Classic Poem

It was an old, a celebrated Church;
About the aisle ran many pillars tall,
And carved wood-work the chancel gathered in;
An old, worn Church, sad was the sight to see.
How lazy through the darkened window-panes,
The sun half-way withdrawn shone dimly down;
Across those clumsy frames the spiders wove,
A dull and heavy air of Sorrow hung
About the old worn pile; upon the Texts
Graven in gold over the chancel's steps.
But when, as comes the prelude to a storm,
The deep-toned organ waked the drowsy air,
And crept up cheerfully from underneath,
The mournful building felt a sudden warmth,
Those liberal Organ notes enlivened it.

There prayed and preached a godly, pious Clerk,
To good and pious auditors most true.
It was most sad to see the crowd throng up
The dimly-lighted aisle, as if Ghosts came,
Entranced by recollections of their Sins.
Young Henry came not as a worshipper,
To bend in worship to the blessed Lord,
For in the ancient aisle one being stood,
A young and fair-haired girl, whom Henry loved;
Her name was Hester, lovely as the Spring.
To them, this reverend building was a fane,
Whereon the God of love, fair Cupid laid
Two youthful hearts, then kindled into flame.

O what is love, young Love, what liquid fire,
What undiscovered furnace lighted up,
What mirror in our breasts that thus presents
A mistress in her bloom and glorious hour.
To Henry no such thoughts, on Hester's form
The gentle youth turned gently a faint look,
More worthy to be worshipped than the Host
Which all the congregation worshipped.
Nor had the youth e'er told the Maid his love
In words, which are the foremost curse of love.
Hester and Henry, whither have you fled, —
The ancient Church still holds the sacred form,
And hollow ghosts stalk through the gloomy aisles,
But Hester's form has fled, and Henry's fled.

How many Sabbaths did the heavy bell,
Which pealed from out the square Tower's little arch,
Strike through young Henry's heart a thrill of fear,
Lest Hester might not be at church that day.
Yet Hester came, and week succeeded week,
And months fled by, and sometimes Hester came not.
When she was absent, Henry felt how vain,
How utterly vain and hollow was the Creed
Taught from the Liturgy and New Testament.

Not only in the sadden'd Minster's light,
Young Henry sought the lovely Hester's shape,
But when the choral stars shone bright in Heaven,
Or when to earth fell heavily the storm,
He paced the quiet street where Hester lived.
The close-drawn curtain kept his eye without,
Still his heart beat, for there within those walls
His spirit dwelt. The framework of the house
Was hung as with a hundred starry lights,
And silvery bells made music in the way.
She dwelt so near the outward air, her life
Mingled itself with the common circumstance;
But Henry could not call those happy hours.
Deep melancholy fastened on the youth,
His cheek grew pale, his heart was sorrowful,
As day by day, the swift years circled on,
Nor brought him nearer lovely Hester's form.

Where'er he wandered through four lonely years,
He saw a spirit dancing in the path,
To whom he vainly hastened, — she did fly. —
So deep below the daily life he lived,
Consumed him this pure passion, that her name,
Sometimes repeated when the youth sat near,
Choked up his utterance, and a weight of blood
Instantly stagnant, settled at his heart. —
Thou dew of life, young Love, thou morning tear,
Thus richly rises the sweet sun of youth.