PART SECOND'T was Sunday morn, and a hundred bellsWith their sweet and saintly soundWere calling the people in to prayerFrom the pleasant hills around,—The morn when strivings should end in peace,And each wrong forgotten be,That Holy Week may its blessing shedUpon souls from discord free.The streets were bright with a moving throng,And before the palace gate,With eager eyes and in garments gay,Did a crowd expectant wait.For the Emperor goes in solemn state,With his court, like all the rest,To the church with many lamps ablaze,Where to-day the palms are blest.And stately ladies and timid girls,In their modest plain attire,From curtained windows are looking down,And the shifting scene admire.They come, they come, from the cool deep shadeOf the courtyard's marble arch,—The nobles all in their rich array,And the guards with sounding march.And stay, the square is as still as death,For the Emperor passes now;The girls at the window hold their breath,And the people bend and bow.But who is this that among them movesWith that quick and stately pace?What see they all in his rigid look,That they shrink and give him place?Too late the guards would have barred the way,For he darted swiftly by,As hunted creatures, when hard beset,To man in their terror fly.And sinking low at the feet of himHe had come so far to see,He waited silent with folded hands,Nor asked what his fate should be."Who are you, come in such deep distress,And what is the grace you seek?"The Emperor's voice was grave and kind,And the stranger tried to speak.The golden casket he raised in sight,While he bent his eyes for shame;Then said he, "I am that wicked man,"And he told the dreaded name.A shudder fell upon all who heard,But the people nearer drew;From mouth to mouth, in a whisper low,The name of the bandit flew.While he, uplifting those woful eyes,In the boldness of despair,With ne'er a thought of the crowd who heard,His errand did thus declare:"I come not here to confess my sins,For you know them all too well;My crimes are many and black and great,They are more than tongue can tell."But here at your feet my life I lay,I have nothing else to give;So now, if it please you, speak the word,For I am not fit to live."The words came straight from his broken heartIn such sad and simple style,That the Emperor's firm, proud lips were movedTo a somewhat softened smile.For his warlike spirit felt the charmOf that savage strength and grace,And the strange fierce beauty that lingered stillIn the dark and troubled face.So grand of form and so lithe of limb,And still in his manhood's prime,'T would be a pity for one like himTo perish before his time.And 't was well to see him kneeling there,Whose terror had filled the land,Like a captive tiger, caught and tamedBy his own imperial hand."Arise," he said, "you have nought to fear,Take comfort and go your way,And may God in heaven my sins forgive,As I pardon yours to-day."A murmur rose from the crowded square,At the sound of words like these;For some rejoiced in the mercy shown,And others it did not please.Some thanked the Lord for the pardoned man,And some were to scorn inclined;And motherly women wiped their eyes,For the women's hearts are kind."God bless our Emperor," many said;But others began to frown.And asked, "Will he turn this wild brigandAdrift in our peaceful town?"No word of thanks did the bandit say,But he raised one shining foldOf the robe imperial, trailing lowWith its weight of gems and gold.The border first to his lips he pressed,And then to his heavy heart;Then rose and waited with bended head,Till he saw them all depart.No eye had he for the gorgeous train,As along the square it passed;One stately presence was all he knew,And he watched it till the last.A heavy sigh, and he turned away,But with slow and weary tread;No rest as yet on the earth for him,Not even among the dead.He lived, and he bore his burden still,But the dumb despair had ceased:That word of mercy had brought a change,And he now had tears, at least;He now could pray, though it brought not light,And he seemed to ask in vain,And his prayer had more of tears than words,But it helped him bear the pain.And oft in church did they see him kneelIn some corner all alone,And weep till the great hot drops would fallOn the floor of varied stone.And children clung to their mothers' hand,When they saw that vision wild,—That haggard face, and that wasting form,And those lips that never smiled.But grief was wearing his life away,And for him perhaps 't was well;It was not long on the city streetThat his saddening shadow fell.A fever slowly within him burned,Till the springs of life were dry,And glad he was when they laid him downOn a hospital bed to die.His heart was broken, his strength was gone,He had no more wish to live;He almost hoped that the Lord on high,Like the Emperor, might forgive;That somewhere down in the peaceful earthHe should find a refuge yet,A place to rest and his eyes to close,And the woful past forget.He could not lie where the others lay,For such gloom around him spread,That soon in a chamber far awayHad they set his friendless bed.'T was there he suffered and wept and prayed,From the eyes of all concealed:Alas! but it takes a weary timeFor a life like his to yield.The grand old hospital where he diedWas beneath the watchful careOf a certain doctor, famed afarFor his skill and learning rare.But more than learning and more than skillWas his heart, so large and kind,That knew the trouble and felt the needsOf the sick who near him pined.With conscience pure had he served the LordFrom youth till his hair was grey,Yet only pity he felt, not scorn,For the many feet that stray.In troubled scenes had his life been passed;He was used to woe and sin,And when men suffered he did not askIf their lives had blameless been.His part was but to relieve their pain,And he helped and soothed and cheered;But most he cared for the stricken manWhom the others shunned and feared.Each art to save him he tried in vain,And it could but useless prove,For the poisoned thorn that pierced his heartCould no earthly hand remove,When hope had failed, he would kneel and pray,And his heart with tears outpour,That God in mercy would comfort sendTo that soul in torment sore.And though the burden he might not lift,He could help its weight to bear;He talked of mercy, of peace to come,And he bade him not despair.And so, on the last sad night of all,'T was the brave, good doctor cameTo watch alone by the bandit's side,When he died of grief and shame.The spring to summer was wearing on,'T was the fairest night in May,When sleep to those eyes in mercy came,And the deadly strain gave way.No candle burned, for