THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 " front the deep bosom of the embowering wood 
 
 That castle rose" 
 [Frontispiece.] Page 14-
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 A LEGEND IN VERSE. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. CHARLES WILLING. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 1879.
 
 Copyright, 1878, by J. B. LiVPiNCOTT & Co.
 
 TS 
 -3313 
 
 To her dear memory, who my nursery hung 
 With pictures of the lovely lady pale, 
 The saintly Genoveva, and whose tongue 
 Interpreted to childish ears the tale 
 Of love o'er which no treachery could prevail, 
 I dedicate my verse. Slow wane the years 
 Since that blest presence passed within the veil ; 
 Yet still my heart the perfect music hears 
 Of the sweet voice whose tone the legend old endears. 
 
 626055
 
 THE story of Genevieve of Brabant has been told 
 in many ways, but historic incidents and localities have 
 still been preserved, and still through every version 
 runs the tale of woman's love and faith, fortitude and 
 patience, of deliverance from great peril and preser- 
 vation through years of hardship and exposure, of a 
 wife's angelic trust, affection, and forgiveness, and a 
 mother's pure, self-sacrificing devotion. Mrs. Jame- 
 son, in her " Sacred and Legendary Art," assures us 
 that it has afforded an inexhaustible subject for poetry, 
 painting, and the drama, and there are beautiful pic- 
 tures from the history of Genevieve by artists of the 
 modern German school. Germany has, however, han- 
 dled somewhat rudely the legend of " Genoveva," and 
 France depicts her " Genevieve" with a touch alter- 
 nately frivolous and profane. England has been just 
 to the beautiful and tender story, but has given it to us 
 in fragments only. In the following attempt to repro-
 
 duce it in our own language, the saintly wife and 
 mother bears the English name of Genevieve. " I 
 tell the tale as it was told to me," when many a time 
 at twilight the children's hour visions of the silver 
 doe, the lovely boy, the forest glade, passed vividly 
 before our eyes, and grew yet clearer by day, when 
 the pictured story, in its series of softly-tinted 
 sketches, looked down on us from our nursery-walls, 
 transforming them into the galleries of Siegfried's 
 castle, the aisles of the grand old wood, and the dim 
 or fire-lighted cave. 
 
 May the legend, doubly sacred to me, reveal to 
 other young hearts glimpses of that purity and sanc- 
 tity of wifehood and motherhood which dawned on 
 our childish comprehension as we listened to it, and 
 fill other young minds with lovely pictures of the 
 mother and child in their forest-life, sustained, like 
 His humbler creatures, by their Heavenly Father's 
 care ! It sees the light only in the hope of aiding 
 children and mothers to whom a harder lot than life 
 in the forest is assigned, that of maintaining in a 
 crowded city the struggle of existence. To shelter, 
 feed, and instruct the children of the Poor day by
 
 7 
 
 day, and thus enable mothers to earn their daily 
 bread by labor, while the little ones are protected and 
 cared for, is the aim of the DAY NURSERY, in whose 
 behalf this volume is printed, and to which any means 
 obtained by its sale will be devoted. It owes much to 
 the kind and liberal aid of the artists by whom it has 
 been illustrated. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, 1878.
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY J. W. LAUDERBACH. 
 
 SUBJECT ILLUSTRATED. 
 SIEGFRIED'S CASTLE (Frontispiece 
 THE BRABANT SHORE 
 
 " SLOW CREPT THE HOURS : 
 
 MORNING IN THE FOREST 
 BAPTISM OF HUBERT 
 EVENING IN THE FOREST 
 WARDER ON THE CASTLE 
 HUBERT IN THE WOOD . 
 THE SYRIAN CONVENT . 
 THE BARQUE IN THE LEVANT 
 THE RETURN TO THE CASTLE 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 itispiece}. F. B. Schell. 
 
 
 . 
 
 20 
 
 ;" . . E. B. Bensell 
 
 32 
 
 . 
 
 45 
 
 
 55 
 
 . F. B. Schell . 
 
 . 64 
 
 . 
 
 74 
 
 . E. B. Bensell 
 
 97 
 
 . 
 
 . 106 
 
 ANT . F. B. Schell . 
 
 114 
 
 >TLE . E. B, Bensell 
 
 125
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 i. 
 
 THE day was over, and the golden light 
 Of summer sunset faded o'er a scene 
 Of tranquil beauty. Hill and plain were bright 
 In their soft drapery of living green ; 
 Slow winding on, the wood-crowned heights be- 
 tween, 
 
 Flowed the broad stream, while lifting far away 
 Its hoary front, a castle caught the sheen, 
 And wall and battlement and turret gray 
 Glowed in the mellow light of the departing day. 
 2 13
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 From the deep bosom of the embowering wood 
 That castle rose, witli bastion, keep, and tower, 
 While blooming gardens round it many a rood 
 Wafted rich incense from herb, leaf, and flower. 
 There stood the fortress of the warrior's power, 
 Here the soft solitude, the guarded nest, 
 With dewy fountain and with rose-clad bower, 
 And with fair, sculptured terrace toward the west, 
 Where, wrapt in converse sweet, gay, gentle dames 
 might rest. 
 
 3- 
 
 Here shadowy aisles of verdure stretch away 
 To twilight grottos, mossy dells, within 
 Whose cool recesses summer's sultry ray 
 Was never felt, nor summer sunlight seen 
 Save when the light winds lift some leafy screen 
 And give, through lengthening vistas, to the sight 
 The far-off minster tower, the tranquil scene 
 Of wooded vale and waving upland height, 
 Or fair and fertile mead bathed in heaven's living 
 light.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 15 
 
 4- 
 
 And who the heir of all this wide domain ? 
 Who roams these bowers, this landscape fair sur- 
 veys ? 
 
 Look where upon yon casement's pictured pane 
 The dazzling radiance of the sunset plays, 
 Through the long gallery with its arches gaze 
 To where yon chamber's draperied walls receive 
 Its rich warm parting glow, for there its rays, 
 Its dying rays, a wreath of glory weave 
 About a fair young head, the head of Genevieve. 
 
 5- 
 
 Yes, she is fair, and pure is she as fair, 
 That mother bending o'er her infant's sleep ; 
 Round his low cradle flows her clustering hair, 
 And her soft eyes love's vigils o'er him keep. 
 Is it love's shining dews those soft eyes weep ? 
 Do breathing prayers that gentle bosom heave ? 
 No ! tears like rain the heavy eyelids steep, 
 And sobs burst forth ; nor sobs nor tears relieve 
 The bitter pang that rends the heart of Genevieve.
 
 16 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 6. 
 
 How gayly shone the laughing bridal morn 
 But two short summers since on that young brow ! 
 How glowed the rose of girlhood's blushing dawn 
 On that soft cheek all flushed and fevered now ! 
 Siegfried, Count Palatine, the sacred vow 
 With fervor breathes that binds him to her side, 
 And as before the holy man they bow, 
 Kneeling in love and youth and beauty's pride, 
 Who deems that aught but joy can such a pair be- 
 tide? 
 
 7- 
 
 For Siegfried drew from many a noble sire 
 A name renowned for deeds of daring high, 
 And the proud blood, whose unabated fire 
 Flushed in his cheek and sparkled in his eye. 
 Nor yet to Genevieve did Fate deny 
 A stainless lineage, lofty as his own, 
 But darkening shadows round her cradle lie, 
 And quench the light in Brabant's halls that shone ; 
 The mother dies, and leaves her hapless babe alone.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 17 
 
 8. 
 
 Yet sweetest sympathies had found their place 
 
 In her young life when infancy was flown ; 
 
 With mien of beauty and with form of grace 
 
 A gentle boy of Brabant's house had grown 
 
 Like a young brother by her side. Alone 
 
 In those vast cheerless halls, by them made fair, 
 
 The children dwelt; since the great Duke had 
 
 shown 
 
 A kinsman's love and bade the orphan share 
 The shelter of his home and its protecting care. 
 
 9- 
 
 Glad was the hour for Genevieve that saw 
 The little Bertram with the holy man, 
 The guide and guardian of his childhood, draw 
 Near to the castle portal. Swift she ran 
 With welcome warm ; with kind caress began, 
 Half-motherly, to cheer the lovely child ; 
 Then reverent knelt for blessing. Worn and wan 
 The holy father o'er her bent, and smiled 
 As she with tender cares their weariness beguiled.
 
 1 8 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 10. 
 
 Of all her childhood those the fairest days ; 
 Sweet days, slow lengthening into tranquil years 
 Of peace and blessing Tones of prayer and praise 
 Gladly that strange, secluded household hears, 
 While the fair children, with attentive ears 
 Gather sweet, solemn tales of sacred lore, 
 And knowledge such as may their tender years 
 And high estate befit ; and griefs and fears 
 In Father Anselm's day approach no more 
 The dark old keep beside the forest-girdled shore. 
 
 But the sweet days of Bertram's childhood end, 
 And with them all that cheered that ancient home. 
 The growing boy to sterner tasks must bend 
 Body and soul. To distant cities roam, 
 Must learn the warrior's, courtier's skill ; the foam 
 Of the salt sea must taste in wanderings lone. 
 No more with Father Anselm shall he come 
 To these gray halls. Henceforth to him unknown 
 The sheltered nest where he from child to boy had 
 grown.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 19 
 
 12. 
 
 Nor did it grieve him, for the tender child, 
 Changed to the sturdy, gladsome, fearless boy, 
 Asked for a wider sphere. The great world smileu 
 And beckoned, and he rushed with eager joy 
 To learn its tasks and seek its large employ. 
 Yet with pure heart and reverent soul he went ; 
 The world shall not degrade him, or decoy 
 To aught ignoble. The brief parting sent 
 Its pang through each young heart ; then forth he 
 rode content. 
 
 And Father Anselm goes. His task is done ; 
 Another tender, early tie is rent 
 With warm entreaty Brabant's Duke had won 
 His service, but his years must now be spent 
 In holy, hermit solitude. He went 
 With blessings on the home he left forlorn ; 
 But the lone child soon finds her sorrow blent 
 With promise of a gladness yet unborn, 
 News that her father comes, to bring a fairer morn.
 
 20 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 14. 
 
 Alas ! he came not ; from his widowed home 
 Great Brabant's Duke must lead his life afar; 
 Must bide in camp or court, or farther roam 
 In toils of State and sterner tasks of war ; 
 And, for his girl, till convent gates shall bar 
 Her life from perils, he with matron state 
 And menial service guards her. He the Star 
 Whose nearer shining all her hopes await. 
 It sets; the Duke is dead; her youth is deso- 
 late. 
 
 The guardians of that sorrow-darkened home 
 Gave wholesome care and their mute sympathy 
 And reverent love, and left her free to roam 
 'Mid Nature's sweet companionship ; her eye 
 Might watch the sunset fade along the sky, 
 Her footstep press the untrodden shore alone 
 At purple eve, her ear might catch the sigh 
 Of woods responsive to the wild wind's tone. 
 Such were the ministries her childhood's grief had 
 known.
 
 " Her eye 
 
 Might watch the sunset fade along the sky, 
 Her footstep press the tin trodden shore alone 1 
 
 Page 20.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 2 I 
 
 16. 
 
 Stately, serene, and gentle as a fawn 
 Free gliding through the forest-coverts green 
 She grew to girlhood. Beautiful as dawn, 
 Pure as the dew. On her angelic mien 
 Met dignity and tenderness, and in 
 Each act and motion lived a heavenly grace, 
 While, as sweet violets springing all unseen 
 Declare their life in fragrance, on her face 
 Had many an inward charm impressed its tender 
 trace. 
 
 Scarce had revolving summers ripened all 
 Her maiden loveliness when, from the field 
 The young Count Palatine, his lordly hall 
 Revisiting, for short repose appealed 
 In Brabant's ancient keep. Her beauty filled 
 The barren walls with gladness to his sight, 
 And the young soldier, nursed in arms and steeled 
 To tenderer joys, confessed a new delight 
 As he his love, his faith, his life to her did plight.
 
 22 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 1 8. 
 
 As a fair folded lily of the wave 
 
 Grows by some lake's lone shore, her childhood 
 
 grew ; 
 
 Idly the languid currents lift and lave 
 The nursling flower; the cool dark shade it knew 
 Of leaf and cloud, and night shed down her dew; 
 Such was its life. Sudden the shadow cold 
 Is by the sun's glad splendor smitten through; 
 With starlike gleam the petals pure unfold, 
 And lo! the lily's heart shines warm with living gold. 
 
 Deep in her nature thus had lain the store 
 
 Of rich and warm affections all concealed, 
 
 Till Love's soft touch disclosed the golden ore 
 
 And the full treasures of her soul revealed. 
 
 Beneath that alchemy how sweetly thrilled 
 
 The awakening heart; Love filled the earth, the 
 
 sky, 
 
 With a diviner beauty ; Love unsealed 
 Hope's sparkling fountains, bade the future lie 
 Fair as a dream of Heaven before her kindling eye.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 23 
 
 20. 
 
 And to this Paradise did Siegfried bear 
 The lovely prize that he had made his own, 
 And bade the fortress of his fathers wear 
 A gladness its gray walls had never known ; 
 For her these fragrant gardens spread their zone 
 Of bloom and verdure round the dark old towers, 
 For her these fountains sang with silver tone, 
 Beneath her spell in these long silent bowers 
 Minstrel and bard beguiled the happy summer 
 hours. 
 
 21. 
 
 Brimmed is life's cup with bliss for Genevieve, 
 Fair mistress of domain so passing fair ; 
 The day is winged with gladness, falling eve 
 Summons to home's pure joys and pastimes rare. 
 The dainty silk and wool her hands prepare, 
 She shares sweet converse with her maidens gay, 
 Or, courteous, makes some stranger guest her care, 
 Or listens to the bard's low-chanted lay, 
 Or bids o'er tuneful strings the minstrel's fingers 
 play.
 
 2 4 
 
 GENE VIE VE CF BRABANT. 
 
 22. 
 
