Poems (Dorr)/Rena

by Julia Caroline Dorr

RENA  (A LEGEND OF BRUSSELS)

I.

St. Gudula's bells were chiming for the midnight, sad and slow,
In the ancient town of Brussels, many and many a year ago,

And St. Michael, poised so grandly on his lofty, airy height,
Seemed transfigured in the glory of the full moon's tender light,

When, a fair and saintly maiden crowned with locks of palest gold,
Rena stood beside her lover, son of Hildebrand the Bold.

She with grief and tears was pallid; but his face was hard and stern:
All the passion of his being in his dark eyes seemed to burn.

"Never dream that I will give thee back thy plighted faith," he cried,
"By St. Michael's sword I swear it, thou, my love, shalt be my bride!"

"Nay, but hear me," she responded; "hear the words that I must speak;
I must speak, and thou must hearken, though my heart is like to break.

"Yestermorn, as I sat spinning blithely at my cottage door,
Straightway fell a stately shadow in the sunshine on the floor;

"And a figure stood before me, so majestic and so grand,
That I knew it in a moment for the mighty Hildebrand—

"Stood and gazed on me till downward at my feet the distaff dropped,
And in all my veins the pulsing of the swift life-current stopped.

"'Thou art Rena,' then he uttered, and he swore a dreadful oath,
And the tempest of his anger beat on me and on us both.

"'She who thinks to wed with Volmar must have lands and gold,' said he,
'Or must come of noble lineage, fit to mate with mine and me!

"'Thou art but a peasant maiden, empty-handed, lowly born;
All the ladies of my castle would look down on thee with scorn.

"'Even he will weary of thee when his passion once is spent,
Vainly cursing her who doomed him to an endless discontent!'

"'Then I, trembling, rose up slowly, and I looked him in the face,
Though the dreadful frown it wore seemed to darken all the place.

"'Sir, I thank you for this warning,' said I, speaking low and clear,
'But the laughter of your ladies I must teach my heart to bear.

"'For the rest—your son is noble—and my simple woman-hood
He will hold in loving honor, as a saint the holy rood!'

"Oh! then his stern face whitened, and a bitter laugh laughed he:
'Truly this my son is noble, and he shall not wed with thee.

"'Hear my words now, and remember! for by this good sword I swear,
And by Michael standing yonder, watching us from upper air,

"'If he dares to place a wedding-ring upon your dowerless hand,
On his head shall fall a father's curseȔthe curse of Hildebrand!'

"O, my Volmar! Then the earth rocked, and I fell down in a swoon;
When I woke the room was silent; it was past the hour of noon;

"And I waited for thy coming, as the captive waits for death,
With a mingled dread and longing, and a half-abated breath!"

Straight the young man bowed before her, as before a holy shrine:
"Never hand of high-born lady was more richly dowered than thine!

"What care I for gold or honors, or—my—father'scurse?" he said;
But the words died out in shudders, and his face grew like the dead.

Then she twined her white arms round him, and she murmured, sweet and low,
As the night wind breathing softly over banks where violets. blow:

"He who is accursed of father, he shall be accursed of God,'
Long ago said one who followed where the holy prophets trod.

"Kiss me once, then, O my Volmar! just once more, my Volmar, dear,
Even as you would kiss my white lips if I lay upon my bier!

"For a gulf as dark as death has opened wide 'twixt thee and me;
Neither thou nor I can cross it, and thy wife I may not be!"

II.

Once again the bells of midnight chimed from St. Gudula's towers,
While St. Michael watched the city slumbering through the ghostly hours.

But no slumber came to Rena where she moaned in bitter pain,
For the anguish of that parting wrought its work on heart and brain.

Suddenly the air grew heavy as with magical perfume,
And a weird and wondrous splendor filled the dim and silent room.

In the middle of the chamber stood a lady fair and sweet,
With bright tresses falling softly to her small and sandalled feet.

Flushed her cheeks were as a wild rose, and the glory of her eyes
Was the laughing light and glory of the kindling morning skies.

