on."

THE BENT MONK

Ever along the way he goes,
With eyes cast down as in despair,
And shoulders stooped with weight of woes
And lips from which unceasing flows
An agonized prayer.

His form is bent; his step is slow;
His hands with fasting long are thin;
And wheresoe'er his footsteps go,
Men hear his muttered prayer and know
He weeps for deadly sin.

This monk was once the knightliest
Of knights who ever sat in hall:
With wondrous might and beauty blest;
And whoso met him lance-in-rest
Had need on Christ to call.

Men say this monk with hair so hoar,
And eye where grief hath quenched the flame,
Once loved a maiden fair and pure,
And for she would not wed him swore
He 'd bring her down to Shame.

They say he wooed her long and well;
And splendid spoils both eve and morn
Of song and tourney won, they tell,
He gave her till at last she fell,
Then drave her forth with scorn.

The world was cold; her father's door
Was barred--they thus the tale repeat--
Her name was heard in jousts no more;
And so, one day the river bore
And laid her at his feet.

Her brow was calm, the sunny hair
Lay tangled in the snowy breast,
And from the face all trace of care
And sin was cleansed away, and there
Shone only utter rest.

The old men say that when the wave
That burden brought, then backward fled,
He stooped, no sign nor groan he gave,
As mourners by an open grave;
But fell as one struck dead.

He seemed, when from that swound he woke,
A man already touched by Death,
As when the stalwart forest oak,
Blasted beneath the lightning's stroke
Lives on, yet languisheth.

And ever since he tells his beads,
And sackcloth lieth next his skin,
And nightly his frail body bleeds
With knotted cord that intercedes
With Christ for deadly sin.

For his own soul he hath no care,
By penance purged as if by flame:
Men know that agonized prayer
He prays is for the maiden fair
Whom he brought down to Shame.

And still along the way he goes,
With eyes cast down as in despair,
And shoulders stooped with weight of woes,
And lips from which forever flows
An agonized prayer.

THE MESSAGE

An ancient tome came to my hands:
A tale of love in other lands:
Writ by a Master so divine,
The Love seems ever mine and thine.
The volume op