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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Legends of the Saxon Saints + +Author: Aubrey de Vere + +Release Date: June 14, 2009 [EBook #29121] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGENDS OF THE SAXON SAINTS *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, Leonard Johnson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>THE SAXON SAINTS </h1> + +<ul class="other_books"> + <li style="text-align: center; padding: 1em;">BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</li> + <li><b>Alexander the Great:</b> a Dramatic Poem. Small crown 8vo. cloth, price + 5<i>s.</i></li> + <li><b>The Infant Bridal</b>, and other Poems. A New and Enlarged Edition. Fcp. + 8vo. cloth, price 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></li> + <li><b>The Legends of St. Patrick</b>, and other Poems, Small crown 8vo. cloth, + price 5<i>s.</i></li> + <li><b>St. Thomas of Canterbury:</b> a Dramatic Poem. Large fcp. 8vo. cloth, price + 5<i>s.</i></li> + <li><b>Antar and Zara:</b> an Eastern Romance. <span class="smcap">Inisfail</span>, and other Poems, + Meditative and Lyrical. Fcp. 8vo. price 6<i>s.</i></li> + <li><b>The Fall of Rora, the Search after Proserpine</b>, and other Poems, + Meditative and Lyrical. Fcp. 8vo. price 6<i>s.</i></li> + <li style="text-align: center;">London: <span class="smcap">C. Kegan Paul & Co.</span>, 1 Paternoster Square.</li> + <li style="padding-left:0;"><hr style="width:30%;" /></li> + <li>BY THE LATE SIR AUBREY DE VERE, <span class="smcap">Bart.</span></li> + <li><b>Mary Tudor:</b> an Historical Drama.</li> + <li><b>Julian the Apostate and the Duke of Mercia.</b></li> + <li><b>A Song of Faith</b>, Devout Exercises and Sonnets.</li> + <li style="text-align: center; padding-bottom: 1em;"><span class="smcap">B. M. Pickering.</span></li> +</ul> + + +<div class="front"> +<h1>LEGENDS<br /><br /> + +<span style="font-size: .55em;">OF THE</span><br /><br /> +SAXON SAINTS</h1> + + +<p style="font-size: .75em;">BY</p> + +<p style="font-size: 1.5em;"><span class="smcap">Aubrey de Vere</span></p> + + +<p style="font-size: .75em; margin-top: 4em;">Hic sunt in fossa Bedæ Venerabilis ossa +</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;font-size: .75em; margin-right:10em;">(<i>Old Inscription</i>)</p> + + +<p style="margin-top: 4em;"> +LONDON<br /> +C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE<br /> +1879 +</p> +<hr /> + + + +<p style="font-size: .75em;">(<i>The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved</i>)</p> +</div> + + +<hr /> + +<div class="center"> +<p style="font-size: .9em; margin-top:4em;"><i>TO THE</i></p> + +<p><i>VENERABLE BEDE</i></p> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Mid quiet vale or city lulled by night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well-pleased the wanderer, wakeful on his bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hears from far Alps on fitful breeze the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of torrents murmuring down their rocky glens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange voice from distant regions, alien climes:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should these far echoes from thy legend-roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delight of loftier years, these echoes faint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus waken, thus make calm, one restless heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In our distempered day, to thee the praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voice of past times, O Venerable Bede!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> + + +<p>Many years ago a friend remarked to me on the strangeness of the +circumstance that the greatest event in the history of a nation, its +conversion to Christianity, largely as it is often recorded in national +legends, has never been selected as a theme for poetry. That event may +indeed not supply the materials necessary for an Epic or a Drama, yet it +can hardly fail to abound in details significant and pathetic, which +especially invite poetic illustration. With the primary interest of that +great crisis, many others, philosophical, social, and political, +generally connect themselves. Antecedent to a nation's conversion, the +events of centuries have commonly either conduced to it, or thrown +obstacles in its way; while the history as well as the character of that +nation in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span>subsequent ages is certain to have been in a principal +measure modified by that event. Looking back consequently on that period +in which the moral influences of ages, early and late, are imaged, a +people recognises its own features as in a mirror, but sees them such as +they were when their expression was still undetermined; and it may well +be struck by the resemblance at once to what now exists, and also by the +dissimilitude. Many countries have unhappily lost almost all authentic +records connected with their conversion. Such would have been the fate +of England also, had it not been for a single book, 'Bede's +Ecclesiastical History.' In the following poems I have endeavoured to +walk in the footsteps of that great master. Their scope will best be +indicated by some remarks upon the character of that wonderful age which +he records.</p> + + +<p class="break">St. Augustine landed in the Isle of Thanet <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> 597, and Bede died <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> +735. The intervening period, that of his chronicle, is the golden age of +Anglo-Saxon sanctity. Notwithstanding some twenty or thirty years of +pagan reaction, it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span>was a time of rapid though not uninterrupted +progress, and one of an interest the more touching when contrasted with +the calamities which followed so soon. Between the death of Bede and the +first Danish invasion, were eighty years, largely years of decline, +moral and religious. Then followed eighty years of retribution, those of +the earlier Danish wars, till, with the triumph of Alfred, England's +greatest king, came the Christian restoration. Once more periods of +relaxed morals and sacrilegious princes alternated with intervals of +reform; again and again the Northmen over-swept the land. The 460 years +of Anglo-Saxon Christianity constituted a period of memorable +achievements and sad vicissitudes; but that period included more than a +hundred years of high sanctity, belonging for the most part to the +seventh century, a century to England as glorious as was the thirteenth +to Mediæval Europe.</p> + +<p>Within that century the kingdoms of the Heptarchy successively became +Christian, and those among them which had relapsed returned to the +Faith. Sovereigns, many of whom had boasted a descent from Odin himself, +stood as interpreters <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span>beside the missionaries when they preached, and +rivalled each other in the zeal with which they built churches, some of +which were founded on the sites of ancient temples, though, in other +cases, with a charitable prudence, the existing fanes were spared, +purified, and adapted to Christian worship. At Canterbury and York, +cathedrals rose, and on many a site besides; and when the earlier had +been destroyed by fire, or had fallen through decay, fabrics on a vaster +scale rose above their ruins, and maintained a succession which lasts to +this day. Monasteries unnumbered lifted their towers above the forests +of a land in which the streams still ran unstained and the air of which +had not yet been dimmed by smoke, imparting a dignity to fen and flat +morass. Round them ere long cities gathered, as at St. Albans, +Malmesbury, Sherborne, and Wimborne; the most memorable of those +monasteries being that at Canterbury, and that at Westminister, +dedicated to St. Peter, as the cathedral church near it had been +dedicated to St. Paul. In the North they were at least as numerous. The +University of Oxford is also associated with that early age. It was +beside the Isis <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span>that St. Frideswida raised her convent, occupied at a +later date by canons regular, and ultimately transformed into Christ +Church by Cardinal Wolsey—becoming thus the chief, as it had been the +earliest, among the schools in that great seat of learning which within +our own days has exercised a religious influence over England not less +remarkable than that which belonged to its most palmy preceding period.</p> + +<p>During that century England produced most of those saintly kings and +queens whose names still enrich the calendar of the Anglo-Saxon Church, +sovereigns who ruled their kingdoms with justice, lived in +mortification, went on pilgrimages, died in cloisters. The great +missionary work had also begun. Within a century from the death of St. +Augustine, apostles from England had converted multitudes in Germany, +and St. Wilfrid had preached to the inhabitants of Friesland. Something, +moreover, had been done to retrieve the past. The Saxon kings made +amends for the wrongs inflicted by their ancestors upon the British +Celts, endowing with English lands the churches and convents founded by +them in Brittany. King Kenwalk <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span>of Wessex showed thus also a royal +munificence to the Celtic monastery of Glastonbury, only stipulating in +return that the British monks there, condoning past injuries, should +offer a prayer for him when they knelt at the tomb of King Arthur.</p> + +<p>The England of the seventh century had been very gradually prepared for +that drama of many ages which had then its first rehearsal. In it three +races had a part. They were those of the native Britons, the Saxons who +had over-run the land, and the Irish missionaries. Rome, the last and +greatest of the old-world empires, had exercised more of an enfeebling +and less of an elevating influence among the British than among her +other subject races; but her great military roads still remained the +witnesses of her military genius; and many a city, some in ruin, were +records of her wealth and her arts. The Teutonic race in England, which +for centuries had maintained its independence against Rome, could not +forgive the Britons for having submitted to their hated foe, and +trampled on them the more ruthlessly because they despised them. Yet +they at least might well have learned to respect that race. It has been +well remarked that if the Britons submitted easily <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span>to Rome, yet of all +her subject races they made far the most memorable fight against that +barbaric irruption which swept over the ruins of her empire. For two +centuries that race had fought on. It still retained the whole of +Western Britain, Cornwall, Wales, and Strathclyde; while in other parts +of England it possessed large settlements. On the other hand, in matters +of spiritual concern the British race contrasted unfavourably with the +other races subjected by the barbarians. In France, Spain, and Italy, +the conquered had avenged a military defeat by a spiritual victory, +bringing over their conquerors to Christianity; and, as a consequence, +they had often risen to equality with them. In those parts of England, +on the contrary, where the British had submitted to the Pagan +conquerors, they by degrees abandoned their Christian faith;<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> and +where they retained their independence, they hated the Saxon conquerors +too much to share their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span>Christianity with them. Far from desiring their +conversion, they resisted all the overtures made to them by the Roman +missionaries who ardently desired their aid; and as a consequence of +that refusal, they eventually lost their country. The chief cause of +that refusal was hatred of the invader. The Irish as well as the British +had a passionate devotion to their own local traditions in a few matters +not connected with doctrine; but they notwithstanding worked cordially +with the Benedictines from St. Gregory's convent for the spread of the +Christian Faith. Had the Britons converted the Anglo-Saxon race they +would probably have blended with them, as at a later time that race +blended with their Norman conquerors. Three successive waves of the +Teuton-Scandinavian race swept over their ancient land, the Anglo-Saxon, +the Danish, and the Norman: against them all the British Celts fought +on. They fell back toward their country's western coasts, like the Irish +of a later day; and within their Cambrian mountains they maintained +their independence for eight centuries.</p> + +<p>Yet the Anglo-Saxons' victory was not an <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span>unmixed one. Everywhere +throughout England they maintained during the seventh century two +different battles, a material and a spiritual one, and with opposite +results. Year by year that race pushed further its military dominion; +but yearly the Christian Faith effected new triumphs over that of Odin. +For this there were traceable causes. The character of the Teutonic +invader included two very different elements, and the nobler of these +had its affinities with Christianity. If, on the one hand, that +character was fierce, reckless, and remorseless, and so far in natural +sympathy with a religion which mocked at suffering and till the ninth +century offered up human sacrifices, it was marked no less by +robustness, simplicity, honesty, sincerity, an unexcitable energy and an +invincible endurance. It possessed also that characteristic which +essentially contradistinguishes the <i>ordo equestris</i> from the <i>ordo +pedestris</i> in human character, viz., the spirit of reverence. It had +aspirations; and, as a background to all its musings and all its hopes +there remained ever the idea of the Infinite. As a consequence, it +retained a large measure of self-respect, purity, and that veneration +for household ties attri<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span>buted to it by the Roman historian<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> at a time +when that virtue was no longer a Roman one. Such a character could not +but have its leanings toward Christianity; and, when brought under its +influences, it put forth at once new qualities, like a wild flower +which, on cultivation, acquires for the first time a perfume. Its spirit +of reverence developed into humility, and its natural fortitude into a +saintly patience; while its fierceness changed into a loyal fervour; and +the crimes to which its passions still occasionally hurried it were +voluntarily expiated by penances as terrible. Even King Penda, the hater +of Christianity, hated an insincere faith more. 'Of all men,' he said, +'he that I have ever most despised is the man who professes belief in +some God and yet does not obey his laws.' Such was that character +destined to produce under the influences of faith such noble specimens +of Christian honour and spiritual heroism. From the beginning its +greatness was one</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span></p><p>and in later ages it became yet more eminently domestic, combining +household ties with the pursuit of letters and science in colleges which +still preserved a family life. Its monks had no vocation to the life of +the desert; in this unlike the Irish saints, who, like those of Eastern +lands, delighted in the forest hermitage and the sea-beat rock.</p> + +<p>The Anglo-Saxon race was but a branch of that great Teuton-Scandinavian +race, generically one whether it remained in the German forests or +wandered on to the remoter coasts of Denmark, Sweden and Norway. It was +the race which the Romans called 'the Barbarians,' but which they could +never conquer. A stern history had trained it for a wonderful destiny. +Christianity in mastering the Greek had possessed itself of the +intellect of the world, and in mastering Rome had found access to all +those vast regions conquered by Roman arms, opened out by Roman roads, +governed by Roman law, and by it helped to the conception of a higher +law. But the Greek and the Roman civilisations had, each of them, +corrupted its way, and yielded to the seductions of pride, sense, and +material prosperity; and, as a consequence, both had become <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span>incapable +of rendering full justice to much that is highest in Christianity. That +which they lacked the 'Barbaric' race alone was capable of supplying. In +its wanderings under darkened skies and amid pitiless climates it had +preserved an innocence and simplicity elsewhere lost. Enriched by the +union of the new element, thus introduced, with what it had previously +derived from Greek thought and Roman law, that authentic Religion which +had been prospectively sown within the narrow precinct of Judea extended +its branches over the world. Had the Barbaric race shared in the Greek +sciences and arts, and clothed itself in the Roman civilisation, it must +have learned their corruptions. The larger destiny of man could thus, +humanly speaking, never have been accomplished, and neither the mediæval +world, the modern world, nor that yet higher order of human society +which doubtless lies beyond both, could have existed. It was necessary +that in some region, exacting, yet beneficent, civilisation should be +retarded, that a remedy might be found for the abuses of civilisation; +and races whose present backward condition we are accustomed to deplore +may likewise be intended for a similar purpose. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span>Plants are thus kept in +the dark in order to reserve their fruitage for a fitter season.