名人诗歌|I saw a Monk of Charlemaine

I saw a Monk^{1 of Charlemaine}

Arise before my sight：

I talk'd to the Grey Monk where he stood

In beams of infernal light.

ii

Gibbon arose with a lash^{2 of steel，}

And Voltaire with a wracking wheel：

The Schools， in clouds of learning roll'd，

Arose with War in iron and gold.

iii

`Thou lazy Monk，' they said afar，

`In vain condemning^{4 glorious War，}

And in thy cell thou shall ever dwell.

Rise， War， and bind^{5 him in his cell！'}

iv

The blood red ran from the Grey Monk's side，

His hands and feet were wounded wide，

His body bent^{6， his arms and knees}

Like to the roots of ancient trees.

v

`I see， I see，' the Mother said，

`My children will die for lack of bread.

What more has the merciless tyrant^{7 said？'}

The Monk sat down on her stony^{8 bed.}

vi

His eye was dry， no tear could flow；

A hollow groan^{9 first spoke10 his woe11.}

He trembled and shudder'd upon the bed；

At length with a feeble cry he said：

vii

`When God commanded this hand to write

In the studious hours of deep midnight，

He told me that all I wrote should prove

The bane of all that on Earth I love.

viii

`My brother starv'd between two walls；

Thy children's cry my soul appals^12：

I mock'd at the wrack^{3 and griding chain；}

My bent body mocks at their torturing pain.

ix

`Thy father drew his sword in the North；

With his thousands strong he is marchd forth^13；

Thy brother has armd himself in steel

To revenge the wrongs thy children feel.

x

`But vain the sword and vain the bow，

They never can work War's overthrow^14；

The hermit's prayer and the widow's tear

Alone can free the world from fear.

xi

`The hand of Vengeance^{15 sought the bed}

To which the purple tyrant fled；

The iron hand crush'd the tyrant's head，

And became a tyrant in his stead.

xii

`Until the tyrant himself relent，

The tyrant who first the black bow bent，

Slaughter^{16 shall heap the bloody17 plain：}

Resistance and War is the tyrant's gain.

xiii

`But the tear of love and forgiveness sweet，

And submission^{18 to death beneath his feet}

The tear shall melt the sword of steel，

And every wound it has made shall heal.

xiv

`For the tear is an intellectual thing，

And a sigh is the sword of an Angel King，

And the bitter groan of the martyr's woe

Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow.'