The Organist.

In his dim chapel day by day     The organist was wont to play,     And please himself with fluted reveries;     And all the spirit's joy and strife,     The longing of a tender life,     Took sound and form upon the ivory keys;     And though he seldom spoke a word,     The simple hearts that loved him heard     His glowing soul in these.     One day as he was wrapped, a sound     Of feet stole near; he turned and found     A little maid that stood beside him there.     She started, and in shrinking-wise     Besought him with her liquid eyes     And little features, very sweet and spare.     "You love the music, child," he said,     And laid his hand upon her head,     And smoothed her matted hair.     She answered, "At the door one day     I sat and heard the organ play;     I did not dare to come inside for fear;     But yesterday, a little while,     I crept half up the empty aisle     And heard the music sounding sweet and clear;     To-day I thought you would not mind,     For, master dear, your face was kind,     And so I came up here."     "You love the music then," he said,     And still he stroked her golden head,     And followed out some winding reverie;     "And you are poor?" said he at last;     The maiden nodded, and he passed     His hand across his forehead dreamingly;     "And will you be my friend?" he spake,     "And on the organ learn to make     Grand music here with me?"     And all the little maiden's face     Was kindled with a grateful grace;     "Oh, master, teach me; I will slave for thee!"     She cried; and so the child grew dear     To him, and slowly year by year     He taught her all the organ's majesty;     And gave her from his slender store     Bread and warm clothing, that no more     Her cheeks were pinched to see.     And year by year the maiden grew     Taller and lovelier, and the hue     Deepened upon her tender cheeks untried.     Rounder, and queenlier, and more fair     Her form grew, and her golden hair     Fell yearly richer at the master's side.     In speech and bearing, form and face,     Sweeter and graver, grace by grace,     Her beauties multiplied.     And sometimes at his work a glow     Would touch him, and he murmured low,     "How beautiful she is?" and bent his head;     And sometimes when the day went by     And brought no maiden he would sigh,     And lean and listen for her velvet tread;     And he would drop his hands and say,     "My music cometh not to-day;     Pray God she be not dead!"     So the sweet maiden filled his heart,     And with her growing grew his art,     For day by day more wondrously he played.     Such heavenly things the master wrought,     That in his happy dreams he thought     The organ's self did love the gold-haired maid:     But she, the maiden, never guessed     What prayers for her in hours of rest     The sombre organ prayed.     At last, one summer morning fair,     The maiden came with braided hair     And took his hands, and held them eagerly.     "To-morrow is my wedding day;     Dear master, bless me that the way     Of life be smooth, not bitter unto me."     He stirred not; but the light did go     Out of his shrunken cheeks, and oh!     His head hung heavily.     "You love him, then?" "I love him well,"     She answered, and a numbness fell     Upon his eyes and all his heart that bled.     A glory, half a smile, abode     Within the maiden's eyes and glowed     Upon her parted lips. The master said,     "God bless and bless thee, little maid,     With peace and long delight," and laid     His hands upon her head.     And she was gone; and all that day     The hours crept up and slipped away,     And he sat still, as moveless as a stone.     The night came down, with quiet stars,     And darkened him: in colored bars     Along the shadowy aisle the moonlight shone.     And then the master woke and passed     His hands across the keys at last,     And made the organ moan.     The organ shook, the music wept;     For sometimes like a wail it crept     In broken moanings down the shadows drear;     And otherwhiles the sound did swell,     And like a sudden tempest fell     Through all the windows wonderful and clear.     The people gathered from the street,     And filled the chapel seat by seat -     They could not choose but hear.     And there they sat till dawning light,     Nor ever stirred for awe. "To-night,     The master hath a noble mood," they said.     But on a sudden ceased the sound:     Like ghosts the people gathered round,     And on the keys they found his fallen head.     The silent organ had received     The master's broken heart relieved,     And he was white and dead.