</p> + +<p>But what had been the earlier history of a race before which such +destinies lay? What training had prepared it for its work—the last that +might have been expected from it? On this subject there remains a +tradition, the profoundly significant character of which ought to have +made it more widely known. Mallet, in his 'Northern Antiquities,' +translated by Bishop Percy, to whom our ballad literature is so deeply +indebted, records it thus:—'A celebrated tradition, confirmed by the +poems of all the northern nations, by their chronicles, by institutions +and customs, some of which subsist to this day, informs us that an +extraordinary person named Odin formerly reigned in the north.... All +their testimonies are comprised in that of Snorri, the ancient historian +of Norway, and in the commentaries and explications which Torphæus added +to his narrative. The Roman Commonwealth was arrived at the highest +pitch of power, and saw all the then known world subject to its laws, +when an unforeseen event raised up enemies against it from the very +bosom of the forests of Scythia and on the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span>banks of the Tanais. +Mithridates by flying had drawn Pompey after him into those deserts. The +King of Pontus sought there for refuge and new means of vengeance. He +hoped to arm against the ambition of Rome all the barbarous nations his +neighbours, whose liberty she threatened. He succeeded in this at first, +but all those peoples, ill united as allies, ill armed as soldiers, and +still worse disciplined, were forced to yield to the superior genius of +Pompey. Odin is said to have been of their number.... Odin commanded the +Æsir, whose country must have been situated between the Pontus Euxinus +and the Caspian Sea. Their principal city was Asgard. The worship there +paid to their supreme God was famous throughout the circumjacent +countries. Odin, having united under his banners the youth of the +neighbouring nations, marched towards the north and west of Europe, +subduing, as we are told, all the people he found in his passage, and +giving them to one or other of his sons for subjects. Many sovereign +families of the North are said to be descended from these princes. Thus +Horsa and Hengist, the chiefs of those Saxons who conquered Britain in +the fifth century, counted <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[Pg xxi]</a></span>Odin or Wodin in the number of their +ancestors; it was the same with the other Anglo-Saxon princes as well as +the greatest part of those of lower Germany and the North.'<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + +<p>Gibbon refers to this ancient tradition, though not as accepting it for +a part of ascertained history, yet in a spirit less sceptical than was +usual to him. He writes thus: 'It is supposed that Odin was chief of a +tribe of barbarians which dwelt on the banks of the lake Mœotis, till +the fall of Mithridates and the arms of Pompey menaced the north with +servitude. That Odin, yielding with indignant fury to a power which he +was unable to resist, conducted his tribe from the frontiers of the +Asiatic Sarmatia into Sweden, with the great design of forming, in that +inaccessible retreat of freedom, a religion and a people which, in some +remote age, might be subservient to his immortal revenge; when his +invincible Goths, armed with martial fanaticism, should issue in +numerous swarms from the neighbourhood of the Polar circle to chastise +the oppressors of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[Pg xxii]</a></span>mankind.... Notwithstanding the mysterious obscurity +of the Edda, we can easily distinguish two persons confounded under the +name of Odin; the god of war, and the great legislator of Scandinavia. +The latter, the Mahomet of the north, instituted a religion adapted to +the climate and to the people. Numerous tribes on either side of the +Baltic were subdued by the invincible valour of Odin, by his persuasive +eloquence, and by the fame which he acquired of a most skilful magician. +The faith that he had propagated during a long and prosperous life he +confirmed by a voluntary death. Apprehensive of the ignominious approach +of disease and infirmity, he resolved to expire as became a warrior. In +a solemn assembly of the Swedes and Goths he wounded himself in nine +mortal places, hastening away (as he asserted with his dying voice) to +prepare the feast of heroes in the palace of the great god of war.'<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<p>In a note Gibbon adds, referring to the Roman and Oriental part of the +legend: 'This wonderful expedition of Odin, which, by deducing the +enmity of the Goths and Romans from so memorable a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[Pg xxiii]</a></span>cause, might supply +the noble groundwork of an epic poem, cannot safely be received as +authentic history. According to the obvious sense of the Edda, and the +interpretation of the most skilful critics, Asgard, instead of denoting +a real city of the Asiatic Sarmatia, is the fictitious appellation of +the mystic abode of the gods, the Olympus of Scandinavia.' Whether the +emigration of the Barbaric race from the East be or be not historical, +certainly the grounds upon which Gibbon bases his distrust of it are +slender. He forgot that there might well have been both an earthly +Asgard and also, according to the religion of the north, an Asgard in +heaven, the destined abode of warriors faithful to Odin. Those who after +his death changed their king into a god would, by necessity, have +provided him with a celestial mansion; nor could they have assigned to +it a name more acceptable to a race which blended so closely their +religion with their patriotic love than that of their ancient capital, +from which their great deliverer and prophet had led them forth in +pilgrimage. Let us hope that Gibbon's remark as to the fitness of this +grand legend for the purposes of epic poetry may yet prove <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv">[Pg xxiv]</a></span>prophecy. It +has had one chance already: for we learn from the first book of <i>The +Prelude</i> that the theme was one of those on which the imagination of +Wordsworth rested in youth, when he was seeking a fit subject for epic +song.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to imagine a historical legend invested with a greater +moral weight or dignity than belongs to this one. The mighty Republic +was soon to pass into an Empire mightier and more ruthless still, the +heir of all those ancient empires which from the earliest had +represented a dominion founded on the pride of this world, and had +trampled upon human right. A race is selected to work the retribution. +It is qualified for its work by centuries of adversity, only to be +paralleled by the prosperity of its rival. Yet when at last that +retribution comes, it descends more in mercy than in judgment! Great +changes had prepared the world for a new order of things. The centre of +empire had moved eastward from Rome to Constantinople: the spiritual +centre had moved westward from Jerusalem to Rome. The empire had herself +become Christian, and was allowed after that event nearly a century more +of gradual decline. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxv" id="Page_xxv">[Pg xxv]</a></span>The judgment was not thus averted; but it was +ennobled. Her children were enabled to become the spiritual instructors +of those wild races by which the '<i>State</i> Universal' had been +overwhelmed. That empire indeed, was not so much destroyed as +transformed and extended, a grace rendered possible by her having +submitted to the yoke of Christ; the new kingdoms which constituted the +Christian '<i>Orbis Terrarum</i>' being, for the most part, fragments of it, +while its laws made way into regions wider far, and exercised over them +a vast though modified authority not yet extinct. Here, if anywhere, we +catch glimpses of a hand flashing forth between the clouds, pointing +their way to the nations, and conducting Humanity forward along its +arduous and ascending road. There is a Providence or there could be no +Progress.</p> + +<p>For the fulfilment of that part assigned to the 'Barbarians' in this +marvellous drama of the ages, it was necessary that many things should +combine; an exemption from the temptations which had materialised the +races of the south; the severe life that perfects strength; a race +endowed with the physical <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvi" id="Page_xxvi">[Pg xxvi]</a></span>strength needed to render such sufferings +endurable; and lastly, an original spiritual elevation inherent in that +race, and capable of making them understand the lesson, and accept their +high destiny. The last and greatest of these qualifications had not been +wanting. Much as the religion of the Barbaric race had degenerated by +the time when it deified its great deliverer, it had inherited the +highest traditions of the early world. Mallet thus describes their +religion in its purity: 'It taught the being of a "Supreme God, master +of the universe, to whom all things are submissive and obedient." Such, +according to Tacitus, was the supreme God of the Germans. The ancient +Icelandic mythology calls him "the Author of everything that existeth; +the eternal, the ancient, the living and awful Being, the searcher into +concealed things, the Being that never changeth." This religion +attributed to the Supreme Deity "an infinite power, a boundless +knowledge, an incorruptible justice," and forbade its followers to +represent Him under any corporeal form. They were not even to think of +confining Him within the enclosure of walls, but were taught that it was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvii" id="Page_xxvii">[Pg xxvii]</a></span>within woods and consecrated forests that they could serve Him +properly. There He seemed to reign in silence, and to make Himself felt +by the respect which He inspired.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> ... From this Supreme God were +sprung (as it were emanations from His divinity) an infinite number of +subaltern deities and genii, of which every part of the visible world +was the seat and the temple.... To serve this divinity with sacrifices +and prayers, to do no wrong to others, and to be brave and intrepid in +themselves, were all the moral consequences they derived from these +doctrines. Lastly, the belief of a future state cemented and completed +the whole building.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> ... Perhaps no religion ever attributed so much +to a Divine Providence as that of the northern nations.'<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> + +<p>It was not among the Scandinavians only that the religion of the North +retained long these vestiges of its original purity, and elevation. 'All +the Teutonic nations held the same opinions, and it was upon these that +they founded the obligation of serving the gods, and of being valiant +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxviii" id="Page_xxviii">[Pg xxviii]</a></span>in battle.... One ought to regard in this respect the Icelandic +mythology as a precious monument, without which we can know but very +imperfectly this important part of the religion of <i>our fathers</i>.'<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p> + +<p>The earlier and purer doctrine seems to have long survived the +incrustations of later times in the case of a select few. Harold +Harfraga, the first king of all Norway, thus addressed an assembly of +his people: 'I swear and protest in the most sacred manner that I will +never offer sacrifice to any of the gods adored by the people, but to +Him only who hath formed this world, and everything we behold in it.' A +belief in the divine Love, as well as the divine power, knowledge and +justice, though probably not held by the many at a later day, is yet +distinctly expressed, as well as the kindred belief in an endless reign +of peace, by the earliest and most sacred document of the Northern +religion, viz. the 'Völuspá Prophecy.' That prophecy, after foretelling +the destruction of all things, including the Odin gods themselves, by +the Supreme God and His ministers, proceeds: 'There will arise out of +the sea, another earth <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxix" id="Page_xxix">[Pg xxix]</a></span>most lovely and verdant with pleasant fields +where the grain shall grow unsown. Vidar and Vali, shall survive; +neither the flood nor Surtur's fire shall harm them. They shall dwell on +the plain of Ida <i>where Asgard formerly stood</i>.... Baldur and Hödur +shall also repair thither from the abode of death. There they shall sit +and converse together, and call to mind their former knowledge and the +perils they underwent.'<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></p> + +<p>The similarity between the higher doctrines of the northern faith and +the religion of ancient Persia is at once accounted for by the tradition +of the Odin migration from the East. A writer the reverse of credulous +expresses himself thus on that subject: 'We know that the Scandinavians +came from some country of Asia.... This doctrine was in many respects +the same with that of the Magi. Zoroaster had taught that the conflict +between Ormuzd and Ahriman (<i>i.e.</i> light and darkness, the Good and Evil +Principle) should continue to the last day; and that then the Good +Principle should be reunited to the Supreme God, from whom it had first +issued; the Evil should be overcome and subdued; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxx" id="Page_xxx">[Pg xxx]</a></span>darkness should be +destroyed; and the world, purified by a universal conflagration, should +become a luminous and shining abode, into which evil should never be +permitted to enter.'<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> The same writer continues thus: 'Odin and the +Æsir may be compared to Ormuzd and the Amshaspands; Loki and his evil +progeny, the Wolf Fenrir and the Midgard Serpent, together with the +giants and monsters of Jötunheim and Hvergelmir, to Ahriman and the +Devs.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> ... We will not deny that some of these doctrines may have +been handed down by oral tradition to the pontiff-chieftains of the +Scandinavian tribes, and that the Skalds who composed the mythic poems +of the elder Edda may have had an obscure and imperfect knowledge of +them. Be this as it may, we must not forget that the higher doctrines of +the Scandinavian system were confined to the few, whereas those of the +Zendavesta were the religious belief of the whole nation.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> ... The +Persian system was calculated to form an energetic, intellectual and +highly moral people; the Scandinavian a semi-barbarous troop of crafty +and re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxi" id="Page_xxxi">[Pg xxxi]</a></span>morseless warriors.... Yet, such as they were, these +Scandinavians seemed to have been destined by the inscrutable designs of +Providence to invigorate at least one of the nations of which they were +for centuries the scourge, in order, as we previously had occasion to +observe, that the genial blending of cognate tribes might form a people +the most capable of carrying on the great work of civilisation, which in +some far distant age may finally render this world that abode of peace +and intellectual enjoyment dimly shadowed forth in ancient myths as only +to be found in a renovated and fresh emerging universe.'<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p> + +<p>The inferiority of the later Scandinavian to the earlier Persian +religion may be sufficiently accounted for by the common process of +gradual degeneration. That degeneration was not confined to the great +emigrant race. Centuries before Odin had left the East, the Persian +religion had degenerated upon its native soil. Its Magi retained a pure +doctrine, which led them later to the Bethlehem crib; but its vulgar had +in part yielded to the seduction of Greek poets, and worshipped in +temples like theirs. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxii" id="Page_xxxii">[Pg xxxii]</a></span>It is remarkable that that 'one of the nations' +with which the hopes of the future are so singularly connected is that +one upon which the discipline of adversity had fallen with double force. +When the ancient enemy of the 'Barbaric races,' Rome, had passed away, a +new enemy, and one to it more formidable, rose up against England in her +own kinsfolk, the Scandinavian branch of the same stock. The Danish +invaders expected to set kingdom against kingdom throughout the +Heptarchy, and subject them all to the sceptre of Odin. On the contrary, +it united them in one; and that union was facilitated by the bond of a +common Christianity.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p> + +<p>That the belief of the Anglo-Saxons, though less developed by poetry and +romance, was substantially the same as that recorded in the Scandinavian +Edda, appears to be certain. It is thus that Mr. Kemble speaks:</p> + +<p>'On the Continent as well as in England, it is only by the collection of +minute and isolated facts—often preserved to us in popular +superstitions, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxiii" id="Page_xxxiii">[Pg xxxiii]</a></span>legends, and even nursery tales—that we can render +probable the prevalence of a religious belief identical in its most +characteristic features with that which we know to have been entertained +in Scandinavia. Yet whatsoever we can thus recover proves that, in all +main points, the faith of the Island Saxons was that of their +Continental brethren.' 'The early period at which Christianity triumphed +in England, adds to the difficulties which naturally beset the subject. +Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, had entered into public relations with the +rest of Europe long before the downfall of their ancient creed; here the +fall of heathendom, and the commencement of history were +contemporaneous. We too had no Iceland to offer a refuge to those who +fled from the violent course of a conversion.'<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p> + +<p>Among the proofs of identity between the Anglo-Saxon and the +Scandinavian religion, Mr. Kemble refers to the fact that 'genealogies +of the Anglo-Saxon kings contain a multitude of the ancient gods, +reduced indeed into the family relations, but still capable of +identification with the deities of the North, and of Germany. In this +relation we <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxiv" id="Page_xxxiv">[Pg xxxiv]</a></span>find Odin, Bœldœg, Géat, Wig, and Frea. The days of +the week, also dedicated to gods, supply us further with the names of +Tiw, Dunor, Friege, and Sœtere; and the names of places in all parts +of England attest the wide dispersion of the worship.