 But more than these delights, oh ! more than all, 
 Is the deep blessing of a husband's love. 
 Light on her happy heart the footsteps fall 
 Of those soft hours that lead her forth to rove 
 With him the pathways of the twilight grove : 
 Green o'er their heads its dewy arches close, 
 And brightly gleams the summer moon above, 
 While from her lips love's murmured music flows, 
 And warm on Siegfried's tongue the tale of passion 
 glows. 
 
 23- 
 
 Yes, passion filled his being; she the adored, 
 The worshipped idol of his fiery soul ; 
 No more his wild ambition madly soared, 
 But in her love its object found and goal ; 
 No longer on his slumbering fancy stole 
 The busy camp, the battle's stern array ; 
 But fierce alike, alike without control 
 Each impulse that his wayward heart did sway, 
 Nor trust, nor calm repose within that bosom lay.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 35 
 
 2 4 . 
 
 Still, as a lovely flower that seeks the beam 
 
 Of the fierce sun, does Genevieve upraise 
 
 To him her looks of love; still does he seem 
 
 All bright and glorious to her lifted gaze. 
 
 And still her pure and fearless heart she lays 
 
 Open to meet that ardent soul's caress, 
 
 Nor knows the exulting beam that round her 
 
 plays 
 
 May wither when she deemed it could but bless, 
 Nor fears to trust her fond, adoring tenderness. 
 
 25- 
 
 Swift sped the hours ; if fraught not all with bliss, 
 Yet with such ills as love may cause or cure; 
 For hearts of jealous temper scan amiss 
 The unconscious deeds of natures frank and pure ; 
 But reconciliation swift and sure 
 Dispelled each shadow envious passion made ; 
 Love's sweet and gracious handmaid if she lure 
 His votary not too oft to seek her aid ; 
 The torch she still relumes in ashes soon is laid.
 
 2 6 GENEV1EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 26. 
 
 Swift sped the hours, nor freighted all with bliss, 
 Yet sorrow's cloud still from their zenith flies. 
 Scarce seems to Genevieve its shade to kiss 
 Her fair horizon ere she sees arise 
 A second morn of love. Unconscious lies 
 The bud of promise on the mother's breast, 
 Fair 'neath the sunshine of the mother's eyes 
 Unfolds its dawning life, securely prest 
 To the warm heart that throbs with joy too deeply 
 blest. 
 
 27. 
 
 And Siegfried bends above the lovely pair 
 With all a lover's joy, a father's pride, 
 Sees in the light the mother's features wear 
 A dearer charm than graced the blooming bride, 
 Renews each vow, and, kneeling at her side, 
 Renounces doubt, distrust, and jealous fear, 
 Swears that henceforth, whatever may betide, 
 He will with holiest confidence revere 
 The tender, trustful wife, so deeply, doubly dear.
 
 GENEV1EVE OF BRABANT. 2 / 
 
 28. 
 
 And fresh within her heart a fountain wells 
 By motherhood's sweet suffering new-create ; 
 With loftier aims and nobler wishes swells 
 The awakening soul. Life shall be consecrate ; 
 Life, rich in love, with joy and hope elate, 
 Shall be not glad alone, but bright with dew 
 Of holy deeds. Ah ! fires must renovate, 
 Must melt and mould the argent ore anew, 
 Ere glad and grateful hearts learn to be holy too. 
 
 29. 
 
 Across their radiant noon the shadow steals 
 That, swiftly gathering, darkens all their day. 
 The princely Charles Martel for aid appeals, 
 Calls knight and noble, near and far away, 
 To check the Moorish hordes who spread their 
 
 sway 
 
 O'er Christian lands. In vast and proud array 
 They rally to his standard. Siegfried learns 
 With quivering heart the summons. Can he stay ? 
 Ah, no ! the inglorious tenderness he spurns, 
 And from home's.paradise with knightly valor turns.
 
 2 8 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 30- 
 
 As bright-winged birds that hear the storm afar 
 And seek their woodland nests in haste and dread, 
 With the first murmured note of gathering war 
 The lovely band of maiden guests had fled. 
 But o'er their homes the thunder-cloud had spread; 
 Each lordly household shuddering heard the knell 
 Of joy as sire and son to danger sped : 
 Sweet maiden heads were bowed in anguish fell, 
 And lovely maiden lips to lovers said farewell. 
 
 And how the gentle dove within his nest 
 And her dear fledgling now may Siegfried guard ? 
 Faithful retainers shall each tower invest, 
 And the strong seneschal keep watch and ward ; 
 Hugo, the seneschal, cold, silent, hard, 
 But, as his lord believes him, staunch and true. 
 Ah ! baleful was the hour and evil-starred 
 The gray Elfrida, with her sons, did sue 
 For Siegfried's service ; a false, base, and treacherous 
 crew!
 
 GENEV1EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 29 
 
 32. 
 
 Within the castle long the glozing dame, 
 Needy and skilful, had her sway maintained, 
 And ruled supreme till its fair mistress came. 
 For her bold sons their master's trust she gained ; 
 At home, abroad, the younger, Rolf, remained 
 The Count's near servitor, and still her power 
 Elfrida o'er the menial band retained : 
 Her lord she loved not, nor the tender flower 
 Transplanted to his home in youth's sweet morning 
 
 hour. 
 
 33- 
 
 Now in the castle court the chargers neigh, 
 Ring the sharp spurs, the pennons wave in air, 
 The lances gleam. One moment's fond delay 
 As Siegfried's blessing, Genevieve's low prayer, 
 Mingle in broken murmurs. To the care 
 Of the strong seneschal and matron gray 
 He yields her with a pang wellnigh despair. 
 " Ah, Hugo ! guard thy lady well," he cries, 
 "And my sweet babe. No longer must I stay." 
 " God be our guard, my love !" she low replies, 
 "And thine," with faltering lips, then mute, uncon- 
 scious lies.
 
 3 o GENE 'VIE 'VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 34- 
 
 Clear through the noontide rang the trumpet's note 
 While Genevieve all pale and lifeless lay : 
 And now its strains in echoing distance float, 
 And now in breathing music melt away; 
 Nor pulse nor motion aught of life betray 
 In that sweet sculptured face and marble form, 
 Till, with soft touch, the lovely child in play, 
 Clings to her breast. Then surges the swift storm 
 Of tears : she clasps her babe with sudden rapture 
 warm. 
 
 35- 
 
 Yet rushes once again the whelming tide 
 Of anguish over heart and brain. Alone, 
 Save the dear, helpless infant at her side 
 And his young nurse, she breathes her bitter moan: 
 " Ah, Siegfried ! can I live when thou art gone, 
 Who art my all, more dear than life to me ! 
 Friend, father, lover, husband, all in one ? 
 Yet no ! not all ; my boy, I live for thee ! 
 Thy dear, dear father's face God grant us yet to 
 see 1"
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 31 
 
 36. 
 
 Unlearned in sympathy, the kindly nurse 
 
 Now her sweet charge with noisy prattle charms, 
 
 The cavalcade's long splendors would rehearse, 
 
 Mimic the trumpet's shrill and loud alarms; 
 
 The lovely lady yields him to her arms, 
 
 And seeks by prayer and solitude to win 
 
 Peace in her woe. Heaven shield her from all 
 
 harms ! 
 
 For she is young, alone, no friend within 
 Her home, and the dark hours of pain and dread begin. 
 
 . 37- 
 
 Slow crept the days ; yet one fond hope fulfilled 
 Brought solace to the heart whence joy had fled, 
 News from her lord the first sharp pang has stilled 
 And o'er the gloom a gleam of gladness shed. 
 On many a fervent word her love has fed, 
 Traced by his hand. Weary and travel-spent 
 Full many a courier to her portal sped ; 
 Still, with her fond response, returning, went, 
 And, skilled in letters, Rolf and Hugo sent 
 Still many a scroll and screed from castle and from tent.
 
 32 GENE VI EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 38. 
 
 Slow crept the hours ; for now the weary day 
 No tidings brings. The Palatine must gain 
 The heart of France, must urge his arduous way 
 Westward to Tours, then o'er the southern plain 
 Down toward the mountain wall of sunny Spain. 
 No courier comes, but rumors far and near 
 Of shock of battle and of frequent fray ; 
 No news from him to Genevieve most dear. 
 With love and trust and prayer she strives to con- 
 quer fear. 
 
 39- 
 
 The long, bright day declines. Across the plain 
 The warder on the castle's utmost height 
 Descries, slow winding on, a weary train, 
 Seen clear against the sunset's waning light ; 
 And, in their midst, a sorely-wounded knight 
 Couched on a litter, tenderly upborne 
 By men-at-arms, with face all deathly white 
 'Neath the fair beard and waving locks unshorn. 
 The warder gazed aghast, and blew his signal- 
 horn.
 
 Page 32.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 33 
 
 40. 
 
 They gain the encircling wood, the castle walls, 
 Their pallid burden toward the portal bear ; 
 Now, at their near approach, the drawbridge falls, 
 And in the hall they lay with tender care 
 The helpless form, a youth, with golden hair 
 Enframing the wan brows. The court-yard rings 
 With clamor; and in terror down the stair, 
 Trembling and faltering, Genevieve half clings, 
 Half falls ; a stricken dove hasting with wounded 
 
 wings. 
 
 41. 
 
 Beside the knight she drops on bended knee. 
 
 " Bertram ! my Bertram ! Is it thou ?" she cries. 
 
 " Oh, not the face, the form I feared to see, 
 
 But thine !" The fainting boy uplifts his eyes, 
 
 " My Genevieve !" in murmur low replies, 
 
 "Summon the leech!" she calls. "Bring food, 
 
 bring wine ! 
 
 Haste, Hugo! haste, Elfrida ! ere he dies! 
 The eastern tower prepare ; the task be thine 
 To nurse and tend him, and, thank God ! 'tis also 
 mine." 
 
 3
 
 34 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 4 2. 
 
 A moment o'er the chiselled features fair 
 She bends, while tender tears begin to flow. 
 From the scarred brow she lifts the clustering 
 
 hair; 
 
 Relief from mortal dread and pity glow 
 On her sweet face. " Elfrida, Hugo, know 
 Bertram of Brabant is the knight you see. 
 Now let his followers gently lift, and slow 
 And softly bear him. Tended let him be 
 As would thy lord, for near and dear he is to me." 
 
 43- 
 
 Siegfried is safe, and Bertram she may save ; 
 A double joy gave warmth to every word. 
 But Hugo, cold and silent as the grave, 
 With dark suspicion the glad accent heard ; 
 Sneered in his heart, " Aye, tended like my lord.'" 
 The while his lips their servile answer spake. 
 The leech is come. Reviving cordials poured 
 Through the pale lips, the stalwart bearers take 
 Their way. Slow follows old Elfrida in their wake.
 
 GENE 'VIE VE OF BRABANT. 35 
 
 44. 
 
 Wounded in France in the first deadly fray, 
 As Bertram fell he cried, " My body bear 
 To Brabant!" and then speechless, lifeless lay. 
 Slow journeying on, his sad retainers fare 
 With their young, dying lord ; through sunset air 
 See Siegfried's towers in golden distance rise. 
 In that strange hall, where torches round him glare, 
 A sister's face, a sister's tender cries, 
 Greet him, as life's last light seems fading from his eyes. 
 
 45- 
 
 Through weary weeks the flickering flame she guards 
 With pure, firm skill, and tireless sympathy ; 
 Now dawning health her watchful care rewards, 
 Tints the wan cheek and lights the languid eye. 
 Weeks grow to months, his life one constant sigh 
 For his far home, and for the fair young bride 
 So nearly made his own by holiest tie, 
 When 'twixt them swept war's fierce, o'ermastering 
 
 tide 
 And severed the young knight far from his darling's 
 
 side.
 
 36 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 46. 
 
 This tale of love and sorrow, day by day, 
 Told by pale lips in many a broken word, 
 While still her patient prisoner Bertram lay, 
 All Genevieve's sweet soul with pity stirred. 
 Strong, glad, and free once more, the uncaged bird 
 Plumes him for flight. She speeds him on his 
 
 course ; 
 
 Bids him secure the bliss too long deferred. 
 Their kind farewells are said ; with youthful force 
 Restored, at last he springs upon his eager horse. 
 
 47- 
 
 On the fair sculptured terrace toward the west, 
 That crowns the steep and laurel-shaded height, 
 Her lovely boy in her fond arms caressed, 
 Serene she stands in morning's early light. 
 Gay float the pennons, gleam the lances bright, 
 She waves a last adieu to Bertram's train, 
 Gazes till plume and spear are lost to sight, 
 Then, turning, sees across the distant plain 
 A courier band o'erspent, riding with slackened rein.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 37 
 
 48. 
 
 High throbs her heart, alike with hope and fear. 
 Tidings ! yet, ah ! what tidings ? of her lord. 
 Bearers of joy or sorrow, they are here. 
 Trembling she seeks her bower; she breathes no 
 
 word, 
 
 But all her fervent soul in prayer outpoured 
 Asks for her Siegfried. Would that it were he, 
 From war and danger to her arms restored ! 
 Voices approach, and footsteps, there are three ! 
 Elfrida, Hugo" Thou 'Rolf! Is it thou I see ?" 
 
 49- 
 
 With failing heart and quivering lip she cries, 
 " Where is thy lord ? Art thou but sent before ? 
 When comes he ?" With cold insult Rolf replies, 
 " He sends me, but to thee he comes no more. 
 His woe, his curse art thou ! Thy sin deplore ! 
 Repent till speedy death shall set thee free ! 
 These lofty chambers of the western tower, 
 Until that day thy living tomb shall be ! 
 Hugo and I thy guard, Elfrida holds the key !"
 
 38 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 50. 
 
 Horror dilates her eye and pales her cheek, 
 But firm her tone : " My Siegfried is no more ! 
 Were he not dead thou hadst not dared to speak 
 Thus to his wife. False servant, bar the door ! 
 I fear no tomb ! The cold earth closes o'er 
 My lord, my love, and life henceforth to me 
 Is sad as death. Would I had died before 
 This bitter day ! Oh, take me back to Thee, 
 FATHER ! since that dear face I never more may 
 see." 
 
