Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ABBOT, by CONSTANCE CAROLINE WOODHILL NADEN



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ABBOT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Slowly, with dream-like sadness, tolled
Last Line: That treasured lock of gold.
Subject(s): Monasteries; Monks; Abbeys


SLOWLY, with dream-like sadness, tolled
The monastery bell;
The Abbot of those cloisters old
Lay dead within his cell.

The monks were gathered round his bed;
Solemn and still they stood;
The fearful presence of the dead
Awed that stern brotherhood.

They gazed upon his hoary head,
And on his noble brow;
They saw the form whence life had fled --
Where was the spirit now?

Strong will was his, a nature stern,
That loved nor wine nor gold:
Did youthful passion ever burn
Within that bosom cold?

The monks had loosed his rugged vest,
While yet alive he lay:
What saw they on that wasted breast
That gleamed so golden gay?

No shining cross, no image fair,
Those eager brethren found;
Only a tress of golden hair,
With a black ribbon bound.

They gazed upon that witness dumb,
That told of love and death;
Some spake with scorn, with pity some,
But all with bated breath.

"Lay it again upon his breast,"
An ancient brother said;
"His soul hath entered into rest;
Judge not the silent dead.

"Long hath he lived a life apart
From every earthly snare;
Yet who shall say what aching heart
Throbbed 'neath his shirt of hair?

"Blame not his long-enduring love,
Nor call it weak and vain,
But pray that he, in realms above,
May meet his bride again."

They buried him beneath the shade
Of cloisters grey and old;
And near his silent heart they laid
That treasured lock of gold.








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