高中英语 THE GOOD PRIEST OF GOURIN课外阅读

THE GOOD PRIEST OF GOURININ dark old Brittany lingerTraditions and tales of the past,When belief was more moving than nowAnd the world more wondrous and vast.Here is a strange sweet legend5That has many a time been told,But never before was written downIn language new or old.Passing from lip to lipThrough that province by the sea,10The faith-worn treasure came at lastTo the friend who gave it to me.In the ancient graveyard at GourinMy friend espied one stoneQuite new, on top of its pediments15Age-worn and lichen-grown.The old old slab, they said,As a questioning look they caught,Was worn away by the feetOf little children, brought20By mothers to walk on the tomb.A word of amazement ledTo this tale of the ancient daysAnd the goodness of one long dead.Hundreds of years ago25In the parish there lived a priestGreatly beloved by his peopleAnd his childrennot the least.For he loved the little folkEven as the Master had done30When He took them up in his armsAnd blessed them every one.But one sad human weaknessAfflicted this good cur.When he had fallen asleep35After his work of the day,He could hardly be roused again,But would drift back into sleep,As a vessel cut from her mooringsWill drift out onto the deep.40One night as he slept there cameA hurried knock at his door,To summon him to baptizeA little one stricken sore.Yes, yes, he would come at once!45But frail is our flesh. The tideOf sleep engulfed him again,And by morning the child had died.Grief for the loss of a soulAnd remorse tore at his heart.50Unworthy one! He could serveNo longer, he must depart!So one night, turning his backOn the parish he loved, he set outFor the nearest port, his step55Heavy enough no doubt.Thence he took ship and sailedFor Ireland, setting his faceTo a new life that should repairHis sorry fault, by Gods grace.60Nearing the coast, he foundAmong his belongings the keyThrust in his pocket in hasteTo the door of his Sacristy.Overboard it must go!65Not a single tie must remainWith all he had loved and lost,To bring it to mind again.For years in a new-found homeWith patience and love as of old70He labored among the poorAnd the suffering in his fold.And always his chiefest joyWere the children in his care,For he loved them tenderly75That spirit devoted and rare.And they all loved him till he seemedAlmost a saint in their eyes,With a touch of glory his wornOld cassock could not disguise.80So it went, till he stopped on a dayAt an inn to sup and eat,When they set before him a fishFresh from the sea for a treat.As ever before a meal85His thanks to God gave he.Then lo, inside of the fishThe key of his Sacristy!A miracle truly. But why?Could it be a mercy shown90To one who had grievously sinned,Repented, and tried to atone?How else interpret the marvel?Rejoicing he read it so,The days of his penance were past,95He might arise and go,Back to the Bretons he loved,Be with his own once more.Oh how they welcomed him,How the children ran from each door!100And there he toiled to his age,In the footsteps of his LordWith mercy and healing and love,And passed to his reward.He died, but surely his soul105Lives on somewhere, somehow.See how his tomb is wornBy childrens feet even now,Where mothers bring them to walkBack and forth on the stone,110To strengthen th