 Soul-struck, appalled, yet brave in her despair, 
 She speaks in thrilling accents clear and low. 
 Cruel and fierce Rolf answers her. " I bear 
 His written sentence ; and thou yet shalt know 
 By vengeance duly earned and sure, though slow, 
 That Siegfried, the Count Palatine, thy lord, 
 Lives, but to curse thee as his deadliest foe !" 
 Courage to anguish yields at that dread word, 
 Sight fails and sense, her heart pierced with a keen- 
 edged sword.
 
 GENE 'VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 39 
 
 52. 
 
 The dreadful hours go by ; the wide domain 
 Lies in the last sweet light of summer days, 
 While on the lofty casement's pictured pane 
 Still the clear radiance of the sunset plays. 
 Now through the noble gallery's arches gaze 
 To where yon chamber's ample walls receive 
 Its dazzling, dying glow, for there its rays 
 A martyr's crown, a saint's bright halo weave 
 About the fair young head of kneeling Gene- 
 vieve. 
 
 53- 
 
 The prisoned wife, the mother pure as fair, 
 Bends in her anguish o'er her infant's sleep, 
 Round his low cradle flows her clustering hair, 
 And her sad eyes love's vigils o'er him keep. 
 No tender shining dews those sad eyes weep, 
 No gentle sighs that tortured bosom heave: 
 Hot tears, like rain, the heavy eyelids steep, 
 And sobs burst forth, nor sobs nor tears relieve 
 The bitter pang that rends the heart of Gene-
 
 40 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 54- 
 
 Still she implores where none implore in vain 
 Light on her path and comfort in her woe. 
 Her bursting heart and her bewildered brain 
 No single faithless thought of Siegfried know : 
 " From that dear hand I fear no murderous blow. 
 It is thy life, my boy, not mine alone, 
 They aim at." Then swift, sudden memories show 
 The postern key, by Siegfried made her own, 
 Opening the western tower through caverned arch of 
 stone. 
 
 55- 
 
 The time, the place come back to her again 
 When half in sport he gave it to her care ; 
 Amid her guarded treasures it had lain 
 Forgotten. Swift she seeks and finds it there. 
 The panelled wall she knows, the narrow stair 
 Down to the vaulted way, the postern door : 
 Dim dawns the light through mists of dread despair: 
 The hooded gown that Father Anselm wore, 
 Treasured for his dear sake, her hands unfold once 
 more.
 
 PART II. 
 
 i. 
 
 THAT sad day's sun goes down; on draperied wall 
 And pictured window dies the golden light ; 
 And o'er her deathly sorrow, like a pall, 
 Gathers the welcome shade of falling night. 
 Scarce in the sky the guiding stars are bright, 
 When through the darkness steals a trembling form 
 With friar's gown and hood all close bedight. 
 Pressed to her bosom, stilling half the storm 
 Of anguish there, her babe lies tranquil, hushed, and 
 warm. 
 
 41
 
 42 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 2. 
 
 Through shadowy garden-paths, where every flower 
 Gave to the summer night its incense rare, 
 Past her own fountain, past her rose-clad bower, 
 Out through the dewy woodland arches fair, 
 She trod with trembling haste, but tender care. 
 Rapid, yet sure, her light, firm footstep fell, 
 Pausing at sighings of the summer air, 
 Then hurrying on through copse and bosky dell, 
 Her heart to each dear scene breathing its mute fare- 
 well. 
 
 3- 
 
 On through the long ravine, her little treasure 
 Pressed closer to her breast ; on o'er the plain ; 
 None but a mother's love, surpassing measure, 
 
 . Could strength and power from such dear burden 
 
 gain; 
 
 Swift fly the feet, the quivering nerves maintain 
 Their steadfast effort. Now the distant hill 
 She climbs, and still her eager footsteps strain, 
 Before the rising midnight moon shall fill 
 
 The world with light, to reach the forest dark and still.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 43 
 
 4- 
 
 On, on ! till like a wall across the wold 
 Rises the ancient forest, vast and grand, 
 And the great sanctuary's arms enfold 
 And shield her 'neath God's own protecting hand. 
 Her feet upon the mossy wood-path stand; 
 Onward she presses o'er the untrodden ways, 
 Till love no longer can her frame command; 
 Fainting, her darling on the turf she lays, 
 And sinks beside him 'mid the forest's darkening 
 maze. 
 
 5- 
 
 But now he lifts the bitter, wailing cry 
 Of hunger ; and the mother hath no food : 
 With fright and horror every vein is dry : 
 For him her love each terror has withstood, 
 The lonely perils of the darksome wood, 
 The homeless misery, the fearful strife 
 With dread exhaustion. " FATHER ! Thou art 
 
 good ! 
 
 Let not my baby perish!" Like a knife 
 Still his sharp wail pierces each source of ebbing life.
 
 44 GENEV1EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 6. 
 
 " Is it a dream ?" The silver moonlight stealing 
 Through columns high, lay on a forest glade, 
 Green bowery walls and grassy floor revealing, 
 Checkered with softly shifting light and shade ; 
 Sparkling and clear beneath the moonbeam played 
 A crystal spring, with murmur sweet and low, 
 And, wondrously, beside the babe was laid, 
 Nursing him as her fawn, a fair, white doe, 
 While through his rosy lips the pure, sweet milk- 
 streams flow. 
 
 7- 
 
 " Is it a dream ? or are we saved ?" she cries, 
 
 Sheltered and fed by Power and Love Divine ? 
 
 " Is this the blessed rest of Paradise ? 
 
 Are these the lights of Paradise that shine 
 
 In pure pale splendor round us ? Ah, benign 
 
 And bountiful and tender FATHER, deign 
 
 To hear my thanks and praise !" Peace comes 
 
 again, 
 And floods with sleep the o'erwearied heart and 
 
 brain.
 
 " Then gathers her dear babe close in her lwin>j arms."
 
 GENE VI EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 45 
 
 8. 
 
 She wakes; the morning through the forest gleam- 
 ing 
 
 Clothes in warm gold tall trunk and tender bough, 
 And rosy lights through leafy loopholes streaming 
 Touch the small baby hand and cheek and brow, 
 And tint the doe's pure form, that pillows now 
 The little head with golden ringlets fair; 
 O'er them green branch and vine and tendril bow, 
 And bend and wave in wafting summer air. 
 The grateful mother's soul is filled with thankful 
 prayer. 
 
 9- 
 
 She plucks the spicy berries, and the fruit 
 Of the sweet amber plum ; the great oaks fling 
 Their acorns at her feet, and from the root 
 Of chestnuts tall she sees fast ripening 
 The stores which yet the autumn days shall bring 
 To guard her life from famine's dread alarms ; 
 She drinks cool draughts from the refreshing spring, 
 Asks God to shield her Siegfried from all harms, 
 Then gathers her dear babe close in her loving arms.
 
 46 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 10. 
 
 The milk-white doe rises and moves away, 
 Returns and moves again. Then Genevieve, 
 Dreading to lose from sight the only stay 
 Of her dear% infant's life, howe'er she grieve 
 The lovely glade and crystal spring to leave, 
 All sadly follows ; sees the gentle doe 
 Lift the thick screen that vine and tendril weave, 
 And, with lithe form and graceful head bowed 
 
 low, 
 A secret covert enter, gliding soft and slow. 
 
 II. 
 
 Bending, she passes 'neath the mantling vine, 
 Stands in an ample cave, with moss-spread floor, 
 Through the fair screen the flickering sunbeams 
 
 shine, 
 
 The grassy forest glade extends before 
 The hidden portal, and the bubbling rill 
 Sparkles beside it. Surely here of yore 
 Some hermit dwelt. The wholesome crusts yet fill 
 His dish ; his mossy couch is fresh and fragrant still.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 47 
 
 12. 
 
 The gentle doe has gained her wonted home ; 
 On the soft carpet now she couches, white 
 As some fair creature formed from ocean's foam, 
 Touched with pure gleams of wavering opal light 
 When through the wafted leaves the sunbeams 
 
 bright 
 
 Caress her form. She lifts her soft dark eyes, 
 And look and motion the dear babe invite ; 
 With glad response the mother swift replies, 
 And pillowed by the doe once more the infant lies. 
 
 13- 
 
 Thus passed the wondrous day, in murmured prayer 
 And blissful rest; by Genevieve the flight 
 Of the swift hours unheeded. All her care 
 She casts on Him who made her darkness light, 
 Who guided every faltering step aright 
 Of her dread journey, and will guide her still. 
 In faith and hope she meets the coming night, 
 Eats of the crust and drinks from the clear rill, 
 And sleeps, while holy trust and love her bosom fill.
 
 48 GENE 'VI 'EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 14. 
 
 Slow comes the pearly dawn, and every bird 
 Lifts its clear carol as the morning breaks, 
 And whispering tree-tops, by the light winds stirred. 
 Breathe their low music. Genevieve awakes. 
 In grateful, sweet security she slakes 
 The thirst of nerve and limb. On honeyed fruit, 
 Cherry and plum, her matin meal she makes. 
 For the dear doe she plucks each tender shoot 
 From chestnut-boughs, then gains the cave with 
 flying foot. 
 
 IS- 
 
 Now seated on the grass, her thick, fair tresses 
 To-day all freshly bound, the wandering breeze, 
 Wafting light locks, her sweet, pure face caresses ; 
 The graceful forest creature stands at ease, 
 Faithful and fond, beside her ; on her knees, 
 Gently uplifted, sits the lovely boy, 
 Drinking fresh health and life. The mother sees 
 With fervent gratitude his sweet employ, 
 And her sad soul breathes out in song its tender 
 joy.
 
 GENE 'VI 'EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 Ah, my baby ! sweetest treasure ! 
 Kindest thou a perfect pleasure 
 
 In thy pure, delicious food? 
 Dimpled hand and rosy finger 
 On thy doe, caressing, linger, 
 
 Thanking her, for she is good. 
 I will thank HIM, too, who gave us 
 This dear sylvan friend, to save us 
 
 In the wild and lonely wood. 
 
 With no gems can mother deck thee, 
 But the jewelled sunbeams fleck thee, 
 
 Little darling baby mine ! 
 Playing o'er our small green meadow, 
 Ruby light and emerald shadow 
 
 On my baby glance and shine ; 
 In thy coronet could cluster 
 None of fairer gleam and lustre, 
 
 Though thou art of princely line. 
 
 Listen, darling ! Once another 
 Sorrowing, terror-stricken mother 
 
 Fled by night to save her child. 
 Thou shalt hear that wondrous story, 
 For HE was the Lord of Glory, 
 
 She, the Blessed Mother mild. 
 HE will guide my baby's father, 
 And my little flower will gather 
 
 Yet from out the forest wild. 
 
 49
 
 5 o GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 16. 
 
 In brooding tones like note of woodland dove 
 At first the song in murmured music rose, 
 While the full heart the measured accents wove; 
 Then clearer from her parted lips it flows, 
 Till now with faith supreme her bosom glows, 
 And, with sweet, musing eyes bent on the ground, 
 She, like the nightingale, forgets her woes 
 In melody, and all the glade around 
 Thrills with the fulness of pure, glad, harmonious 
 sound. 
 
 Pausing, the lady slowly lifts her eyes. 
 What vision, glimmering through the distant trees, 
 Arrests her throbbing heart with dread surprise, 
 And seems the very founts of life to freeze ? 
 Slow moving on a dark-robed form she sees, 
 Nearer and nearer still the footsteps press ; 
 The doe has caught the sound upon the breeze ; 
 But silver beard and hands upraised to bless 
 Calm her. The doe bounds toward its friend with 
 fond caress.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 5I 
 
 1 8. 
 
 And now the sacred garb quells all her fears ; 
 The reverend form her looks with rapture greet ; 
 She bends, her soul dissolved in gracious tears, 
 And kneels in mute thanksgiving at his feet. 
 She lifts her eyes; his kind, dark eyes they meet. 
 What dream of other days each sense enthralls ? 
 " Peace to thee, daughter !" Low the voice and sweet : 
 " Oh, father ! / am Genevieve" she calls, 
 While Father Anselm's arm upholds her ere she 
 falls. 
 
 19. 
 
 " My child ! my Genevieve ! lone wandering dove ! 
 With this sweet nursling in the woods astray? 
 On some gay journey hither dost thou rove, 
 And hast thou missed thy escort by the way ? 
 Where is thy steed, thy squire? for far away 
 I know thy own Count Palatine must be." 
 " Ah, father, father ! for my Siegfried pray ! 
 And pray for this, his boy, and pray for me ! 
 Exiles from love, from home, from life itself are
 
 52 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 2O. 
 
 With many a bitter tear and rising sob 
 She tells the strange, brief tale of woe and wron<: 
 Still 'mid her anguish quickening pulses throb 
 With sense of sure deliverance sweet and strong, 
 And tender childish memories thickly throng 
 About her heart and lighten present pain ; 
 The forest-girdled shore, forgotten long, 
 The gray old towers come back to her again. 
 Ah ! surely peace and joy are not forever slain. 
 
 21. 
 
 Then swift she cries, " But thou ! how cam'st thou 
 
 here, 
 
 My father? What strange miracle is this 
 That brings thy presence, chasing half my fear, 
 And changing lonely terror into bliss ?" 
 " Dear suffering child ! from danger's dread abyss 
 GOD led thee to my very dwelling-place. 
 Sore did my doe her little dead fawn miss, 
 Two days I've sought a nursling in its place; 
 But lo ! its death hath saved this babe of noble race.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 53 
 
 22. 
 
 "The cavern's southern slope hath been my home 
 Through the long years. There rises this clear 
 
 spring, 
 
 And there shalt thou with me, dear daughter, come 
 And see my little garden blossoming, 
 And this dear infant thither oft shall bring ; 
 But at this eastern entrance, with the doe, 
 Thy nest shall be. All bright birds on the wing, 
 And hare, and fawn, and kid, thy boy shall know, 
 And pure, and strong, and wise in forest lore shall 
 
 grow. 
 
