lips | |
| Of this same gentle Evangelist, | |
| That Christ himself perhaps has kissed, | |
| Came the dread Apocalypse! | |
| It has a very awful look, | 15 |
| As it stands there at the end of the book, | |
| Like the sun in an eclipse. | |
| Ah me! when I think of that vision divine, | |
| Think of writing it, line by line, | |
| I stand in awe of the terrible curse, | 20 |
| Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse! | |
| God forgive me! if ever I | |
| Take aught from the book of that Prophecy, | |
| Lest my part too should be taken away | |
| From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day. | 25 |
| This is well written, though I say it! | |
| I should not be afraid to display it | |
| In open day, on the selfsame shelf | |
| With the writings of St. Thecla herself, | |
| Or of Theodosius, who of old | 30 |
| Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold! | |
| That goodly folio standing yonder, | |
| Without a single blot or blunder, | |
| Would not bear away the palm from mine, | |
| If we should compare them line for line. | 35 |
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| There, now, is an initial letter! | |
| Saint Ulric himself never made a better! | |
| Finished down to the leaf and the snail, | |
| Down to the eyes on the peacock’s tail! | |
| And now, as I turn the volume over, | 40 |
| And see what lies between cover and cover, | |
| What treasures of art these pages hold, | |
| All ablaze with crimson and gold, | |
| God forgive me! I seem to feel | |
| A certain satisfaction steal | 45 |
| Into my heart, and into my brain, | |
| As if my talent had not lain | |
| Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. | |
| Yes, I might almost say to the Lord, | |
| Here is a copy of thy Word, | 50 |
| Written out with much toil and pain; | |
| Take it, O Lord, and let it be | |
| As something I have done for thee! He looks from the window. | |
| How sweet the air is! How fair the scene! | |
| I wish I had as lovely a green | 55 |
| To paint my landscapes and my leaves! | |
| How the swallows twitter under the eaves! | |
| There, now, there is one in her nest; | |
| I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast, | |
| And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook, | 60 |
| For the margin of my Gospel book. He makes a sketch. | |
| I can see no more. Through the valley yonder | |
| A shower is passing; I hear the thunder | |
| Mutter its curses in the air, | |
| The devil’s own and only prayer! | 65 |
| The dusty road is brown with rain, | |
| And, speeding on with might and main, | |
| Hitherward rides a gallant train. | |
| They do not parley, they cannot wait, | |
| But hurry in at the convent gate. | 70 |
| What a fair lady! and beside her | |
| What a handsome, graceful, noble rider! | |
| Now she gives him her hand to alight; | |
| They will beg a shelter for the night. | |
| I will go down to the corridor, | 75 |
| And try to see that face once more; | |
| It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint, | |
| Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. Goes out. | |
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