the moon was full,And the peaceful splendour fellThrough the open window, lighting all:It was like a kind farewell.And scents from the garden floated in,And the silent fireflies came,And breathed and vanished, and breathed again,With their soft mysterious flame.The doctor watched with a heavy heart,His head on his hand was bowed;He thought how many his prayers had been,But they could not lift the cloud.'T was over now, there was nothing leftFor his pitying love to do;The worn-out body would rest at last,But the guilty soul,—who knew?No more to do but to watch and waitTill the failing breath should cease;He longed, as the counted minutes flew,For one parting smile of peace.He looked: a handkerchief veiled the eyes,For they wept until the end,And sadly still on the wasted cheekDid a few slow drops descend.The peace that oft to the dying comesWas to him as yet denied,—No sunset clear after stormy day,And no brightening ere he died."Alas! he will go away to-night,And without one hopeful sign,Away from pity, away from care,And from such poor help as mine!"The doctor sighed, but he hoped as well,For he said, "It cannot beThat the Lord, who died for all, will haveNo mercy for such as he."'T was then that sleep on the doctor fell,And before him stood revealed,In dreaming vision, a wondrous sight,From his waking eyes concealed.For other watchers were in the room,And he knew the ghastly throngOf demon spirits, the very sameWhom the man had served so long.And two were leaning across the bed,And another pressed behind,And some in the shadow waiting stood,With a chain his soul to bind.But angels watched by the bedside too;'T was a strange and solemn scene,—The angels here and the demons there,And the dying man between.The angels looked with a troubled gazeOn the face consumed with grief,And over the pillow bent and swayed,As in haste to bring relief.And one on the bowed and burdened headDid a hand in blessing lay,And he said, "Poor soul, come home with us.Where the tears are wiped away.""Not so," cried one of the demon troop,"He is black with every sin;And you may not touch our lawful preyThat we laboured years to win."We bought his soul, and the price we paid,And our part has well been done;We helped him ever from crime to crime,Till his buried wealth was won;"And we almost thought him one of us,He had so well learned our ways;So go, for we do but seek our own,And be done with these delays."The angel said, "He has wept his sin,As none ever wept before,Has mourned till his very life gave way,And what could a man do more?"And our Blessèd Lord, who pities all,And the sins of all has borne,Will never His mercy turn awayFrom a heart so bruised and torn.""But how? and shall mercy be for himWho has mercy never shown?Can his sorrow bring the dead to life,Or can tears for blood atone?"Is he to rest with the angels now,Has he done with tears and pain?To-morrow morn he will wish he layOn the hospital bed again;"There is somewhat more to weep for downIn the place where he must stay!"The demon looked at his fiendish mates;And he laughed, and so did they.And they gathered close, like hungry wolves,In their haste to rend and tear;But they could not touch the helpless headWhile that strong white hand was there.Then out of the shadow one came forth,'T was a demon great and tall;An iron balance he held on high,As he stood before them all.And fiercely he to the angels called,"Do you dare to claim him still?Then come, for the scales are in my hand,We will weigh the good and ill."And into the nearest scale he threw,As he spoke, a parchment roll,With on it a note of every sinThat had stained the parting soul.'T was closely written, without, within,And the balance downward flewAnd struck the ground with a blow, as thoughIt would break the pavement through."He is ours forever," the demons said,"If justice the world controls;For sins so heavy do on him lie,They would sink a hundred souls!"Come, hasten, angels, the time is short,And words are of no avail;Come, bring the note of your friend's good deeds,To lay in the empty scale."The angels searched, but they searched in vain,There was no good deed to bring;In all that ever that hand had done,They could find no worthy thing.A taunting shout from the demons broke,And each hard malignant faceWith joy and triumph was all aflame;But the angels held their place,Though dimness fell like a passing cloudOn their pure and holy light;And if ever angel eyes have tears,There were some in theirs that night.But he who had been the first to speak,With a glimmering hope possessed,Still sought some good that would turn the scale,Though it seemed a useless quest.He saw the handkerchief where it lay,And he raised it off the bed,All wet and clinging, and steeped in tearsThat the dying eyes had shed.He turned around, but his face was pale,As the last poor chance he tried;He laid it down in the empty scale,And he said, "Let God decide!"When, lo! it fell till it touched the earth,And the demons stood dismayed;It seemed so little and light a thing,But it all his sins outweighed.But who shall ever the anger tellOf that black and hateful band,When most in triumph they felt secure,The prey had escaped their hand.They stood one moment in speechless rage,And then, with a fearful soundOf shrieks and curses and rattling chains,They vanished beneath the ground.Then holy peace on the chamber fell,Till it flooded all the air;The angels praised and they thanked the Lord,Who so late had heard their prayer.And their clouded glory shone again,With a clear celestial ray,As the trembling soul, which that moment passed,They bore in their arms away.Then through the room, as they took their flight,Did a flood of music stream,So loud, so sweet, and so close at hand,That it waked him from his dream.He looked around; there was nothing stirredIn the empty, moonlit room,Where a faint, sweet odour filled the airFrom the orange-trees in bloom.And the notes divine he had thought to hearWere only the liquid flowOf a nightingale's song, that came up clearFrom the garden just below.Then up from his seat the doctor rose,And he stood beside the bed;He knew, when he touched the quiet hand,That the poor brigand was dead.The handkerchief on the pillow lay,But its weary use was o'er,And he raised it, heavy and wet with tears,From the eyes that could weep no more.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE HIDDEN SERVANTS AND OTHER VERY OLD STORIES***
PART SECOND