 23- 
 
 " And thou, dear lady Genevieve, shalt be 
 My daughter till that hour thy lord shall know 
 Thy refuge and thy face again shall see. 
 The grain that in the spring these hands did sow 
 Together we will harvest. Thou shalt grow 
 Familiar with thy forest home, shalt learn 
 The grace of herb and plant ; and then I go 
 To seek thy Siegfried, nor will I return 
 Except with him for whom thy heart and being 
 yearn."
 
 54 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 24. 
 
 No words her thanks can utter, but her eyes 
 Lifted in silent reverence to his face, 
 And quenchless sobs that from her bosom rise. 
 And the slow-streaming tears that gently chase 
 Each other, and the sweet and tender grace 
 Of outstretched hands, her gratitude express. 
 Her baby lies within the fond embrace 
 Of his kind arms : " Thee may GOD richly bless." 
 She murmurs : " Scarce my heart can bear this hap- 
 piness." 
 
 25- 
 
 " What name baptismal bears this darling boy ?" 
 " Ah, father ! many a sacred duty lay 
 Forgotten, for our life was only joy 
 And pastime. A fair group of maidens gay 
 Gathered to grace my baby's christening day ; 
 But ere to Treves the messenger was sent, 
 The holy man to summon, came dismay, 
 For all the land with call to arms was rent, 
 And haste and terror reigned until my Siegfried 
 went.
 
 ' ' Kneel T Father Anselm says; 
 The bright baptismal water thrice he pours, 
 Breathes the Most Holy A T a)iic, devoutly prays." 1 
 
 Page 55.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 55 
 
 26. 
 
 " Hubert he is" " Kneel !" Father Anselm says ; 
 The bright baptismal water thrice he pours, 
 Breathes the Most Holy Name, devoutly prays, 
 And the dear infant to her arms restores. 
 The mother's heart in glad thanksgiving soars. 
 Her lips with rapture mute, her babe caress; 
 Anguish and loss no longer she deplores, 
 She feels the Hand, omnipotent to bless, 
 Guiding her back to light through depths of dark 
 distress. 
 
 27. 
 
 " Come with me, daughter !" In his arms he folds 
 The little Hubert, lifts the leafy door, 
 The mossy carpet treads, then strongly holds 
 The mother's hand, for now the rocky floor 
 Sharply ascends, and sunbeams play no more 
 Beneath their feet : a chamber vast and high 
 Extends around, and far above them pour 
 Through one small rent, rays from the upper sky ; 
 Beneath, charred root and bough and gathered ashes 
 lie.
 
 5 6 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 28. 
 
 " Here," Father Anselm said, " in winter nights 
 I make, with ample fires, a second day, 
 Yet neither curling smoke nor wandering lights 
 On trunk or bough my shelter can betray, 
 Though the red glow on wall and roof-tree play. 
 My corn and oaten food I then prepare, 
 Set forth my little lonely board's array, 
 The carven dish of wood, the frugal fare, 
 This service, thou, dear child, henceforth wilt make 
 
 thy care." 
 
 29. 
 
 Now to the left they turn and downward wend, 
 And see far off the distant daylight shine 
 Through the low arch toward which their feet de- 
 scend 
 
 Along the gradual rocky floor's incline. 
 Beside the entrance feathery boughs of pine 
 And spruce, for Father Anselm's couch, are laid, 
 Curtained by climbing rose and drooping vine 
 And by the sheltering pine-tree's fragrant shade. 
 " Is not our rock-built home both strong and fair ?" 
 he said.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRAS ANT. 57 
 
 30. 
 
 He leads her forth. A labyrinth of pines, 
 Mingled with fir and chestnut, clothe the hill 
 On this its southern slope. Above, the vines 
 Climb high, their globes of amethyst to fill 
 In upper sunshine, while below, the rill 
 A rocky basin for itself has made, 
 And, from this clear source, wandering at will, 
 Circles the hill and gains the grassy glade, 
 And there is lost to sight beneath the forest shade. 
 
 3 1 - 
 
 Beside the close-knit pines the oaten field 
 Begins its lovely waving gold to show, 
 The wheat its graceful, braided spears to yield, 
 And the young, tender vines, pruned close and 
 
 low, 
 
 Ripen their vintage, and in serried row 
 The humble bean-flowers shed their light perfume. 
 All wholesome herbs, all healing plants that grow, 
 Upon the hill-side's gentle slope find room, 
 And sun and virgin soil perfect their generous 
 
 bloom.
 
 5 8 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 32. 
 
 Above the cavern's arch a way extends 
 Through the pine thicket to the hill's steep brow, 
 Where Father Anselm oft his footstep bends. 
 He made the path when first his hermit vow 
 Had led him here. He treads it still, though now 
 Fast, vigil, lonely toil for many a year 
 Unnerve his limbs, his manly stature bow. 
 Weary to-day, he says, " My daughter dear, 
 Ascend ! With Hubert and our doe I linger 
 here." 
 
 33- 
 
 The rocky brow of the long southern slope 
 She climbs. A glorious vision meets her eye : 
 The far horizon and the ample cope, 
 For days unseen, of blue and boundless sky, 
 The wide, wide forest, the grand hills that lie 
 Beyond, and guard it with their rampart green, 
 While through their gorges, farther still and high, 
 The purple ranges of the Vosges are seen, 
 And gleams the bright Moselle, winding in sunny 
 sheen.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRAS A NT. 
 
 59 
 
 34- 
 
 Silent, o'er the vast solitude she gazed. 
 The beautiful, majestic hills alone 
 At first possessed her soul. As one amazed, 
 Who, dreaming sweetly, wakes to pain, her own 
 Suffering and loss now make their sharpness known, 
 To rescue her boy's life at every cost 
 Had been her care. Courage and hope had grown 
 By self-forgetfulness. Now wildly tossed 
 With dread, she fears lest more than life itself is 
 lost. 
 
 35- 
 
 " How can I e'er forget ! When June was young 
 My garden-walks with dewy grass were sweet, 
 And in my bower the summer roses flung 
 Their wealth of glowing petals at my feet. 
 My lonely heart in anxious sadness beat, 
 But Home's strong sanctuary still was mine, 
 And duly Hope each wakening morn would greet 
 With promise that a cloudless sun should shine 
 On happier hours. The tempest rose and swept me 
 from the shrine.
 
 60 CENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 36. 
 
 " Oh, that the perfect peace," she sighs at length, 
 " Of this fair forest world might fill my heart ! 
 Ye steadfast mountains, pour your tranquil strength 
 Into my soul, that I .no more may start 
 When through me lightning shafts of anguish dart, 
 When thunders roll may stand unmoved, like you ! 
 Might I but know where thou, my Siegfried, art ! 
 Might know thee still unharmed, still fond and true! 
 I could be strong and calm if only this I knew." 
 
 37- 
 Down through the solemn pines she wends her 
 
 way 
 
 Till the close, fragrant ranks of vine-clad trees 
 Open once more a vista to the day. 
 Gazing below a lovelier sight she sees, 
 Her boy at play on Father Anselm's knees 
 Strokes his white beard and reverend face : beside 
 Her master lies the silver doe at ease, 
 To each dear friend by double fondness tied, 
 With love full near to human tenderness allied.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 6 1 
 
 She hastes to join them. " Father, is it far 
 I've brought my boy from our once happy home ?" 
 " Know'st thou where bright Moselle and silver Sarre 
 Unite near Siegfried's towers ? Thence didst thou 
 
 come 
 
 Six toilsome leagues : the road thy feet did roam 
 Leads northward through thy lord's domain, and when 
 I climb yon steep, the dim, faint spires and dome 
 Of Treves, the holy city, meet my ken : 
 This vast and ancient wood the forest of Ardennes." 
 
 39- 
 
 " 'Tis joy to think that still I tread the soil 
 Ruled by my Siegfried. But do men no more 
 Visit this forest ? Is thy lonely toil 
 The only means by which thou fill'st thy store? 
 If only here some way-worn wanderer bore 
 Tidings of those afar, who fight, or die ! 
 The saddest news perchance might seem less sore 
 Than dread suspense. Ah ! father, tell me why, 
 And what this horror? this swift, sudden darkness 
 o'er our sky ?
 
 62 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 40. 
 
 " I should have seen the threatening cloud draw near. 
 My baby's nurse, kind, innocent, and gay, 
 Was banished ; then my Brabant handmaid dear 
 Was summoned to her home ; so did they say. 
 I watched their lowering looks from day to day, 
 Yet feared not. Harsh discourtesy seemed brief 
 And low annoyance. Siegfried's long delay 
 And silence were my keen and bitter grief. 
 Now tidings come no more. God grant my aching 
 heart relief!" 
 
 41. 
 
 " Thou shalt have tidings. Ere the summer moon 
 Renews her orb, each month to Treves I go. 
 Long is the way and I must tread it soon ; 
 But ere I leave thee, daughter, thou must grow 
 In household skill, whence the poor comforts flow 
 Even of this cavern home. At Treves my store 
 I still replenish, and the fathers know, 
 At the old convent, all the great world's lore : 
 My dear and faithful friends are they from days of 
 yore.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 63 
 
 42. 
 
 " My holy poor I visit, and receive 
 The Blessed Sacrament, and thrice I pray 
 In the great Church, and then the convent leave, 
 Gather my slender stores and take my way ; 
 But first all news of battle or of fray, 
 Or valiant deeds from the good monks I learn ; 
 Then through the busy market-place I stray, 
 And hear the crowd's light tattle. Then I turn 
 Homeward, before the moon refills with light her 
 
 43- 
 
 " That time I choose lest wayfarers should meet 
 Or join me on my journey. Heretofore 
 I shunned them, for my solitude was sweet, 
 But for thy sake, my daughter, all the more 
 Its least invasion now should I deplore ; 
 Yet in my absence thou hast naught to fear; 
 Our forester is old, he walks no more 
 The wood, but still his eye is keen and clear 
 And watchful, and his hut our forest entrance near.
 
 64 GENE VI EVE OF BRABANT, 
 
 44. 
 
 " And well he guards it. My delicious home, 
 My peaceful hermitage for many a year 
 Have been this cave and hill. No wanderers come 
 Treading our tangled path, or thou mightst fear. 
 Deep is the solitude, the timid deer 
 From copse and glade troop fearless to our spring, 
 Rippling its fresh depths in the moonlight clear, 
 And myriad birds with morning light take wing 
 From out these bowery vines. The woods with music 
 ring. 
 
 45- 
 
 " Yet, thou ! when I bethink me, thou didst pass 
 Up our steep winding way, my Genevieve. 
 E'en in the night, though light upon the grass 
 Thy footstep fell, yet could I scarce believe 
 That aught our watchful guardian could deceive. 
 To leave thee with this doubt would be despair." 
 " Father, with me in Brabant thou didst leave 
 Thy hooded gown ; I kept it with fond care. 
 It clothed us that sad night, and hid my flowing 
 hair.
 
 "The timid deer 
 
 from copse and glade troop fearless to our spring, 
 Kippling its fresh depths in the moonlight clear. 1 ' 
 
 Page 64.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 65 
 
 46. 
 
 " Around us both it fell, a blessed screen 
 From evil eyes, and saved us on our way ; 
 And I am tall ; there was no moon ; and e'en 
 If our dread journey had been made by day, 
 Scarce aught could to that guardian's eye betray, 
 Beneath the long, dark gown and ample hood, 
 A wretched mother. ' Surely,' he would say, 
 ' The father hath' been forth on errand good, 
 And, ere the moon arise, hastes homeward to the 
 wood.' " 
 
 47- 
 
 " Thanks, thanks, my daughter ! all is clear again ; 
 And I will go to Treves, and bring to thee 
 Whatever tidings 'mid the haunts of men 
 I gain of him thou fondly long'st to see. 
 GOD send all good and gracious news by me \ 
 Then light and glad my feet will hither roam. 
 But keep thy soul from all repining free; 
 Lift up thy heart ! believe he yet will come, 
 And take thee to his arms, his fervent heart, his home.
 
 66 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 48. 
 
 " This dainty gown and kirtle that enclose 
 Thy form in clear, pale olive tints, thy face 
 Befit, as does the calyx of the rose 
 Befit her, and in pure harmonious grace 
 Blend with the forest hues. Ere long no trace 
 Of beauty sun and dew to them will leave ; 
 But stores of flax and wool shall soon replace 
 Them both ; for thou must sew and spin and weave,- 
 And toil , the blessed friend of all who grieve, 
 Will touch, with healing hand, thy heart, my Gene- 
 
 vieve. 
 
 49- 
 
 "And now our noonday meal we must partake, 
 Then I, with midnight wandering weary, rest." 
 Wild honey stored in gourds and oaten cake 
 He brought. The simple, wholesome food he blest 
 With upraised hand, and hunger gave it zest. 
 " Now will I lead thee on thy homeward way, 
 But come again when the sun seeks the west: 
 At twilight I the holy office say, 
 And from thy childhood thou wast wont with me to 
 
 pray."
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 67 
 
 50. 
 
 They tread the gradual, long, ascending way, 
 And, turning, gain the chamber vast and high 
 Lighted by that one gleam of upper day ; 
 A shaft of radiance now from noontide sky: 
 The sharp descent they reach ; below them lie 
 The moss-spread couch and carpet as before. 
 His ancient gown delights the father's eye, 
 And, in its hood, the little dainty store 
 Of garments for her babe that the dear mother 
 bore. 
 
 Then the clear sound of lightly ringing feet 
 Along the rocky floor above them rose, 
 As the doe's footstep, delicate and fleet, 
 Pursues them, and her gleaming outline shows 
 Treading the sharp descent. In sweet repose, 
 Upon his mossy couch, the father lays 
 The little sleeping Hubert down, and goes; 
 But first, with kind farewell, again he says, 
 " At sunset, daughter, come to join my prayer and 
 praise."
 
