RENA
(A LEGEND OF BRUSSELS)
I.
St. Gudula's bells were chiming for the midnight, sad and slow,
In the ancient town of Brussels, many and many a year ago,
In the ancient town of Brussels, many and many a year ago,
And St. Michael, poised so grandly on his lofty, airy height,
Seemed transfigured in the glory of the full moon's tender light,
Seemed transfigured in the glory of the full moon's tender light,
When, a fair and saintly maiden crowned with locks of palest gold,
Rena stood beside her lover, son of Hildebrand the Bold.
Rena stood beside her lover, son of Hildebrand the Bold.
She with grief and tears was pallid; but his face was hard and stern:
All the passion of his being in his dark eyes seemed to burn.
All the passion of his being in his dark eyes seemed to burn.
"Never dream that I will give thee back thy plighted faith," he cried,
"By St. Michael's sword I swear it, thou, my love, shalt be my bride!"
"By St. Michael's sword I swear it, thou, my love, shalt be my bride!"
"Nay, but hear me," she responded; "hear the words that I must speak;
I must speak, and thou must hearken, though my heart is like to break.
I must speak, and thou must hearken, though my heart is like to break.
