Gold Hair - A Story Of Pornic

I.     Oh, the beautiful girl, too white,     Who lived at Pornic, down by the sea,     Just where the sea and the Loire unite!     And a boasted name in Brittany     She bore, which I will not write. II.     Too white, for the flower of life is red;     Her flesh was the soft seraphic screen     Of a soul that is meant (her parents said)     To just see earth, and hardly be seen,     And blossom in heaven instead. III.     Yet earth saw one thing, one how fair!     One grace that grew to its full on earth     Smiles might be sparse on her cheek so spare,     And her waist want half a girdles girth,     But she had her great gold hair. IV.     Hair, such a wonder of flix and floss,     Freshness and fragrance, floods of it, too!     Gold, did I say? Nay, golds mere dross:     Here, Life smiled, Think what I meant to do!     And Love sighed, Fancy my loss! V.     So, when she died, it was scarce more strange     Than that, when delicate evening dies,     And you follow its spent suns pallid range,     Theres a shoot of colour startles the skies     With sudden, violent change, VI.     That, while the breath was nearly to seek,     As they put the little cross to her lips,     She changed; a spot came out on her cheek,     A spark from her eye in mid-eclipse,     And she broke forth, I must speak! VII.     Not my hair! made the girl her moan,     All the rest is gone or to go;     But the last, last grace, my all, my own,     Let it stay in the grave, that the ghosts may know!     Leave my poor gold hair alone! VIII.     The passion thus vented, dead lay she;     Her parents sobbed their worst on that;     All friends joined in, nor observed degree     For indeed the hair was to wonder at,     As it spread, not flowing free, IX.     But curled around her brow, like a crown,     And coiled beside her cheeks, like a cap,     And calmed about her neck, ay, down     To her breast, pressed flat, without a gap     I the gold, it reached her gown. X.     All kissed that face, like a silver wedge     Mid the yellow wealth, nor disturbed its hair     Een the priest allowed deaths privilege,     As he planted the crucifix with care     On her breast, twixt edge and edge. XI.     And thus was she buried, inviolate     Of body and soul, in the very space     By the altar; keeping saintly state     In Pornic church, for her pride of race,     Pure life and piteous fate. XII.     And in after-time would your fresh tear fall,     Though your mouth might twitch with a dubious smile,     As they told you of gold, both robe and pall,     How she prayed them leave it alone awhile,     So it never was touched at all. XIII.     Years flew; this legend grew at last     The life of the lady; all she had done,     All been, in the memories fading fast     Of lover and friend, was summed in one     Sentence survivors passed: XIV.     To wit, she was meant for heaven, not earth;     Had turned an angel before the time:     Yet, since she was mortal, in such dearth     Of frailty, all you could count a crime     Was, she knew her gold hairs worth. XV.     At little pleasant Pornic church,     It chanced, the pavement wanted repair,     Was taken to pieces: left in the lurch,     A certain sacred space lay bare,     And the boys began research. XVI.     T was the space where our sires would lay a saint,     A benefactor, a bishop, suppose,     A baron with armour-adornments quaint,     Dame with chased ring and jewelled rose,     Things sanctity saves from taint; XVII.     So we come to find them in after-days     When the corpse is presumed to have done with gauds     Of use to the living, in many ways     For the boys get pelf, and the town applauds,     And the church deserves the praise. XVIII.     They grubbed with a will: and at length, O cor     Humanum, pectora cca, and the rest!     They found no gaud they were prying for,     No ring, no rose, but who would have guessed?     A double Louis-dor! XIX.     Here was a case for the priest: he heard,     Marked, inwardly digested, laid     Finger on nose, smiled, Theres a bird     Chirps in my ear: then, Bring a spade,     Dig deeper! he gave the word. XX.     And lo, when they came to the coffin-lid,     Or rotten planks which composed it once,     Why, there lay the girls skull wedged amid     A mint of money, it served for the nonce     To hold in its hair-heaps hid! XXI.     Hid there? Why? Could the girl be wont     (She the stainless soul) to treasure up     Money, earths trash and heavens affront?     Had a spider found out the communion-cup,     Was a toad in the christening-font? XXII.     Truth is truth: too true it was.     Gold! She hoarded and hugged it first,     Longed for it, leaned oer it, loved it, alas,     Till the humour grew to a head and burst,     And she cried, at the final pass, XXIII.     Talk not of God, my heart is stone!     Nor lover nor friend, be gold for both!     Gold I lack; and, my all, my own,     It shall hide in my hair. I scarce die loth     If they let my hair alone! XXIV.     Louis-dor, some six times five,     And duly double, every piece.     Now do you see? With the priest to shrive,     With parents preventing her souls release     By kisses that kept alive, XXV.     With heavens gold gates about to ope,     With friends praise, gold-like, lingering still,     An instinct had bidden the girls hand grope     For gold, the true sort, Gold in heaven, if you will;     But I keep earths too, I hope. XXVI.     Enough! The priest took the graves grim yield     The parents, they eyed that price of sin     As if thirty pieces lay revealed     On the place to bury strangers in,     The hideous Potters Field. XXVII.     But the priest bethought him: Milk thats spilt     You know the adage! Watch and pray!     Saints tumble to earth with so slight a tilt!     It would build a new altar; that, we may!     And the altar therewith was built. XXVIII.     Why I deliver this horrible verse?     As the text of a sermon, which now I preach:     Evil or good may be better or worse     In the human heart, but the mixture of each     Is a marvel and a curse. XXIX.     The candid incline to surmise of late     That the Christian faith proves false, I find:     For our Essays-and-Reviews debate     Begins to tell on the public mind,     And Colensos words have weight: XXX.     I still, to suppose it true, for my part,     See reasons and reasons; this, to begin:     T is the faith that launched point-blank her dart     At the head of a lie, taught Original Sin.     The Corruption of Mans Heart.