'T was Sunday morn, and a hundred bellsWith their sweet and saintly soundWere calling the people in to prayerFrom the pleasant hills around,—The morn when strivings should end in peace,And each wrong forgotten be,That Holy Week may its blessing shedUpon souls from discord free.The streets were bright with a moving throng,And before the palace gate,With eager eyes and in garments gay,Did a crowd expectant wait.For the Emperor goes in solemn state,With his court, like all the rest,To the church with many lamps ablaze,Where to-day the palms are blest.And stately ladies and timid girls,In their modest plain attire,From curtained windows are looking down,And the shifting scene admire.They come, they come, from the cool deep shadeOf the courtyard's marble arch,—The nobles all in their rich array,And the guards with sounding march.And stay, the square is as still as death,For the Emperor passes now;The girls at the window hold their breath,And the people bend and bow.But who is this that among them movesWith that quick and stately pace?What see they all in his rigid look,That they shrink and give him place?Too late the guards would have barred the way,For he darted swiftly by,As hunted creatures, when hard beset,To man in their terror fly.And sinking low at the feet of himHe had come so far to see,He waited silent with folded hands,Nor asked what his fate should be."Who are you, come in such deep distress,And what is the grace you seek?"The Emperor's voice was grave and kind,And the stranger tried to speak.The golden casket he raised in sight,While he bent his eyes for shame;Then said he, "I am that wicked man,"And he told the dreaded name.A shudder fell upon all who heard,But the people nearer drew;From mouth to mouth, in a whisper low,The name of the bandit flew.While he, uplifting those woful eyes,In the boldness of despair,With ne'er a thought of the crowd who heard,His errand did thus declare:"I come not here to confess my sins,For you know them all too well;My crimes are many and black and great,They are more than tongue can tell."But here at your feet my life I lay,I have nothing else to give;So now, if it please you, speak the word,For I am not fit to live."The words came straight from his broken heartIn such sad and simple style,That the Emperor's firm, proud lips were movedTo a somewhat softened smile.For his warlike spirit felt the charmOf that savage strength and grace,And the strange fierce beauty that lingered stillIn the dark and troubled face.So grand of form and so lithe of limb,And still in his manhood's prime,'T would be a pity for one like himTo perish before his time.And 't was well to see him kneeling there,Whose terror had filled the land,Like a captive tiger, caught and tamedBy his own imperial hand."Arise," he said, "you have nought to fear,Take comfort and go your way,And may God in heaven my sins forgive,As I pardon yours to-day."A murmur rose from the crowded square,At the sound of words like these;For some rejoiced in the mercy shown,And others it did not please.Some thanked the Lord for the pardoned man,And some were to scorn inclined;And motherly women wiped their eyes,For the women's hearts are kind."God bless our Emperor," many said;But others began to frown.And asked, "Will he turn this wild brigandAdrift in our peaceful town?"No word of thanks did the bandit say,But he raised one shining foldOf the robe imperial, trailing lowWith its weight of gems and gold.The border first to his lips he pressed,And then to his heavy heart;Then rose and waited with bended head,Till he saw them all depart.No eye had he for the gorgeous train,As along the square it passed;One stately presence was all he knew,And he watched it till the last.A heavy sigh, and he turned away,But with slow and weary tread;No rest as yet on the earth for him,Not even among the dead.He lived, and he bore his burden still,But the dumb despair had ceased:That word of mercy had brought a change,And he now had tears, at least;He now could pray, though it brought not light,And he seemed to ask in vain,And his prayer had more of tears than words,But it helped him bear the pain.And oft in church did they see him kneelIn some corner all alone,And weep till the great hot drops would fallOn the floor of varied stone.And children clung to their mothers' hand,When they saw that vision wild,—That haggard face, and that wasting form,And those lips that never smiled.But grief was wearing his life away,And for him perhaps 't was well;It was not long on the city streetThat his saddening shadow fell.A fever slowly within him burned,Till the springs of life were dry,And glad he was when they laid him downOn a hospital bed to die.His heart was broken, his strength was gone,He had no more wish to live;He almost hoped that the Lord on high,Like the Emperor, might forgive;That somewhere down in the peaceful earthHe should find a refuge yet,A place to rest and his eyes to close,And the woful past forget.He could not lie where the others lay,For such gloom around him spread,That soon in a chamber far awayHad they set his friendless bed.'T was there he suffered and wept and prayed,From the eyes of all concealed:Alas! but it takes a weary timeFor a life like his to yield.The grand old hospital where he diedWas beneath the watchful careOf a certain doctor, famed afarFor his skill and learning rare.But more than learning and more than skillWas his heart, so large and kind,That knew the trouble and felt the needsOf the sick who near him pined.With conscience pure had he served the LordFrom youth till his hair was grey,Yet only pity he felt, not scorn,For the many feet that stray.In troubled scenes had his life been passed;He was used to woe and sin,And when men suffered he did not askIf their lives had blameless been.His part was but to relieve their pain,And he helped and soothed and cheered;But most he cared for the stricken manWhom the others shunned and feared.Each art to save him he tried in vain,And it could but useless prove,For the poisoned thorn that pierced his heartCould no earthly hand remove,When hope had failed, he would kneel and pray,And his heart with tears outpour,That God in mercy would comfort sendTo that soul in torment sore.And though the burden he might not lift,He could help its weight to bear;He talked of mercy, of peace to come,And he bade him not despair.And so, on the last sad night of all,'T was the brave, good doctor cameTo watch alone by the bandit's side,When he died of grief and shame.The spring to summer was wearing on,'T was the fairest night in May,When sleep to those eyes in mercy came,And the deadly strain gave way.No candle burned, for the moon was full,And the peaceful splendour fellThrough the open window, lighting all:It was like a kind farewell.And scents from the garden floated in,And the silent fireflies came,And breathed and vanished, and breathed again,With