Classic Poem

The sea and the sky are the servants of God,
And the earth is his footstool, too;
Dark deeds may be done at a despot's nod,
God's servants will bring them to view.

He has hid his crime in the deep, deep sea:
Who has seen its stain on land?
But the sky knows all, and his hopes shall be
As false as words in the sand!

When Fra Gonsales in St. Francis' robe
Came to the peons in fair Mexico,
" Great Doctor " called they him; their every woe
He found and cured with balsam and with probe.

And so they said: " A Spaniard can be good " —
At first amazed. — " This Christian does not smite
And goad us as the soldiers, nor does spite
Or malice gleam beneath his blessed hood. "

The peaceful Friar wrought for many a day
Among the peons by the restless sea —
The chopping Gulf — that in the land might be
An altar to the Truth, the Light, the Way.

His bronze-hued children worked Gonsales' will,
And other friars came, and soldiers, few —
Sent by the King the Friar's will to do —
Came to a place where evil tongues were still.

And with them Castro Mendez — " Cruel Eye "
The peons called him — wily captain he
Of Andalusian Guards: the charity
Of Fra Gonsales saw no danger nigh.

Castro loved gold. " The pious monk's a fool!
If he were not, " he said, " I'd force these slaves
To be my slaves; what though Spain's standard waves,
If men are but the toys of this priest's rule! "

Storm came on storm borne on the northern wind,
And boats went down in darkness of the night.
" Oh! if to sea I could but cast a light! "
Oft sighed the Friar, for he loved his kind.

And in the season of these stormy blasts
Gonsales' church was finished; high it rose
The sea-wind facing — and the great God knows
How, poem-like, it had grown in tears and fasts!

While friars fasted, Castro cursed his fate,
" O, for Pizarro's power to balk the priests —
O, for a day of lavish gold and feasts
Luxurious and gay. — The priest wakes late! "

He heard the Friar calling on the name
St. Antony, and saw him as he prayed.
Just then a peon entered and soft laid
A glowing ruby down, a rose of flame.

" 'T is yours, O Father! It came from the mine
Called Wondrous, in the gorge by Inca's plain,
For which the hated soldiers sought in vain.
Take it, my Father; keep it, it is thine! "

Don Castro heard; beneath his knitted brow
Shout out a serpent-flame of evil light,
And with desire his lips and cheeks grew white.
" Go, gold, " he said, " I shall have rubies now! "

Don Castro sneered as Fra Gonsales raised
His hands to Antony, the loving saint,
And like the Antony that artists paint
Gonsales looked as his sweet Lord he praised.

Niched in the church-front stood the loving Maid,
The Mother-Queen Immaculate as fair,
Above her the rose-window, high in air; —
In it was put the ruby many-rayed!

By grace of the great Paduan, rich it glowed
Through the dark, windy nights far out to sea,
A lighthouse to the sailors; gratefully
Their prayers to Christ's sweet Mother nightly flowed.

The ruby of the window, red by day,
But burning like a hundred fires by night,
Until the Gulf with crimson was alight,
To seamen showed the safe and peaceful way.

Don Castro sought — the mine he could not gain,
(St. Antony, mayhap, had hid the place).
Bitter his heart and bitter looked his face;
How sad is he who seeks for gems in vain!

He grew to hate Gonsales and his love
For " the slave-hearted peons " ; holy rood
To him was irksome as St. Francis' hood:
Who seeks for self can seldom look above.

The devil, in his soul, became more bold, —
Don Castro dreamed of imps with jeweled eyes,
Of serpents crimsoned in strong ruby dyes,
And waking cried, " My crimson soul is sold! "

One night he did the deed; the Friar knelt
Beneath the ruby and Our Lady's shrine —
" St. Antony! " — a gasp — a poniard's shine:
Don Castro, mounted high, no sorrow felt.

Beneath the window lay a crimson pool,
And on the sea there shone no crimson fire;
Don Castro, stained with red, had his desire,
He held the ruby — he the devil's fool!

The night was lightless, twice unsteadily
Don Castro wavered, then he falling caught
The ruby to his heart — the good he sought
Fell with him to the bottom of the sea.

At Vera Cruz this simple tale is told,
And near its coast the sea at eve is red
With light of the great ruby in its bed
Beneath the waves, in false Don Castro's hold.

The Friar's Love still lives: Love never dies;
For still the sea in storms is crimson-lit,
Where stood Our Lady's church; no pilot's wit
Is now at fault; the white sail homeward flies.

He has hid his crime in the deep, deep sea:
Who has seen its stain on land?
But the sky knows all, and his hopes shall be
As false as words in the sand.

The sea and the sky are God's warders true,
Each whispers to each all day,
The lips of the gray and the ear of the blue
Are telling and hearing alway.