Slow sunk the glorious sun, a roseate light Soften'd in shade,.. he could not chuse but gaze; Cool breath'd the grateful air, and fresher now The fragrance of the autumnal leaves arose, The passing gale scarce moved the o'erhanging bough, And not a sound disturb'd the deep repose, Save when a falling leaf came fluttering by, Save the near brooklet's stream that murmur'd quietly. Is there who has not felt the deep delight, The hush of soul, that scenes like these impart? The heart they will not soften, is not right. And young Gualberto was not hard of heart. Yet sure he thinks revenge becomes him well, When from a neighbouring church he heard the vesper bell. The Catholic who hears that vesper bell, Howe'er employed, must send a prayer to heaven. In foreign lands I liked the custom well, For with the calm and sober thoughts of even It well accords; and wert thou journeying there, It would not hurt thee, George, to join that vesper-prayer. Gualberto had been duly taught to hold Each pious rite with most religious care, And,.. for the young man's feelings were not cold, He never yet had mist his vesper-prayer. But strange misgivings now his heart invade, And when the vesper bell had ceas'd, he had not pray'd. And wherefore was it that he had not pray'd? And many a former precept then he weigh'd, The words of him who died to save mankind; How 'twas the meek who should inherit heaven, And man should man forgive, if he would be forgiven. Troubled at heart, almost he felt a hope And now he knows the man so much abhorr'd,.,`` "The house of Valdespesa gives the blow! "Go, and our vengeance to our kinsman tell!"..` Despair and terror seized the unarm'd foe, And prostrate at the young man's knees he fell, And stopt his hand and cried, “oh, do not take "A wretched sinner's life! mercy for Jesus' sake!”. At that most blessed name, as at a spell, Conscience, the God within him, smote his heart. His hand, for murder rais'd, unharming fell, He felt cold sweat-drops on his forehead start, A moment mute in holy horror stood, Then cried, "joy, joy, my God! I have not shed his blood!" He rais'd Anselmo up, and bade him live, The bloody purpose led by which he came. He ran with breathless speed,.. he reached the door, For grace vouchsafed; before the cross he fell, And rais'd his swimming eyes, and thought that there He saw the imaged Christ smile favouring on his prayer. A blest illusion! from that very night The monk's austerest life devout he led ; And still he felt the enthusiast's deep delight, And seraph-visions floated round his head; The joys of heaven foretasted fill'd his soul, And still the good man's name adorns the sainted roll. |