Part 4

“How found ye it?” Sordino dared to question. “A lad who said his master’s lodging here, Did guide us, and, methinks I see him there.” Sordino turned and saw the boy’s despair, And called him in a tone that felled his fear, He came, and was forgiv’n without confession.

And Stella took his hand and stroked his head, Sordino wishing that he was the lad, He found a coin and told him to be gone, And like the earth from which the fog was blown, The boy felt in his heart relieved and glad, And brushed his master’s clothes and made his bed.

Alone, the conversation of the two Was chiefly about trifles and the weather, With many pauses, since so much did press Sordino’s heart, so much he would confess, And since it was so strange to be together With her whom he adored, yet did not know.

Soon Stella, pleading cold, arose to go, Without a promise of another meeting, Sordino feeling chills about his heart, And as they from the garden did depart, That little hour so full, and yet so fleeting, Seemed to him fatal, and mal á propos.

XXX

Love’s like a great musician, whose deft fingers Control the hidden pow’r of organ-keys; He plays upon the soul with mastery, And uses all the stops of melody, Of deepest sorrow, highest ecstacies, Of stormy fugues, or tune that softly lingers.

Thus did he play upon Sordino’s heart, When to himself he suddenly was left; A flood of passion overwhelmed his soul, In which he heard himself her name to call, And spent, did leave him painfully bereft, Yea, caused unmanly, bitter tears to start.

He wiped away the furtive tear, and went Into the bar-room, where he called for wine, And freely drank, then entering the street, The sailor of last night he chanced to meet, Who told him, for a drink he sore did pine, And had, alas! his very farthings spent.

Sordino handed him sufficient coin To make him happy for another night; He thanked him most profusely, and betook Himself into the tavern’s pleasant nook, Where he did find his life’s supreme delight,-- A cup of sack and others it to join.

Sordino sauntered carelessly along, And with no aim but to assuage his mind, Which wandered twixt a ray of hope and fear, When all at once he saw her drawing near, In company with one whose eye did find Her smile surcharged with an affection strong.

A moment’s glance told of his manly cast; Well-knit and tall, in military suit, But with a face so much unlike her mien; And what Sordino could instantly glean, It had a strength, but not of thought and truth, But rather courage, stemming any blast.

Correctly he surmised, this very man Was Stella’s fiancé; and Jealousy, That “greeneyed monster,” held him by the throat, Or, as in modern parlance “had his goat,” A phrase suggestive of the purity Of English, even among a college clan.

The jealousy of outraged marriage bonds, Real, or imagined as Othello’s, Oft finds expression in a dark revenge, The faithless spouse is treated as a wench, The vile seducer suffers every loss, Unless, perchance, he with his prize absconds.

With hapless suitors has she gentler ways, When pledgeless smiles is all they have obtained, Though none may fully know what she may do, (For even of such full many ones she slew), But in this case, Sordino, deeply pained, She led about as in a dreamy haze.

He wandered on the banks of wimpling Thames, And on the anchored ships did idly stare, But had no mind for all the life and mirth Beneath the languid sails upon the firth, Since nought he saw but that one happy pair, And but two eyes, more glorious than gems.

With night’s approach his feelings took the hue Of creeping shadows and the purple dark, And sadness grew to an oppressive load,-- Then Jealousy to anger did him goad, And to its fouler plots he once did hark, Which with a frenzy did his blood imbue.

Then came the music of St. Mary’s bell, Commingling with St. Paul’s of deeper tongue, And oped his prison of unhappiness, They had a solace that could calm and bless, And when the last vibrating note was rung, He homeward turned, and whispered: “All is well.”

XXXI

As a philosopher Sordino tried To make himself believe that all was well, Howe’er something opposed his wise decree,-- He sought to sup, but found each dish to be Devoid of savor both in taste and smell, His spleen the head’s philosophy defied.

