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THE RHYME 
 
 OF the; 
 
 Friar Steptien 
 
 A LEGEND 
 
 ELEANOR C. DONNELLY 
 
 2ndi COPY 
 1b98. 
 
 TWO COPIES RECEIVED 
 
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 Copyright, 1898, by Eleanor C. Donnelly. 
 
 /Z'^lj/)2, 
 
TO 
 
 MY IJFIv-I.ONG AND RVER-FAITHFUI. 
 FRIKXD, 
 
 UcrijiUb. Francis p. ^lK£ran.^.^.f.,(iD.^.g^. 
 
 PRIOR OF THE AUOrSTINIAN MONASTERY 
 
 OF ST. THOMAS OF VI^LANOVA, 
 
 DELAWARE CO., PA., 
 
 THIS BOOKLET IS INSCRIBED. 
 
THE 
 
 Rbyme of tbe Triar Stepbcn. 
 
 ««« 
 
 A LEGEND. 
 
 /@)mONG the annals of the Persian Tartars, 
 J The old Franciscan chronicles that show 
 
 The sacred Acts of those monastic martyrs 
 Who fell in Asia centuries ago : 
 
 We come upon a strange and thrilling story, 
 Like some rare, gorgeous blossom, ripen'd fast. 
 
 Arising in its oriental glory, 
 
 From the debris and death-dust of the Past. 
 
 7 
 
The legend of the blessed martyr Stephen 
 Is full of solemn truth to all who read ; — 
 
 Attend, 3-e self-reliant ones ! for even 
 The best and wisest may its warning heed. 
 
 'N orphan Magyar, fair and brave and gifted, 
 Led by the Spirit to the wilderness, 
 
 In the first blush of life, — his heart uplifted 
 Above the snares of earth's false happi- 
 ness, — 
 
 The little Stephen, in his childhood, found him 
 Before the gates of one of those old haunts 
 
 Of Friars Minor in the desert. Round him 
 He saw, aglow with heaven's pure romance. 
 
 The simple cloisters, coolly dim and quiet. 
 Wherein were met the gentle brotherhood ; 
 
 A limpid fountain in their midst, and nigh it, 
 The little chapel with its cross of wood. 
 
About its doors, some milk-white doves were 
 feeding : 
 The boy approached, and viewed them, 
 tender-eyed, 
 Then, knelt before the monks, enraptur'd, 
 pleading : 
 " Oh ! take me in, and let me here abide ! " 
 
 ^ 
 
 OOR little pilgrim ! fleeing want and 
 danger, 
 Heir of the Christ-Child's innocence and 
 grace ! 
 In that fair niorning-hour, the helpless 
 stranger 
 Among the good Franciscans found his^ 
 place. 
 
 And there abode ; a pupil first, but later, 
 
 A novice, in his flowering youth profess'd ; 
 
 Devoted heart and soul to his Creator, 
 
 His ardent fervor distanced all the rest. 
 11 
 
For, in his bosom burned those mighty fires 
 
 That only glow in apostolic men ; 
 "Now, God be with our Stephen!" said the 
 friars : 
 
 " His zeal shall bid Saint Francis live again ! " 
 
 Alas ! beneath the pure and thornless flowers 
 Of the first Paradise, the Serpent crawl' d ; 
 
 And the young Adam, peerless in his powers, 
 Bemoaned his fate, in Satan's snares enthrall'd. 
 
 And, since that dark, primeval day of sorrow. 
 No flesh can glory in its strength untried ; 
 
 The weakness of the creature can but borrow 
 The grace and courage by its Lord supplied ! 
 
 III. 
 
 /f 
 
 NOBLE visage, a persuasive bearing ; 
 
 A form as fair as that of fabled prince ; 
 A self-devotion that was almost daring, 
 
 A golden tongue to argue and convince : 
 
A mind enriched with study and reflection, 
 The fiery passions held in stern control, 
 
 And over all, supreme in chaste election, 
 The glad vocation of the virgin soul, — 
 
 Thus, like another Baptist, Friar Stephen 
 
 Came from the desert in his manhood's dawn. 
 
 And, in submission to the will of Heaven, 
 Abode within the Convent of St. John. 
 