 68 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 52. 
 
 As day declines she seeks the southern slope. 
 " Peace to thee, daughter !" the dear father saith. 
 And peace descends upon her heart, and hope 
 Revives, as, kneeling in the act of faith, 
 Visions of love triumphant over death 
 Hover around her. Naught shall e'er destroy 
 Her perfect trust ; and with her latest breath 
 Blessings on Siegfried shall her tongue employ. 
 Then peace and trust and hope are merged in holy 
 joy 
 
 53- 
 
 Their vespers o'er, the father from the spring 
 Draws the pure water, and light pine-twigs breaks, 
 That Genevieve within the cave may bring; 
 From these at first the flickering flame he wakes, 
 Of branch and bough the ampler fire he makes : 
 The blaze soars upward. From the rocky bin, 
 His granary, the light, flat stone he takes 
 That guards the precious oaten store within, 
 Then bakes the wholesome bread, firm, delicate, and 
 thin.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 69 
 
 54- 
 
 The little Hubert, in the ancient gown 
 Securely wrapt, enchanted with the blaze, 
 Laughs from the floor; beside him, couching down, 
 His faithful doe her guardian presence lays ; 
 While Father Anselm all the forest ways 
 Of thrift and life-sustaining skill unfolds ; 
 His store of salt, his honey gourds, his maize 
 In earthen jars, each little sack that holds 
 Its healing herb, and sweet grapes pressed in vine- 
 leaf moulds. 
 
 55- 
 
 And then his wondrous calendar of days, 
 Through the long years maintained, with pride he 
 
 shows : 
 
 Each holy festival its page displays, 
 Days of heroic deeds its record shows, 
 And days to his own memory dear, and those 
 Marked by some natural epoch as they passed. 
 " Now draws our long, bright summer to its close" 
 He sighs; "this happy month is waning fast, 
 Two days remain. To Treves I journey on the last."
 
 7 GENE 'VIE 'VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 56. 
 
 " And wilt thou keep this calendar of days 
 While I am gone from thee ? And brief and clear 
 Record whatever in the woodland ways 
 Awakes thy wonder or thy joy or fear?" 
 " Let me begin to-morrow, father dear ! 
 A year to-morrow ! oh, that day of joy ! 
 The day that gave my small Count Hubert here 
 To mine and to his father's arms ! the boy 
 For whom our hopes foretold gladness without 
 alloy. 
 
 57- 
 
 "Ah, well, my darling! lovely forest flowers 
 I'll weave, and crown thy little brow of snow, 
 And merry make thy birthday's passing hours ; 
 No loss of mirth or sweetness shalt thou know ; 
 With flowers I'll garland too the lovely doe 
 For thy small festival. At set of sun 
 To the hill's brow, dear father, will we go, 
 And show him where Moselle's bright waters 
 
 run 
 Beside his home, before our hour of orison."
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 71 
 
 5 8. 
 
 And thus the infant heir of high estate 
 And fair renown hid in the ancient wood 
 Holds his first festival. A happier fate 
 He would not ask. All radiant, sweet, and good 
 To him his forest life : soft eyes that brood 
 Unceasing o'er him in pure, silent love 
 And tender ministry, delicious food, 
 His mother's voice, like note of woodland dove, 
 Breathing low music, and green, waving boughs 
 above. 
 
 59- 
 
 With fragrant wreaths of vine and woodbine shed 
 O'er him and o'er his doe, the boy they bear 
 Up through the pine-clad way, his arms outspread 
 In loving rapture, all things are so fair! 
 This his domain ! but he shall be the heir 
 Of nobler heritage ; learn in the grand 
 Old wood to know the secret Power and Care 
 Evolving beauty ; feel the Secret Hand 
 Lead him ; and list the Secret Voice of Sweet Su- 
 preme Command.
 
 72 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 60. 
 
 " Before the dawn on yonder mountains glow 
 I shall be gone ; but thou hast naught to dread. 
 Yet stray not from this slope, the spring below, 
 The cave, and grassy glade. How grandly spread 
 The hills around us ! Ere farewell is said 
 Sing to me, daughter !" " Father, we were young 
 When thou, while our sweet days in Brabant sped, 
 Didst teach us the ' Laudate' in our tongue." 
 " Praise HIM on earth, all hills and mountains!" then 
 she sung. 
 
 Do ye not praise Him ? with your verdant crests 
 Uplifted to the brightness of His heaven, 
 
 Whereon the sunshine like His blessing rests, 
 The flush of morn and purple glow of even ? 
 
 Do ye not praise Him when the twilight pours 
 Its tender, dewy stillness on your heads ? 
 
 When the clear moon through midnight's silent hours 
 Her flood of silver glory o'er you sheds ? 
 
 Do ye not praise Him when ye wreathe and shroud 
 With mist and darkness all your awful forms ? 
 
 When round your brows ye twine the thunder-cloud, 
 And echo from your heights the voice of storms ?
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 73 
 
 But most of all to me ye speak His praise 
 
 In the soft veil of beauty o'er you cast 
 By the calm sunshine of these golden days ; 
 
 Fair summer's loveliest children and the last.' 
 
 A radiant mist that softens, not conceals, 
 
 Invests your summits with transparent gleam, 
 
 O'er verdant slope and graceful woodland steals 
 The dim mysterious beauty of a dream. 
 
 Are such the hills which in my FATHER'S land 
 
 My raptured eyes, unclosed from death, may greet ? 
 
 Are such the hills o'er which, a glittering band, 
 The white-winged angels press with shining feet ? 
 
 Yes ! but more lofty and more fair than ye, 
 
 With softer radiance, caught from sunnier skies. 
 
 Types are ye of the glory that shall be 
 Upon those gleaming hills of Paradise ! 
 
 Thus do ye praise Him ; Him whose plastic Hand 
 Strength, grace, and beauty to your forms hath given. 
 
 God's glorious altars, in His world ye stand, 
 And waft the incense of His praise to Heaven !
 
 PART III. 
 
 AGAIN the splendor of the sunset falls 
 
 On Siegfried's ancient castle, and again 
 
 From its high tower the warder's trumpet calls. 
 
 Again a courier band across the plain, 
 
 With drooping lance and plume, and slackened 
 
 rein, 
 
 Press, weary, on, the journey's end to gain. 
 Beside them moves, with stately step and slow, 
 A traveller, who brief shelter would obtain ; 
 His silver beard and hair in sunlight glow, 
 And o'er the long, dark habit of his order flow. 
 74
 
 ' Again (he splendor of the sunset falls 
 On Siegfried's ancient castle, and again 
 From its high tower the -warder's trumpet calls." 
 
 Page 74.
 
 GENEVJEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 2. 
 
 75 
 
 At Treves he saw the weary escort halt, 
 Water their steeds, and take their way again. 
 Already his small sack is rilled with salt, 
 The ample pouches of his gown contain 
 The promised flax and wool, but still in vain 
 The distaff has been sought. He bids farewell 
 To the kind fathers ; with the lingering train 
 Waits in the market-place, and hears them tell 
 News of the war, their lord, and all things that 
 befell. 
 
 3- 
 
 " Peace be with you, my sons !" the father said, 
 With courteous dignity, and took his way 
 Beside them on the lovely road that led 
 'Neath leafy arches, and ascending lay 
 Above the bright Moselle. Before the day 
 He will return and seek the distaff. Now 
 His aim is fixed : to learn what these may say 
 Of Siegfried ; where their lord may be, and how 
 This wrong was done. He sees care on their leader's 
 brow.
 
 7 6 
 
 GENE 'VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 4- 
 
 " Is thy lord well? the great Count Palatine? 
 Battle has brought to him, I trust, no harms, 
 No grievous wounds ? Afar the splendors shine 
 Of his grand prowess and his skill in arms ; 
 His knightly valor shields from all alarms 
 These peaceful plains." " Yes, father, he can guard 
 His land with prowess, but vile wizard charms 
 Have wrought him woe, with thrust more deadly 
 
 hard 
 Than Paynim sword ; for knightly valor foul reward. 
 
 5- 
 
 " When from the siege of Avignon he turned, 
 Unwounded, but his heart with sorrow bent, 
 Because for tidings of his home he yearned, 
 While the swift couriers to his fair dame went 
 With letters, none from her to him were sent. 
 'Twas then, when weary and despairing, came 
 Hugo's ill tidings, that with anguish rent 
 His soul, and bowed his head in bitter shame, 
 And all his being rilled with fury, as a flame.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 77 
 
 6. 
 
 " And she must die ! Perchance is dead ere now! 
 
 Rolf was his messenger ; no deadly blow 
 
 Would he withhold. He heard Count Siegfried's 
 
 vow 
 
 That she no more should life and freedom know; 
 The traitress whom he called his deadliest foe. 
 But, with the dread belief that she is slain, 
 Keener his anguish ; farther must he go 
 From this his home, in danger drown his pain, 
 And o'er the mountains now he hounds the Moors to 
 
 Spain." 
 
 7- 
 
 " Ah ! she was pure, was saint-like ; evil men 
 Traduced her. I the lovely lady knew. 
 When thou returnest to thy lord again, 
 If his mood change, tell him that fond and true 
 She was to him. More deeply he may rue 
 His bitter loss, but it will calm his soul 
 To know that she was stainless as the dew 
 And his in every thought. The mists will roll 
 Away, and secret crime will find its fitting goal."
 
 7 8 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 8. 
 
 " To thee, then, reverend father, I confide 
 That more than one grave errand brings me here. 
 Henceforth, within Count Siegfried's home abide 
 No more its recent guardians. He doth fear 
 That they his word transcended. To his side 
 Never will Rolf be summoned, from his hall 
 Hugo is banished. Habit had allied 
 His life to theirs, not love. Now they recall 
 His anguish, and yet more, he doth distrust them all. 
 
 9- 
 
 " He gives Elfrida means afar to make 
 
 Her home. Her sons must seek the field. No 
 
 more 
 
 Hither he comes, nor needs for his own sake 
 Their service ; and deserted as of yore 
 Will be the castle ; as in days before 
 Count Siegfried came, save that he still maintains 
 The grand old gardens which he did restore, 
 And still the ancient Brabant maid retains, 
 For him a life of lonely wandering remains."
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. f 
 
 10. 
 
 Now, as they reach the castle, " Wilt thou bear," 
 The father said, " a message to thy lord ? 
 Somewhat of his I have within my care, 
 And I would send to him a written word 
 To pledge its safety ; but, upon thy sword, 
 Vow thou wilt guard and give it him !" The oath 
 Is frankly made. They enter : at the board 
 Beside the guard-room's fire now seated both, 
 The father clearly writes on tempered linen cloth. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Siegfried, Count Palatine. The Lily flower 
 Transplanted from the forest-girdled shore, 
 And brought by thee to brighten thine own bower, 
 Uprooted by the storm, blooms there no more. 
 But still it lives, and, starlike, as of yore, 
 Unfolds its petals in serener air. 
 Return to Treves ! At the old convent door 
 Ask for one known as 'Brother Ansehrf there. 
 He guards thy stainless Lily, pure, and sweet, and 
 fair"
 
 8o GENE VIE VE OF BRAS ANT. 
 
 12. 
 
 In flax and wool he bound the scroll ; and said 
 Farewell with blessing, as he took his way : 
 When by the sound of steeds and footsteps led, 
 Lo ! at the door appeared the matron gray. 
 The father's kindly eye shot forth a ray 
 Of horror, as she said, with treacherous smile 
 And accent smooth, " Good father, rest, I pray, 
 For, doubtless, thou hast journeyed many a mile 
 Beneath our castle's roof abide a little while." 
 
 13- 
 
 " I must depart. Too long this brief delay ; 
 The scant remaining daylight I would save." 
 "What shall we give thee, then, good father? say!" 
 " Naught of the castle's bounty do I crave ; 
 Naught for myself, but for my poor I have 
 Sore needs ; for those who better days have known. 
 A distaff yet one precious life might save." 
 " Ah ! thou shalt have our evil lady's own ! 
 And round it I will bind her strong, warm winter 
 gown."
 
 GENE VI EVE OF BRABANT. 8 1 
 
 14. 
 
 " Thy lady ! where is she ?" " The bird has flown ; 
 Fled with her nestling, to a land so far 
 That ne'er will she return to claim her own. 
 She feared the Count's just anger, from the war 
 Returning, and betook her to the Sarre. 
 Her silken cloak of clear pale-olive hue, 
 Caught by the tide upon a rocky bar, 
 We sent her lord, in token that we knew 
 Her dead. 'Twas in that robe and cloak she slipped 
 the postern through. 
 
 15- 
 
 " They who survive have better right than she 
 Within these towers. And for the Count, her lord, 
 He will outlive his pain, and yet will see 
 Right merry days ; so he the Moorish sword 
 Escape." The low, cold, jesting word 
 Spoken, she turned away, and sought and gave 
 The lady's distaff, and the garments stored 
 For further use. " A prayer, at times, I'd crave, 
 Father! unless perchance this deed my soul may 
 save." 
 
 6
 
 82 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 1 6. 
 
 The flippant, heartless phrase, the smooth, false tone, 
 Sent deep abhorrence as a shuddering wave 
 O'er him. " Gifts are bestowed by those alone 
 Who own them. Of thy lady would I crave 
 Freely this bounty. If in watery grave, 
 As thou hast told me, her dear body lies, 
 Of her sweet soul I ask it. From thee, save 
 Due reverence to the dead in Paradise, 
 Naught ask I." Righteous wrath flamed in his 
 sweet dark eyes. 
 
 17- 
 
 Then to the escort, with kind, courteous tone, 
 And to their leader, turned the holy man. 
 "Adieu, once more," he said. " I must begone." 
 His staff and burden took, and straight began 
 His journey, while his eye in wonder ran 
 O'er the vast rampart and the lordly towers, 
 In his deep heart revolving many a plan 
 For leading back to home and happier hours 
 The wronged ones o'er whose lives this cloud of 
 misery lowers.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 83 
 
 18. 
 