He sought his couch and courted gentle sleep, And stoically scorned his love-affair, But Somnus was so far away, unheeding, And thoughts in solitude were slowly feeding Upon his heart, like lions in their lair, Instead of rest, his misery grew deep.

The clock struck ten, he rose and left his room; The bar was lively, and he chose its folly; There was the sailor, garrulous and drunk, In company with one, a quondam monk, From Henry’s reign, when monks, unduly jolly, Were driven from pretended cloister-gloom.

But if the ruby brightness of his nose Was then acquired, or in his homeless state, Is not for me to say, but it surpassed Even his who years had sailed before the mast, And with the aid of gin and stormy fate Had made it blossom like an Irish rose.

These two from spheres so far apart had met Across a stoop of ale, which like the river Of classic eld can quench all mundane sorrow, Make men forgetful of the past and morrow, Upon whose bosom dreams all sunlit quiver, Until it empties in a sea of jet.

Upon the sailor’s quick discovery Of Count Sordino’s presence, he approached Him with a courtsy very risible And whispered that he had something to tell, Which on their precious secret did encroach, And asked him, come aside from company.

Sordino followed with a sense of fear, That it was money which the rogue was after, And cared but little for his muddled talk; Soon on the dark, deserted garden-walk They stood, where faint the hum and laughter Of drinking men, fell on the listening ear.

In broken sentences, and low, the croon Confided to Sordino something strange: He had that very eve beheld the man, Who brought the bells from France to old Ireland, First on the street, then on a garden-bench, Embracing a young lady, ’neath the moon.

Moreover, he had chanced to meet a fellow, Who used to wear the cowl, in whilom days, But had doffed cloth and everything religious, And though his story was somewhat ambiguous, He claims to know the chimes, and doth much praise Their wondrous tones as very clear and mellow.

This tale engrossed Sordino’s mind intensely; They entered, sought the monk, who half asleep Sat by a table all alone; the two Aroused him with a drink of better brew, Now with the sailor he the best did reap From the Count’s interest and liberality.

Sordino made agreement with these men To go with him to Ireland, even that week, Which they did promise for a goodly hire,-- For both declared, they knew the very spire, Around whose golden cross his chimes did seek Their flight up to the list’ning choirs of heaven.

XXXII

O, god of gold, whose universal sway Is not the underworld, on the Plutonic shore, And hideous, like that of Spencer’s dream, But on our terra’s face, bright with the gleam Of mid-day sun, thy power has ever more Commanded human nature to obey!

Thou sittest not in gloomy woods and caves, A loathsome creature with the hoarded pelf, But in the palace and the mansion bright, In marble temples large and fair, bedight, A princely being, though controlled by Self, To whom most men submit themselves as slaves.

The beautiful, the learnéd, and the strong Are vying with the baser mass to serve Thee ardently, that favor they may find, They offer beauty, skill of hand and mind, And ceaseless toil, until the vital nerve Of life is gone, the source of joy and song.

Some barter soul and body for the gold, And bear but semblance to the freeborn man; The food is rich, the wine is sparkling red, What matter then, if soul and heart are dead;-- But in the darkness stand the masses wan, And homeless children shiver in the cold.

Thou rulest kings and statesmen in their places, Thou makest war, and causest it to cease, Thou art the world’s supremest autocrat, And e’en our land is bending on the mat Before thy power’s terrible increase, Which even the shallow lawgiver amazes.

It is not lavish gifts alone that bind, But ev’n the droppings of the shining ore, Thus here, the tips, Sordino gave the salt, Enthralled him to a virtue or a fault,-- So in a whisper, recklessly he swore: “I’ll take that coward and knock out his wind!”

Just then Sordino’s foe was entering The bar-room with a smile of exultation;-- The salt arose and held him by the arm, The soldier looked at him with small alarm, Or rather with a frown of irritation, And sought the drunken sailor from him fling,--

Who brawled aloud: “Thou Judas ’Scarioth, Who would again for thirty shillings sell Our holy Mary’s son, look on my face As one who helped thee in thy wicked ways, To make a fortune on a stolen bell, Inscribed with glory to Lord Zebaoth!”