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> + +<p>Mr. Kemble shows also that among the Anglo-Saxons and the Scandinavians +there existed a common belief respecting monsters, especially the wolf +Fenrir, the Midgard snake, evil spirits and giants; respecting Loki, the +accursed spirit, and Hela, the queen of Hades. To the same effect Mr. +Sharon Turner speaks: 'The Voluspá and the Edda are the two great +repositories of the oldest and most venerated traditions of pagan +Scandinavia. The Voluspá opens abruptly, and most probably represents +many of the ancient <i>Saxon</i> traditions or imaginations.'<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> The +authority of these eminent writers accounts for and justifies the +frequent references to the Scandinavian mythology in the following +'Saxon Legends.'</p> + +<p>We have thus seen that in the religion of the 'Barbaric' race there were +blended two different elements: a higher one derived from its eastern +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxv" id="Page_xxxv">[Pg xxxv]</a></span>origin, and a lower one the result of gradual degeneration. We had +previously seen that a remarkable duality was to be found in the +character of that race; and without understanding this duality and its +root in their religion, no just conception can be formed of the +relations of that race with Christianity. Had the 'Barbarians' possessed +nothing deeper than is indicated by their fiercer traits, the history of +the seventh century in England must have been very different. It was +characterised by rapid conversions to Christianity on a large scale, and +often, after the lapse of a few years, by sanguinary revolts against the +Faith. The chief reason of such fluctuation seems to have been this, +viz. because all that was profound, and of venerable antiquity in the +Northern religion, was in sympathy with Christianity, as the religion of +sanctity and self-sacrifice; while all that was savage in it opposed +itself to a religion of humility and of charity. The Northern religion +was an endless warfare, and so was that early Persian religion from +which its higher element was derived; but by degrees that warfare had, +for the many, ceased to be the warfare between light and dark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxvi" id="Page_xxxvi">[Pg xxxvi]</a></span>ness, +between Good and Evil. To the speculative it had become a conflict +between all the wild and illimitable forces of Nature and some unknown +higher Law; but to the common herd it meant only an endless feud between +race and race. Thus understood it could have no affinities with +Christianity, either in her militant character, or as the religion of +peace.</p> + +<p>In explanation of the frequent outbreaks against Christianity on the +part of the Anglo-Saxons, after their conversion, Montalembert assigns +another cause, viz. that the Roman missionaries had sometimes relied too +much upon the converted kings, and their authority over their subjects. +The work had in such cases to be done again; and it was largely done by +Irish missionaries, who had left Iona only to seek as lonely a retreat +in Lindisfarne. They shunned cities, drew the people to them, and worked +upwards through that people to the great.</p> + +<p>The Irish mission in England during the seventh century was one among +the great things of history, and has met with an inadequate +appreciation. The ancient name of the Irish, 'Scoti,' commemorative of +their supposed Scythian origin, the name <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxvii" id="Page_xxxvii">[Pg xxxvii]</a></span>by which Bede always +designates them, had been frequently translated 'Scottish' by modern +historians; and those who did not know that an Irish immigrant body had +entered Scotland, then called Alba, about the close of the second +century, had conquered its earlier inhabitants, the Picts, after a war +of centuries, and had eventually given to that heroic land, never since +subdued, its own name and its royal house, naturally remained ignorant +that those 'Scottish' missionaries were Irish. A glance at Bede,<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> or +such well known recent works as Sir W. Scott's 'History of +Scotland,'<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> makes this matter plain; yet the amount of work done in +England by those Irish missionaries is still known to few.</p> + +<p>They came from a country the fortunes, the character, and the +institutions of which were singu<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxviii" id="Page_xxxviii">[Pg xxxviii]</a></span>larly unlike those of England; one in +which ancient Rome had had no part; which, in the form of clan-life, +retained as its social type the patriarchal customs of its native East, +all authority being an expansion of domestic authority, and the idea of +a family, rather than that of a state, ruling over the hearts of men. +About two centuries previously, Ireland had become Christian; and an +image of its immemorial clan-system was reproduced in the vast convents +which ere long covered the land, and sent forth their missionaries over +a large part of Europe. It might well have been thought doubtful whether +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxix" id="Page_xxxix">[Pg xxxix]</a></span>these were likely to work successfully among a race so dissimilar as +the Anglo-Saxon; but the event proved that in this instance dissimilar +qualities meant qualities complemental to each other, and that sympathy +was attracted by unlikeness.</p> + +<p>The Irish mission in England began at a critical time, just when the +reaction against the earlier successes of the Roman mission had set in. +At York, under Paulinus, Christianity had triumphed; but eight years +after that event Edwin, the Christian king of Dëira, perished in battle, +and northern England was forced back by king Penda into paganism. +Southern England, with the exception of Canterbury and a considerable +part of Kent, had also lost the Gospel, after possessing it for thirty +years. Nearly at the same time East Anglia and Essex, at the command of +pagan-kings, had discarded it likewise. It was then that Oswald, on +recovering his kingdom of Northumbria, besought the Irish monks of Iona +to reconvert it, or rather to complete a conversion which had been but +begun. Their work prospered; by degrees the largest kingdom of the +Heptarchy became solidly and permanently Christian, its See being fixed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xl" id="Page_xl">[Pg xl]</a></span>in the Island of Lindisfarne, whence the huge diocese of the north was +ruled successively by three of St. Columba's order, Aidan, Finan, and +Colman. But the labours of St. Columba's sons were not confined to the +north. In East Anglia an Irish monk, St. Fursey, founded on the coast of +Suffolk the monastery of Burghcastle, in which King Sigebert became a +monk. An Irish priest, Maidulphus, built that of Malmesbury in Wessex. +Glastonbury was an older Celtic monastery inhabited partly by Irish +monks, and partly by British. Peada, king of Mercia, son of the terrible +Penda, was baptized by St. Finan close to the Roman Wall, as was also +Sigebert, king of the East Saxons. Diama, an Irish monk, was first +bishop of all Mercia, its second, Céolach, being Irish also, and also +its fourth.</p> + +<p>Montalembert, in his <i>Moines d'Occident</i>, has given us the most +delightful history that exists of the conversion of Anglo-Saxon England, +a work combining the depth of a Christian philosopher with the sagacity +of a statesman, and a dramatist's appreciation of character, while in it +we miss nothing of that picturesque vividness and engaging simplicity +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xli" id="Page_xli">[Pg xli]</a></span>which belong to our early chroniclers; thus conferring upon England a +boon if possible greater than that bestowed upon Ireland in his lives of +St. Columba, St. Columbanus and other saints. It is thus that he +apportions the share which the Irish missionaries and the Roman had in +that great enterprise.</p> + +<p>'En résumant l'histoire des efforts tentés pendant les soixante ans +écoulés depuis le débarquement d'Augustin jusqu'à la mort de Penda, pour +introduire le Christianisme en Angleterre, on constate les résultats que +voici. Des huit royaumes de la confédération Anglo-Saxonne, celui de +Kent fut seul exclusivement conquis et conservé par les moines romains, +dont les premières tentatives, chez les Est-Saxons et les Northumbriens, +se terminèrent par un échec. En Wessex et en Est-Anglie les Saxons à +l'ouest et les Angles à l'est furent convertis par l'action combinée de +missionnaires continentaux et de moines celtiques. Quant aux deux +royaumes Northumbriens' (Dëira and Bernicia), 'à l'Essex et à la Mercie, +comprenant à eux seuls plus de deux tiers du territoire occupé par les +conquérants germains, ces quatre pays durent leur conversion définitive +exclusivement à <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlii" id="Page_xlii">[Pg xlii]</a></span>l'invasion pacifique des moines celtiques, qui +n'avaient pas seulement rivalisé de zèle avec les moines romains, mais +qui, une fois les premiers obstacles surmontés, avaient montré bien plus +de persévérance et obtenu bien plus de succès.'<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> The only effort made +at that early period to introduce Christianity into the kingdom of the +South-Saxons was that of an Irish monk, Dicul, who founded a small +monastery at Bosham. It did not however prove successful.</p> + +<p>There is something profoundly touching in the religious ties which +subsisted between England and Ireland during the seventh century, when +compared with the troubled relations of those two countries during many +a later age. If the memory of benefits received produces a kindly +feeling on the part of the recipient, that of benefits conferred should +exert the same influence on the heart of the bestower. To remember the +past, however disastrous or convulsed, is a nation's instinct, and its +duty no less, since a tribute justly due is thus paid to great actions +and to great sufferings in times gone by; nor among the wise and the +generous can the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xliii" id="Page_xliii">[Pg xliii]</a></span>discharge of that patriotic duty ever engender an +enmity against the living: but there is a special satisfaction in +turning to those recollections with which no human infirmity can connect +any feeling save that of good will; and it is scarcely possible to +recall them in this instance without a hope that the sacred bonds which +united those two countries at that remote period may be a pledge for +reciprocated benefits in the ages yet before us. For both countries that +early time was a time of wonderful spiritual greatness. In noble rivalry +with Ireland England also sent her missionaries to far lands; and a +child of Wessex, St. Boniface, brought the Faith to Germany, by which it +was eventually diffused over Scandinavia, thus, by anticipation, +bestowing the highest of all gifts on that terrible race the Northmen, +in later centuries the scourge of his native land.</p> + +<p>At home both islands were filled with saints whose names have ever since +resounded throughout Christendom. Both islands, as a great writer<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> +has told us, 'had been the refuge of Christianity, for a time almost +exterminated in Christendom, and the centres of its propagation in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xliv" id="Page_xliv">[Pg xliv]</a></span>countries still heathen. Secluded from the rest of Europe by the stormy +waters in which they lay, they were converted just in time to be put in +charge with the sacred treasures of Revelation, and with the learning of +the old world, in that dreary time which intervened between Gregory and +Charlemagne. They formed schools, collected libraries, and supplied the +Continent with preachers and teachers.' He remarks also that 'There was +a fitness in the course of things that the two peoples who had rejoiced +in one prosperity should drink together the same cup of suffering: +<i>Amabiles, et decori in vitâ suâ, in morte non divisi</i>;' and he proceeds +to remind us that, immediately after their participation in that common +religious greatness, they partook also a tragic inheritance. In England +for two centuries and a half, in Ireland for a longer period, the +Northmen were repulsed but to reappear. Again and again the sons of Odin +blackened the river-mouths of each land with their fleets; wherever they +marched they left behind them the ashes of burned churches and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlv" id="Page_xlv">[Pg xlv]</a></span>monasteries, till, in large parts of both, Christianity and learning +had well nigh perished, and barbarism had all but returned. In both +countries domestic dissensions had favoured the invader; eventually in +both the Danish power broke down; but in both and in each case claiming +a spiritual sanction—another branch of the same Scandinavian stock +succeeded to the Dane, viz. the only one then Christianised, the Norman. +In that seventh century how little could Saxon convert or Irish +missionary have foreseen that the destinies of their respective +countries should be at once so unlike yet so like, so antagonistic yet +so interwoven!</p> + + +<p class="break">The aim of the 'Legends of Saxon Saints,' as the reader will perhaps +have inferred from the preceding remarks, is to illustrate England, her +different races and predominant characteristics, during the century of +her conversion to Christianity, and in doing this to indicate what +circumstances had proved favourable or unfavourable to the reception of +the Faith. It became desirable thus to revert to the early emigration of +that 'Barbaric' race of which the Anglo-Saxon was a scion, making <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlvi" id="Page_xlvi">[Pg xlvi]</a></span>the +shadow of Odin pass in succession over the background of the several +pictures presented (the Heroic being thus the unconscious precursor of +the Spiritual), and to show how the religion which bore his name was +fitted at once to predispose its nobler votaries to Christianity and to +infuriate against it those who but valued their faith for what it +contained of degenerate. It seemed also expedient to select for +treatment not only those records most abounding in the picturesque and +poetic, but likewise others useful as illustrating the chief +representatives of a many-sided society; the pagan king and the British +warrior, the bard of Odin and the prophetess of Odin, the Gaelic +missionary and the Roman missionary, the poet and the historian of +Anglo-Saxon Christianity. In a few instances, as in the tales of Oswald +and of Oswy, where the early chronicle was copious in detail, it has +been followed somewhat closely; but more often, where the original +record was brief, all except the fundamental facts had to be supplied. +On these occasions I found encouragement in the remark of a writer at +once deep and refined. 'Stories to be versified should not be already +nearly complete, having <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlvii" id="Page_xlvii">[Pg xlvii]</a></span>the beauty in themselves, and gaining from the +poet but a garb. They should be rough, and with but a latent beauty. The +poet should have to supply the features and limbs as well as the +dress.'<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p> + +<p>Bede has been my guide. His records are, indeed, often 'rough,' as rough +as the crab-tree, but, at the same time, as fresh as its blossom. Their +brief touches reveal all the passions of the Barbaric races; but the +chief human affections, things far deeper than the passions, are yet +more abundantly illustrated by them.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> It was a time when those +affections were not frozen by conventionalities and forced to conceal +themselves until they forgot to exist. In the narrative of Bede we find +also invaluable illustrations of a higher but not less real range of +human affections, viz. the affections of 'Christianised Humanity,' +affections grounded on divine truths and heavenly hopes, and yet in +entire harmony with affections of a merely human order, which lie +beneath them in a parallel plane. Occasionally the two classes enter +into conflict, as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlviii" id="Page_xlviii">[Pg xlviii]</a></span>in the case of the monks of Bardeney who found it so +difficult to reconcile their reverence for a Saint with their patriotic +hatred of a foreign invader; but almost invariably the earthly and the +heavenly emotions are mutually supplemental, as in those tender +friendships of monk with monk, of king and bishop, grounded upon +religious sympathy and co-operation; so that the lower sentiment without +the higher would present, compared with the pictures now bequeathed to +us, but an unfinished and truncated image of Humanity. Here, again, the +semi-barbaric age described by Bede rendered the delineation more vivid. +In ages of effeminate civilisation the Christian emotions, even more +than those inherent in unassisted human nature, lose that ardour which +belongs to them when in a healthy condition—an ardour which especially +reveals itself during that great crisis, a nation's conversion, when, +beside a throng of new feelings and new hopes, a host of new Truths has +descended upon the intelligence of a whole people, and when a sense of +new knowledge and endless progress is thus communicated to it, far +exceeding that which is the boast of nations devoted chiefly to physical +science. The sense of progress, indeed, when such a period <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlix" id="Page_xlix">[Pg xlix]</a></span>reaches its +highest, is a rapture. It is as though the motion of the planet which +carries us through space, a motion of which we are cognisant but which +we yet cannot feel, could suddenly become, like the speed of a +racehorse, a thing brought home to our consciousness.