| |
| WITHIN the chapel quivers candlelight. | |
| And there the page his vigil keeps alone | |
| Before the altar’s threshold all the night. | |
| “I shall partake when morning dawneth bright | |
| Of all that solemn glory yet unknown, | 5 |
| |
| “When by one stroke I shall be dubbed a knight. | |
| My childhood longing hushed, I shall not swerve | |
| From deeds of rigour; with my spurs and might | |
| Devoted in the good war I will serve. | |
| |
| “For this new honour I must now prepare: | 10 |
| The consecration of my sword unstained | |
| Before God’s altar and the symbol there, | |
| The testimony of high worth attained.” | |
| |
| There his forefather’s image gray and old | |
| Reposed and slender vaults rose overhead. | 15 |
| Trustfully clasped, his hands lay stony cold; | |
| Upon his breast there was a banner spread. | |
| |
| His eyes are darkened by the helmet’s shade. | |
| A cherub spreading wide his pinions pale | |
| Holds over him his shield with coat of mail: | 20 |
| Upon an azure field the flaming blade. | |
| |
| The youth is praying to the Lord above | |
| And breaks the narrow bounds of prayer with feeling, | |
| His hands devoutly clasped as he is kneeling. | |
| Then slowly into thoughts of pious love | 25 |
| An earthly image unawares is stealing. | |
| |
| She stood among her garden gilly-flowers, | |
| She was much less a maiden than a child. | |
| Upon her gown were broidered starry showers, | |
| About her golden hair the sun-flecks smiled. | 30 |
| |
| He shudders, and he longs in his dismay | |
| To flee the vision that he deems a snare; | |
| His hands he buries in his curly hair | |
| And makes the sign that lets no evil stay. | |
| |
| The blood is rushing hot into his cheek, | 35 |
| The candle flames shoot lightnings in his face. | |
| But now he sees the Lady Mother meek, | |
| Upon her lap the Saviour giving grace. | |
| |
| “I will forever in Thine army serve | |
| And all my life no other aim will seek, | 40 |
| And from Thy high commandment never swerve. | |
| Forgive if for the last time I was weak.” | |
| |
| Out from the snow-white altar’s covered chest | |
| A swarm of little angels’ faces flew, | |
| And as the organ’s sacred murmur grew, | 45 |
| The Valiant’s innocence, the Dead’s deep rest | |
| With tranquil clearness soared the whole house through. | |
| |