“I knew not better then, but now I do,-- Those bells, we freighted, were but stolen good, And thou the thief, enriched by robbing God,-- Thou thinkest, all are resting ’neath the sod, Who knew their tale, but by the holy Rood, There is one yet alive who’ll make thee rue!”

At which the soldier grasped his sword to fight; The sailor laughed: “Strik’st thou the weaponless?” He fell upon the floor, stabbed in the breast. Then rose Sordino and to all confest: “I am the man behind this sorry mess, But will take pains to settle it aright.”

He drew his sword and challenging his rival, They bore upon each other with a fury, Which in Sordino reached a double strength, He felt that fate had brought him this, at length, Not even the Archbishop of Canterbury, Could stop him now from being the survival.

The parries of the combatants revealed Their mastery in fencing, and it seemed A doubtful issue who should win the fray, When suddenly besides the sailor lay The soldier with a gash, from which there streamed A flood of life, the young man’s doom was sealed.

That night the sailor and the soldier perished; Sordino and his page set out on flight; But Stella and her father mourned the loss Of one whom they thought gold, but was mere dross,-- A fortune-soldier with no sense of right, Who nought but selfish aims had ever cherished.

A double life may win the noblest heart By hiding foulness neath pretended good, Until the judgment-day reveals the truth, And to the innocent the crushing ruth, When he, that trusted was, is understood, And all dissemblings from his life depart.

XXXIII

The foot is fleet when conscience spurs it on, And fear of death is calling in one’s trail, Then lonely country roads and midnight dark Seem better than the torch-illumined park, Where smiling faces even a stranger hail On gala-nights in merry old London.

And to possess a trusted friend, in flight, Who knows the road and place of safe retreat, Is more than thousand when all things are well, His whispered counsel more than when they yell Their loud approval in the hour of heat, While wine is flowing, on a banquet night.

The boy did follow him, and strange to tell, The monk had offered him his services, And led the way, for much he traversed had The country near and far. Sordino, glad To grasp this straw of help in his distress, Did follow him through lane and murky dell.

Amid its trees a hermit’s hut did stand, Upon whose door the monk three times did knock; “Who’s there?” a voice did clearly ask within, The monk replied: “Thy well-known brother Quinn;” The door did ope, a man in cloister-frock Appeared with light and crucifix in hand.

“Grant to us all a shelter over night, True sons of Holy Church, though fugitives, Not without recompense shall be thy care, For though we nothing in our hands do bear, This gentleman no favors e’er receives, Without a thanks which lingers with delight.”

“I do not covet payment for a favor,” The hermit answered, “hospitality Is but a duty upon all enjoined, And deeds of kindness into lucre coined Cannot in heaven as holy treasures be Stored up, since of man’s selfishness they savor.”

“But I would know who comes to hermit’s cot, With fear upon his face and hard of breath.” To which the monk replied: “A man of rank From that most classic land, where Dante drank From the clear fountain which o’ercometh death, Gives hope to hearts whose is the exile’s lot.”

“As ’neath the temple in Jerusalem A fountain issued forth all sweet and clear, So doth from mother-church a well-spring flow, And all who drink thereof must feel the glow Of life within which makes them see and hear The joy that trembles round Christ’s diadem.”

“His quest is to regain some precious bells, That blessed his land, to whom his soul is wed,-- And on his painful journey he has found The man who stole them, brought him to the ground; From dire avengers he has justly fled, Protect him thou, lest him some villain quell.”

The hermit promised him his hut’s protection, And of a secret cave beneath a tree, Meanwhile the monk and page should preparation Make for departure to that stalwart nation, Whose melodies, one with its history, Have from its sacred lore the true inflection.

XXXIV

With first grey dawn of day the hermit rose To pray, as was his custom every morn, And with him knelt Sordino, in contrition, For through the hours of night the awful vision Of wanton murder to his mind was borne, And robbed him of all rest and soul-repose.