 The poor old Convent on the rich environs 
 Of Islam's stronghold, magical Seray, 
 
 That mighty city, where the fairest syrens 
 Of luxury and pleasure held their sway. 
 
 Oh ! what a field for an apostle's labors ! 
 
 Oh ! what a soil to sow with heav'nly seed ! 
 Only to save the souls of these dear neighbors, 
 
 Where is the monk that would not toil and 
 
 bleed ? 
 
 13 
 
IV. 
 
 HE eyes of Stephen glow with holy fire, 
 His heart throbs quickly 'neath his russet 
 gown ; 
 He sees the sunlight on the lofty spire 
 Of mosque and mesjid ^ in the Moslem 
 town. 
 
 And down he kneels among the monks, and 
 pressing 
 His brazen crucifix upon his heart : 
 "O Father! give to me," he cries, "your 
 blessing, 
 And let me straightway to my work depart ! " 
 
 "Nay, nay, my son," the gra3'-hair'd Guardian 
 
 urges : 
 
 " Be not too rash or hasty in th}- zeal ; 
 
 Thro' yonder town such foul corruption surges, 
 
 Its giant force might make an angel reel ; 
 14 
 
"O'er 30iiiig art thoti.o'erpassionate and eager — 
 Thou iieedest all the strength that God can 
 lend ; 
 
 Refrain thyself in prayer, and in the rigor 
 Of holy penance, a brief season spend." 
 
 " What sayest thou, good Guardian ? Must I idle 
 These precious moments in a selfish prayer, 
 
 When, like the music calling to a bridal, 
 
 I hear the voice of souls that calls me there? 
 
 ' ' That cries to me : ' Bring hither thine evangel, 
 Oh ! come to us and help us !' — Must I wait?" — 
 
 Alas ! the while he pleaded like an angel. 
 
 Within his breast, self-trust was waxing great ! 
 
 m 
 
 HO could resist his zeal ? Who so censo- 
 rious 
 As to mistrust the brave and gifted friar ? 
 None could withstand that golden tongue. 
 Victorious, 
 
 It bent the wiser will to its desire. 
 15 
 
And forth he went ; the convent cell was cheer- 
 less, 
 The monks were strange, the cloister stern 
 and gray ; 
 And down he went, all confident and fearless. 
 Into the fatal city of Seray. 
 
 Into a fiery furnace of destruction, 
 
 A very charnel of seductive sin, 
 Where gorgeous flowers, growth of rank cor- 
 ruption. 
 
 Entrancing, veiled the rottenness within. 
 
 It was the feast Moharrum ;- ne'er had mortals 
 Surpass' d the splendors of that city broad ; 
 
 Fair children flinging blooms at gilded portals, 
 Were chanting shyly : "Allah is our God ! " 
 
VI. 
 
 EMPLES and palaces allured the vision 
 From baths and booths on terraces of 
 green ; 
 Delicious gardens stretched to groves 
 Elysian, 
 Bewildering as some enchanted scene. 
 
 In marble courts, unnumbered founts were 
 playing, 
 And blue-wing'd doves ■ cooed in the mango 
 trees, 
 Near sweet acacias, tremulously swaying 
 Their silvern bells ^ with ev'ry passing breeze. 
 
 And, thro' the gilded screens of pleasure-bowers, 
 The dancing-girls were seen in dreamy grace, 
 
 Whirling and weaving chains of Kerzrah flowers 
 To deck their^rosy robes of jewell'd lace. 
 
It seemed a mirror of the Moslem heaven, 
 That strange, seductive city of Seray, 
 
 And never had the guileless eyes of Stephen 
 Gazed on delights so perilously gay. 
 
 ^ 
 
 VII. 
 
 EARED in the desert s virginal seclusion, 
 Screened from temptation's sight and 
 sound, and snare, 
 How couM he meet this magical illusion 
 Save with the arms of Penance and of 
 Prayer ? 
 
 Back on remembrance, rush'd the Guardian's 
 warning ; 
 Alas I too late ; for in his ardent breast, 
 The fiercest passions rose in reckless scorning, 
 And writhed like cobras round a ring-dove's 
 nest. 
 