</p> + +<p>Such ardours are scarcely imaginable in the later ages of a nation; but +in Bede's day a people accepting the 'glad tidings' was glad; and, +unambitious as his style is of the ornamental or the figurative, it is +brightened by that which it so faithfully describes. His chronicle is +often poetry, little as he intended it to be such; nay, it is poetry in +her 'humanities' yet more than in her distinctively spiritual province, +and better poetry than is to be found in the professed poetry of a +materialistic age, when the poet is tempted to take refuge from the +monotony of routine life, either amid the sensational accidents to be +found on the byeways, not the highways, of life, or in some sickly +dreamland that does not dare to deal with life, and belongs neither to +the real nor to the ideal. In nothing is Bede's history of that great +age, to which our own owes all that it possesses of real greatness, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_l" id="Page_l">[Pg l]</a></span>more striking than in that spirit of unconscious elevation and +joyousness which belongs to the Christian life it records, a joyousness +often so strikingly contrasted with the sadness—sometimes a heroic +sadness—to be found in portions of his work describing pagan manners. +With all its violences and inconsistencies, the seventh century was a +noble age—an age of strong hearts which were gentle as well as strong, +of a childhood that survived in manhood, of natures that had not lost +their moral unity, of holy lives and of happy deaths. Bede's picture of +it is a true one; and for that reason it comes home to us.</p> + +<p>To some it may seem a profaneness to turn those old legends into verse. +I should not have attempted the enterprise if they were much read in +prose. The verse may at least help to direct the attention of a few +readers to them. From them the thoughtful will learn how to complete a +'half-truth' often reiterated. Those who have declared that 'the wars of +the Heptarchy are as dull as the battles of kites and crows,' have not +always known that the true interest of her turbulent days belonged to +peace, not to war, and is to be found in the spiritual development of +the Anglo-Saxon race.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_li" id="Page_li">[Pg li]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents."> + +<tr><td></td> <td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#ODIN_THE_MAN">ODIN THE MAN</a></td> <td align="right">1</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#KING_ETHELBERT_OF_KENT_AND_SAINT_AUGUSTINE">KING ETHELBERT OF KENT AND ST. AUGUSTINE</a></td> <td align="right">13</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_CONSECRATION_OF_WESTMINSTER_ABBEY">THE CONSECRATION OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY</a></td> <td align="right">32</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_PENANCE_OF_SAINT_LAURENCE">THE PENANCE OF ST. LAURENCE</a></td> <td align="right">47</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#KING_SIGEBERT_OF_EAST_ANGLIA_AND_HEIDA_THE_PROPHETESS">KING SIGEBERT OF EAST ANGLIA, AND HEIDA THE PROPHETESS</a></td> <td align="right">66</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#KING_SIGEBERT_OF_ESSEX_OR_A_FRIEND_AT_NEED">KING SIGEBERT OF ESSEX, OR A FRIEND AT NEED</a></td> <td align="right">84</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#KING_OSWALD_OF_NORTHUMBRIA_OR_THE_BRITONS_REVENGE">KING OSWALD OF NORTHUMBRIA, OR THE BRITON'S REVENGE</a></td> <td align="right">100</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CEADMON_THE_COWHERD_THE_FIRST_ENGLISH_POET">CEADMON THE COWHERD, THE FIRST ENGLISH POET</a></td> <td align="right">117</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#KING_OSWY_OF_NORTHUMBRIA_OR_THE_WIFES_VICTORY">KING OSWY OF NORTHUMBRIA, OR THE WIFE'S VICTORY</a></td> <td align="right">142</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_VENGEANCE_OF_THE_MONKS_OF_BARDENEY">THE VENGEANCE OF THE MONKS OF BARDENEY</a></td> <td align="right">162</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#HOW_SAINT_CUTHBERT_KEPT_HIS_PENTECOST_AT_CARLISLE">HOW SAINT CUTHBERT KEPT HIS PENTECOST AT CARLISLE</a></td> <td align="right">176<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lii" id="Page_lii">[Pg lii]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#SAINT_FRIDESWIDA_OR_THE_FOUNDATIONS_OF_OXFORD">SAINT FRIDESWIDA, OR THE FOUNDATIONS OF OXFORD</a></td> <td align="right">208</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#THE_BANQUET_HALL_OF_WESSEX_OR_THE_KING_WHO_COULD_SEE">THE BANQUET HALL OF WESSEX, OR THE KING WHO COULD SEE</a></td> <td align="right">223</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#BEDES_LAST_MAY">EPILOGUE: BEDE'S LAST MAY</a></td> <td align="right">259</td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#NOTES">NOTES</a></td> <td align="right">283</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE"></a>PROLOGUE.</h2> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="ODIN_THE_MAN" id="ODIN_THE_MAN"></a><i>ODIN, THE MAN</i>.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Odin, a Prince who reigned near the Caspian Sea, after a vain +resistance to the Roman arms, leads forth his people to the forests +north of the Danube, that, serving God in freedom on the limits of +the Roman Empire, and being strengthened by an adverse climate, +they may one day descend upon that empire in just revenge; which +destiny was fulfilled by the sack of Rome, under Alaric, Christian +King of the Goths, a race derived, like the Saxon, from that +Eastern people. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Forth with those missives, Chiron, to the Invader!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hence, and make speed: they scathe mine eyes like fire:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pompeius, thou hast conquered! What remains?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vengeance! Man's race has never dreamed of such;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So slow, so sure. Pompeius, I depart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I might have held these mountains yet four days:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fifth had seen them thine—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span><span class="i0">I look beyond the limit of this night:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Four centuries I need; then comes mine hour.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">What saith the Accursed One of the Western World?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear even now her trumpet! Thus she saith:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I have enlarged my borders: iron reaped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth's field all golden. Strenuous fight we fought:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I left some sweat-drops on that Carthage shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some blood on Gallic javelins. That is past!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My pleasant days are come: my couch is spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside all waters of the Midland Sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By whispers lulled of nations kneeling round;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Illumed by light of balmiest climes; refreshed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By winds from Atlas and the Olympian snows:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Henceforth my foot is in delicious ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bathe it, ye Persian fountains! Syrian vales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All roses, make me sleepy with perfumes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caucasian cliffs, with martial echoes faint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flatter light slumbers; charm a Roman dream!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I send you my Pompeius; let him lead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Odin in chains to Rome!' Odin in chains!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were Odin chained, or dead, that God he serves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could raise a thousand Odins—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rome's Founder-King beside his Augur standing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Noted twelve ravens borne in sequent flight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Alba's crags. They emblem'd centuries twelve,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span><span class="i0">The term to Rome conceded. Eight are flown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remain but four. Hail, sacred brood of night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hencefore my standards bear the Raven Sign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bird that hoarsely haunts the ruined tower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bird sagacious of the field of blood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Albeit far off. Four centuries I need:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then comes my day. My race and I are one.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O Race beloved and holy! From my youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er a hungry heart impelled my feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er I found of glorious, have I not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Claimed it for thee, deep-musing? Ignorant, first,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thee I wished the golden ingots piled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Susa and Ecbatana:—ah fool!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Athens next, treading where Plato trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thee all triumphs of the mind of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Phidian hand inspired! Ah fool, that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Athens lay bound, a slave! Later to Rome<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In secrecy by Mithridates sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To search the inmost of his hated foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thee I claimed that discipline of Law<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which made her State one camp. Fool, fool once more!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon learned I what a heart-pollution lurked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath that mask of Law. As Persia fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By softness sapped, so Rome. Behold, this day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Following the Pole Star of my just revenge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I lead my people forth to clearer fates<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span><span class="i0">Through cloudier fortunes. They are brave and strong:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis but the rose-breath of their vale that rots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their destiny's bud unblown. I lead them forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A race war-vanquished, not a race of slaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lead them, not southward to Euphrates' bank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not Eastward to the realms of rising suns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not West to Rome and bondage. Hail, thou North!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hail, boundless woods, by nameless oceans girt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And snow-robed mountain islets, founts of fire!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Four hundred years! I know that awful North:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sought it when the one flower of my life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell to my foot. That anguish set me free:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It dashed me on the iron side of life:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I woke, a man. My people too shall wake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They shall have icy crags for myrtle banks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sharp rocks for couches. Strength! I must have strength;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not splenetic sallies of a woman's courage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But hearts to which self-pity is unknown:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hard life to them must be as mighty wine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gladdening the strong: the death on battle fields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must seem the natural, honest close of life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their fear must be to die without a wound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And miss Life's after-banquet. Wooden shield<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whole winter nights shall lie their covering sole:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thereon the boy shall stem the ocean wave;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span><span class="i0">Thereon the youth shall slide with speed of winds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud-laughing down the snowy mountain-slope:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him the Sire shall whisper as he bleeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Remember the revenge? Thy son must prove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More strong, more hard than thou!'<br /></span> +<span class="i33">Four hundred years!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Increase is tardy in that icy clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Death is there the awful nurse of Life:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death rocks the cot. Why meet we there no wolf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save those huge-limbed? Because weak wolf-cubs die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis thus with man; 'tis thus with all things strong:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rise higher on thy northern hills, my Pine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Southern Palm shall dwindle.<br /></span> +<span class="i33">House stone-walled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye shall not have it! Temples cedar-roofed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye shall not build them! Where the Temple stands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The City gathers. Cities ye shall spurn:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live in the woods; live singly, winning each,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hunter or fisher by blue lakes, his prey:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abhor the gilded shrine: the God Unknown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In such abides not. On the mountain's top<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great Persia sought Him in her day of strength:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her ye share the kingly breed of Truths,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The noblest inspirations man hath known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or can know—ay, unless the Lord of all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should come, Man's Teacher. Pray as Persia prayed;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span><span class="i0">And see ye pray for Vengeance! Leave till then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Rome her Idol fanes and pilfered Gods.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">I see you, O my People, year by year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strengthened by sufferings; pains that crush the weak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your helpers. Men have been that, poison-fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew poison-proof: on pain and wrong feed ye!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild-beast rage against you! frost and fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rack you in turn! I'll have no gold among you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With gold come wants; and wants mean servitude.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Edge, each, his spear with fish-bone or with flint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaning for prop on none. I want no Nations!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Race I fashion, playing not at States:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I take the race of Man, the breed that lifts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone its brow to heaven: I change that race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From clay to stone, from stone to adamant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through slow abrasion, such as leaves sea-shelves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lustrous at last and smooth. To <i>be</i>, not <i>have</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man to be; no heritage to clasp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that which simple manhood, at its will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or conquers or re-conquers, held meanwhile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In trust for Virtue; this alone is greatness.