Excerpt
MYSTERY OF CARMEL The Mission floor was with weeds o'ergrown,And crumbling and shaky its walls of stone;Its roof of tiles, in tiers and tiers,Had stood the storms of a hundred years.An olden, weird, medieval styleClung to the mouldering, gloomy pile,And the rhythmic voice of the breaking wavesSang a lonesome dirge in its land of graves.As I walked in the Mission old and gray—The Mission Carmel at Monterey. An ancient owl went fluttering by,Scared from his haunt. His mournful cryWakened the echoes, till roof and wallCaught and re-echoed the dismal callAgain and again, till it seemed to meSome Jesuit soul, in mockery—Stripped of rosary, gown, and cowl—Haunted the place, in this dreary owl.Surely I shivered with fright that day,Alone in the Mission, old and gray—The Mission Carmel at Monterey. Near the chapel vault was a dungeon grim,And they say that many a chanted hymnHas rung a knell on the moldy airFor luckless errant prisoned there,As kneeling monk and pious nunSang orison at set of sun.A single window, dark and small,Showed opening in the heavy wall,Nor other entrance seemed attainedThat erst had human footstep gained.I paused before the uncanny placeAnd peered me into its darksome space.Had it of secret aught to tell,That locked up darkness kept it well.I turned, and lo! by my side there stoodA being of strangest naturehood.Startled, I glanced him o'er and o'er,Wondering I noted him not before.His form was stooped with the weight of years,And on his cheek was a trace of tears;Over all his face a shade of painThat deepened and vanished, and came again.Fixed he his woeful eyes on me—Through my very soul they seemed to see.And lightly he laid his hand on mine—His hand was cold as the vestal shrine."'Tis haunted," he said, "haunted, and heWho dares at night-noon go with meTo this cursed place, by phantoms trod,Must fear not devil, man, nor God.""Tell me the story," I cried, "tell me!"And frightened was I at my bravery.A curious smile his thin lips curved,That well had my bravery unnerved.And this is the story he told that dayTo me in the Mission old and gray—The Mission Carmel at Monterey. "Each midnight, since have seventy yearsBegun their cycle around the spheres,Two faces have looked from that window there.One is a woman's, young and fair,With tender eyes and floating hair.Love, and regret, and dumb despair,Are told in each tint of the fair sweet face.The other is crowned with a courtly grace,Gazing, with all a lover's pride,On the beautiful woman by his side.Anon! a change flits o'er his mien,And baffled rage in his glance is seen.Paler they grow as the hours go by,With the pallor that comes with the summons to die.Slowly fading, and shrinking away,Clutched in the grasp of a gaunt decay,Till the herald of morn on the sky is thrown;Then a shriek, a curse, and a dying moan,Comes from that death-black window there.A mocking laugh rings out on the air,From that darkful place, in the nascent dawn,And the faces that looked from the window are gone....