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show； distinct and quaint； The kneeling figure of some marble saint： Or
lighting up the carvings strange and rare； That told of patient toil； and
reverent care； Ivy that trembled on the spray； and ears； Of heavy corn； and
slender bulrush spears； And all the thousand tangled weeds that grow In
summer； where the silver rivers flow； And demon…heads grotesque； that
seemed to glare In impotent wrath on all the beauty there： Then the gold
rays up pillared shaft would climb； And so be drawn to heaven； at evening
time。 And deeper silence； darker shadows flowed On all around； only the
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windows glowed With blazoned glory； like the shields of light Archangels
bear； who； armed with love and might； Watch upon heaven's battlements at
night。 Then all was shade； the silver lamps that gleamed； Lost in the
daylight； in the darkness seemed Like sparks of fire in the dim aisles to
shine； Or trembling stars before each separate shrine。 Grown half afraid；
the child would leave them there； And come out； blinded by the noisy
glare That burst upon him from the busy square。
The church was thus his home for rest or play； And as he came and
went again each day； The pictured faces that he knew so well； Seemed to
smile on him welcome and farewell。 But holier； and dearer far than all；
One sacred spot his own he loved to call； Save at mid…day； half…hidden by
the gloom； The people call it The White Maiden's Tomb： For there she
stands； her folded hands are pressed Together； and laid softly on her breast；
As if she waited but a word to rise From the dull earth； and pass to the
blue skies； Her lips expectant part； she holds her breath； As listening for
the angel voice of death。 None know how many years have seen her so； Or
what the name of her who sleeps below。 And here the child would come；
and strive to trace； Through the dim twilight； the pure gentle face He loved
so well； and here he oft would bring Some violet blossom of the early
spring； And climbing softly by the fretted stand； Not to disturb her； lay it
in her hand； Or； whispering a soft loving message sweet； Would stoop and
kiss the little marble feet。 So； when the organ's pealing music rang； He
thought amid the gloom the Maiden sang； With reverent simple faith by
her he knelt； And fancied what she thought； and what she felt。 〃Glory to
God；〃 re…echoed from her voice； And then his little spirit would rejoice； Or
when the Requiem sobbed upon the air； His baby tears dropped with her
mournful prayer。
So years fled on； while childish fancies past； The childish love and
simple faith could last。 The artist…soul awoke in him； the flame Of genius；
like the light of Heaven； came Upon his brain； and （as it will； if true） It
touched his heart and lit his spirit； too His father saw； and with a proud
content Let him forsake the toil where he had spent His youth's first years；
and on one happy day Of pride； before the old man passed away； He stood
with quivering lips； and the big tears Upon his cheek； and heard the dream
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of years Living and speaking to his very heart … The low hushed murmur at
the wondrous art Of him； who with young trembling fingers made The
great church…organ answer as he played； And； as the uncertain sound grew
full and strong； Rush with harmonious spirit…wings along； And thrill with
master…power the breathless throng。
The old man died； and years passed on； and still The young musician
bent his heart and will To his dear toil。 St。 Bavon now had grown More
dear to him； and even more his own； And as he left it every night he
prayed A moment by the archway in the shade； Kneeling once more within
the sacred gloom Where the White Maiden watched upon her tomb。 His
hopes of travel and a world…wide fame； Cold Time had sobered； and his
fragile frame； Content at last only in dreams to roam； Away from the
tranquillity of home； Content that the poor dwellers by his side Saw in him
but the gentle friend and guide； The patient counsellor in the poor strife
And petty details of their common life； Who comforted where woe and
grief might fall； Nor slighted any pain or want as small； But whose great
heart took in and felt for all。
Still he grew famousmany came to be His pupils in the art of
harmony。 One day a voice floated so pure and free Above his music； that
he turned to see What angel sang； and saw before his eyes； What made his
heart leap with a strange surprise； His own White Maiden； calm； and pure；
and mild； As in his childish dreams she sang and smiled； Her eyes raised
up to Heaven； her lips apart； And music overflowing from her heart。 But
the faint blush that tinged her cheek betrayed No marble statue； but a
living maid； Perplexed and startled at his wondering look； Her rustling
score of Mozart's Sanctus shook； The uncertain notes； like birds within a
snare； Fluttered and died upon the trembling air。
Days passed； each morning saw the maiden stand； Her eyes cast down；
her lesson in her hand； Eager to study； never weary； while Repaid by the
approving word or smile Of her kind master； days and months fled on；
One day the pupil from the choir was gone； Gone to take light； and joy；
and youth once more； Within the poor musician's humble door； And to
repay； with gentle happy art； The debt so many owed his generous heart。
And now； indeed； was one who knew and felt That a great gift of God
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within him dwelt； One who could listen； who could understand； Whose
idle work dropped from her slackened hand； While with wet eyes
entranced she stood； nor knew How the melodious winged hours flew；
Who loved his art as none had loved before； Yet prized the noble tender
spirit more。 While the great organ brought from far and near Lovers of
harmony to praise and hear； Unmarked by aught save what filled every
day； Duty； and toil； and rest； years passed away： And now by the low
archway in the shade Beside her mother knelt a little maid； Who； through
the great cathedral learned to roam； Climb to the choir； and bring her
father home； And stand； demure and solemn by his side； Patient till the last
echo softly died； Then place her little hand in his； and go Down the dark
winding stair to where below The mother knelt； within the gathering
gloom Waiting and praying by the Maiden's Tomb。
So their life went； until； one winter's day； Father and child came there
alone to pray … The mother； gentle soul； had fled away！ Their life was
altered now； and yet the child Forgot her passionate grief in time； and
smiled； Half wondering why； when spring's fresh breezes came； To see her
father was no more the same。 Half guessing at the shadow of his pain； And
then contented if he smiled again； A sad cold smile； that passed in tears
away； As re…assured she ran once more to play。 And now each year that
added grace to grace； Fresh bloom and sunshine to the young girl's face；
Brought a strange light in the musician's eyes； As if he saw some starry
hope arise； Breaking upon the midnight of sad skies。 It might be so：
more feeble year by year； The wanderer to his resting…place drew near。
One day the Gloria he could play no more； Echoed its grand rejoicing as
of yore； His hands were clasped； his weary head was laid； Upon the tomb
where the White Maiden prayed： Where the child's love first dawned； his
soul first spoke； The old man's heart there throbbed its last and broke。 The
grave cathedral that had nursed his youth； Had helped his dreaming； and
had taught him truth； Had seen his boyish grief and baby tears； And
watched the sorrows and the joys of years； Had lit his fame and hope with
s