Baptistry

One winter eve, at twilight, when the sound

Of sorrowful winds scarce troubled Nature’s rest,

As she lay sleeping, with her hair unbound,

Holding her grey robe to her shivering breast,

I enter’d through a low-arch’d oaken door,

Circled with curious sculpture; and I crept

With slow, hush’d footsteps, o’er the shadow’d floor,

Where organ notes in sudden silence slept;

Far down the aisle, where darkness seem’d to brood

With such wide-spreading wings, and where the sigh

Of murmur’d prayer scarce came,-until I stood

In the deep stillness of the Baptistry.

There, in the dim side-chapel, no bright glow

From jewelled windows on the wall was shed;

No sunbeams rested on the font below,

Or kiss’d those mighty arches overhead.

Soft lines and curves went upward, and were lost

In solemn shadow and in dreamy space;

Only the level floor was faintly crost

With glimmering brightness from the holy place.

And, as I listen’d, I heard music sweet

Trembling and swelling through the soundless air,

Threading dark aisles, as if an angel’s feet

Were bidden bring God’s message to me there.

Ah! and the echo of those anthem notes

Wanders and whispers in my heart for aye:

In all my life the mystic language floats,

Fitful and faint, as in my ears that day.

One whom we knew had enter’d into rest-

Calm on the pillow lay his hoary head;

And through that music spoke, in accents blest,

Our holy Mother’s voice, hallowing the dead,

Telling of perfect peace, of labours done,

Of long years’ sorrow turned to joy at last-

The quiet sleep, when battles all are won-

The hush of evening when the day is past.

I look’d upon the font, and mused of all

Its wondrous meaning, till my thoughts grew dim

And vast and shadowy as those columns tall;-

Morning of life for me-death’s night for him!

How fancy tried to span that awful space

Between the two-between the here and there!

To bridge the nave-up to that blessed Place

Where light and song stream’d on the chancel-stair!

Dim recollections drifted through my brain-

Echoing footfalls of past childish years,

When the baptismal robe had less of stain,

E’en though unwash’d by penitential tears.

I saw the gloomy shadows o’er my head,

And sigh’d to think how I had suffer’d loss;

I saw the soft light, and was comforted,-

I knew it shone straight from the chancel-cross.

A few more steps, and then I stood below

The towering minster coronet again;

Down on my face that pure and gentle glow

Fell, like a pitying kiss in time of pain.

Down to my feet it stream’d; a passage dim,

With hosts of phantom-shapes on either side,

It drifted through;-as songs of seraphim

Drift through our mourning hearts at Easter-tide.

Looking up then, I seem’d to see my life,-

A long, dim vista, where the rays descend-

Where light and darkness wage continual strife;

But only light-the full light-at the end.

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• Lines on the Fall of Fyers by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Lines on the Author’s Death by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Lines on Meeting with Lord Daer by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Lines on Fergusson, the Poet by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Lines Inscribed under Fergusson’s Portrait by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Lines Inscribed in a Lady’s Pocket Almanack by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Lament For Culloden by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• John Barleycorn: A Ballad by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• John Barleycorn by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• John Anderson by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Inscription to Miss Graham of Fintry by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Inscription to Jessie Lewars by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Inscription to Chloris by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• inscription on Mr. Syme’s crystal goblet by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Inscription for the Headstone of Fergusson the Poet by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Inscription at Friars’ Carse Hermitage by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Inscribed on a Work of Hannah More’s by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Impromptu on Mrs. Riddell’s Birthday by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Impromptu on Carron Iron Works by Robert Burns by Robert Burns
• Impromptu Lines to Captain Riddell by Robert Burns by Robert Burns

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