She could no more, the blind girl, weak and weary! A voice seemed crying from that grave so dreary, "What wouldst thou do, my daughter?" — and she started; And quick recoiled, aghast, faint-hearted; But Paul, impatient, urges ever more Her steps towards the open door; And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid And with her head, as Paul talks on again, Suspended from the low-arched portal, No more restrained, no more afraid, She walks, as for a feast arrayed, And in the ancient chapel's sombre night At length the bell, With booming sound, Sends forth, resounding round, Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down the dell And with it brings the village throng. In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, Thinks only of the beldame's words of warning. And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis ; To be a bride is all! The pretty lisper Feels her heart swell to hear all round her whisper "How beautiful! how beautiful she is!" But she must calm that giddy head, For already the Mass is said; At the holy table stands the priest ; The wedding ring is blessed; Baptiste receives it ; Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it, He must pronounce one word at least! 'Tis spoken; and sudden at the groomsman's side "'T is he! a well-known voice has cried. And while the wedding guests all hold their breath, Opes the confessional, and the blind girl, see! "Baptiste," she said, " since thou hast wished my death, As holy water be my blood for thee! At eve, instead of bridal verse, The De Profundis filled the air; Decked with flowers a simple hearse Follow, weeping as they go; Nowhere was a smile that day, No, ah no! for each one seemed to say: "The roads should mourn and be veiled in gloom, So fair a corpse shall leave its home! Should mourn and should weep, ah, well-away' So fair a corpse shall pass to-day!" |