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more experienced hands； To dress the wounds needing most skilful care；
Yet even the youngest Novice took her share。 To Angela； who had but
ready will And tender pity； yet no special skill； Was given the charge of a
young foreign knight； Whose wounds were painful； but whose danger
slight。 Day after day she watched beside his bed； And first in hushed
repose the hours fled： His feverish moans alone the silence stirred； Or her
soft voice； uttering some pious word。 At last the fever left him； day by day
The hours； no longer silent； passed away。 What could she speak of？ First；
to still his plaints； She told him legends of the martyred Saints； Described
the pangs； which； through God's plenteous grace； Had gained their souls
so high and bright a place。 This pious artifice soon found success … Or so
she fanciedfor he murmured less。 So she described the glorious pomp
sublime； In which the chapel shone at Easter time； The Banners；
Vestments； gold； and colours bright； Counted how many tapers gave their
light； Then； in minute detail went on to say； How the High Altar looked on
Christmas…day： The kings and shepherds； all in green and red； And a bright
star of jewels overhead。 Then told the sign by which they all had seen；
How even nature loved to greet her Queen； For； when Our Lady's last
procession went Down the long garden； every head was bent； And； rosary
in hand； each Sister prayed； As the long floating banners were displayed；
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LEGENDS AND LYRICS … SECOND SERIES
They struck the hawthorn boughs； and showers and showers Of buds and
blossoms strewed her way with flowers。 The Knight unwearied listened；
till at last； He too described the glories of his past； Tourney； and joust； and
pageant bright and fair； And all the lovely ladies who were there。 But half
incredulous she heard。 Could this … This be the world？ this place of love
and bliss！ Where then was hid the strange and hideous charm； That never
failed to bring the gazer harm？ She crossed herself； yet asked； and listened
still； And still the knight described with all his skill The glorious world of
joy； all joys above； Transfigured in the golden mist of love。 Spread； spread
your wings； ye angel guardians bright； And shield these dazzling phantoms
from her sight！ But no； days passed； matins and vespers rang； And still the
quiet Nuns toiled； prayed； and sang； And never guessed the fatal； coiling
net Which every day drew near； and nearer yet； Around their darling； for
she went and came About her duties； outwardly the same。 The same？ ah；
no！ even when she knelt to pray； Some charmed dream kept all her heart
away。 So days went on； until the convent gate Opened one night。 Who
durst go forth so late？ Across the moonlit grass； with stealthy tread； Two
silent； shrouded figures passed and fled。 And all was silent； save the
moaning seas； That sobbed and pleaded； and a wailing breeze That sighed
among the perfumed hawthorn trees。
What need to tell that dream so bright and brief； Of joy unchequered
by a dread of grief？ What need to tell how all such dreams must fade；
Before the slow； foreboding； dreaded shade； That floated nearer； until
pomp and pride； Pleasure and wealth； were summoned to her side。 To bid；
at least； the noisy hours forget； And clamour down the whispers of regret。
Still Angela strove to dream； and strove in vain； Awakened once； she could
not sleep again。 She saw； each day and hour； more worthless grown The
heart for which she cast away her own； And her soul learnt； through
bitterest inward strife； The slight； frail love for which she wrecked her life；
The phantom for which all her hope was given； The cold bleak earth for
which she bartered heaven！ But all in vain； would even the tenderest heart
Now stoop to take so poor an outcast's part？
Years fled； and she grew reckless more and more； Until the humblest
peasant closed his door； And where she passed； fair dames； in scorn and
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LEGENDS AND LYRICS … SECOND SERIES
pride； Shuddered； and drew their rustling robes aside。 At last a yearning
seemed to fill her soul； A longing that was stronger than control： Once
more； just once again； to see the place That knew her young and innocent；
to retrace The long and weary southern path； to gaze Upon the haven of
her childish days； Once more beneath the convent roof to lie； Once more
to look upon her homeand die！ Weary and wornher comrades； chill
remorse And black despair； yet a strange silent force Within her heart； that
drew her more and more … Onward she crawled； and begged from door to
door。 Weighed down with weary days； her failing strength Grew less each
hour； till one day's dawn at length； As first its rays flooded the world with
light； Showed the broad waters； glittering blue and bright； And where；
amid the leafy hawthorn wood； Just as of old the quiet cloister stood。
Would any know her？ Nay； no fear。 Her face Had lost all trace of youth；
of joy； of grace； Of the pure happy soul they used to know … The novice
Angelaso long ago。 She rang the convent bell。 The well…known sound
Smote on her heart； and bowed her to the ground； And she； who had not
wept for long dry years； Felt the strange rush of unaccustomed tears；
Terror and anguish seemed to check her breath； And stop her heart。 Oh
God！ could this be death？ Crouching against the iron gate； she laid Her
weary head against the bars； and prayed： But nearer footsteps drew； then
seemed to wait： And then she heard the opening of the grate； And saw the
withered face； on which awoke Pity and sorrow； as the portress spoke； And
asked the stranger's bidding： 〃Take me in；〃 She faltered； 〃Sister Monica；
from sin； And sorrow； and despair； that will not cease； Oh； take me in； and
let me die in peace！〃 With soothing words the Sister bade her wait； Until
she brought the key to unbar the gate。 The beggar tried to thank her as she
lay； And heard the echoing footsteps die away。 But what soft voice was
that which sounded near； And stirred strange trouble in her heart to hear？
She raised her head； she sawshe seemed to know … A face that came from
long； long years ago： Herself； yet not as when she fled away； The young
and blooming novice； fair and gay； But a grave woman； gentle and serene：
The outcast