 Now as he nears the forest, all his mind 
 
 Stirs with unwonted care, unwonted joy. 
 
 The sweetness of the home he left behind, 
 
 Fears for its new-found treasures still employ 
 
 By turns his thought. " If aught should bring 
 
 annoy 
 
 To the dear guests while he is far away ! 
 May Heaven protect the lady and her boy !" 
 He gains the wood-path ere the morning gray, 
 And, as he treads it still, dawn grows to golden day. 
 
 19. 
 
 " This was the morn he promised to return," 
 Says the dear mother, with expectance sweet, 
 Of Father Anselm, and with thoughts that yearn 
 For his kind presence. Tottering baby feet 
 She tries to-day, in small advance, retreat, 
 And steps uncertain, guided by her hands ; 
 Then o'er the grass, her outstretched arms to meet, 
 Making their short, swift flight. But now she stands 
 Listening; then all her heart with grateful joy ex- 
 pands,
 
 84 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 20. 
 
 As, gleaming in the sun, the silver hair 
 And the pure, gracious countenance appear, 
 And the tall, stately form and features fair, 
 Serene and sweet in reverend age, draw near. 
 How bright the forest seems now he is here, 
 Whose feet upon her service forth did roam, 
 The guardian to her heart from childhood dear ! 
 " Welcome, my father ! Welcome to your home ! 
 See, Hubert and your doe with fond caresses come !" 
 
 21. 
 
 High o'er his head he lifts the lovely boy 
 In strong, kind arms ; fondles the gentle doe : 
 " Ah ! my dear daughter, none the perfect joy 
 Of this warm, tender welcome home can know 
 Save those whose lives have felt the cheerless flow 
 Of years unblessed by human love ; for even 
 Though precious was my solitude, yet slow 
 Moved the still hours. Thank God that He has 
 
 given 
 
 Pure, sweet companionship on earth before He gives 
 His Heaven !
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 85 
 
 22. 
 
 " But news from Treves and from thy home I bring. 
 For, farther than my wont, full many a mile 
 I've journeyed. Gray Elfrida, flattering 
 'With smooth, false tongue and nature steeped in 
 
 guile, 
 
 I've seen, and fathomed every dangerous wile. 
 I joined a courier band sent by thy lord. 
 Siegfried is safe, unharmed !" A radiant smile, 
 Then the swift rush of sobs arrests his word. 
 Still, as she strove to speak, tears o'er the pale cheeks 
 
 poured. 
 
 23- 
 
 " And where, my father?" " Far away, in Spain. 
 From the dread siege of Avignon he turned 
 Unwounded, but his heart, in bitter pain, 
 Howe'er for home and thee, dear child, it yearned, 
 Goaded by falsehood, each fond instinct spurned, 
 Until the wrath by hate and malice fed, 
 A fierce, consuming flame within him burned. 
 From his own messenger I learned he sped 
 Across the mountains, and the chase of routed Pay- 
 
 nims led.
 
 86 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 24. 
 
 " In guarded speech, yet clearly, I unmasked 
 Then to the messenger the secret hand 
 Of treachery. A scroll I wrote, and asked 
 That loyal leader of the courier band 
 To bear it with him to whatever land 
 His lord may wander ; and his solemn word 
 Of oath exacted, that, as high command 
 He my behest would hold, sworn on his sword. 
 These eyes will see Count Siegfried to your arms 
 restored. 
 
 25. 
 
 " They told him you were dead, and then they sent 
 Your silken cloak that on a rocky bar 
 They said was found, the very night you went 
 Forth from the postern, in the rapid Sarre. 
 This was the pang that drove your Siegfried far 
 From home and love. In horror and amaze 
 Had he been led to curse his life's sweet star; 
 But its swift setting darkened all his days. 
 My scroll will guide him back to its clear shining 
 rays.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 87 
 
 26. 
 
 " Did you, my daughter, wear the silken cloak 
 Of clear, pale olive hue on that dread night 
 When from their murderous hands you swiftly 
 
 broke, 
 
 And saved your infant's life and yours by flight ?" 
 " No, father. Knowest thou not we were bedight 
 Hubert and I in thy dark, hooded gown ? 
 The silken cloak I left in haste and fright 
 Where, on my couch, that eve I laid it down. 
 Now to clear shape is treacherous falsehood grown." 
 
 27. 
 
 " Yes, daughter; it is fitting thou shouldst know 
 The structure that Elfrida's hopes had framed. 
 Ignoble is her life, her nature low, 
 But she at power and high estate had aimed, 
 And by left-handed, unblest union claimed 
 The elder brother of Count Siegfried's sire 
 As hers in secret spousals. While she tamed 
 Her servile tongue, she nursed a smouldering fire 
 Of low expectancy, toward which her base, mean 
 plans conspire.
 
 88 GENE VIE VE- OF BRABANT. 
 
 28. 
 
 " But while she schemed and plotted the Count 
 
 died, 
 
 And the young orphaned Siegfried was his heir. 
 Then foiled ambition, envy, hate, and pride 
 Raged in her heart, yet still the glozing air 
 Of courteous meekness tongue and features wear. 
 Failing to bring her sons to high estate, 
 To mould their fortunes now became her care. 
 From far she came to Siegfried's castle gate, 
 And sued for refuge as a traveller wandering late. 
 
 29. 
 
 " A lowly guest at first ; the matron then 
 
 Of the great castle ; every year her sway 
 
 Grew firmer. Her bold sons, ere grown to men, 
 
 Older than Siegfried, comrades of his play. 
 
 And when, in boyhood still, he rode away 
 
 To distant war, Hugo his seneschal 
 
 He made. As servitor, with short delay, 
 
 The strong young Rolf he summoned from his 
 
 hall. 
 Thus did he in his home this dragon's brood install.
 
 GENEV1EVE OF BRABANT, 89 
 
 30. 
 
 " Naught knew he of their story, for afar 
 Beneath a tender mother's eye had passed 
 His childhood's years. This castle by the Sarre, 
 Long since her death became his own at last, 
 And soon Elfrida made her tenure fast. 
 Then did thy coming circumscribe her sway, 
 Defeat her sordid schemes. She saw aghast 
 Her fabric fall. But Bertram's wound her way 
 Made clear. From sordid schemes sprung crime in 
 full array. 
 
 31- 
 
 " Thou and thy boy the sacrifice should be. 
 On thy dear lord's swift wrath they counted well. 
 Easy to them to feign thy death, if he 
 Should not ordain it ; e'en as it befell. 
 Now they believe that he no more will dwell 
 In his own home, but rashly cast away 
 His life in battle. Yet what evil spell 
 Shall make his death her profit, who can say ? 
 Cunning and guile full oft their votaries betray.
 
 90 GENEV1EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 32. 
 
 " This tale to me did Father Marco tell 
 At the old convent, his mild eyes aflame 
 With fierce, indignant memories ; for well 
 He knew the story of the artful dame, 
 The handsome, false Elfrida ; much did blame 
 The ancient Count, his peer and comrade then, 
 For that he lowered thus his grand old name. 
 His youth, the life of courts, the haunts of men, 
 As Father Marco spoke, came back to him again." 
 
 33- 
 
 " This, then, their net," she said, " where foul deceit 
 And treachery and ingratitude entw-ine 
 Their hateful meshes round my Siegfried's feet, 
 Whose mercy gave them home and place ; round 
 
 mine, 
 
 Who was to them a kindly friend; and thine, 
 Dear boy, whose innocence might charm 
 E'en murderous foes. Thus ends a noble line, 
 If an All-Gracious, an Almighty Arm , 
 Rescue us not ere long from secret deadly harm."
 
 GENE VIE 'VE OF BRABANT. 91 
 
 34- 
 
 " But He will rescue. None e'er ask in vain 
 Of Him. He gave unhoped-for means to send, 
 Through the swift courier, to thy lord in Spain, 
 My scroll : who, if he find him not, will bend 
 His footsteps still, where'er his master's tend. 
 Wait with me here in faith and patience still 
 Awhile. If Siegfried come not, I will wend 
 My way to distant lands and seek him, till 
 Or him or death I find, striving my errand to fulfil." 
 
 35- 
 
 " Pardon, dear father, pardon ! I will wait 
 In patient faith and hope ; nor yet, with thee, 
 Can I be ever wholly desolate. 
 Deem not, though great and keen my misery, 
 That I thy lone departure, thus, for me 
 On far and dangerous quest could ever see. 
 Here let me stay and learn with thee to toil, 
 To fill, with thee, our little granary, 
 To touch with skilful hand this fertile soil : 
 To weave this flax and wool, whose folds I now 
 uncoil !"
 
 92 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 36. 
 
 Speaking, from out the ample pouch she took, 
 With smiles that dawn through tears, the bounte- 
 ous store 
 
 Of flax and wool ; the fleecy folds she shook, 
 Delighted with their softness. " One thing more 
 I crave, the distaff, father ; for, before 
 I left my youthful Brabant home, to spin 
 I learned." " But the light burden that I bore 
 Contains thy distaff; safely wrapped within 
 Thine own warm robe, that from Elfrida I did win." 
 
 37- 
 
 And then the further tale is duly told. 
 Of that eventful journey, and the day 
 In kindly talk, and labors manifold 
 And gentle sylvan pastime wears away. 
 And many a day, and weeks in long array, 
 In the dear father's calendar find place. 
 September sees their little harvest gay 
 Of grapes, and corn, and oats. October's grace 
 Gives wealth of chestnuts large, dropped at each tall 
 tree's base.
 
 GENE VI EVE OF BRABANT. 93 
 
 38. 
 
 Then, in November, from the wood-paths near 
 They store the fallen boughs to build their fire; 
 And now comes winter, kindly, yet severe, 
 Moulding, with sculptor touch, each outline clear, 
 Denuding swiftly to pure, simple form 
 All Nature's florid grace, yet holding dear, 
 And cherishing, and hiding close and warm 
 Each lovely thing, to bloom again from wreck and 
 storm. 
 
 39- 
 
 The gentle forest creatures round them come, 
 Seeking benign companionship and aid, 
 And ask, in storms, the shelter of their home. 
 Robin and hare and kid of Hubert made 
 Their playmate. Still the small encircled glade 
 Its verdure kept; and on its grassy floor, 
 With them and his dear doe, in sunshine played 
 The happy boy, imbibing daily more 
 Of rosy health and strength from Nature's wondrous 
 store.
 
 94 
 
 GENE VIE VE OF RASA NT. 
 
 40. 
 
 Fearless and agile, strong of heart and limb, 
 The gentle child in gracious freedom grew. 
 Rejoicing in his welfare, still, through him, 
 Light seemed each hardship the dear mother knew. 
 The wool and flax were spun ; then swiftly flew 
 Her shuttle ; for the father's skill had made 
 A dainty loom, and, while the firelight through 
 The cave at eve its glowing splendor shed, 
 She weaves to soft, warm cloth her firm and slender 
 thread. 
 
 41. 
 
 Then spring returns, another summer fills 
 Duly its gentle round of peaceful days, 
 While Genevieve's sad heart its yearning stills 
 With daily toil, and daily prayer and praise. 
 Familiar she has grown with woodland ways, 
 And the sweet grace of household skill she knows; 
 But her dear lord his coming still delays, 
 And though to Treves still Father Anselm goes, 
 All news, save news of Siegfried, from the convent 
 flows.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 95 
 
 42. 
 
 But now from Father Marco's generous store 
 Full many a comfort to the forest flows : 
 Fine wheaten cakes, dried figs, and prized yet more, 
 Coverings of fur, when his dear brother goes 
 Late in the season homeward ; " For who knows," 
 The father said, " if the cold winter night 
 Be not too bitter for thee and for those 
 Thy poor, whom thou dost guard, and who requite 
 Thy care with grateful love, thy solace and delight." 
 
 43- 
 
 Then first did Father Anselm, 'neath the seal 
 Of solemn secrecy, to Marco's ear 
 The story of the poor he guards reveal ; 
 Tell him that now 'tis past the second year 
 The noble lady with her infant dear, 
 Escaped from murderous hands, have shelter found 
 Within his hermit home. That he doth fear 
 His message failed, sent by swift courier, bound 
 To Siegfried, who, forlorn, wanders the world around.
 
 96 GENE VI EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 44- 
 
 " And if another spring and summer waste," 
 The father said, " and Siegfried is not here, 
 A pilgrim to the Sacred Land I haste, 
 For there I know that he has borne his fear, 
 And anguish, and despair, when those so dear 
 Perished, as he believed, in watery grave. 
 When I have sown and reaped another year 
 I leave my tender guests, and go to save 
 The lost one, if not yet engulfed in misery's wave. 
 
 45- 
 
 " But should he come while I am gone, and ask 
 For Brother Anselm at the convent door, 
 Thine, reverend father, be the constant task 
 To guard from dread mistake. I should deplore 
 That he were told I come to Treves no more. 
 My name the clue I gave. Skirting the rim 
 Of truth, my words an air of mystery wore. 
 Needs must I veil this news in symbols dim, 
 Lest my small written scroll be never borne to him."
 
 " Stately as a king, 
 
 Does little Htibert, with his faithful doc 
 And her nnofawn each footstep following, 
 Tread the fair woodland wavs. ' ' 
 
 Page 97.
 
 GENE VI EVE OF BRABANT. 97 
 
 46. 
 
 Another summer wanes. Now to and fro, 
 Among his subjects, stately as a king, 
 Does little Hubert, with his faithful doe 
 And her new fawn each footstep following, 
 Tread the fair woodland ways. About him spring 
 Rabbit, and hare, and kid, where'er he moves ; 
 And bright, swift birds oft poise on hovering wing 
 Above his head, and his own gentle doves 
 Upon his shoulder sit ; all living things he loves. 
 
 47- 
 
 And to the myriad forest growths he turns 
 With dawning joy and wonder, as he sees 
 Nature's sweet fine economy, and learns 
 Her silent processes of change. The trees 
 That feed the worm with tender leaves, the bees 
 With honeyed blossoms, on the birds bestow 
 The nectar of their fruits ; and when all these 
 Are fed, their ample bounty shower below, 
 To give his little lips the sweetest feast they know. 
 7
 
 98 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 48. 
 