 Thoughts and temptations ne'er before imagiued, 
 Swept in a torrent thro' his burniug brain ; 
 
 Before him, passed the oriental pageant- 
 Bewitching music wooed him with its strain. 
 20 
 
And looking, he forgot his lofty mission ; 
 
 And listening, remembered not the cries 
 Of souls that called him, in his morning's vision, 
 
 To bring to them the Gospel of the Skies ! 
 
 /I 
 
 VIII. 
 
 S one who walks in an enchanted slumber, 
 Loses the past in blank oblivion. 
 
 Threading that radiant throng— too vast to 
 number — 
 The monk forgot the Convent of St John. 
 
 But, sudden, thro' the tapestry of flowers 
 
 That curtained in the song and laughter sweet, 
 
 A bell rang sharply from the convent towers. 
 And on his startled ears, reproachful, beat ! 
 
 O sad awaking of the erring spirit ! 
 
 O wretched fate of the presumptuous soul ! 
 A stainless life, with all its grace and merit, 
 
 Debauch'd, debased beneath the Fiend's con- 
 trol ! 
 
with bended head, with footsteps slow, uneven. 
 His heart's strange anguish pictured on his 
 face— 
 
 Back to his convent, turned the hapless Stephen, 
 And 'mid the waiting brethren took his place. 
 
 IX. 
 
 /© CHANGE was over all— the simple choir 
 ' Looked bare and homely to his altered 
 
 eyes ; 
 The chant, the Beads, the lecture seemed to 
 tire 
 After that glimpse of Moslem Paradise. 
 
 No more before the shrine, in chaste emotion, 
 He led the Sacred Office brave and fair ; 
 
 Nor in his stall, with tenderest devotion. 
 
 Poured out his soul in faith-illumined prayer. 
 
 Mechanical, he went and came : a phantom 
 That wore the young apostle's face and form ; 
 
 That in his duties spake and wrought at 
 random — 
 A thing of ice, no flame of love could warm. 
 
Rut in the nights, when all his mates were 
 sleeping, 
 
 And that unnatural calm was swept away, 
 Pacing his cell with groans and bitter weeping, 
 
 He wandered back in fancy to Seray. 
 
 There, were the moonlight's mellow glories 
 glowing 
 On snowy minarets and shining domes ; 
 There, were the dark-eyed children, roses 
 strewing 
 Thro' brilliant streets, around their beauteous 
 homes. 
 
 Once more, he heard the plash of perfum'd 
 waters 
 In dreamy groves, with bird and blossom 
 bright ; 
 Once more, he looked on Islam's lovely 
 daughters, 
 The airy dancers of a day's delight ! 
 
About him, breathed the wild, bewitching 
 sweetness 
 
 Of Eastern music. Mosque and mesjid fair— 
 The Moslem town in all its grand completeness 
 
 Of palaces and people, glittered there I 
 
 I HAT could he do, but flee in fear and 
 tremblini 
 To cast him at his ghostly Father's feet — 
 And, laying bare his soul, without dis- 
 sembling, 
 The shameful trial, shuddering, repeat? 
 
 Unceasing raged the combat, strange and tragic, 
 'Twixt light and darkness, Paradise and Hell : 
 
 The grace of Jesus, Lucifer's vile magic 
 Besieging in their turns, the citadel 
 
 Of that poor heart . . . 'Twas Lent. The 
 monks in choir, 
 Besought the Lord with discipline and prayer, 
 To look in mercy on the tempted Friar, 
 
 And save him from the madness of despair. 
 24 
 
XI. 
 
 OE, woe to him who, in his own poor 
 
 powers, 
 Hath put his trust in battle with the 
 
 Fiend ! 
 From first to last, that broken staff of 
 
 Hath ever pierced the hand that on it 
 leaned ! 
 
 The anxious days, momentous, dawned and 
 darkened ; 
 
 The Demon raged : the Angel hid his face ; 
 Before the crucifix, no longer hearkened 
 
 The hapless Stephen to the voice of grace. 
 