their soft mysterious flame.The doctor watched with a heavy heart,His head on his hand was bowed;He thought how many his prayers had been,But they could not lift the cloud.'T was over now, there was nothing leftFor his pitying love to do;The worn-out body would rest at last,But the guilty soul,—who knew?No more to do but to watch and waitTill the failing breath should cease;He longed, as the counted minutes flew,For one parting smile of peace.He looked: a handkerchief veiled the eyes,For they wept until the end,And sadly still on the wasted cheekDid a few slow drops descend.The peace that oft to the dying comesWas to him as yet denied,—No sunset clear after stormy day,And no brightening ere he died."Alas! he will go away to-night,And without one hopeful sign,Away from pity, away from care,And from such poor help as mine!"The doctor sighed, but he hoped as well,For he said, "It cannot beThat the Lord, who died for all, will haveNo mercy for such as he."'T was then that sleep on the doctor fell,And before him stood revealed,In dreaming vision, a wondrous sight,From his waking eyes concealed.For other watchers were in the room,And he knew the ghastly throngOf demon spirits, the very sameWhom the man had served so long.And two were leaning across the bed,And another pressed behind,And some in the shadow waiting stood,With a chain his soul to bind.But angels watched by the bedside too;'T was a strange and solemn scene,—The angels here and the demons there,And the dying man between.The angels looked with a troubled gazeOn the face consumed with grief,And over the pillow bent and swayed,As in haste to bring relief.And one on the bowed and burdened headDid a hand in blessing lay,And he said, "Poor soul, come home with us.Where the tears are wiped away.""Not so," cried one of the demon troop,"He is black with every sin;And you may not touch our lawful preyThat we laboured years to win."We bought his soul, and the price we paid,And our part has well been done;We helped him ever from crime to crime,Till his buried wealth was won;"And we almost thought him one of us,He had so well learned our ways;So go, for we do but seek our own,And be done with these delays."The angel said, "He has wept his sin,As none ever wept before,Has mourned till his very life gave way,And what could a man do more?"And our Blessèd Lord, who pities all,And the sins of all has borne,Will never His mercy turn awayFrom a heart so bruised and torn.""But how? and shall mercy be for himWho has mercy never shown?Can his sorrow bring the dead to life,Or can tears for blood atone?"Is he to rest with the angels now,Has he done with tears and pain?To-morrow morn he will wish he layOn the hospital bed again;"There is somewhat more to weep for downIn the place where he must stay!"The demon looked at his fiendish mates;And he laughed, and so did they.And they gathered close, like hungry wolves,In their haste to rend and tear;But they could not touch the helpless headWhile that strong white hand was there.Then out of the shadow one came forth,'T was a demon great and tall;An iron balance he held on high,As he stood before them all.And fiercely he to the angels called,"Do you dare to claim him still?Then come, for the scales are in my hand,We will weigh the good and ill."And into the nearest scale he threw,As he spoke, a parchment roll,With on it a note of every sinThat had stained the parting soul.'T was closely written, without, within,And the balance downward flewAnd struck the ground with a blow, as thoughIt would break the pavement through."He is ours forever," the demons said,"If justice the world controls;For sins so heavy do on him lie,They would sink a hundred souls!"Come, hasten, angels, the time is short,And words are of no avail;Come, bring the note of your friend's good deeds,To lay in the empty scale."The angels searched, but they searched in vain,There was no good deed to bring;In all that ever that hand had done,They could find no worthy thing.A taunting shout from the demons broke,And each hard malignant faceWith joy and triumph was all aflame;But the angels held their place,Though dimness fell like a passing cloudOn their pure and holy light;And if ever angel eyes have tears,There were some in theirs that night.But he who had been the first to speak,With a glimmering hope possessed,Still sought some good that would turn the scale,Though it seemed a useless quest.He saw the handkerchief where it lay,And he raised it off the bed,All wet and clinging, and steeped in tearsThat the dying eyes had shed.He turned around, but his face was pale,As the last poor chance he tried;He laid it down in the empty scale,And he said, "Let God decide!"When, lo! it fell till it touched the earth,And the demons stood dismayed;It seemed so little and light a thing,But it all his sins outweighed.But who shall ever the anger tellOf that black and hateful band,When most in triumph they felt secure,The prey had escaped their hand.They stood one moment in speechless rage,And then, with a fearful soundOf shrieks and curses and rattling chains,They vanished beneath the ground.Then holy peace on the chamber fell,Till it flooded all the air;The angels praised and they thanked the Lord,Who so late had heard their prayer.And their clouded glory shone again,With a clear celestial ray,As the trembling soul, which that moment passed,They bore in their arms away.Then through the room, as they took their flight,Did a flood of music stream,So loud, so sweet, and so close at hand,That it waked him from his dream.He looked around; there was nothing stirredIn the empty, moonlit room,Where a faint, sweet odour filled the airFrom the orange-trees in bloom.And the notes divine he had thought to hearWere only the liquid flowOf a nightingale's song, that came up clearFrom the garden just below.Then up from his seat the doctor rose,And he stood beside the bed;He knew, when he touched the quiet hand,That the poor brigand was dead.The handkerchief on the pillow lay,But its weary use was o'er,And he raised it, heavy and wet with tears,From the eyes that could weep no more.
'T was Sunday morn, and a hundred bellsWith their sweet and saintly soundWere calling the people in to prayerFrom the pleasant hills around,—
'T was Sunday morn, and a hundred bells
With their sweet and saintly sound
Were calling the people in to prayer
From the pleasant hills around,—
The morn when strivings should end in peace,And each wrong forgotten be,That Holy Week may its blessing shedUpon souls from discord free.
The morn when strivings should end in peace,
And each wrong forgotten be,
That Holy Week may its blessing shed
Upon souls from discord free.
