EASTER EVE

Hear me, Brother, gently met;
Just a little, turn, not yet,
Thou shalt laugh, and soon forget: 
  Now the midnight draweth near. 
I have little more to tell;
Soon with hallow stroke and knell,
Thou shalt count the palace bell,
  Calling that the hour is here.

Burdens black and strange to bear,
I must tell, and thou must share,
Listening with that stony stare,
  Even as many a man before. 
Years have lightly come and gone
In their jocund unison,
But the tides of life roll on—­
  They remember now no more.

Once upon a night of glee,
In an hour of revelry,
As I wandered restlessly,
  I beheld with burning eye,
How a pale procession rolled
Through a quarter quaint and old,
With its banners and its gold,
  And the crucifix went by.

Well I knew that body brave
That was pierced and hung to save,
But my flesh was now a grave
  For the soul that gnashed within. 
He that they were bearing by,
With their banners white and high,
He was pure, and foul was I,
  And his whiteness mocked my sin.

Ah, meseemed that even he,
Would not wait to look on me,
In my years and misery,
  Things that he alone could heal. 
In mine eyes I felt the flame
Of a rage that naught could tame,
And I cried and cursed his name,
  Till my brain began to reel.

In a moment I was ’ware,
How that many watching there,
Fearfully with blanch and stare,
  Crossed themselves and shrank away;
Then upon my reeling mind,
Like a sharp blow from behind,
Fell the truth, and left me blind,
  Hopeless now and all astray.

O’er the city wandering wide,
Seeking but some place to hide,
Where the sounds of mirth had died,
  Through the shaken night I stole;
From the ever-eddying stream
Of the crowds that did but seem
Like the processions in a dream
  To my empty echoing soul.

Till I came at last alone
To a hidden street of stone,
Where the city’s monotone
  On the silence fell no more. 
Then I saw how one in white
With a footstep mute and light,
Through the shadow of the night
  Like a spirit paced before.

And a sudden stillness came
Through my spirit and my frame,
And a spell without a name
  Held me in his mystic track. 
Though his presence seemed so mild,
Yet he led me like a child,
With a yearning strange and wild,
  That I dared not turn me back.

Oh, I could not see his face,
Nor behold his utmost grace,
Yet I might not change my pace
  Fastened by a strange belief;
For his steps were sad and slow,
And his hands hung straight below,
And his head was bowed, as though
  Pressed by some immortal grief.

So I followed, yet not I
Held alone that company: 
Every silent passer-by
  Paled and turned and joined with me;
So we followed still and fleet,
While the city street by street,
Fell behind our rustling feet
  Like a deadened memory.