 The mother's eyes feed on the lofty grace 
 And glorious beauty of her growing boy, 
 But more the gentle nature that they trace 
 In look, and word, and action, makes her joy 
 And Father Anselm's ; for their fond employ, 
 And care, and pastime centre on the child. 
 If deadly blight his earthly hopes destroy, 
 From name, and home, and heritage exiled, 
 Still let a noble life be his in forest wild. 
 
 49. 
 
 The father teaches him to know each tree, 
 Each herb and plant upon their fertile soil ; 
 To bow the head and bend the reverent knee 
 And fold the infant hands ; and moulds his will 
 Gently to tasks that may his baby skill 
 Befit. The mother's words, clear, sweet, and strong, 
 Full many a drop of wisdom pure instil, 
 And as the young life-current glides along 
 Ever her voice broods o'er it, sweet in childlike 
 song.
 
 GENE 'VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 Hush ! hush ! hear the note 
 Of the dove through wood-paths float, 
 Calling thee ! What says the dove ? 
 Love ! she says, love all things ! love ! 
 
 Listen ! listen ! 'tis the bee, 
 Humming loud and flying free, 
 Calls thee now. What says the bee ? 
 Work ! for work is sweet ! saith he. 
 
 Look ! look ! the merry hare 
 Through the ferns and grasses fair 
 Light, on tiptoe, frolics gay, 
 Leap ! he says, and spring and play ! 
 
 Hearken now ! for on the wing, 
 Far above thee, bright birds sing, 
 Breathing music from the cloud. 
 Sing ! they say, sing sweet and loud ! 
 
 Love and work and play and sing ! 
 Find delight in everything ! 
 For our loving FATHER lives, 
 And His joy to all things gives. 
 
 99
 
 100 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 His each bird that sweetly sings ; 
 His the bee on busy wings ; 
 Merry hares that lightly leap, 
 Gentle doves with wood-notes deep. 
 
 And He makes the blossoms fair, 
 And 'the trees, that high in air 
 Waving, all the summer shed 
 Their cool shadows on thy head. 
 
 Love Him ! thank Him ! He is good ; 
 Giveth all His creatures food ; 
 Guardeth all by night and day ; 
 The DEAR LORD to Whom we pray. 
 
 50. 
 
 Then thought, uplifted from the forest home, 
 Ascends in song toward that celestial height 
 Where nobler ranks of being fill the dome 
 Of Heaven, invisible to mortal sight. 
 Oft, as she fondly deems, their convoys bright 
 Lend glory to the aerial paths they tread, 
 And her soul throbs, in hushed and awed de- 
 light, 
 
 With the vast pulse around, below, o'erhead ; 
 The Living Heart of Love by which all Life is fed.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. ICH 
 
 Beautiful life ! beautiful world ! 
 
 GOD'S very presence around us lies, 
 Hovering angels with pinions furled 
 
 Silently bend from the happy skies. 
 
 Cloud-wrought canopies veil them from view, 
 
 Gliding in companies heavenly fair, 
 Silvery white on the sapphire blue, 
 
 Crimson and gold on the sunset air. 
 
 Linger, bright visitants ! linger above! 
 
 Sentinel angels ! to you it is given, 
 Holding your watch o'er the child of my love, 
 
 To look on the face of his Father in Heaven. 
 
 " Sweetly thy song was sung," the father said, 
 As his loved guests he kindly hovered near. 
 " Now the fourth summer shines on Hubert's head ; 
 Lightly they pass ; but thou, my daughter dear, 
 Hast known privation, toil, and hardship here 
 Too long. In faith and patience didst thou stay 
 E'en as I prayed thee. Since the second year 
 Closed of thy forest life, I fixed the day 
 Within my heart when I would take my pilgrim 
 way.
 
 102 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 52. 
 
 " When all our stores are gathered, can I best 
 Hope thou may'st live without my presence here ; 
 With winter, then, begins my solemn quest. 
 Then days are short, and glowing fires will cheer 
 The lonely nights. Tame creatures without fear, 
 Merry and kind, will make the fireside gay 
 For Hubert; and in winter less severe 
 Thy lonely toil, when thou art wont alway 
 To spin and weave and make our garments' small 
 array." 
 
 53- 
 
 The day drew near, the kind farewells were said ; 
 The father did the holy office say, 
 And ere with early morn the east was red 
 Had left the forest. First his onward way 
 Led him to Treves, and thence, near close of 
 
 day, 
 
 His path beside the bright Moselle he bends. 
 Up the long Rhine his farther journey lay, 
 Across the wide Bavarian plains extends. 
 Slow wanes another year ere his long travel ends.
 
 PART IV. 
 
 i. 
 
 MEANTIME Count Siegfried, deeming she was 
 
 dead, 
 
 And base, though deeply dear, in bitter pain, 
 As one who, frenzied, from his home has fled, 
 Swept on from Avignon, and led his train 
 Up the steep defiles of the rocky chain : 
 Encountering and pursuing, now they find 
 Their feet upon the soil of Northern Spain ; 
 But many a soldier's grave is left behind, 
 And bones of gallant steeds bleach in the mountain 
 
 wind. 
 
 103
 
 104 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 2. 
 
 Still on he presses in his hopeless pain, 
 Till, of the remnant of that goodly band 
 That marched from the Palatinate, remain 
 A few lorn men on Barcelona's strand. 
 Then Siegfried says, " I seek the Sacred Land, 
 Dear friends ! Will any thither with me fare ? 
 If not, then clasp me kindly by the hand. 
 Forgive the rashness of my wild despair. 
 To land you nearer home, before we part, my care." 
 
 3- 
 
 Not as a soldier, but a pilgrim, turned 
 The Count to sacred soil, and every man, 
 Outworn with war, for home and country yearned. 
 To Toulon's port, with western breeze, he ran, 
 Landed the homeward bound, and then began 
 His lonely wanderings. From the scanty few 
 Returned to Treves, deploring their lord's plan 
 Of pilgrim exile, Father Anselm drew 
 His hope: that Siegfried fled toward Palestine he 
 knew.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 105 
 
 4- 
 
 The long, long year of journeying is o'er, 
 The father's weary step its course fulfils ; 
 But he must strive to-day as ne'er before 
 To reach yon convent 'mid the Syrian hills. 
 Upward he struggles, while each worn nerve thrills 
 With failing effort. Ah ! he faints, he falls ; 
 But now, cool water, fresh from mountain rills, 
 Pours through his lips, a gracious accent calls ; 
 Strong, manly arms bear him within the convent 
 walls. 
 
 5- 
 
 In the cool hospice laid, all pale and wan, 
 O'er him the friend who saved him bows his head ; 
 A pilgrim, but a young and vigorous man, 
 Who, from his youth, a soldier's life had led. 
 Weary, last night, he sought a tranquil bed 
 Amid these hills, within the convent's wall. 
 At sunset, now, upon his way he sped, 
 Hastes toward the father as he sees him fall, 
 Lifts, succors, bears him safe into the cloistered hall.
 
 106 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 6. 
 
 On the pure brow and aged features sweet 
 
 The glance of sad, young eyes a moment falls. 
 
 " Pilgrim !" the father murmurs, " shouldst thou 
 
 meet 
 
 Siegfried, Count Palatine, say duty calls 
 Him to his people. In his lonely halls 
 Yet may the ancient gladness of his home 
 Revive. Tis his delay my heart appalls, 
 For he too long deceived, too late may come. 
 Swiftly, oh ! swiftly, bid him homeward roam." 
 
 7- 
 
 The faint lips close in silence, and the gloom 
 Of wavering darkness shrouds the appealing eyes. 
 Not his the sobs that fill the lonely room, 
 Nor the deep sighs. Lifeless and chill he lies, 
 And many a Syrian sun shall set and rise 
 O'er his unconscious form. On bended knee, 
 " It is Thy voice, my God !" the stranger cries, 
 " That calls Thy wandering lost one back to Thee ! 
 That sends me, bowed with woe, my ruined home to 
 see."
 
 " The faint lips close in silence, and the gloom 
 Of wavering darkness shrouds the appealing eyes."" 
 
 Page 106.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 107 
 
 8. 
 
 E'en at the gate he bade the porter run, 
 Call the kind monks, with food, and wine, and aid. 
 They hasten to the hall. " Know'st thou, my son, 
 This reverend stranger?" the Superior said. 
 " Father, I know him not. As forth I sped 
 My journey to begin, faltering and weak 
 I saw him falling, ran to raise his head. 
 I bore him here, then heard his kind lips speak 
 Familiar names. No more their silence they will 
 break. 
 
 9- 
 
 " He dies, I fear ; but if the expiring flame 
 Of life thy skill, thy kindly care, can save, 
 Most fervent thanks, my father, thou may'st claim, 
 And largesse noble shall this convent have. 
 If life returns, one bounty I would crave : 
 Tell him the pilgrim only left his side 
 To do his bidding, and o'er land and wave 
 Pursues his way, whatever may betide, 
 To seek his ancient home and in its halls abide."
 
 108 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 10. 
 
 Still the swift courier sought his lord in vain. 
 From Treves departing, on he pressed through 
 
 France 
 
 To reach, in seaman's guise, the coasts of Spain ; 
 When, nearing Toulon's port, he sees advance, 
 With drooping pennon and with broken lance, 
 The small, disheartened home-returning band,. 
 And learns his rightful course by kindly chance. 
 He follows, but is wrecked on Malta's strand, 
 And many a realm he sees before the Holy Land. 
 
 II. 
 
 True to his lord and Father Anselm both, 
 Through wandering and through shipwreck still he 
 
 bore 
 
 The jewels, and the scroll of linen cloth, 
 Safe in the secret girdle that he wore. 
 It was his errand home to bring this store 
 Of costly gems to serve Count Siegfried's need ; 
 He deeming, when he sought a distant shore, 
 And rushed to exile with indignant speed, 
 His train would follow, and their welfare he must heed.
 
 GENE -VI 'EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 12. 
 
 IQ9 
 
 For his own service single jewels rare 
 Of his sword's hilt or poniard's sheath suffice. 
 The faithful courier he had bade repair 
 To Jaffa's port should unseen barriers rise 
 Checking his course toward Spain. -Now safely lies 
 His barque beside the shore, and lingering here 
 Day after day he scans with eager eyes 
 Each passing form. At last! at last! draws near, 
 Sadly, in pilgrim garb, the Count, his master dear. 
 
 13- 
 " Welcome, Count Siegfried !" "Godfrey ! loyal 
 
 friend ! 
 
 Waiting, unwearied, faithful to thy lord ! 
 Ah ! fain I would thy wanderings here might end : 
 But farther still I yet must strain the cord 
 Of duteous service, escort to afford 
 A reverend man, if still, indeed, he live. 
 Take with thee followers, spear and lance and 
 
 sword, 
 
 Bearers and guides. Oh, may he yet survive 
 To reach my home, and blessed aid and counsel give!"
 
 1 10 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 14. 
 
 " My lord, I too have met a holy man, 
 And bear his secret scroll prepared for thee. 
 Near the Moselle awhile his journey ran 
 Beside our own. He sought the hall with me, 
 And on this linen cloth wrote clear and free. 
 He bound me with a vow of high command 
 To guard it till thy face I yet should see." 
 Siegfried receives the scroll, unwinds the band, 
 And, reading, veils his tears beneath his manly 
 
 hand. 
 
 IS- 
 
 At length he breaks the silence. " Tis the same. 
 One whisper from his living lips were worth 
 More than my home, my country, or my name. 
 From the Moselle he doubtless journeyed forth 
 On pilgrimage, to touch the sacred earth 
 Of Palestine. I knew him from the North, 
 For in our tongue his startling words were spoken. 
 I think our very land his place of birth : 
 But, e'en if not, pray him, by every token 
 He has vouchsafed, to come before this clue be 
 broken.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. m 
 
 1 6. 
 
 " Now haste, my Godfrey ! Swiftly seek thy train. 
 Divide with me the jewels thou dost bear. 
 Here shall thy vessel by the strand remain 
 Awaiting thee when seaward thou dost fare. 
 If still the father lives, with tender care, 
 In easy litter, o'er the mountain way 
 Lead him. My homeward barque I straight prepare ; 
 And fail not to the holy man to say 
 Count Siegfried speeds to Treves his mandate to 
 obey." 
 
 The morning glowed along the eastern wave, ' 
 And a gay barque rejoicing in her light, 
 Free to the early breeze the white sail gave, 
 And bounded gladly o'er the billows bright. 
 Now the far Syrian shores are lost to sight, 
 And grateful hope the seaman's heart beguiles ; 
 No tempests toss, nor treacherous seas affright, 
 On old Laconia's heights the daylight smiles, 
 And fragrance round him breathes from sunny Grecian 
 isles.
 
 H2 GENE VI EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 1 8. 
 
 Nor hope elates the seaman's heart alone. 
 Who looks, impatient, from that vessel's prow ? 
 An eager votary from a distant zone 
 By crumbling fane and ruined shrine to bow? 
 No, for a holier fane hath heard his vow : 
 To seek the dearer shrine of home he flies. 
 Some glorious Greek might own that lordly brow, 
 The pure, firm outlines and the deep, sad eyes, 
 The waving hair and cheek rich with warm sunny 
 dyes. 
 
 19. 
 
 But anxious hope is whelmed in dread and pain 
 As slowly sink and die the favoring gales, 
 While baffling western winds their course restrain 
 And press them back ; or deathly calm prevails 
 And feebly flapping hang the idle sails. 
 The deep, sad eyes dwell on the cruel sea 
 In anguish. The rash ardor he bewails 
 That led him thus his native land to flee ; 
 Lest all too late return and reparation be.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. ] 
 
 20. 
 