 For, in the hour when all the holy friars 
 
 Were gathered at the Maundy Thursday Rite, 
 
 The young monk, mastered by his mad desires, 
 Fled from the sacred cloister : took his flight, 
 2.-, 
 
lyike a base traitor, to the Moslem city, 
 Infested with its unbelieving horde, — 
 
 The very day (O angels ! weep in pity !) 
 Whereon a Judas once betrayed his Lord ! 
 
 plEFORE the crowded gates of Kadi Hafet, 
 "^■^ The Magyar hastes to cry, without demur : 
 ' ' Great is the God of Mahomet the Prophet ! 
 Behold in me, his humble worshipper ! ' ' 
 
 "All praise to Allah!" shout the Muftis' 
 madly ; 
 
 And, straightway, by the Moslem mob beset. 
 They hurry him to where the Kadi '' gladly 
 
 Awaits him in his secret cabinet. 
 
 Thence, do they speed him forth, in open litter, 
 Unto the grand Ulema, ■ veiled and wierd. 
 
 Where an ag'd Imauni with deep eyes a-glitter. 
 
 Leans from his rich musnud ■ to pluck his 
 
 beard, 
 
 26 
 
And scream : "What wouldst thou, dog? Hot 
 blood runs coldly 
 In quest of truth ? Hast thou Alkoran ■* 
 read ? ' ' 
 To all of which the pervert answers boldh', 
 Nor halts at blasphemies his purpose dread. 
 
 With eyes like blazing lamps, at each assertion, 
 The yellow mummy claps his withered hands. 
 
 O what a gain to Iran ' " this perversion ! 
 
 What foul disgrace tht- cross of Issa ' ^ brands ! 
 
 Hark ! the nmezzin's ' - call the conclave closes ! 
 
 The Imaums ^ - speak the traitor-monk : " 'Tis 
 don-. 
 Thou now art Istephaii ; the Mosque of Roses, 
 
 To-morrow, shall behold thee Islam's ^ ^ son ! " 
 
((i^ PON the morrow, true to that sad saying, 
 The Mosque of Roses saw a wondrous 
 
 A mighty crowd within its walls was 
 swaying. 
 And all its perfum'd air was full of light. 
 
 For high above them all, his monk's attire 
 The cynosure of ev'ry eager eye. 
 
 Beside the Kadi, stood the perjured Friar, 
 To speak aloud his sacrilegious lie. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! on that tremendous morrow, 
 
 The Christians in their churches, crush'd with 
 
 woe, 
 
 On that Good Friday, fast of mortal sorrow, 
 
 The Passion of our Lord were chanting slow. 
 80 
 
The while the priest his tears the page obscuring, 
 Pronounced the hallowed words in chancel 
 dim, 
 
 Within the Mosque, a Christian was abjuring 
 The Blessed Christ who bled and died for him! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 HEY tore the sacred habit from his 
 
 shoulders, 
 
 And cast it at the Kadi's feet disgraced ; 
 
 A gorgeous caftan^ ' was around him folded, 
 
 And on his head, a jewelled turban 
 
 placed. 
 
 Upon his feet, they fastened silvern sandals, 
 A chain of pearls upon his bosom bold, 
 
 And, overall, they cast a royal mantle, 
 Magnificent with 'broideries of gold. 
 
 Stirred was the city, 
 criers : 
 
 " Rejoice, ye sons and daughters of Seray ! 
 The mighty Imaum of the Christian friars 
 Hath trampled upon Issa's cross to-day 
 
Then, went there forth a marvellous procession 
 Of all the grace and glory of the town, 
 
 Bearing in state, beneath the shining crescent, 
 The young apostate with his jewelled crown. 
 
 While, far above each flag and floating banner, 
 (The target of derision and dislike,) 
 
 The hoh- habit of the Friars INIinor 
 Was lifted on a mocking soldier's pike. 
 
 XV 
 
 y7)jH ! then the hearts of the unhappy 
 Christians 
 Were broken by that last most bitter blow: 
 And on the roads, the scandalized Fran- 
 ciscans 
 Their faces hid with sobs and groans of 
 
 Sweet Lord ! thro' all the impious ovation, 
 Thro' all the blare of trumpet, roll of drum. 
 