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remain ye Tribes, not Nations; led by Kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great onward-striding Kings, above the rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High towering, like the keel-compelling sail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That takes the topmost tempest. Let them die,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span><span class="i0">Each for his people! I will die for mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then when my work is finished; not before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Bandit King who founded Rome, the Accursed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vanished in storm. My sons shall see me die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Die, strong to lead them till my latest breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which shall not be a sigh; shall see and say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'This Man far-marching through the mountainous world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No God, but yet God's Prophet of the North,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave many crowns to others: for himself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His people were his crown.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Four hundred years—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye shall find savage races in your path:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be ye barbaric, ay, but savage not:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hew down the baser lest they drag you down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye cannot raise them: they fulfil their fates:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be terrible to foes, be kind to friend:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be just; be true. Revere the Household Hearth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This knowing, that beside it dwells a God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revere the Priest, the King, the Bard, the Maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Mother of the heroic race—five strings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounding God's Lyre. Drive out with lance for goad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That idiot God by Rome called Terminus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who standing sleeps, and holds his reign o'er fools.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earth is God's, not Man's: that Man from Him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holds it whose valour earns it. Time shall come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may be, when the warfare shall be past,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span><span class="i0">The reign triumphant of the brave and just<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In peace consolidated. Time may come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When that long winter of the Northern Land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall find its spring. Where spreads the black morass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harvest all gold may glitter; cities rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where roamed the elk; and nations set their thrones;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nations not like those empires known till now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But wise and pure. Let such their temples build<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And worship Truth, if Truth should e'er to Man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Show her full face. Let such ordain them laws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Justice e'er should mate with laws of men.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the mountain summits of Man's hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There spreads, I know, a land illimitable,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The table land of Virtue trial-proved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereon one day the nations of the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall race like emulous Gods. A greater God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Served by our sires, a God unknown to Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above that shining level sits, high-towered:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Millions of Spirits wing His flaming light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fiery winds among His tresses play:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When comes that hour which judges Gods and men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That God shall plague the Gods that filched His name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cleanse the Peoples.<br /></span> +<span class="i25">When ye hear, my sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That God uprising in His judgment robes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see their dreadful crimson in the West,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span><span class="i0">Then know ye that the knell of Rome is nigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then stand, and listen! When His Trumpet sounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth from your forests and your snows, my sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth over Ister, Rhenus, Rhodonus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Mœsia forth, to Thrace, Illyricum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Iberia, Gaul; but, most of all, to Rome!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who leads you thither leads you not for spoil:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mission hath he, fair though terrible;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He makes a pure hand purer, washed in blood:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On, Scourge of God! the Vengeance Hour is come.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I know that hour, and wait it. Odin's work<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands then consummate. Odin's name thenceforth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes down to darkness.<br /></span> +<span class="i23">Farewell, Ararat!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many an evening, still and bright as this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In childhood, youth, or manhood's sorrowing years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have I not watched the sunset hanging red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon thy hoary brow! Farewell for ever!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A legend haunts thee that the race of man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In earliest days, a sad and storm-tossed few,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thy wan heights descended, making way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a ruined world. A storm-tossed race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not self-pitying, once again thou seest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a world all ruin making way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whither they know not, yet without a fear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This hour—lo, there, they pass yon valley's verge!—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span><span class="i0">In sable weeds that pilgrimage moves on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moves slowly like thy shadow, Ararat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That eastward creeps. Phantom of glory dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Image of greatness that disdains to die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Move Northward thou! Whate'er thy fates decreed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At least that shadow shall be shadow of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not of beast gold-weighted! On, thou Night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast by my heart! Thou too shalt meet thy morn!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2>LEGENDS</h2> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="KING_ETHELBERT_OF_KENT_AND_SAINT_AUGUSTINE" id="KING_ETHELBERT_OF_KENT_AND_SAINT_AUGUSTINE"></a><i>KING ETHELBERT OF KENT AND SAINT AUGUSTINE.</i></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ethelbert, King of Kent, converses first with his Pagan Thanes, and +next with Saint Augustine, newly landed on the shores of Thanet +Island. The Saint, coming in sight of Canterbury, rejoices greatly, +and predicts the future greatness of that city. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far through the forest depths of Thanet Isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That never yet had heard the woodman's axe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rang the glad clarion on the May-day morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blent with the cry of hounds. The rising sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flamed on the forests' dewy jewelry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, under rising mists, a host with plumes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rode down a broad oak alley t'wards the sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">King Ethelbert rode first: he reigned in Kent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Least kingdom of the Seven yet Head of all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through his desert. That morn the royal train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While sang the invisible lark her song in heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pursued the flying stag. At times the creature,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span><span class="i0">As though he too had pleasure in the sport,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vaulted at ease through sunshine and through shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then changed his mood, and left the best behind him.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Five hours they chased him; last, upon a rock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High up in scorn he held his antlered front,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then took the wave and vanished.<br /></span> +<span class="i33">Many a frown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkened that hour on many a heated brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a spur afflicted that poor flank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which panted hard and smoked. The King alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laughed at mischance. 'The stag, with God to aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has left our labour fruitless! Give him joy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lives to yield us sport some later morn:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So be it! Waits our feast, and not far off:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On to the left, 'twixt yonder ash and birch!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">He spake, and anger passed: they praised their sport;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many an outblown nostril seemed to snuff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That promised feast. They rode through golden furze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So high the horsemen only were descried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glades whose centuried oaks their branches laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er violet banks; and fruit trees, some snow-veiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like bridesmaid, others like the bride herself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind her white veil blushing. Glad, the thrush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Carolled; more glad, the wood-dove moaned; close by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A warbling runnel led them to the bay:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span><span class="i0">Two chestnuts stood beside it snowy-coned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The banquet lay beneath them.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Feasting o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The song succeeded. Boastful was the strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each Thane his deeds extolling, or his sire's;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But one, an aged man, among them scoffed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'When I was young; when Sigbert on my right<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To battle rode, and Sefred on my left;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That time men stood not worsted by a stag!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not then our horses swerved from azure strait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scared by the ridged sea-wave!' Next spake a chief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pirate from Denmark late returned: 'Our skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good friends, are all too soft to build the man!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We fight for fame: the Northman fights for sport;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their annals boast they fled but once:—'twas thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In days of old, when Rome was in her pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huge hosts of hers had fallen on theirs, surprised,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And way-worn: long they fought: a remnant spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fled to their camp. Upon its walls their wives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood up, black-garbed, with axes heaved aloft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fell upon the fugitives, and slew them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slew next their little ones; slew last themselves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheating the Roman Triumph. Never since then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath Northman fled the foemen.'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Egfrid rose:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Who saith our kinsfolk of the frozen North<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span><span class="i0">One stock with us, one faith, one ancient tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass us in valour? Three days since I saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crossing the East Saxon's border and our own<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two boys that strove. The Kentish wounded fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The East Saxon on him knelt; then made demand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"My victim art thou by the laws of war!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yonder my dagger lies;—till I return<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wilt thou abide?" The vanquished answered, "Yea!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A minute more, and o'er that dagger's edge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His life-blood rushed.' The pirate chief demurred;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'A gallant boy! Not less I wager this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glitter of that dagger ere it smote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made his eye blink. Attend! Three years gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sailing with Hakon on Norwegian fiords<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We fought the Jomsburg Rovers, at their head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sidroc, oath-pledged to marry Hakon's child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despite her father's best. In mist we met:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instant each navy at the other dashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like wild beast, instinct-taught, that knows its foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chained ship to ship, and clashed their clubs all day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till sank the sun: then laughed the white peaks forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And reeled, methought, above the reeling waves!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The victory was with us. Hakon, next morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bade slay his prisoners. Thirty on one bench<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waited their doom: their leader died the first;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He winked not as the sword upon him closed!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span><span class="i0">No, nor the second! Hakon asked the third,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What think'st thou, friend, of Death?" He tossed his head:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"My Father perished; I fulfil my turn."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fourth, "Strike quickly, Chief! An hour this morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We held contention if, when heads are off,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hand can hold its dagger: I would learn."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dagger and the head together fell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fifth, "One fear is mine—lest yonder slave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Finger a Prince's hair! Command some chief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy best beloved, to lift it in his hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then strike and spare not!" Hakon struck. That youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sigurd by name, his forehead forward twitched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laughing, so deftly that the downward sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shore off those luckless hands that raised his hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All laughed; and Hakon's son besought his sire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To loosen Sigurd's bonds: but Sigurd cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Unless the rest be loosed I will not live!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus all escaped save four.