John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). The Poetical Works in Four Volumes. 1892.
Narrative and Legendary PoemsThe Legend of St. Mark
T
With roaring blast and sleety showers;
And through the dusk the lilacs wear
The bloom of snow, instead of flowers.
To ponder o’er a tale of old;
A legend of the age of Faith,
By dreaming monk or abbess told.
That fancy of a loving heart,
In graceful lines and shapes of power,
And hues immortal as his art.
There lived a lord, to whom, as slave,
A peasant-boy of tender years
The chance of trade or conquest gave.
Beyond the hills with almonds dark,
The straining eye could scarce discern
The chapel of the good St. Mark.
The service of the youth repaid,
By stealth, before that holy shrine,
For grace to bear his wrong, he prayed.
The boar-hunt sounded on the hill;
Why stayed the Baron from the chase,
With looks so stern, and words so ill?
By scath of fire and strain of cord,
How ill they speed who give dead saints
The homage due their living lord!”
When, through the dungeon’s vaulted dark,
He saw the light of shining robes,
And knew the face of good St. Mark.
The cords released their cruel clasp,
The pincers, with their teeth of fire,
Fell broken from the torturer’s grasp.
Barred door and wall of stone gave way;
And up from bondage and the night
They passed to freedom and the day!
O painter! true thy pencil’s art;
In tones of hope and prophecy,
Ye whisper to my listening heart!
Moans up to God’s inclining ear;
Unheeded by his tender eye,
Falls to the earth no sufferer’s tear.
The pomp and power of tyrant man
Are scattered at his lightest breath,
Like chaff before the winnower’s fan.
His heavy hands to Heaven in vain.
God’s angel, like the good St. Mark,
Comes shining down to break his chain!
Your helpers in their downward flight;
Nor hear the sound of silver wings
Slow beating through the hush of night!
With sunbright watchers bending low,
That Fear’s dim eye beheld alone
The spear-heads of the Syrian foe.
Can see the helpers God has sent,
And how life’s rugged mountain-side
Is white with many an angel tent!
Sends down his pathway to prepare;
And light, from others hidden, shines
On their high place of faith and prayer.
Hopeless, yet longing to be free,
Breathe once again the Prophet’s prayer:
“Lord, ope their eyes, that they may see!”