 Those sobs, those groans of tender lamentation 
 Unto the ear of guilty Stephen come ! 
 
He sees the blush upon the dear old faces, 
 He hears them mourning for his awful sin : 
 
 A strange compunction -last of all his graces- 
 Incipient, stirs his sobered heart within. 
 
 \© 
 
 XVI. 
 
 '"JHAT means (is asked) that shade of 
 deadly sadness 
 That settles round the new-made Mus- 
 sulman ? 
 Why hath the glow of proud, triumphant 
 gladness 
 Fled from the lofty brow of Istephan ? 
 
 They bring him to the banquet-hall of princes, 
 Rare wines and richest viands crown the 
 board ; 
 He spurns each luscious dish, and shuddering, 
 winces 
 Whene'er the Kishmee's ^'' fiery draught is 
 pour'd. 
 
What time resplendent houris ^ " throng the 
 dwelling, 
 And chant their ziraleets. ^ " With smothered 
 cries, 
 He hides his face — his soul, abhorrent, swelling, 
 And tears in torrents gushing from his eyes. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 HE slaves have gone. The dancing-girls, 
 
 dejected, 
 
 Withdraw, in turn, unnoticed as the 
 
 rest ; 
 
 And, last of all, their dark designs effected, 
 
 The Imaums, too, retire from their guest. 
 
 Effulgent gleam, 'mid orient rugs and couches, 
 Mirrors and perfum'd lamps ; each polish 'd 
 wall 
 Bright flow'rs and founts reflects : but Stephen 
 crouches 
 In solitary grandeur, blind to all. 
 
 84 
 
Till, snatching from the folds of his attire, 
 His waxen tablets — lo ! he writes thereon : 
 
 ''The sinner Stephen, the apostate friar. 
 Sends greeting to his brethren of Saint John. 
 
 Jt 
 
 "Likefudas, I have sinned ; but not like Judas, 
 Do I despair of mercy or of heaven ; 
 
 For, by the help of Him who hath renewed us, 
 I shall repair the scandal I have given ! 
 
 ''I pray ye, therefore, brothers, do not harden 
 Vour hearts against me : nor my plea deny. 
 
 But send to me a priest with hope of pardon, 
 That I may make my peace before I die ! ' ' 
 
 f 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 AR in the night, a Persian mercenary 
 
 Stole with the tablets to the cloister stairs, 
 
 When the Grand Silence ^^ of the monastery- 
 Was broken by ecstatic hymns and prayers. 
 
The lost \vas found, the dead to life had risen : 
 A glory hovered o'er the Moslem town ; 
 
 Beyond the shame, the torture, and the prison, 
 They caught the splendor of the Martyr's 
 crown ! 
 
 Long ere the ezam -" of the dawn had sounded. 
 The valiant Guardian, in a slave's disguise. 
 
 Past the apostate's gilded doors had bounded, 
 And clasped his erring son, with streaming 
 eves. 
 
 A secret closet offers safe recesses, 
 
 And there, the while the Paschal tapers shine. 
 The prodigal, at last, his crimes confesses, 
 
 And feeds once more upon the Lamb Divine. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 'he glad aurora of the Easter morning 
 
 Showered its dewdrops upon old Seray, 
 
 Till, crown'd wnth diamonds, like a bride's 
 
 adorning, 
 
 f he Mosque of Roses in the sunlight lay. 
 3tj 
 
From far and near, in jubilant elation, 
 The Persians flock' d. 'Twas rumored long 
 and loud, 
 That Istephan, the glory of their nation. 
 
 Would greet once more the mighty Moslem 
 crowd. 
 
 He came ; all Islam thronged the vast enclosure, 
 When at the noontide, thro' that sea of men, 
 
 The Friar made his way with strange composure. 
 And mounted to the Tribune once again. 
 
 Oh ! how they cheered him as he tower'd above 
 
 them, 
 
 Clad in his scarlet mantle rich with gold ; 
 
 What frenzy of the passions seemed to move 
 
 them, 
 
 As thro' the Mosque, their shouts of triumph 
 
 rolled ! 
 
