Poems (Proctor)/The Virgin of St. Mark's
THE VIRGIN OF ST. MARK'S.6(The Sacristan's Story.)
Hid in a secret recess Of our most holy shrine,St. Mark's, the pride of Venice, Is a picture all divine,—The Virgin and infant Jesus St. Luke, enraptured, wrought,And Dandolo, the mighty Doge, Home from Byzantium brought;Not the Madonna of the wall— That sad, enshrouded star—But the gem the Cæesars bore afield In their imperial car!Her eyes have the tint of olives; Her brow is fair as wheat;And her snowy veil and violet robe Fall chastely to her feet,As on the beaming, beauteous Babe She smiles celestial-sweet.
The Turks—a shameless, godless horde Doomed to eternal fire— Say from Sophia's altar-screen They dragged it in the mire!Say that beneath their horses' hoofs In scorn 't was trodden downWhen fierce Mohammed sacked the church And seized Byzantium's crown!They did not know that Dandolo, Two hundred years before,Safe to St. Mark's of Venice The priceless Image bore;And all the while Our Lady kept Beneath these domes her rest,—The peace of God within her heart, The Babe upon her breast,And only songs of praise to stir The violet of her vest.
But the spring that guards the treasure Nor priest nor Pope can find;And here, while the ages pass, it lies In the gorgeous pile enshrined,—The Virgin with eyes as olives dark, And brow as fair as wheat,And veil and robe like angels' wings Folded down to her feet;Pure as the whitest lily Blown in the heavenly garden,Where the saints in perfect bliss do walk, And the Lord himself is warden! Yet the chants and the blessed incense Steal to her secret door;She hears the prayers at the altar Her gracious help implore;And knows the lion of St. Mark Keeps watch forevermore!