Poem by Anne Bannerman

The Prophetess of the Oracle of Seam

Round Seäm's isle the black waves boil
On the rough, rough rocks below,
And none can tell the date or time
Since they were tossed so!

Yet there comes a night, at the equinox height,
When the waters sleep below,
And a sound is heard, that stoppeth not,
Like the shrieks of a soul in woe!

'Twas on that night, when the winds were dumb,
And the tossing waters still,
That a ship was 'nighted, on her way,
By the rocks of Seäm's isle.

They had mounted fast the high topmast,
To watch for the beacon's light;
On the right, on the left, they can trace it not
Thro' the darkness of the night!

When the first hour came to change the watch
On the deck and middle shroud,
The sound drew near that stoppeth not,
And they heard it sob aloud.

Was never a soul within that ship
Could know why they were troubled so;
But their courage failed them, at once,
When they heard that shriek of woe.

Was never a soul within that ship
Could tell where they were driven at all,
But a Monk of the choir of Einsidlin,
The holy Father Paul!

Full well he knew the death that hung
O'er every soul that breathed there,
And he beckon'd them to kneel around,
While he rais'd his hands in prayer!

When prayer was past, he sat him down,
And listen'd to the shriek of woe:
"And he told them of the Prophetess
And the Oracle below!

"He told the tale of Seäm's isle,
He told the terrors of its caves,
That none had passed them with life
When that sleep was on the waves!

"He told them, when the winds that roar'd
Around that isle had ceas'd to breathe,
Was the fated night of sacrifice
In the gloomy vaults beneath.

"He told them, he remember'd once
A father of St. Thomas' tower,
Who never had bow'd before the cross
Till he touch'd his dying hour.

"That then he named to the priest
What he had seen in Seäm's caves,
For he had reach'd them in a ship
When that calm was on the waves!

"Thro' the sleepless nights of thirty months,
He had listen'd to that shriek of woe;
But he never had seen the Prophetess
Of the Oracle below!

"Till that chilly night, at the equinox height,
When the thirty months were gone,
As he listen'd, in the outer cave,
To that unbroken groan,

"A hand, he saw not, dragg'd him on,
The voice within had call'd his name!
And he told all he witnessed
At the Oracle of flame!

"But when he came to tell, at last,
What fearful sacrifice had bled,
His agony began anew,
And he could not raise his head!

"And he never spoke again at all,
For he died that night in sore dismay:
So sore, that all were tranc'd for hours
That saw his agony!

"And he told not how he left the cave
When that dreadful sacrifice was o'er;
But some have thought he was preserv'd
By the crucifix he wore!

"And some have thought he had bent his knee
At Seäm's dark, unhallow'd shrine;
And that might be his agony
When they rais'd the blessed sign!"

Sorely wrung was every heart,
Within that ship, that heard the tale!
They listen'd still, in dumb despair,
By the unmoving sail!

They press'd around that aged priest,
As he rais'd the crucifix on high!
And they look'd for nothing now to come,
But that they all must die!...

His hoary hair is wet with dew,
He sits alone in Seäm's caves!
For the ship, and all that breathed there,
Are buried in the waves!

He bow'd him down, that holy priest,
Before the symbol cross of God!
For he held it still amid the deeps,
And in that dark abode!

That stilly calm had left the seas,
And the surging waters toss and boil!
And he heard them dash, above his head,
On the rocks of Seäm's isle:

He heard the loud winds blow along,
And the billows wash his living grave;
For he was shut from all the earth
Within that gloomy cave!

But, when he thought upon the hour,
He kneeled on the deck at prayer,
When he heard the cries within that ship
Of all that perish'd there.

His aged heart was not so cold
But he could feel it throb and swell,
Though he had found a sepulchre
In that dark and chilly cell!

For every soul, among the dead,
That died in sin, he smote his breast,
And he utter'd on the crucifix
The burial-prayer of rest!

'Twas now the eve of the second night
That shriek had never ceas'd to be,
That he could not settle him to sleep
For the roaring of the sea!

When he heard, as it were, a sound so near,
So close it seemed by his side;
He rais'd himself upon his arm ;...
'Twas the dashing of the tide!

He has turn'd again to broken rest,
And sunk upon that rugged rock,
When a voice came near, that roused him,...
'Twas the Oracle that spoke!

The hand, he saw not, dragg'd him on,
When the voice was still'd that nam'd his name!
And he found himself in the inner cave
By the Oracle of flame.

Never a sound was utter'd there,
Nor the roar of wind or wave!
Nought could be more deathly still,
But the silence of the grave!

Than that, O Heaven! he had rather heard
The surging waters toss and boil;
Or e'en the voice that stopped not,
When they struck on Seäm's isle;

O how he bless'd the blood that ran
His dull and frozen heart around,
When he heard the pulse that throbbed wild!
It was a living sound!...

Where he stood was all of rugged rock,
But the shrine was girt with an iron frame,
And a curtain hid the Prophetess
As she watched by the flame!

One hand she stretch'd without that veil,
And pointed to the inner space;
And she beckon'd him to lay the cross
On that unhallow'd place:

He felt it heave upon his heart,
And he press'd it in the blessed name!
For that moving finger was like death,
And that unquenched flame!

Ah no ! his vital blood should flow
Where many a sacrifice had bled!
He knew that he could only die,
And he was satisfied.

He knew not yet the sight to come,
Before his heart could rest on this,
When he thought his eyes, unmov'd, could look
Upon the Prophetess!

Like a dream it flitted o'er his brain,
That miserable hour !
When the father died, in agony,
In the cell of St. Thomas' tower;

For he had said the veil was drawn
That hid the sacrifice within;
That his eyes had seen the Prophetess
At that uncover'd shrine;

But whether his knee had bended there
Was buried with him in the grave:...
He felt that doubt more terrible
Than the terrors of the cave. ...

That Monk was never seen again,
Till forty years were pass'd, or more;
'Twas in the aisle of Einsidlin
As even-prayer was o'er;

The priest had clos'd the service-rite,
For the eve of Holy Ghost;
He was seated in the upper choir,
'Twas the feast of Pentecost:

When he saw a Monk, by the altar-rail,
Kneel down upon the step to pray;
The dying lights were glimmering,
And all had gone away:

The priest descended from the choir,
By the lamp that burn'd on the wall,
And he look'd on that uncover'd face,
'Twas the holy Father Paul!

He stood like one in trance, to gaze
Upon that mild and sacred head;
Forty years had pass'd away
Since he was with the dead.

Forty years had pass'd away
Since the ship had struck on Seäm's steep;
And every soul that breathed there
Had perish'd in the deep!

In all that time, if he liv'd still,
That none should see the Father Paul,
It awed the priest of Einsidlin,
And he could not speak at all!

That aged Monk had left the aisle,
And the dying tapers sink and fail;
All, but the lights on the high altar,
And they are dim and pale:

The priest was still by the altar-rail
On the morn of Holy Ghost;
When the bell was done for matin prayers,
At the feast of Pentecost.

1. The Fisherman of Lapland
2. The Murcian Cavalier
3. The Perjured Nun
4. The Penitent's Confession
5. Prologue

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