Poem by Anne Bannerman

The Penitent's Confession

FROM St. Peter's tower the bell had toll'd,
For the Carmelite Monks to pray,
And the holy priest by the altar kneel'd
On the eve of St. Peter's day!

The sacred lights on the altar burn'd,
Where the blessed symbol lay;
The mass for the dead and the rites were said
For a soul that had pass'd away ....

When the priest came down the altar steps,
He has pass'd through the abbey aisle;
He has mounted, alone, the stair of stone,
To the high Confessional!

In that holy place, for five years' space,
Had never soul confess'd,
Till that hallow'd eve of St. Peter's Cross,
And the sign was on his breast ....

But the deep, deep groans of that kneeling wretch,
That low at his footstool lay,
His groanings deep, ah! nought could still,
And the priest arose to pray.

And thrice he cross'd his forehead, bare,
And thrice he cross'd his breast,
And the Penitent's groans, so deep and dread,
Were soften'd into rest!...

"At the dead of night the deed was done,
And I saw her laid upon the bier;
But that stiffening hand and straining eye
Are ever, ever near!

"No soul shall know from whence, or where,
I came with Ellinor!...
That cry, I heard at deep midnight,
I hear for evermore!

"Three nights I watch'd by that livid corse,
They are stamp'd upon my brain!
My heart's best blood I would have given
To have roused life again.

"I follow'd the hearse to the convent aisle,
But the prayers I dar'd not hear:
'Twas nearly dusk when the rites were done;
I knew not what to fear!

"I stood without till all was past,
And the funeral train was gone;
The gathering mist it roll'd like smoke,
I journey'd all alone.

"I heard the bell of the convent tower,
It toll'd for the newly dead,
I had reach'd the wood as the sound began,
I dar'd not turn my head.

"Through the trees' thick tops, all tufted high,
I could hear the night wind swell;
I burst the briars...I pierc'd the brake...
I did not hear the bell!

"By midnight then I clear'd the wood,
And I kept by the river's edge;
'Twas all I could, through the mist, descry
The watch-light on the bridge.

"On the middle arch...I did not dream!
'Twas close by the broken ridge:
On the midmost arch, just then, I saw
A figure on the bridge.

"Its stiff, white arms were stretched wide,
I could not pass it then;
I tried to cross on either side,
But it was all in vain.

"And still I saw the outstretch'd arms
Between, and the misty sky!
No power could urge me on, to pass
That waving figure by.

"The form! the height!...I stood and gaz'd!
The robes were white it wore!
One thought of horror struck my heart,
That it was Ellinor!...

"It could not be! her grave had clos'd,
And it covered was for aye.
I had seen the body on the bier,
And it was stiffen'd clay:

"How long I stood, I know not now,
Or how it gained near;
But I heard the flapping of the robe,
O holy Father! hear!...

"Three paces brought us side by side,
I had turn'd to the pale watch light,
When it lean'd, O heaven ! upon my arm,
Its dull and deadly weight!

"On my face I felt its streaming hair,
All wet with the rain and mist,...
I spoke not, for the blood fled back,
And center'd in my breast!

"I moved on,...but that weight of death
Will never leave my brain!
I thought I never might uncling
That ghastly arm again!

"And on, and on, till day-light shone,
All to the beach of the sandy sea,
The figure dragg'd me by the arm,
And there it quitted me.

"Twice twenty years have come and gone
Since I wander'd on that fated eve;
May'st think thee that a dream of night
My senses did deceive?

"See, holy priest ! and he bar'd his arm,
Was never to mortal shown!"
And there, O Heaven! for living flesh,
Was a dry and wither'd bone.

The father rose, and bow'd his head
On the blessed cross he wore!
For he quak'd to think that arm had
The touch of Ellinor.

He has drawn aside a velvet shroud,
That hung from the marble wall;
He has kneeled down within the veil,
He spoke not once at all!

Not once of heaven, or pardon given,
By that sacred cross he wore:
For the deep, deep groans of that kneeling wretch,
He heard for evermore!

Now the night was done and the Penitent gone,
But where, were none to tell;
For, from that hour, the holy priest
Hath never left his cell.

O there were masses for the dead,
And fast and prayers by light and gloom!
And the cross was borne, at deep midnight.
Along the charnel tomb!

1. The Fisherman of Lapland
2. The Murcian Cavalier
3. The Perjured Nun
4. Prologue
5. The Festival of St. Magnus the Martyr

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