Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SAN LUIS OBISPO DE TOLOSA, by AMELIA WOODWARD TRUESDELL


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SAN LUIS OBISPO DE TOLOSA, by                    
First Line: When the fathers passed to southward from antonio's / new-made shrine
Last Line: Midst them apricot or pear tree, lank and sere, lift outcast head.
Subject(s): Clergy; Missions & Missionaries; Prayer; Priests; Rabbis; Ministers; Bishops


When the fathers passed to southward from Antonio's new-made shrine,
Just within the shelt'ring steeps which bend to skirt the sea-coast line,

Full two score of leagues their journey, as the bee his pathway grades;
Many score they wandered blindly in and out 'mong unknown glades.

Once within a deep, lone cañon, when night found them without bread,
Came toward them o'er wooded hill-side—shadowed glories round his
head—

One who led them in sweet converse, and laid bread upon their board;
Found the morn their guest departed, and their hampers newly stored.

And a radiant youth oft met them, offering flask of grateful wine,
And they felt its sweet refreshment, knowing not the gift divine.

On these rugged cliffs to seaward, opened are the graves today,
Where the unbaptized were buried with their vessels of coarse clay.

Hence a mountain-crowded cañon reaches inward from the sea,
Till it meets two pointed summits lifting heaven's canopy;

Here for Louis of Toulouse they set the bishop's crosier down,
Gave his name to dreamful valley, river, and the mountain's crown;

He who to the throne of Naples for Christ's love gave up his claim;
Who barefooted, unattended, prelate to Tolosa came.

This the corridor historic, by the tales the people tell—
Be they verity or legend—of strange scenes which here befell;

For once paced a sad procession—grieved the morning at the sight—
Bent forms draped in sombre garments, dark against the Mission's white.

Bowed heads, with rebozos covered, followed where Ramona led—
Brave Ramona de Pacheco, lifting proud uncovered head.

Came señoras leading children, from a night of prayer and grief,
Seeking from young Fremont pardon for Don Jesus Pico, chief.

To their slow half-smothered footsteps sighed the corridor's cold stone,
As they passed with woeful mien, by prayers and weeping to atone.

As of old came Roman matrons, seeking for their city's life,
At his feet knelt these untiring. Stern the soldier's inward strife.

Tolled the Mission bells the moments; paced the sentries to and fro;
Flung the sun his bloody banners; still the pleaders would not go.

Came the word to stay the sentence: "Gracias Dios" checked their tears;
As alcalde of the country, lived Don Jesus many years.

Gone the plaza and the fountains; Spain's delights for aye are fled;
E'en the square of consecration now receives no more the dead;

Gone the neophytes who wondered while the unknown God they praised;
Aliens till their rolling valleys—strangers hold the walls they raised.

Where were laid the Mission gardens, the young city's streets are led,
'Midst them apricot or pear tree, lank and sere, lift outcast head.





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