The streets were bright with a moving throng,And before the palace gate,With eager eyes and in garments gay,Did a crowd expectant wait.
The streets were bright with a moving throng,
And before the palace gate,
With eager eyes and in garments gay,
Did a crowd expectant wait.
For the Emperor goes in solemn state,With his court, like all the rest,To the church with many lamps ablaze,Where to-day the palms are blest.
For the Emperor goes in solemn state,
With his court, like all the rest,
To the church with many lamps ablaze,
Where to-day the palms are blest.
And stately ladies and timid girls,In their modest plain attire,From curtained windows are looking down,And the shifting scene admire.
And stately ladies and timid girls,
In their modest plain attire,
From curtained windows are looking down,
And the shifting scene admire.
They come, they come, from the cool deep shadeOf the courtyard's marble arch,—The nobles all in their rich array,And the guards with sounding march.
They come, they come, from the cool deep shade
Of the courtyard's marble arch,—
The nobles all in their rich array,
And the guards with sounding march.
And stay, the square is as still as death,For the Emperor passes now;The girls at the window hold their breath,And the people bend and bow.
And stay, the square is as still as death,
For the Emperor passes now;
The girls at the window hold their breath,
And the people bend and bow.
But who is this that among them movesWith that quick and stately pace?What see they all in his rigid look,That they shrink and give him place?
But who is this that among them moves
With that quick and stately pace?
What see they all in his rigid look,
That they shrink and give him place?
Too late the guards would have barred the way,For he darted swiftly by,As hunted creatures, when hard beset,To man in their terror fly.
Too late the guards would have barred the way,
For he darted swiftly by,
As hunted creatures, when hard beset,
To man in their terror fly.
And sinking low at the feet of himHe had come so far to see,He waited silent with folded hands,Nor asked what his fate should be.
And sinking low at the feet of him
He had come so far to see,
He waited silent with folded hands,
Nor asked what his fate should be.
"Who are you, come in such deep distress,And what is the grace you seek?"The Emperor's voice was grave and kind,And the stranger tried to speak.
"Who are you, come in such deep distress,
And what is the grace you seek?"
The Emperor's voice was grave and kind,
And the stranger tried to speak.
The golden casket he raised in sight,While he bent his eyes for shame;Then said he, "I am that wicked man,"And he told the dreaded name.
The golden casket he raised in sight,
While he bent his eyes for shame;
Then said he, "I am that wicked man,"
And he told the dreaded name.
A shudder fell upon all who heard,But the people nearer drew;From mouth to mouth, in a whisper low,The name of the bandit flew.
A shudder fell upon all who heard,
But the people nearer drew;
From mouth to mouth, in a whisper low,
The name of the bandit flew.
While he, uplifting those woful eyes,In the boldness of despair,With ne'er a thought of the crowd who heard,His errand did thus declare:
While he, uplifting those woful eyes,
In the boldness of despair,
With ne'er a thought of the crowd who heard,
His errand did thus declare:
"I come not here to confess my sins,For you know them all too well;My crimes are many and black and great,They are more than tongue can tell.
"I come not here to confess my sins,
For you know them all too well;
My crimes are many and black and great,
They are more than tongue can tell.
"But here at your feet my life I lay,I have nothing else to give;So now, if it please you, speak the word,For I am not fit to live."
"But here at your feet my life I lay,
I have nothing else to give;
So now, if it please you, speak the word,
For I am not fit to live."
The words came straight from his broken heartIn such sad and simple style,That the Emperor's firm, proud lips were movedTo a somewhat softened smile.
The words came straight from his broken heart
In such sad and simple style,
That the Emperor's firm, proud lips were moved
To a somewhat softened smile.
For his warlike spirit felt the charmOf that savage strength and grace,And the strange fierce beauty that lingered stillIn the dark and troubled face.
For his warlike spirit felt the charm
Of that savage strength and grace,
And the strange fierce beauty that lingered still
In the dark and troubled face.
So grand of form and so lithe of limb,And still in his manhood's prime,'T would be a pity for one like himTo perish before his time.
So grand of form and so lithe of limb,
And still in his manhood's prime,
'T would be a pity for one like him
To perish before his time.
And 't was well to see him kneeling there,Whose terror had filled the land,Like a captive tiger, caught and tamedBy his own imperial hand.
And 't was well to see him kneeling there,
Whose terror had filled the land,
Like a captive tiger, caught and tamed
By his own imperial hand.
"Arise," he said, "you have nought to fear,Take comfort and go your way,And may God in heaven my sins forgive,As I pardon yours to-day."
"Arise," he said, "you have nought to fear,
Take comfort and go your way,
And may God in heaven my sins forgive,
As I pardon yours to-day."
A murmur rose from the crowded square,At the sound of words like these;For some rejoiced in the mercy shown,And others it did not please.
A murmur rose from the crowded square,
At the sound of words like these;
For some rejoiced in the mercy shown,
And others it did not please.
Some thanked the Lord for the pardoned man,And some were to scorn inclined;And motherly women wiped their eyes,For the women's hearts are kind.
Some thanked the Lord for the pardoned man,
And some were to scorn inclined;
And motherly women wiped their eyes,
For the women's hearts are kind.
"God bless our Emperor," many said;But others began to frown.And asked, "Will he turn this wild brigandAdrift in our peaceful town?"
"God bless our Emperor," many said;
But others began to frown.
And asked, "Will he turn this wild brigand
Adrift in our peaceful town?"
No word of thanks did the bandit say,But he raised one shining foldOf the robe imperial, trailing lowWith its weight of gems and gold.
No word of thanks did the bandit say,
But he raised one shining fold
Of the robe imperial, trailing low
With its weight of gems and gold.