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">In graver mood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That chief resumed: 'A Norland King dies well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bier is raised upon his stateliest ship;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Piled with his arms; his lovers and his friends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rush to their monarch's pyre, resolved with him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To share in death, and with becoming pomp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Attend his footsteps to Valhalla's Hall.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span><span class="i0">The torch is lit: forth sails the ship, black-winged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Facing the midnight seas. From beach and cliff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men watch all night that slowly lessening flame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet no man sheds a tear.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Earconwald,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An aged chief, made answer, 'Tears there be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of divers sorts: a wise and valiant king<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deserves that tear which praises, not bewails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greatness gone by.' The pirate shouted loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'A land it is of laughter, not of tears!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know ye the tale of Harald? He had sailed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round southern coasts and eastern—sacked or burned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hundred Christian cities. One he found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So girt with giant walls and brazen gates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sea-kings vainly dashed themselves thereon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And died beneath them, frustrate. Harald sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A herald to that city proffering terms:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Harald is dead: Christian was he in youth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sends you spoils from many a city burnt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And craves interment in your chiefest church."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Next day the masked procession wound in black<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through streets defenceless. When the church was reached<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They laid their chief before the altar-lights:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anon to heaven rang out the priestly dirge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And incense-smoke upcurled. Forth from its cloud<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span><span class="i0">Sudden upleaped the dead man, club in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spurning his coffin's gilded walls, and smote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hoary pontiff down, and brake his neck;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all those maskers doffed their weeds of woe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And showed the mail beneath, and raised their swords,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drowned that pavement in a sea of blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While raging rushed their mates through portals wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, since that city seemed but scant of spoil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fired it and sailed. Ofttimes old Harald laughed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tale recounting,'<br /></span> +<span class="i24">Many a Kentish chief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Re-echoed Harald's laugh;—not Ethelbert:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The war-scar reddening on his brow he rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spake: 'My Thanes, ye laugh at deeds accurst!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old King I, and make my prophecy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One day that northern race which smites and laughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our kith and kin albeit, shall smite our coasts:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That day ye will not laugh!' Earconwald,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not rising, likewise answer made, heart-grieved:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Six sons had I: all these are slain in war;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet I, an unrejoicing man forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Find solace ofttimes thinking of their deeds:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They laughed not when they smote. No God, be sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiles on the jest red-handed.' Egfrid rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And three times cried with lifted sword unsheathed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Behold my God! No God save him I serve!'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span><span class="i2">While thus they held discourse, where blue waves danced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not far from land, behold, there hove in sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seen 'twixt a great beech silky yet with Spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pine broad-crested, round whose head old storms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had wov'n a garland of his own green boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bark both fair and large; and hymn was heard.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then laughed the King, 'The stag-hunt and our songs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So drugged my memory, I had nigh forgotten<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why for our feast I chose this heaven-roofed hall:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Missives I late received from friends in France;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They make report of strangers from the South<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, tarrying in their coasts have learned our tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And northward wend with tidings strange and new<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some celestial Kingdom by their God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Founded for men of Faith. Nor churl am I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To frown on kind intent, nor child to trust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This sceptre of Seven Realms to magic snare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That puissance hath—who knows not?—greater thrice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In house than open field. I therefore chose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For audience hall this precinct.'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Muttered low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Murdark, the scoffer with the cave-like mouth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sidelong eyes, 'Queen Bertha's voice was that!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A woman's man! Since first from Gallic shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dainty daughter of King Charibert<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span><span class="i0">Pressed her small foot on England's honest shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whole land dwindles!'<br /></span> +<span class="i26">In seraphic hymns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere long that serpent hiss was lost: for soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In raiment white, circling a rocky point,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er sands still glistening with a tide far-ebbed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On drew, preceded by a silver Cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A long procession. Music, as it moved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floated on sea-winds inland, deadened now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By thickets, echoed now from cliff or cave:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere long before them that procession stood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King addressed them: 'Welcome, Heralds sage!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if from God I welcome you the more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since great is God, and therefore great His gifts:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God grant He send them daily, heaped and huge!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak without fear, for him alone I hate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who brings ill news, or makes inept demand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unmeet for Kings. I know that Cross ye bear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in my palace sits a Christian wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bertha, the sweetest lady in this land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most gracious in her ways, in heart most leal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew her yet a child: she knelt whene'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Queen, her mother, entered: then I said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A maid so reverent will be reverent wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wedded her betimes. Morning and eve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She in her wood-girt chapel sings her prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span><span class="i0">Which wins us kindlier harvest, and, some think,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Success in war. She strives not with our Gods:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confusion never wrought she in my house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor minished Hengist's glory. Had her voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clangorous or strident, drawn upon my throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deserved opprobrium'—here the monarch's brows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flushed at the thought, and fire was in his eyes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The hand that clasps this sceptre had not spared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hunt her forth, an outcast in the woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thenceforth with beasts to herd! More lief were I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To take the lioness to my bed and board<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than house a rebel wife.' Remembering then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mildness of his Queen, King Ethelbert<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resumed, appeased, for placable his heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'But she no rebel is, and this I deem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair auspice for her Faith.'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">A little breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warm from the sea that moment softly waved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The standard from its staff, and showed thereon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Child Divine. Upon His mother's knee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sublime He stood. His left hand clasped a globe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowned with a golden Cross; and with His right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two fingers heavenward raised, o'er all the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sent His Blessing.<br /></span> +<span class="i22">Of that band snow-stoled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One taller by the head than all the rest<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span><span class="i0">Obeisance made; then, pointing to the Cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forward moving t'ward the monarch's seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Opened the great commission of the Faith:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Behold the Eternal Maker of the worlds!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Hand which shaped the earth and blesses earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must rule the race of man!'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Majestic then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when, far winding from its mountain springs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">City and palm-grove far behind it left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some Indian river rolls, while mists dissolved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave it in native brightness unobscured,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kingly navies share its sea-ward sweep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forward on-flowed in Apostolic might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Augustine's strong discourse. With God beginning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He showed the Almighty All-compassionate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down drawn from distance infinite to man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the Infinite of Love. Lo, Bethlehem's crib!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There lay the Illimitable in narrow bound:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thence rose that triumph of a world redeemed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Last, to the standard pointing, thus he spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Yon Standard tells the tale! Six hundred years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Westward it speeds from subject realm to realm:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First from the bosom of God's Race Elect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His People, till they slew Him, mild it soared:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejected, it returned. Above their walls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While ruin rocked them, and the Roman fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreadful it hung. When Rome had shared that guilt,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span><span class="i0">Mocking that Saviour's Brethren, and His Bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the conquered conqueror of all lands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In turn this Standard flew. Who raised it high?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A son of this your island, Constantine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In these, thine English oakwoods, Helena,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas thine to nurse thy warrior. He had seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Star-writ in heaven the words this Standard bears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Through Me is victory." Victory won, he raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High as his empire's queenly head, and higher,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This Standard of the Eternal Dove thenceforth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fly where eagle standard never flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's glory in its track, goodwill to man.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advance for aye, great Emblem! Light as now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Famed Asian headlands, and Hellenic isles!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er snow-crowned Alp and citied Apennine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Send forth a breeze of healing! Keep thy throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ever on those western peaks that watch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The setting sun descend the Hesperean wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Atlas and Calpe! These, the old Roman bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Build but the gateway of the Rome to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till Christ returns, thou Standard, hold them fast:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never till the North, that, age by age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dashed back the Pagan Rome, with Christian Rome<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Partakes the spiritual crown of man restored,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thy strong flight above the world surcease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fold thy wings in rest!'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span><span class="i28">Upon the sod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knelt, and on that Standard gazed, and spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calm-voiced, with hand to heaven: 'I promise thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou Sign, another victory, and thy best—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This island shall be thine!'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Augustine rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And took the right hand of King Ethelbert,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And placed therein the Standard's staff, and laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His own above the monarch's, speaking thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'King of this land, I bid thee know from God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That kings have higher privilege than they know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The standard-bearers of the King of kings.'