Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TWO MONKS OF LA VALSAINTE, by EUGENE RAMBERT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TWO MONKS OF LA VALSAINTE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: At la valsainte stern is carthusian rule
Last Line: Behind them swung the iron-girded door.
Subject(s): Monks


AT La Valsainte stern is Carthusian rule,
Yet once each year its monks are given a day,
One only, when from out the convent's cool
The ancient gate swings open wide and they
In sombre twos and twos go forth to breathe
The attar of the hills. To lofty Berra
They often turn, to see the wide plain wreathe
Its green and white, askirt the slopes of Jura.
But ere the red sun sinks they must return.
When skies are clear they render thanks to God;
But if a gloomy lowering they discern,
Or in the east divine dark period,
Or should a cloud but trail its watery fleece,
They cross themselves and say: "God knoweth best.
The perfect sun unto the soul at peace
Is that to inner eyes made manifest!"

On one such eve, adown the mountain's side
Came one still young and one whose locks were hoar.
"Stay, Brother," said this last. "My years divide
My trembling knees; with galls my feet are sore."
And side by side they sank upon the brow
Of a tufted bank green clad with grass and moss.
A freshening wind caused all the flowers to bow;
And, in the west, clouds roseate prankt across
With rainbow hues, disclosed the streaming sun,
That kindled all to glory. Humble croft
And melancholy pine grew halcyon
With lowly dale and lordly peak aloft.
In tranquilness as they reclined a lark
Rose from a nearby meadow 'neath their eyes,
Mounting on wing like animated spark,
Lilting its tirra-lirra to the skies,
Thus higher ever, cradled in its song,
Until it seemed a speck upon the blue,
A soaring voice to whom no steep was strong,
Which as it rose the sweeter, purer grew.

"That bird believes in God," the young monk cried;
"'Tis faith alone that moves those valiant wings.
He feareth neither hawk nor net spread wide.
I call on Heaven to witness to these things!"

The aged friar said slowly: "In the spring
Larks build their nest amid the young, green corn,
And then are moved as troubadours to sing
Their Gloria in excelsis to the morn.
Then 'tis one sees into the welkin soar
The bridegroom from his spouse's side, elate,
Singing in sweet crescendo evermore
As if his song could win to heaven's gate.
What rapture swells his breast? A future bliss?
Nay, 'tis the present's thrill, all amorous.
Perhaps e'en now a father's joy is his,
A joy, O Brother, not vouchsafed to us!"
The younger monk waxed wroth, but quieted
His flaming anger. "What is that to thee?
No fleshly lusts seduce thine eyes," he said.
"We chose the better part in piety.

Both feast and fast we have and mass is sung. . . ."
Whereat the old man rasped with bitter smile:
"And even so thought I when I was young!"
The young ascetic, feeling smirch of guile,
Fearful of hell, fell back with sudden start.
The old man blanched and said: "Forgive me, Brother,
I should have kept this secret in my heart.
Alas, if this amaze you, may our Mother
Constrain your lips to pray and not to curse.
No desecrated vow is mine to rue
Or memory to mock with thoughts perverse.
Pray for me, Brother, as I will for you!"

Then as the sunset's fires were quenched, they rose
And pensively went down the path once more.
As day at dawn released them, so its close
Behind them swung the iron-girded door.





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