The border first to his lips he pressed,And then to his heavy heart;Then rose and waited with bended head,Till he saw them all depart.
The border first to his lips he pressed,
And then to his heavy heart;
Then rose and waited with bended head,
Till he saw them all depart.
No eye had he for the gorgeous train,As along the square it passed;One stately presence was all he knew,And he watched it till the last.
No eye had he for the gorgeous train,
As along the square it passed;
One stately presence was all he knew,
And he watched it till the last.
A heavy sigh, and he turned away,But with slow and weary tread;No rest as yet on the earth for him,Not even among the dead.
A heavy sigh, and he turned away,
But with slow and weary tread;
No rest as yet on the earth for him,
Not even among the dead.
He lived, and he bore his burden still,But the dumb despair had ceased:That word of mercy had brought a change,And he now had tears, at least;
He lived, and he bore his burden still,
But the dumb despair had ceased:
That word of mercy had brought a change,
And he now had tears, at least;
He now could pray, though it brought not light,And he seemed to ask in vain,And his prayer had more of tears than words,But it helped him bear the pain.
He now could pray, though it brought not light,
And he seemed to ask in vain,
And his prayer had more of tears than words,
But it helped him bear the pain.
And oft in church did they see him kneelIn some corner all alone,And weep till the great hot drops would fallOn the floor of varied stone.
And oft in church did they see him kneel
In some corner all alone,
And weep till the great hot drops would fall
On the floor of varied stone.
And children clung to their mothers' hand,When they saw that vision wild,—That haggard face, and that wasting form,And those lips that never smiled.
And children clung to their mothers' hand,
When they saw that vision wild,—
That haggard face, and that wasting form,
And those lips that never smiled.
But grief was wearing his life away,And for him perhaps 't was well;It was not long on the city streetThat his saddening shadow fell.
But grief was wearing his life away,
And for him perhaps 't was well;
It was not long on the city street
That his saddening shadow fell.
A fever slowly within him burned,Till the springs of life were dry,And glad he was when they laid him downOn a hospital bed to die.
A fever slowly within him burned,
Till the springs of life were dry,
And glad he was when they laid him down
On a hospital bed to die.
His heart was broken, his strength was gone,He had no more wish to live;He almost hoped that the Lord on high,Like the Emperor, might forgive;
His heart was broken, his strength was gone,
He had no more wish to live;
He almost hoped that the Lord on high,
Like the Emperor, might forgive;
That somewhere down in the peaceful earthHe should find a refuge yet,A place to rest and his eyes to close,And the woful past forget.
That somewhere down in the peaceful earth
He should find a refuge yet,
A place to rest and his eyes to close,
And the woful past forget.
He could not lie where the others lay,For such gloom around him spread,That soon in a chamber far awayHad they set his friendless bed.
He could not lie where the others lay,
For such gloom around him spread,
That soon in a chamber far away
Had they set his friendless bed.
'T was there he suffered and wept and prayed,From the eyes of all concealed:Alas! but it takes a weary timeFor a life like his to yield.
'T was there he suffered and wept and prayed,
From the eyes of all concealed:
Alas! but it takes a weary time
For a life like his to yield.
The grand old hospital where he diedWas beneath the watchful careOf a certain doctor, famed afarFor his skill and learning rare.
The grand old hospital where he died
Was beneath the watchful care
Of a certain doctor, famed afar
For his skill and learning rare.
But more than learning and more than skillWas his heart, so large and kind,That knew the trouble and felt the needsOf the sick who near him pined.
But more than learning and more than skill
Was his heart, so large and kind,
That knew the trouble and felt the needs
Of the sick who near him pined.
With conscience pure had he served the LordFrom youth till his hair was grey,Yet only pity he felt, not scorn,For the many feet that stray.
With conscience pure had he served the Lord
From youth till his hair was grey,
Yet only pity he felt, not scorn,
For the many feet that stray.
In troubled scenes had his life been passed;He was used to woe and sin,And when men suffered he did not askIf their lives had blameless been.
In troubled scenes had his life been passed;
He was used to woe and sin,
And when men suffered he did not ask
If their lives had blameless been.
His part was but to relieve their pain,And he helped and soothed and cheered;But most he cared for the stricken manWhom the others shunned and feared.
His part was but to relieve their pain,
And he helped and soothed and cheered;
But most he cared for the stricken man
Whom the others shunned and feared.
Each art to save him he tried in vain,And it could but useless prove,For the poisoned thorn that pierced his heartCould no earthly hand remove,
Each art to save him he tried in vain,
And it could but useless prove,
For the poisoned thorn that pierced his heart
Could no earthly hand remove,
When hope had failed, he would kneel and pray,And his heart with tears outpour,That God in mercy would comfort sendTo that soul in torment sore.
When hope had failed, he would kneel and pray,
And his heart with tears outpour,
That God in mercy would comfort send
To that soul in torment sore.
And though the burden he might not lift,He could help its weight to bear;He talked of mercy, of peace to come,And he bade him not despair.
And though the burden he might not lift,
He could help its weight to bear;
He talked of mercy, of peace to come,
And he bade him not despair.
And so, on the last sad night of all,'T was the brave, good doctor cameTo watch alone by the bandit's side,When he died of grief and shame.
And so, on the last sad night of all,
'T was the brave, good doctor came
To watch alone by the bandit's side,
When he died of grief and shame.
The spring to summer was wearing on,'T was the fairest night in May,When sleep to those eyes in mercy came,And the deadly strain gave way.
The spring to summer was wearing on,
'T was the fairest night in May,
When sleep to those eyes in mercy came,
And the deadly strain gave way.
No candle burned, for the moon was full,And the peaceful splendour fellThrough the open window, lighting all:It was like a kind farewell.