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long time he clasped that royal hand; long time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King, that patriarch's hand at last withdrawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His own withdrew not from that Standard's staff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Committed to his charge. His hand he deemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thenceforth its servant vowed. With large, meek eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fixed on that Maid and Babe, he stood as child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, gazing on some reverent stranger's face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor loosening from that stranger's hold his palm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listens his words attent.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">The man of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime as silent gazed on Thanet's shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gold-tinged, with sunset spray to crimson turned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In league-long crescent. Love was in his face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That love which rests on Faith. He spake: 'Fair land,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span><span class="i0">I know thee what thou art, and what thou lack'st!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Master saith, "I give to him that hath:"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy harvest shall be great.' Again he mused,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shadow o'er him crept. Again he spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'That harvest won, when centuries have gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What countenance wilt thou wear? How oft on brows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brightened by Baptism's splendour, sin more late<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drags down its cloud! The time may come when thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This day, though darkling, yet so innocent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Barbaric, not depraved, on greater heights<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May'st sin in malice—sin the great offence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Changing thy light to darkness, knowing God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet honouring God no more; that time may come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, rich as Carthage, great in arms as Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keen-eyed as Greece, this isle, to sensuous gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sun all gold, to angels may present<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aspect no nobler than a desert waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some blind and blinding waste of sun-scorched sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trod by a race of pigmies not of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pigmies by passions ruled!'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Once more he mused;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then o'er his countenance passed a second change;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from it flashed the light of one who sees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some hill-top gained, beyond the incumbent night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The instant foot of morn. With regal step,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Martial yet measured, to the King he strode,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span><span class="i0">And laid a strong hand on him, speaking thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Rejoice, my son, for God hath sent thy land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This day Good Tidings of exceeding joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And planted in her breast a Tree divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose leaves shall heal far nations. Know besides,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should sickness blight that Tree, or tempest mar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strong root shall survive: the winter past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavenward once more shall rush both branch and bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And over-vault the stars.'<br /></span> +<span class="i26">He spake, and took<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sacred Standard from that monarch's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And held it in his own, and fixed its point<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in the earth, and by it stood. Then lo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like one disburthened of some ponderous charge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Ethelbert became himself again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And round him gazed well pleased. Throughout his train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden a movement thrilled: remembrance had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those around, his warriors and his thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ever on his wisdom waiting hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus he replied discreet: 'Stranger and friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou bear'st good tidings! That thou camest thus far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fool us, knave and witling may believe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I walk not with their sort; yet, guest revered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kings are not as the common race of men;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Counsel they take, lest honour heaped on one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dishonour others. Odin holds on us<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span><span class="i0">Prescriptive right, and special claims on me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The son of Hengist's grandson. Preach your Faith!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man who wills I suffer to believe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man who wills not, let him moor his skiff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where anchorage likes him best. The day declines:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This night with us you harbour, and our Queen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall lovingly receive you.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Staid and slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King rode homewards, while behind him paced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Augustine and his Monks. The ebb had left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt Thanet and the mainland narrow space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marsh-land more late: beyond the ford there wound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A path through flowery meads; and, as they passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not herdsmen only, but the broad-browed kine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fixed on them long their meditative gaze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft some blue-eyed boy with flaxen locks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ran, fearless, forth, and plucked them by the sleeve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some boy clear-browed as those Saint Gregory marked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor slaves, new-landed on the quays of Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That drew from him that saying, '"Angli"—nay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call them henceforward "Angels"!'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">From a wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Issuing, before them lustrous they beheld<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Ethelbert's chief city, Canterbury,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strong-walled, with winding street, and airy roofs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And high o'er all the monarch's palace pile<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span><span class="i0">Thick-set with towers. Then fire from God there fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon Augustine's heart; and thus he sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advancing; and the brethren sang 'Amen':<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">'Hail, City loved of God, for on thy brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great Fates are writ. Thou cumberest not His earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For petty traffic reared, or petty sway;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see a heavenly choir descend, thy crown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Henceforth to bind thy brow. Forever hail!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">'I see the basis of a kingly throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thee ascending! High it soars and higher,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some great pyramid o'er Nilus kenned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When vapours melt—the Apostolic Chair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doctrine and Discipline thence shall hold their course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Tigris and Euphrates, through all lands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That face the Northern Star. Forever hail!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">'Where stands yon royal keep, a church shall rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Incorruption clothing the Corrupt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the resurrection morn! Strong House of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Him exalt thy walls, and nothing doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For lo! from thee like lions from their lair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abroad shall pace the Primates of this land:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They shall not lick the hand that gives and smites,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doglike, nor snakelike on their bellies creep<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span><span class="i0">In indirectness base. They shall not fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The people's madness, nor the rage of kings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reddening the temple's pavement. They shall lift<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strong brow mitred, and the crosiered hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before their presence sending Love and Fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pave their steps with greatness. From their fronts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stubborned with marble from Saint Peter's Rock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunrise of far centuries forth shall flame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He that hath eyes shall see it, and shall say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Blessed who cometh in the name of God!"'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Thus sang the Saint, advancing; and, behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At every pause the brethren sang 'Amen!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While down from window and from roof the throng<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eyed them in silence. As their anthem ceased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before them stood the palace clustered round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By many a stalwart form. Midway the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the first step, like angel newly lit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Queen Bertha stood. Back from her forehead meek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The meeker for its crown, a veil descended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While streamed the red robe to the foot snow-white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sandalled in gold. The morn was on her face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The star of morn within those eyes upraised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That flashed all dewy with the grateful light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of many a granted prayer. O'er that sweet shape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Augustine signed the Venerable Sign;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lovely vision sinking, hand to breast,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span><span class="i0">Received it; while, by sympathy surprised,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or taught of God, the monarch and his thanes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knelt as she knelt, and bent like her their heads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sharing her blessing. Like a palm the Faith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thenceforth o'er England rose, those saintly men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Preaching by life severe, not words alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The doctrine of the Cross. Some Power divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stronger than patriot love, more sweet than Spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made way from heart to heart, and daily God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joined to His Church the souls that should be saved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thousands, where Medway mingles with the Thames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rushing to Baptism. In his palace cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High-nested on that Vaticanian Hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which o'er the Martyr-gardens kens the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gregory, that news receiving, or from men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or haply from that God with whom he walked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Spirit's whisper ever in his ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoiced that hour, and cried aloud, 'Rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou Earth! that North which from its cloud but flung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild beasts' cry of anger or of pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Redeemed from wrath, its Hallelujahs sings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its waves by Roman galleys feared, this day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kiss the bare feet of Christ's Evangelists;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That race whose oak-clubs brake our Roman swords<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glories now first in bonds—the bond of Truth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last it fears;—but fears alone to sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Striving through faith for Virtue's heavenly crown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THE_CONSECRATION_OF_WESTMINSTER_ABBEY" id="THE_CONSECRATION_OF_WESTMINSTER_ABBEY"></a><i>THE CONSECRATION OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY.</i></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Sebert, King of the East Saxons, having built the great church of +Saint Peter at Westminster, Mellitus the Bishop prepares to +consecrate it, but is warned in a vision that it has already been +consecrated by one greater than he. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As morning brake, Sebert, East Saxon king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood on the winding shores of Thames alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fixed a sparkling eye upon Saint Paul's:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun new-risen had touched its roofs that laughed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their answer back. Beyond it London spread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all between the river and that church<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was slope of grass and blossoming orchard copse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glittering with dews dawn-reddened. Bertha here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That church begun, had thus besought her Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Spare me this bank which God has made so fair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here let the little birds have leave to sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bud to blossom! Here, the vespers o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span><span class="i0">Lovers shall sit; and here, in later days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Children shall question, "Who was he—Saint Paul?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What taught, what wrought he that his name should shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus like the stars in heaven?"'