The Church Porch
[Arthur Pendennis made his entry into literature by writing these verses for Mr. Bacon’s “Spring Annual.” The Hon. Percy Popjoy, a regular contributor to that fashionable publication, had sent in a poem which Mr. Bacon’s reader condemned as too execrable to inflict upon the public. To take its place, at George Warrington’s suggestion, Pendennis was invited to turn off a copy of verses to accompany an engraving which showed a damsel entering a church porch, with a young man watching her from a near-by niche. The poem printed below was the result.]
Although I enter not,
Yet round about the spot
Ofttimes I hover:
And near the sacred gate
With longing eyes I wait,
Expectant of her.
The minster bell tolls out
Above the city’s rout
And noise and humming:
They’ve stopped the chiming bell;
I hear the organ’s swell:
She’s coming, she’s coming!
My lady comes at last,
Timid, and stepping fast,
And hastening hither,
With modest eyes downcast;
She comes—she’s here—she’s past—
May heaven go with her!
Kneel undisturbed, fair saint!
Pour out your praise or plaint
Meekly and duly;
I will not enter there,
To sully your pure prayer
With thoughts unruly.
But suffer me to pace
Round the forbidden place,
Lingering a minute,
Like outcast spirits who wait
And see through heaven’s gate
Angels within it.