No candle burned, for the moon was full,
And the peaceful splendour fell
Through the open window, lighting all:
It was like a kind farewell.
And scents from the garden floated in,And the silent fireflies came,And breathed and vanished, and breathed again,With their soft mysterious flame.
And scents from the garden floated in,
And the silent fireflies came,
And breathed and vanished, and breathed again,
With their soft mysterious flame.
The doctor watched with a heavy heart,His head on his hand was bowed;He thought how many his prayers had been,But they could not lift the cloud.
The doctor watched with a heavy heart,
His head on his hand was bowed;
He thought how many his prayers had been,
But they could not lift the cloud.
'T was over now, there was nothing leftFor his pitying love to do;The worn-out body would rest at last,But the guilty soul,—who knew?
'T was over now, there was nothing left
For his pitying love to do;
The worn-out body would rest at last,
But the guilty soul,—who knew?
No more to do but to watch and waitTill the failing breath should cease;He longed, as the counted minutes flew,For one parting smile of peace.
No more to do but to watch and wait
Till the failing breath should cease;
He longed, as the counted minutes flew,
For one parting smile of peace.
He looked: a handkerchief veiled the eyes,For they wept until the end,And sadly still on the wasted cheekDid a few slow drops descend.
He looked: a handkerchief veiled the eyes,
For they wept until the end,
And sadly still on the wasted cheek
Did a few slow drops descend.
The peace that oft to the dying comesWas to him as yet denied,—No sunset clear after stormy day,And no brightening ere he died.
The peace that oft to the dying comes
Was to him as yet denied,—
No sunset clear after stormy day,
And no brightening ere he died.
"Alas! he will go away to-night,And without one hopeful sign,Away from pity, away from care,And from such poor help as mine!"
"Alas! he will go away to-night,
And without one hopeful sign,
Away from pity, away from care,
And from such poor help as mine!"
The doctor sighed, but he hoped as well,For he said, "It cannot beThat the Lord, who died for all, will haveNo mercy for such as he."
The doctor sighed, but he hoped as well,
For he said, "It cannot be
That the Lord, who died for all, will have
No mercy for such as he."
'T was then that sleep on the doctor fell,And before him stood revealed,In dreaming vision, a wondrous sight,From his waking eyes concealed.
'T was then that sleep on the doctor fell,
And before him stood revealed,
In dreaming vision, a wondrous sight,
From his waking eyes concealed.
For other watchers were in the room,And he knew the ghastly throngOf demon spirits, the very sameWhom the man had served so long.
For other watchers were in the room,
And he knew the ghastly throng
Of demon spirits, the very same
Whom the man had served so long.
And two were leaning across the bed,And another pressed behind,And some in the shadow waiting stood,With a chain his soul to bind.
And two were leaning across the bed,
And another pressed behind,
And some in the shadow waiting stood,
With a chain his soul to bind.
But angels watched by the bedside too;'T was a strange and solemn scene,—The angels here and the demons there,And the dying man between.
But angels watched by the bedside too;
'T was a strange and solemn scene,—
The angels here and the demons there,
And the dying man between.
The angels looked with a troubled gazeOn the face consumed with grief,And over the pillow bent and swayed,As in haste to bring relief.
The angels looked with a troubled gaze
On the face consumed with grief,
And over the pillow bent and swayed,
As in haste to bring relief.
And one on the bowed and burdened headDid a hand in blessing lay,And he said, "Poor soul, come home with us.Where the tears are wiped away."
And one on the bowed and burdened head
Did a hand in blessing lay,
And he said, "Poor soul, come home with us.
Where the tears are wiped away."
"Not so," cried one of the demon troop,"He is black with every sin;And you may not touch our lawful preyThat we laboured years to win.
"Not so," cried one of the demon troop,
"He is black with every sin;
And you may not touch our lawful prey
That we laboured years to win.
"We bought his soul, and the price we paid,And our part has well been done;We helped him ever from crime to crime,Till his buried wealth was won;
"We bought his soul, and the price we paid,
And our part has well been done;
We helped him ever from crime to crime,
Till his buried wealth was won;
"And we almost thought him one of us,He had so well learned our ways;So go, for we do but seek our own,And be done with these delays."
"And we almost thought him one of us,
He had so well learned our ways;
So go, for we do but seek our own,
And be done with these delays."
The angel said, "He has wept his sin,As none ever wept before,Has mourned till his very life gave way,And what could a man do more?
The angel said, "He has wept his sin,
As none ever wept before,
Has mourned till his very life gave way,
And what could a man do more?
"And our Blessèd Lord, who pities all,And the sins of all has borne,Will never His mercy turn awayFrom a heart so bruised and torn."
"And our Blessèd Lord, who pities all,
And the sins of all has borne,
Will never His mercy turn away
From a heart so bruised and torn."
"But how? and shall mercy be for himWho has mercy never shown?Can his sorrow bring the dead to life,Or can tears for blood atone?
"But how? and shall mercy be for him
Who has mercy never shown?
Can his sorrow bring the dead to life,
Or can tears for blood atone?
"Is he to rest with the angels now,Has he done with tears and pain?To-morrow morn he will wish he layOn the hospital bed again;
"Is he to rest with the angels now,
Has he done with tears and pain?
To-morrow morn he will wish he lay
On the hospital bed again;
"There is somewhat more to weep for downIn the place where he must stay!"The demon looked at his fiendish mates;And he laughed, and so did they.
"There is somewhat more to weep for down
In the place where he must stay!"
The demon looked at his fiendish mates;
And he laughed, and so did they.
And they gathered close, like hungry wolves,In their haste to rend and tear;But they could not touch the helpless headWhile that strong white hand was there.