 Through many a starless night and sunless day, 
 Tossing, or cradled in unwelcome rest, 
 In the Levant his hapless vessel lay, 
 Her prow still veering from the longed-for west. 
 But Siegfried in his yearning heart repressed 
 The torture of regret, that, melting, grows 
 To tender penitence. Then from his breast 
 The first pure prayer of resignation flows, 
 And in submissive faith his spirit finds repose. 
 
 21. 
 
 Ah, Siegfried ! bless the baffling winds, thy gain 
 Lay in suspense, distress, and anguish keen ; 
 Wholesome the knife of sacrificial pain, 
 Healing, renewing, where its touch hath been. 
 Now smile the clear, dark eyes with light serene, 
 And self-control sits monarch on the brow, 
 The sculptured features and the noble mien 
 The gloom of dread remorse no longer know ; 
 Radiant with finer, sweeter, loftier grace they glow.
 
 1 1 4 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 22. 
 
 Oh ! speed at length, good barque, and bear him 
 
 home, 
 
 E'en though the joy he looks for be not there ! 
 If now within its halls the master come 
 More than their ancient gladness may they wear. 
 
 The marble terrace gleams in sunset air 
 Lonely beneath the laurel-shaded height, 
 And lonely lie the blooming gardens fair: 
 Throbs the high heart, curbing with steadfast might 
 Each pulse, as the dear scene glows through the 
 waning light. 
 
 23- 
 
 The warder's summons to the portal calls 
 The faithful few who guard their lord's domain, 
 And joyous welcome rings within the walls 
 As the dear, gracious face they greet again. 
 " Brief rest within the hall awhile I gain ; 
 At night to Treves I ride. Let my old steed 
 Be ready ! So my quest be not in vain 
 I come with fervent joy, among you to remain."
 
 '' Oh ! speed at length, good barque, and bear him home, 
 E'en though the joy he looks for be not there" 
 
 Page 114
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 115 
 
 24. 
 
 Forth o'er the plain they sweep. The gallant steed 
 Glorying, his master once again to bear, 
 And the strong knight rejoicing in his speed. 
 Sweet the familiar aspect all things wear: 
 By the Moselle they bend, and oh ! how fair, 
 Beneath the leafy arches gleams its tide ! 
 But now to reach those walls his only care, 
 Within which, as he deems, doth one abide 
 Who for his urgent quest will find a fitting guide. 
 
 25- 
 
 Before the convent gate he draws the rein : 
 Swiftly and well the gallant steed hath sped; 
 But swifter yet the rush o'er heart and brain 
 Of surging hopes. He bent his stately head 
 Before the aged monk, and gently said, 
 " Dwells Brother Anselm here ? for I would fain 
 Greet him." " Alas ! we fear that he is dead : 
 Dear Father Marco knew, did he remain, 
 But long within his grave hath Father Marco 
 lain.
 
 Il6 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 26. 
 
 " He died in the deep night, and made no sign. 
 At morn we found him cold within his cell, 
 But on his lips a smile of peace divine 
 Rested, and seemed to bid us kind farewell. 
 None can the fate of Brother Anselm tell 
 Since then, or whence he came, or whither went ; 
 For as a holy hermit he did dwell, 
 His life in prayer and deeds of mercy spent. 
 We only know that North his homeward footstep 
 bent." 
 
 27. 
 
 " Adieu !" with faltering voice Count Siegfried said. 
 " Shouldst thou have tidings, let me hear, I pray." 
 Dimmed is the eye's clear radiance, and the red 
 That glowed on the brown cheek has died away. 
 A sad, lone man, beneath the moon's pale ray, 
 With vanquished hopes he turns him from the gate; 
 Northward he rides, until the morning gray 
 Dawns o'er him pacing sad and desolate. 
 One chance remains. For Godfrey's coming patient 
 will he wait.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 117 
 
 28. 
 
 Athwart the glory of the autumn wood 
 The first warm gleam of morning sunshine came, 
 The massive trunks like golden columns stood 
 And bore aloft their crests of living flame, 
 And branches bright with gems of every name. 
 Dewy and silent lay the grassy glade, 
 The encircling wood a minster vast became, 
 O'er arching boughs long aisles of splendor made, 
 On jewelled casements high swift light and shadow 
 played. 
 
 29. 
 
 And through this glorious cathedral glide 
 The votaries. Hand clasped in hand they pass 
 'Neath towering chestnut arches, by the side 
 Of the pure font more crystal clear than glass, 
 And gently tread the floor of swarded grass, 
 Lovely as angel forms in Paradise ; 
 A radiant, joyous child, with clustering mass 
 Of soft, fair hair above the sweet, deep eyes, 
 And outline pure, and cheek rich with warm, sunny 
 dyes.
 
 U8 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 30. 
 
 The linen white, the woollen tunic fair 
 Girdled above it, showed his vigorous knee 
 And shapely limb, nourished by sun and air, 
 And the small rosy foot trod light and free 
 Amid fresh fern and dewy grass ; but she, 
 The lovely mother, moving in serene 
 And stately grace and tender purity 
 And glowing beauty, seemed the gentle queen, 
 Like Eve in her young world, of this fair sylvan 
 scene. 
 
 31- 
 
 A gown and kirtle of pale olive hue, 
 
 Befitting as the calyx fits the rose, 
 
 Unfaded by the sun, unharmed by dew, 
 
 The graceful form in silken web enclose. 
 
 Ah ! well the boy the treasured vesture knows; 
 
 It is the birthday robe the mother wears 
 
 Kept for his festivals. Around her flows 
 
 The wealth of long, fair, rippling hair, that 
 
 bears 
 An ivy band above a brow untouched by years.
 
 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 119 
 
 32. 
 
 The bounding child forsakes his mother's hand 
 And in the little pannier that he bore, 
 By his small fingers made, from willow wand, 
 Gathers the burnished chestnuts ample store. 
 " Look ! my dear mother, look ! all these, and more. 
 Dear little merry brown fellows, I've found : 
 From out the rough, green jackets that they wore, 
 Through the thick leaves they leap with rustling 
 
 sound, 
 And, shining in the sun, lie on the grassy ground." 
 
 33- 
 
 The mother looks : love fills her smiling eyes. 
 " My little merry brown fellow thou art, 
 My Hubert! When I see the joy that lies 
 Thus hidden for thee in the deep wood's heart, 
 Ne'er would I from this refuge blest depart, 
 So thy dear father could be with us here." 
 From Hubert's eyes glad eager glances dart : 
 " Oh, tell me of him now, my mother dear ! 
 And Roland ! Will they come before another year?"
 
 120 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 34- 
 
 "Ah ! that is still the tale we love the best : 
 Of thy dear father and his charger white. 
 Then sit by me, my darling boy, and rest 
 And listen, Thy dear father is a knight ; 
 And knights are kind, pure, brave ; for truth and 
 
 right 
 
 They give their lives, no falsehood do they know. 
 Stately thy father's form, his cheek is bright 
 Like thine, his fair hair waves, his dark eyes glow. 
 Roland is silver white, swift, gentle, like thy doe. 
 
 35- 
 
 " And thou must be a noble knight, my boy ! 
 'Neath God's own care in the great forest nursed, 
 Yet shalt thou grow to be thy father's joy. 
 In what despair I bore thee here at first ! 
 Now leaps my heart to think thou art not curst 
 With weakness, pallor, all the ills that grow 
 In lordly homes." Swift through the thicket burst, 
 Just then, with graceful bound, the milk-white doe, 
 Leaped o'er the glade, and couched beside them close 
 and low.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. I2 i 
 
 36. 
 
 Is the doe followed by some gentle deer, 
 Slow gliding through the trees, and gleaming white? 
 It gains the glade and moves in sunshine clear, 
 A snowy steed led by a stately knight 
 The lovely, fearless boy, swift at the sight, 
 Sprang to his feet with glowing face and smiled, 
 Stretched out his arms, and called in deep delight, 
 " My father !" Then one cry of rapture wild 
 Rings forth, and Siegfried's arms enfold his wife and 
 child. 
 
 37- 
 
 No words ! no words ! Tears veil each radiant face ; 
 Low cries are pressed from hearts that throb too fast 
 For speech ; and in that passionate embrace 
 Of tried and chastened love the darkness past 
 Is lost forever ; morning dawns at last. 
 But Hubert's little face uplifted glows 
 With gladness, yet with fear. A joy so vast 
 Seems almost terror. Ah ! full soon he knows 
 The double home of love those twining arms enclose.
 
 122 GENE VI EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 38. 
 
 At length the sad sweet tale is told ; the doe 
 By the fond father's grateful hand caressed ; 
 Now the dear boy the milk-white steed must know, 
 Must choose the bank where grass and shade are 
 
 best, 
 
 And see him tethered by the stream at rest. 
 Then Siegfried, from the doublet that he wore, 
 Drew forth a hidden packet, closely pressed. 
 " This token of my bitter loss I bore 
 Next to my heart, dear love, o'er every sea and shore." 
 
 39- 
 
 Above the robe of clear pale, olive hue 
 He folds the silken cloak, then, deftly led 
 By loving hands the secret portal through, 
 Beneath the verdurous screen he bends his head, 
 And the cave echoes to his stately tread. 
 He climbs the sharp ascent ; the rocky floor 
 He sees, the gathered boughs, the fragrant bed, 
 The loom, the distaff, all the frugal store 
 Of food ; then hides his face in manly weeping sore.
 
 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. i 2 $ 
 
 40. 
 
 " Weep not, my Siegfried ! Ne'er was lordly hall 
 Fair as this cave to me since thou art here ! 
 Abide with us until the evening fall, 
 And see our glowing fire, our blithesome cheer. 
 Before our reverend guardian, kind and dear, 
 Good Father Anselm, left us, life was sweet 
 And blessed, save for alternating fear 
 And hope for thee, beloved one ! Now his feet 
 Wander in distant lands, still trusting thee to meet." 
 
 41. 
 
 " Then Father Anselm saved the precious wife, 
 The darling child my guilty madness lost, 
 Rescued, preserved, restored me more than life, 
 And he, the guardian and the generous host, 
 Himself has paid the bitter, painful cost. 
 Unknown, I met him 'neath the Syrian sky, 
 Fainting and falling and by fever tost ; 
 Unknown, he bade me swiftly homeward fly. 
 God grant me yet the power to thank him ere I 
 die!"
 
 124 GENEVIEVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 42. 
 
 And Heaven, benign, that fervent wish fulfils. 
 While rocked in the Levant Count Siegfried lay, 
 To the lone convent 'mid the Syrian hills 
 Godfrey has made his swift and eager way ; 
 Finds the dear father rescued from the sway 
 Of dire disease; the veins by temperance fed 
 Each impulse of returning health obey. 
 Homeward with favoring gales their vessel sped ; 
 And even now the twain the mossy wood-path 
 tread. 
 
 43- 
 
 Then was there meeting such as this old earth 
 Scarce in her centuries of life has known : 
 The glow of gratitude, the gracious birth 
 Of souls renewed by penitence, and grown 
 Worthy of bliss through paths of pain alone. 
 With joy too deep was every bosom filled, 
 Till rose the father's tender, reverent tone 
 In benediction ; then each heart was stilled, 
 And peace o'erflowed the nerves with conscious rap- 
 ture thrilled.
 
 As sunset o'er the glmuing forest dies 
 The lady Genevieve, on Roland white, 
 Glides down the mossy wood -path." 
 
 
 Page 125.
 
 GENE VI EVE OF BRABANT. 
 
 125 
 
 44- 
 
 As sunset o'er the glowing forest dies 
 The lady Genevieve, on Roland white, 
 Glides down the. mossy wood-path; her sweet eyes 
 Dewy with memories, glad with love's pure light, 
 While, at her side, her noble, stalwart knight 
 Guides the good steed, and by the farther hand 
 Leads the fair boy, all rosy with delight. 
 Beneath the moon at their own gates they stand ; 
 And, entering, live to bless their happy, loyal land. 
 
 45- 
 
 Drinking from Nature's holy chalice still, 
 To grand and vigorous manhood Hubert grew ; 
 Serene and glad of heart and firm of will, 
 Reverent of soul and pure and brave and true ; 
 A stainless knight, who never falsehood knew, 
 Who worshipped God and made the poor his care. 
 Still o'er the wood-path his young footstep flew 
 To Father Anselm aid and cheer to bear ; 
 And still around him pressed the forest creatures 
 fair.
 
 126 GENE VIE VE OF BRABANT. 
 
 46. 
 
 Watching by Nature's fountain heads he saw, 
 In ceaseless change, her steadfast order still, 
 Through her fair sequence traced the loving law, 
 In her majestic force the living will, 
 And in her beauty knew the matchless skill, 
 The MASTER'S Touch, in endless blest employ 
 All form, all life with grace and charm to fill. 
 The Love, the Power, the glorious Beauty thrill 
 The man's strong spirit with diviner joy 
 Than in life's morning hour shone round the happy boy. 
 
 47- 
 
 And his dear mother, where the bright stream wells 
 In rippling murmur, near the grassy glade, 
 A forest chapel built. There silver bells 
 Poured their clear music : there the father prayed, 
 And there his reverend form, at last, was laid. 
 " Our Lady's Church" its name ; and here, at rest, 
 Where her young Hubert in his childhood played ; 
 In this sweet refuge, this fair woodland nest, 
 She sleeps, with him her love from youth to age had 
 blest.
 
 NOTE. 
 
 ST. GENEVIEVE lived in the days of Charles Mattel, who, in 
 some versions of the legend, is said to have acted as her champion. 
 At that time Brabant (since absorbed in Belgium) existed as an 
 independent dukedom. The Forest of Ardennes, which in Csesar's 
 time was only bounded by the Rhine, still extended to the Moselle, 
 including a vast territory within its limits. Tradition places 
 Siegfried's castle at the junction of the Moselle and the Sarre, 
 indicates a cave in the Laach region as Genevieve's shelter during 
 her forest-life, and gives the name of the church, " Die Frauen 
 Kirche" built by her in grateful remembrance of her preservation 
 and deliverance. 
 
 127
 
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