Airy robes of lightest tissue from her white arms floated free;
They seemed woven of the mist that curls above the azure sea,

Wrought in curious devices, star and wheel and leaf and flower,
That, like frost upon a window-pane, might vanish in an hour.

In her hands she bore a cushion, quaintly fashioned, strangely set
With small silver pins that spanned it like a branching coronet:

And from threads of finest texture swung light bobbins to and fro,
As the lady stood illumined in the weird and wondrous glow.

Not a single word she uttered; but, as silent as a shade,
Down the room she swiftly glided and beside the startled maid

Knelt, a radiant vision, smiling into Rena's wondering eyes,
Giving arch yet gracious answer to her tremulous surprise.

Then she laid the satin cushion on the wondering maiden's knee,
And to all her mute bewilderment, no syllable spake she.

But, as in and out and round about, the silver pins among,
Flashed the white hand of the lady, and the shining bobbins swung,

Lo! a web of fairy lightness like the misty robe she wore,
Swiftly grew beneath her fingers, drifting downward to the floor!

And as Rena looked and wondered, inch by inch the marvel grew,
Till the eastern windows brightened as the gray dawn struggled through.

Then the lady's hand touched Rena's, and she pointed far away,
Where the palace towers were gleaming in the first red light of day.

But when once again the maiden turned her glance within the room,
With the lady fair had vanished all the splendor and perfume.

Still the satin cushion lay there, quaintly fashioned, strangely set
With the silver pins that spanned it like a branching coronet;

Still the light web she had woven lay in drifts upon the floor,
Like the mist wreaths resting softly on some lone, enchanted shore!

III.

Slowly Rena raised the cushion, with her sweet eyes shining clear,
Lightly tossed the fairy bobbins, half in gladness, half in fear.

Ah! not vain had been her watching as the lovely lady wrought;
All the magic of her fingers her own cunning hand had caught!

Many a day above the cushion Rena's peerless head was bent,
And through many a solemn night she labored on with sweet intent.

For, mayhap, the mystic marvels that she wove might bring her gold-
A fair dowry fit to match the pride of Hildebrand the Bold!

Then she braided up her long hair, and put on her russet gown,
And with wicker basket laden passed she swiftly through the town,

To the palace where Queen Ildegar, with dames of high degree,
In a lofty oriel window sat, the beauteous morn to see.

In the door-way she stood meekly, till the queen said, "Maiden fair,
What have you in yonder basket that you carry with such care?"

Eagerly she raised her blue eyes, hovering smiles and tears between,
Then across the room she glided, and knelt down before the queen.

Lifting up the wicker cover, "Saints in heaven!" cried Ildegar,
"Here are tissues fit for angels, wrought with wreath and point and star,

"In most curious devices! Never saw I aught so rare—
Where found you these frail webs woven of the lightest summer air?"

"Well they may be fit for angels," said she, underneath her breath;
"O my lady, hear a story that is strange and true as death."

But ere yet the tale was ended, up rose good Queen Ildegar,
And she sent her knights and pages to the castle riding far.

"Bring me Hildebrand and Volmar, ere the sun goes down!" she cried,
"Ho! my ladies, for a wedding, and your queen shall bless the bride!

"I will buy these airy wonders, and this maiden in her hand
Shall a dowry hold as royal as the noblest in the land."

So they combed her shining tresses, and they brought her robes of silk,
Broidered thick with gold and silver, on a ground as white as milk.

But she whispered, "Sweetest ladies, let me wear my russet gown,
That I wore this happy morning walking blithely through the town.

"I am but a peasant maiden, all unused to grand estate,
And for robes of silken splendor, dearest ladies, let me wait!"

Then the good queen, smiling brightly, from the wicker basket took
Lightest web of quaintest pattern, and its filmy folds outshook.

With her own white hand she laid it over Rena's golden hair,
And she cried, "Oh, look, my ladies! Ne'er before was bride so fair!"