 87 
 
But lo ! a hush— a stillness as from heaven 
 Falls on the storm ; and then, 'tis Stephen 
 cries : 
 
 "All glory to the Cross of Christ be given, 
 And may Alkoran perish with its lies ! 
 
 "I believe in Thee, Christ Jesus, Lord and 
 Master ! 
 
 Great Son of God ! True Saviour of the world ! 
 On the false Prophet, on the foul impostor, 
 
 Anathema ! anathema, be hurl'd ! " 
 
 S 
 
 And, straightway, tearing off his scarlet vesture, 
 He cast it from him in their startled sight ; 
 
 And stood before them, with triumphant gesture, 
 Clad in the habit of the Minorite ! 
 
 38 
 
XX. 
 
 ^1|^ITH glowing face, with arms outstretch'd 
 to heaven, 
 A victim eager to be sacrific'd : 
 "God for my witness ! " cried the radiant 
 Stephen : 
 "I am a Christian, and would die for 
 Christ!" 
 
 And then — O saints and angels, what a vision ! 
 
 Like cruel tigers thirsting for his blood, 
 With shouts of fury and of wild derision, 
 
 The Imaums fell upon him where he stood. 
 
 They tore him from the Tribune— scourged and 
 
 smote him, 
 
 Bound him with chains, a slave for Christ's 
 
 sweet sake ; 
 
 Unto the fatal pyre, bleeding, brought him. 
 
 And lit the flames that wreath'd the hideous 
 
 stake. 
 
 41 
 
XXI. 
 
 ,^!?v IX times the dav dawned on those torments 
 ^— ' dire, 
 
 Six times the night shrouded that life in 
 death ; 
 By God sustained, despite of scourge and 
 fire, 
 The hero lived — and witness' d to his 
 faith ! 
 
 But, in the seventh noon of his endurance. 
 Upon th' intrepid Friar rush'd his foes : 
 
 Faith had its crown, and Love, its sweet assur- 
 ance— 
 The young life fled at last 'neath deadly blows! 
 
 Heaven be praised ! the while his corse lay 
 prostrate. 
 Shrivelled and crush'd amid the embers faint, 
 The snow-white soul of Stephen the Apostate 
 
 Soared to the skies — a new Franciscan saint ! 
 
 42 
 
His grievous sin sublimely expiated, 
 The robes of shame forever cast aside ; 
 
 In Christ's dear grace and favor reinstated, 
 The Martyr reigned— and God was glorified ! 
 
ADDENDA. 
 
 Note.— The niaiu facts of this narrative poem are 
 authenticated by Wadding, Feret, and M. I'Abbe Hue. 
 
 ^ " Mesjid" — An inferior mosque. 
 
 - " Moharruni " — The death-day of the two 
 sons of Mahomet. 
 
 ■ " Blue-wing' d doves" — The favorite birds 
 of the Prophet 
 
 ^ "Silvern bells" — It is the custom of the 
 Mahometans to hang bells on trees on their 
 feast-days. 
 
 ^ " Muftis " — The doctors of the Mahometan 
 law. 
 
 ' *' Kadi " — A magistrate or judge. 
 
 " ' ' Ulema " — The sacred college of the Turks. 
 
 •^ " Musnud " — A couch. 
 
 '■ " Alkoran " — The ^Mahometan Bible. 
 45 
 
•^ " Iran " — The ancient name of Persia. 
 ^^ " Issa" — Jesus. 
 
 "Muezzin" — The officer who announces 
 the hour of prayer. 
 
 Imaums " — The successors of Mahomet — 
 the teachers of his creed. 
 
 Islam"— The religion of Mahomet — the 
 great body of his followers. 
 
 Caftan " — An oriental robe. 
 ^^ "Kishmee" — An eastern wine. 
 ^ " '* Houris " — Beautiful young girls. 
 
 "Ziraleets" — Songs of joy sung by Ma- 
 hometan women. 
 
 ^^ "Grand Silence" — A time of silence ob- 
 served in some monasteries from lo p. m. until 
 matins, and not to be broken except by grave 
 necessit}-. 
 
 ^'^' "Ezani" — The call to Mahometan prayers, 
 sounded at five different hours, by the muezzin. 
 

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