And they gathered close, like hungry wolves,
In their haste to rend and tear;
But they could not touch the helpless head
While that strong white hand was there.
Then out of the shadow one came forth,'T was a demon great and tall;An iron balance he held on high,As he stood before them all.
Then out of the shadow one came forth,
'T was a demon great and tall;
An iron balance he held on high,
As he stood before them all.
And fiercely he to the angels called,"Do you dare to claim him still?Then come, for the scales are in my hand,We will weigh the good and ill."
And fiercely he to the angels called,
"Do you dare to claim him still?
Then come, for the scales are in my hand,
We will weigh the good and ill."
And into the nearest scale he threw,As he spoke, a parchment roll,With on it a note of every sinThat had stained the parting soul.
And into the nearest scale he threw,
As he spoke, a parchment roll,
With on it a note of every sin
That had stained the parting soul.
'T was closely written, without, within,And the balance downward flewAnd struck the ground with a blow, as thoughIt would break the pavement through.
'T was closely written, without, within,
And the balance downward flew
And struck the ground with a blow, as though
It would break the pavement through.
"He is ours forever," the demons said,"If justice the world controls;For sins so heavy do on him lie,They would sink a hundred souls!
"He is ours forever," the demons said,
"If justice the world controls;
For sins so heavy do on him lie,
They would sink a hundred souls!
"Come, hasten, angels, the time is short,And words are of no avail;Come, bring the note of your friend's good deeds,To lay in the empty scale."
"Come, hasten, angels, the time is short,
And words are of no avail;
Come, bring the note of your friend's good deeds,
To lay in the empty scale."
The angels searched, but they searched in vain,There was no good deed to bring;In all that ever that hand had done,They could find no worthy thing.
The angels searched, but they searched in vain,
There was no good deed to bring;
In all that ever that hand had done,
They could find no worthy thing.
A taunting shout from the demons broke,And each hard malignant faceWith joy and triumph was all aflame;But the angels held their place,
A taunting shout from the demons broke,
And each hard malignant face
With joy and triumph was all aflame;
But the angels held their place,
Though dimness fell like a passing cloudOn their pure and holy light;And if ever angel eyes have tears,There were some in theirs that night.
Though dimness fell like a passing cloud
On their pure and holy light;
And if ever angel eyes have tears,
There were some in theirs that night.
But he who had been the first to speak,With a glimmering hope possessed,Still sought some good that would turn the scale,Though it seemed a useless quest.
But he who had been the first to speak,
With a glimmering hope possessed,
Still sought some good that would turn the scale,
Though it seemed a useless quest.
He saw the handkerchief where it lay,And he raised it off the bed,All wet and clinging, and steeped in tearsThat the dying eyes had shed.
He saw the handkerchief where it lay,
And he raised it off the bed,
All wet and clinging, and steeped in tears
That the dying eyes had shed.
He turned around, but his face was pale,As the last poor chance he tried;He laid it down in the empty scale,And he said, "Let God decide!"
He turned around, but his face was pale,
As the last poor chance he tried;
He laid it down in the empty scale,
And he said, "Let God decide!"
When, lo! it fell till it touched the earth,And the demons stood dismayed;It seemed so little and light a thing,But it all his sins outweighed.
When, lo! it fell till it touched the earth,
And the demons stood dismayed;
It seemed so little and light a thing,
But it all his sins outweighed.
But who shall ever the anger tellOf that black and hateful band,When most in triumph they felt secure,The prey had escaped their hand.
But who shall ever the anger tell
Of that black and hateful band,
When most in triumph they felt secure,
The prey had escaped their hand.
They stood one moment in speechless rage,And then, with a fearful soundOf shrieks and curses and rattling chains,They vanished beneath the ground.
They stood one moment in speechless rage,
And then, with a fearful sound
Of shrieks and curses and rattling chains,
They vanished beneath the ground.
Then holy peace on the chamber fell,Till it flooded all the air;The angels praised and they thanked the Lord,Who so late had heard their prayer.
Then holy peace on the chamber fell,
Till it flooded all the air;
The angels praised and they thanked the Lord,
Who so late had heard their prayer.
And their clouded glory shone again,With a clear celestial ray,As the trembling soul, which that moment passed,They bore in their arms away.
And their clouded glory shone again,
With a clear celestial ray,
As the trembling soul, which that moment passed,
They bore in their arms away.
Then through the room, as they took their flight,Did a flood of music stream,So loud, so sweet, and so close at hand,That it waked him from his dream.
Then through the room, as they took their flight,
Did a flood of music stream,
So loud, so sweet, and so close at hand,
That it waked him from his dream.
He looked around; there was nothing stirredIn the empty, moonlit room,Where a faint, sweet odour filled the airFrom the orange-trees in bloom.
He looked around; there was nothing stirred
In the empty, moonlit room,
Where a faint, sweet odour filled the air
From the orange-trees in bloom.
And the notes divine he had thought to hearWere only the liquid flowOf a nightingale's song, that came up clearFrom the garden just below.
And the notes divine he had thought to hear
Were only the liquid flow
Of a nightingale's song, that came up clear
From the garden just below.
Then up from his seat the doctor rose,And he stood beside the bed;He knew, when he touched the quiet hand,That the poor brigand was dead.
Then up from his seat the doctor rose,
And he stood beside the bed;
He knew, when he touched the quiet hand,
That the poor brigand was dead.
The handkerchief on the pillow lay,But its weary use was o'er,And he raised it, heavy and wet with tears,From the eyes that could weep no more.
The handkerchief on the pillow lay,
But its weary use was o'er,
And he raised it, heavy and wet with tears,
From the eyes that could weep no more.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE HIDDEN SERVANTS AND OTHER VERY OLD STORIES***