Page:Completepoetical1848sout.djvu/32



And accurate in every circumstance Of time and place."                    Attentive to her words Thus the Priest answer'd:                        "Brethren, ye have heard The woman's tale. Behoves us now to ask Whether of holy Church a duteous child Before our court appears, so not unlike Heaven might vouchsafe its gracious miracle; Or misbelieving heretic, whose thoughts. Erring and vain, easily might stray beyond All reason, and conceit strange dreams and signs Impossible. Say, woman, from thy youth Hast thou, as rightly mother Church demands, Confess'd at stated times thy secret sins, And, from the priestly power conferr'd by Heaven, Sought absolution?"                     "Father," she replied, "The forms of worship in mine earlier years Waked my young mind to artificial awe, And made me fear my. Warm with the glow Of health and exercise, whene'er I pass'd The threshold of the house of prayer, I felt A cold damp chill me; I beheld the tapers That with a pale and feeble glimmering Dimm'd the noon-light; I heard the solemn mass, And with strange feelings and mysterious dread Telling my beads, gave to the mystic prayers Devoutest meaning. Often when I saw The pictured flames writhe round a penanced soul, I knelt in fear before the Crucifix, And wept and pray'd, and trembled, and adored A of Terrors. But in riper years, When as my soul grew strong in solitude, I saw the eternal energy pervade The boundless range of nature, with the sun Pour life and radiance from his flamy path., And on the lowliest floweret of the field The kindly dew-drops shed. And then I felt That who form'd this goodly frame of things Must needs be good, and with a name I call'd on, and from my burden'd heart Pour'd out the yearnings of unmingled love. Methinks it is not strange then, that I fled The house of prayer, and made the lonely grove My temple, at the foot of some old oak Watching the little tribes that had their world Within its mossy bark; or laid me down Beside the rivulet whose murmuring Was silence to my soul, and mark'd the swarm Whose light-edged shadows on the bedded sand Mirror'd their mazy sports, — the insect hum, The flow of waters, and the song of birds Making a holy music to mine ear: Oh! was it strange, if for such scenes as these, Such deep devoutness, such intense delight Of quiet adoration, I forsook The house of worship? strange that when I felt How had made my spirit quick to feel And love whate'er was beautiful and good, And from aught evil and deform'd to shrink Even as with instinct; — father! was it strange That in my heart I had no thought of sin, And did not need forgiveness?"                               As she spake The Doctors stood astonish'd, and some while They listen'd still in wonder. But at length A Monk replied,                 "Woman, thou seem'st to scorn The ordinances of our holy Church; And, if I rightly understand thy words, Nature, thou say'st, taught thee in solitude Thy feelings of religion, and that now Masses and absolution and the use Of the holy wafer, are to thee unknown. But how could Nature teach thee true religion, Deprived of these? Nature doth lead to sin, But 'tis the Priest alone can teach remorse, Can bid St. Peter ope the gates of Heaven, And from the penal fires of purgatory Set the soul free. Could Nature teach thee this? Or tell thee that St. Peter holds the keys, And that his successor's unbounded power Extends o'er either world? Although thy life Of sin were free, if of this holy truth Ignorant, thy soul in liquid flames must rue Its error."               Thus he spake; applauding looks Went round. Nor dubious to reply the Maid Was silent.            "Fathers of the holy Church, If on these points abstruse a simple maid Like me should err, impute not you the crime To self-will'd reason, vaunting its own strength Above eternal wisdom. True it is That for long time I have not heard the sound Of mass high-chanted, nor with trembling lips Partook the holy wafer: yet the birds Who to the matin ray prelusive pour'd Their joyous song, methought did warble forth Sweeter thanksgiving to Religion's ear In their wild melody of happiness, Than ever rung along the high-arch'd roofs Of man: — yet never from the bending vine Pluck'd I its ripen'd clusters thanklessly, Or of that God unmindful, who bestow'd The bloodless banquet. Ye have told me, Sirs, That Nature only teaches man to sin! If it be sin to seek the wounded lamb, To bind its wounds, and bathe them with my tears, This is what Nature taught! No, Fathers, no! It is not Nature that doth lead to sin: Nature is all benevolence, all love. All beauty! In the greenwood's quiet shade There is no vice that to the indignant cheek Bids the red current rush; no misery there; No wretched mother, who with pallid face And famine-fallen hangs o'er her hungry babes, With such a look, so wan, so woe-begone, As shall one day, with damning eloquence, Against the oppressor plead! — Nature teach sin! Oh blasphemy against the Holy One, Who made us in the image of Himself, Who made us all for happiness and love, Infinite happiness, infinite love, Partakers of his own eternity."

Solemn and slow the reverend Priest replied, "Much, woman, do I doubt that all-wise Heaven Would thus vouchsafe its gracious miracles