Poems by Adam Lindsay Gordon Part 44

Thurston: 'Neath the linden trees grey, Ere the onset, young Henry rode Rollo away; He will hasten the Prince, and they may reach your gate To-morrow--though to-morrow for us is too late.

Hugo rode the boy's mare, and she's dead--if you like-- Disembowel'd by the thrust of a freebooter's pike.

Eustace: Neither Henry nor Rollo we ever shall see.

Ursula: But we may hold the walls till to-morrow.

Thurston: Not we.

In an hour or less, having rallied their force, They'll storm your old building--and take it, of course, Since of us, who alone in war's science are skill'd, One-third are disabled, and two-thirds are kill'd.

Ursula: Art thou hurt?

Thurston: At present I feel well enough, But your water is brackish, unwholesome and rough; Bring a flask of your wine, dame, for Eustace and I, Let us gaily give battle and merrily die.

[Enter Eric, with arm in sling.]

Eric: Thou art safe, Lady Abbess! The convent is safe!

To be robbed of their prey how the ravens will chafe!

The vanguard of Otto is looming in sight!

At the sheen of their spears, see! thy foemen take flight, Their foremost are scarce half a mile from the wall.

Thurston: Bring the wine, lest those Germans should swallow it all.

SCENE--The Chapel of the Convent.

Dirge of the Monks: Earth to earth, and dust to dust, Ashes unto ashes go.

Judge not. He who judgeth just, Judgeth merciful also.

Earthly penitence hath fled, Earthly sin hath ceased to be; Pile the sods on heart and head, Miserere Domine!

Hominum et angelorum, Domine! precamur te Ut immemor sis malorum-- Miserere Domine!

(Miserere!)

Will the fruits of life brought forth, Pride and greed, and wrath and l.u.s.t, Profit in the day of wrath, When the dust returns to dust?

Evil flower and th.o.r.n.y fruit Load the wild and worthless tree.

Lo! the axe is at the root, Miserere Domine!

Spes, fidesque, caritasque, Frustra fatigant per se, Frustra virtus, forsque, fasque, Miserere Domine!

(Miserere!)

Fair without and foul within, When the honey'd husks are reft From the bitter sweets of sin, Bitterness alone is left; Yet the wayward soul hath striven Mostly h.e.l.l's ally to be, In the strife 'twixt h.e.l.l and heaven, Miserere Domine!

Heu! heu! herba latet anguis-- Caro herba--carni vae-- Solum purgat, Christi sanguis, Miserere Domine!

(Miserere!)

Pray that in the doubtful fight Man may win through sore distress, By His goodness infinite, And His mercy fathomless.

Pray for one more of the weary, Head bow'd down and bended knee, Swell the requiem, Miserere!

Miserere Domine!

Bonum, malum, qui fecisti Mali imploramus te, Salve fratrem, causa Christi, Miserere Domine!

(Miserere!)

[End of Ashtaroth.]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The extension of the tramways has necessitated the removal of this statue to Spring-street.]