And to the holy man he did confess, And begged his absolution, which was granted, But still the deed so weighed upon his heart, That when his two companions did depart, He fain would have his own death-dirges chanted, To make an end of harrowing distress.

Such is the soul, that once attuned to peace, Must pass through Becca’s vale of dark remorse, In whom the joy of heav’n and grief of hell Are seeking one another to expel; Well then if the afflicted take recourse To Him who calms the storm and gives surcease.

The ruing of our sins, the soul’s repentance, The coming to oneself, and meeting God, Is, after all, the only way to rest, All else is but a vain and foolish quest, A hiding from the terror of His rod, A coward’s quailing for a righteous sentence.

For it is then, and only then, the Father Can meet His child, such as it left His home, Bestow the kiss of pardon and the love Of ring and raiment from His treasure trove, And bid him to the Palace with Him come, There with the tranquil spirits ever gather.

Sordino now, like Israel of old, Passed through the inner struggle with the Lord, Until the morning of his soul appeared, And with the light of victory him cheered, The brook of bitter weeping he did ford, And found beyond the comfort of God’s fold.

XXXV

Deem it not strange that men of deeper thought, Retired to solitudes of woods and mountains, Where, by a life of pray’r and contemplation, They strove to find the soul’s complete salvation, And drink of heaven’s unpolluted fountains, And comprehend what God for man hath wrought.

The solitude, in which the hermit dwelt, Was deep and undisturbed by human strife, No sound was heard but nature’s matchless tones, Its song, the cry, the sigh, the wandering moans, Which lift the poet’s vision to a life, That has no language, but alone is felt.

Such quiet is a balm for wretched minds, A cooling water to the soul athirst; Sordino drank it like the cup of grace, In which you see the Saviour’s crownèd face, God spoke to him, not as to Cain accurst, But as a father, in the whispering winds.

XXXVI

Towards eve, that day, arrived his faithful aid, Who after stealthy search had found a ship For Ireland bound, to sail that very night; And in the dark, before the moon rose bright, They might into its hiding safely slip,-- The captain willing to be doubly paid.

So, as the dusk grew on, the kindly dusk,-- Which like a mother’s weeping love embraces Her guilty child, to pardon, shield and hide, Close to her breast, where nothing shall betide Him but the shelter from the cruel faces Of an avenging world,--he rose to busk

With his companions, yet, ere he took leave, He prayed the hermit’s blessing on his soul, Then put a golden pound within his palms, The hermit thanked him for his gen’rous alms, Then blessed him with the cross, yea, blessed them all, And bid them fare in hope, and not to grieve.

Then they departed to a little boat, Hid in a wooded nook upon the river, And in the darkness for the ship set out, And Quinn, who plied the oars, did make the route, Without a blunder, to the “Guadalquiver,”-- As proud a galleon as was afloat.

XXXVII

When man has lost the moorings of his home, And on the sea of life is tossed about, Bereft of childhood’s anchorage of heart, Nor wife, nor child have in his life a part, Then cares he little for the farewell shout, And sometimes little whither he may roam.

Not so with children, when the evening-star, In the cerulean, like mother-eye, Sends forth its heavenly gleam of love and peace,-- The longing for the home doth then increase, And from the soul goes up a bitter cry To be with those so dear, but so afar.

Sordino’s page stood at the railing, as The ship bore down the Thames, that star-lit night, And none did mark the tears that trickled fast, And none did see the glances which he cast Towards the home which was his soul’s delight, While farther, farther from it he did pass.

Sordino missed him, sitting in the hold, And asked his new-found friend to bring him down, And as he came and stood in the dim glow Of candle-light, at once with pain he saw The redness of his eyes, so large and brown, And felt his hands, that they were strangely cold.

And he did put his arm around his neck, And lowly spoke with tenderness and cheer, That he should see again the home he loved, And him with goodly promises endowed Of favors that would make each coming year As carefree as the sailors on the deck.

