The Austin weekly statesman. (Austin, Tex.) 1883-1898, 1884-01-24
SAN zOsE 3DsIex

azsAr Raa sat1zE>- mora than ono III
bred SID dtrJ-three years ago. Thoughts /
suggested upon visiting it December 90, 1883, |
Ay Ea1. ii. y. WRITTEN, Of Austin. Texas |
SI0dped,
We dare within thy lonely courts lntrude:
We mark thy walls. like Dattleme Is reared
Tras monument of ages long gone by
An honored relic OF the stOried past,
Defytng still the Writer'S sulleD blast!
Within, vi bout, above thee, and arounl
death-like stiffness relgns throughout, pro
found;
No kindly voice comes on the evening air.
Thy ancient grace and glory 10 declare
And yet. to Fancy's keen and practiced
Ten thousand voices of the Past appear
By Shy mute touch thou brlngeSt Us face to face
With 20 g-lost members OF a distant race;
Though persisted long ago the head and hand
planned
Though marred and blemished now by
Times dark stains)
Through H,sing centuries their work re-
mains.
Thy cutter walls grown bleak and gray with age
Like some grim castle, prove the Storm-hlng's
| Thy ruined heights are wreathed in MOSES
Where towering shrubs add beauty to the
scene
Lonely, deserted desolate thou art,
| BIT ch rished stlll by many friendly
heart
Beside this altar crumblng to decay,
waiting throng can Fancy fain portray;
| Before those images with sanity crown
| hnelt the shrewd Priest with gold-embroid-
cred gown
In the gray dawn arose the matin chime
And solemn Y6SDer IN the evening time,
Twas here full of the trustful sire and dame
| hroucht their young babe to coliSecrate and
| name;
And blushing here the happy bridal pair
Sealed their glad Vows-each others life to
| share:
And here full oft with mufled, measured
Mid stlned sobs, was borne the hOnored
! dead.
But now, along thy "din cathedral aisles,"
| No sound the duh M notony beguileS;
| No echoing footballs break the Sulle gloom
Enfolding thee as with fateful doom;
| No organ pealS solemn, thrilling strain
No sounding bell calls back the hosts
! again.
| No blazing taper with its friendly glare
| nispels the shadows from thy portals bare;
No burning censor waiting sweet perfume
| Pours fragrant odors through thy settled
No more the duskv worshippers by scores
TOuT LII anu CuL my NdIlluSb open uOOlS
No kneeling priest with humble. reverent air
| Breaks thy dead calm with lowly muttered
| prayer;
No "hooded monk; > TO close-ve.led gentle
| Nun
Here now invokeS the Holy Virgin one.
| Where are those wOrShipperS? Cold,
! stark and still,
They sleep profound beneath the distant
! bill.
But, oh! what ehangeful scenes have come to
pass
since here were chanted litany and mass,
| Since thou-Old M Sson in this fr grant wood
| An honored relic through the years hast stood
| Kingdoms and empires tottered from
Il their throne
! And infant nations into empires grown.
Hail, grand old church! Rear high thy bat
tered dome!
A relic still for centuries yet to come;
May no rude hand pOllute tiny sacred famei
Nor blood and wrong thy crumbling alters
stain;
And when the thousands who have
| marked thy gloom
| Shall sleep forgotten in the silent tomb
MAY thy quaint walls, enwreathed in liY-
By wondering tourists still with pride be
shrubs and grasses are growing in the crew
ices OF the walls.