XXXVIII

The sea attracts the soul that deeply yearns For freedom and adventure, like the iron Which is by magnet drawn; and so it be, That ’mongst the cruder natures one may see The dreamer’s eye of Masefield or a Byron, Or wit and humor of a Robert Burns.

And sailors love to sing, or tell a tale, Songs set to music by the wave and wind, And yarns with tang and laughter of the deep, And on a day when all things seem asleep In golden calm, you best may find The squatting crew itself of these avail.

On such a day a sailor-lad did sing A little lay which to Sordino’s page Had spirit-flight, as never he had known, It was to him the lifting of a dawn From night’s and sorrow’s dark and fearful cage, The skylark’s rise and soar on raptured wing.

“Adieu, my native land, adieu, I leave thee for a while, As fade thy cliffs amid the blue, And trembling of thy smile! I sing my parting song with tears, But not as cravens do, Thy love casts out the coward’s fears And leaves a courage true.”

“For England’s sons did ever find Their strength in love of thee, Thy name, a lode-star to their mind, Guides o’er the stormy sea; They breathe it as the lover does Her’s whom he most adores; And where the English standard goes Her name lights up the shores.”

“There is a land far in the west, Bright with the sun-set’s glow, Arising from the billow’s crest, With mountain-peaks of snow, With palms and roses in the vales, And fountain-gleams among, And rich as any fairy-tale, In gold and fruit and song.”

“And men have sailed the weary leagues To find this wondrous realm, Have spurned the danger and fatigues, And waves that overwhelm, To reach that land, but none returned To England from his quest, Unless his heart within him burned With thanks for what is best.”

“For English isles is Paradise To every native child, Since things more precious he doth price Than riches of the wild, The gold of love is more than all, And faith more rare than gems, He heeds not the alluring call And glittering diadems.”

“He loves his land, he loves his God, Be riches what they may, The bleeding Christ upon the rood Protects him on his way, And meets he luck, as it may hap To any sailor boy, He brings it to his mother’s lap, Her thanks, his greatest joy.”

“Adieu, adieu, my native land, Adieu, my father’s home, Adieu my lass, O, may thy hand Greet me when back I come! For sailor’s heart, when outward bound, Is filled with sorrow’s pain, But hope lies glimm’ring on the sound-- Of coming home again.”

XXXIX

The song was ended, and the crew’s applause Did please the lad, who sang it to his lute.-- The midshipman then essayed to relate A story with a mystery and fate, Of queen in English castle, and a brute Whom she did love, her absent, heartless spouse.

But while he spake, the captain did appear, (Unfinished hung the story on the lips), A Spaniard would not let such story pass, Since holy was his monarch, though an ass; Castilian, yea, to the finger-tips, Who for his God and king had equal fear.

But all his crew was English and did pity, Though not from love, their queen of grief and rage, The most unfortunate on any throne, Who languished in her palace sad and lone, A zealot for her faith, who dared to wage A final fight for the Eternal City.

Her love for Philip was a tragedy, Of whom the people spake and lent it hue Of fateful romance and a mystery; Yea, in the night strange phantoms men did see Of things the superstitious counted true, But round it all clung native sympathy.

The captain becked Sordino to his side, And spoke in accents, foreign to his men, On whom a silence fell deep as the sea’s, When, lo! there rose a curling little breeze, And then another stronger than its friend, Who called on Neptune’s horses for a ride.

The captain bid the men to tend the sails, And quickly did each sailor now respond; The sheets were spread before the rising wind, And swiftly did they leave the coast behind, To reach the vast and sunlit mere beyond, Where ocean billows surge with piercing wails.

XL

Sordino’s mind sank into gloomy night, As time grew heavy with a voyage long; He brooded on the past, and as he did, It seemed that shadows all its sunshine hid; And sickness, too, did make the man, once strong, Feel aged, worthless, and in awful plight.