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">As Sebert stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweetness of the morning more and more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made way into his heart. The pale blue smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rising from hearths by woodland branches fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dimmed not the crystal matin air; not yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From clammy couch had risen the mist sun-warmed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All things distinctly showed; the rushing tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The barge, the trees, the long bridge many-arched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And countless huddled gables, far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lessening, yet still descried.<br /></span> +<span class="i31">A voice benign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dispersed the Prince's trance: 'I marked, my King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your face in yonder church; you took, I saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A blessing thence; and Nature's here you find:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same God sends them both.' The man who spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though silver-tressed, was countenanced like a child;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smooth-browed, clear-eyed. That still and luminous mien<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Predicted realms where Time shall be no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where gladness, like some honey-dew divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freshens an endless present. Mellitus,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span><span class="i0">From Rome late missioned and the Cœlian Hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made thus his greeting.<br /></span> +<span class="i24">Westward by the Thames<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King and Bishop paced, and held discourse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of him whose name that huge Cathedral bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Israel's great son, the man of mighty heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man for her redemption zealous more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than for his proper crown. Not task for her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God gave him: to the Gentiles still he preached,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And won them to the Cross. 'That Faith once spurned,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus cried the Bishop with a kindling eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Lo, how it raised him as on eagle's wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And past the starry gates! The Spirit's Sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wielded well! Save him who bears the Keys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save him who made confession, "Thou art Christ,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint Paul had equal none! Hail, Brethren crowned!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hail, happy Rome, that guard'st their mingled dust!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Next spake the Roman of those churches twain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Constantine beside the Tyber built<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To glorify their names. With sudden turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sebert, the crimson mounting to his brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made question, 'Is your Tyber of the South<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ampler than this, our Thames?' The old man smiled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tyber to Thames is as that willow-stock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To yonder oak.' The Saxon cried with joy:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span><span class="i0">'How true thy judgment is! how just thy tongue!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What hinders, O my Father, but that Thames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huge river from the forests rolled by God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should image, like that Tyber, churches twain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honouring those Princes of the Apostles' Band?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Ethelbert, my uncle, built Saint Paul's;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint Peter's Church be mine!'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">An hour's advance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left them in thickets tangled. Low the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well-nigh by waters clipt, a savage haunt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With briar and bramble thick, and 'Thorny Isle'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that cause named. Sebert around him gazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A maiden blush upon him thus he spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I know this spot; I stood here once, a boy:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas winter then: the swoll'n and turbid flood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rustled the sallows. Far I fled from men:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A youth had done me wrong, and vengeful thoughts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burned in my heart: I warred with them in vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I prayed against them; yet they still returned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erspent at last, I cast me on my knees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cried, "Just God, if Thou despise my prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faithless, thence weak, not less remember well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many a man in this East Saxon land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands up this hour, in wood, or field, or farm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like me sore tempted, but with loftier heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To these be helpful—yea, to one of these!"<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span><span class="i0">And lo, the wrathful thoughts, like routed fiends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left me, and came no more!'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Discoursing thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The friends a moment halted in a space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where stood a flowering thorn. Adown it trailed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In zigzag curves erratic here and there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long lines of milky bloom, like rills of foam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Furrowing the green back of some huge sea wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Refluent from cliffs. Ecstatic minstrelsy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swelled from its branches. Birds as thick as leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thronged them; and whether joy was theirs that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because the May had come, or joy of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or tenderer gladness for their young new-fledged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So piercing was that harmony, the place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eden to Sebert looked, while brake and bower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone like the Tree of Life. 'What minster choir,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Bishop cried, 'could better chant God's praise?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here shall your church ascend:—its altar rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where yonder thorn tree stands!' The old man spake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet in him lived a thought unbreathed: 'How oft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have trophies risen to blazon deeds accursed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Angels this church o'er-winging, age on age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall see that boy at prayer!'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">In peace, in war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daily the work advanced. The youthful King<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kneeling, himself had raised the earliest sod,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span><span class="i0">Made firm the corner stone. Whate'er of gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sun-ripened harvests of the royal lands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yielded from Thames to Stour, or tax and toll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From quays mast-thronged to loud-resounding sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save what his realm required by famine vexed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times, or ravage of the Mercian sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went to the work. His Queen her jewels brought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling, huge gift in slenderest hands up-piled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His thanes their store; the poor their labour free.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some clave the quarry's ledges: from its depths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some haled the blocks; from distant forests some<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dragged home the oak-beam on the creaking wain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas, that arms in noble tasks so strong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should e'er have sunk in dust! Ere ten years passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint Peter's towers above the high-roofed streets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiled on Saint Paul's. That earlier church had risen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where stood, in Roman days, Apollo's fane:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a site to Dian dedicate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now rose its sister. Erring Faith had reached<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In those twin Powers that ruled the Day and Night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Wisdom witnessing and Chastity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her loftiest height, and perished. Phœnix-like,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From ashes of dead rites and truths abused<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now soared unstained Religion.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">What remained?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Consecration. On its eve, the King<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span><span class="i0">Held revel in its honour, solemn feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wisely-woven dance, where beauty and youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through loveliest measures moving, music-winged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And winged not less by gladness, interwreathed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brightness with brightness, glance turned back on glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smile on smile—a courtseying graciousness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of stateliest forms that, winding, sank or rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if on heaving seas. In groups apart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old warriors clustered. Eadbald discussed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Snorr, that truce with Wessex signed, and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Fear nought: it cannot last!' A shadow sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That joyous night upon one brow alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Redwald's, East Anglia's King. In generous youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, guest that time with royal Ethelbert,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had gladly bowed to Christ. From shallowest soil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faith springs apace, but springs to die. Returned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To plains of Ely, all that sweetness past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed but a dream while scornful spake his wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon whose brow beauty from love divorced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made beauty's self unbeauteous: 'Lose—why not?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thwarting your liegeful subjects, lose at will<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your Kingdom; you that might have reigned ere now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bretwalda of the Seven!' In hour accursed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weak man with his Faith equivocated:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fraudful, beneath the self-same roofs he raised<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span><span class="i0">Altars to Christ and idols. By degrees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Truth he mocked forsook him. Year by year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His face grew dark, and barbed his tongue though smooth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Manner and mind like grass-fields after thaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silk-soft above, yet iron-hard below:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spleenful that night at Sebert's blithe discourse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He answered thus, with seeming-careless eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wandering from wall to roof:<br /></span> +<span class="i30">'I like your Church:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would it had rested upon firmer ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adorned some airier height: its towers are good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though dark the stone: three quarries white have I;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You might have used them gratis had you willed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Ely, Elmham, and beside the Cam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Felix rears even now his cloistral Schools,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I trust to build three churches soon: my Queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That seconds still my wishes, says, "Beware<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest overhaste, your people still averse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frustrate your high intent." A woman's wit—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet here my wife is wiser than her wont.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I miss your Bishop: grandly countenanced he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save for that mole. He shuns our revel:—ay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Monastic virtue never feels secure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save when it skulks in corners!' As he spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despite that varnish on his brow clear-cut,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stung by remembrance, from the tutored eye<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span><span class="i0">Forth flashed the fire barbaric: race and heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment stood confessed.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Old Mellitus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That night how fared he? In a fragile tent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Facing that church expectant, low he knelt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the damp ground. More late, like youthful knight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In chapel small watching his arms untried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He kept his consecration vigil still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hoary hands screening a hoary head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus made prayer: 'Thou God to Whom all worlds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Form one vast temple: Thou Who with Thyself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ritual eterne, dost consecrate <i>that</i> Church,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For aye creating, hallowing it forever;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou Who in narrowest heart of man or child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makest not less Thy dwelling, turn Thine eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow on our rite. The work we work<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Work it Thyself! Thy storm shall try it well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consummate first its strength in righteousness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall beginning just, whate'er befall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or guard it, or restore.'<br /></span> +<span class="i26">So prayed the man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever raised his head—saw nought—heard nought—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor knew that on the night had come a change,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ill Spirits, belike, whose empire is the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grudging its glories to that pile new raised,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, while they might, assailing. Through the clouds<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span><span class="i0">A panic-stricken moon stumbled and fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wildly on the waters blast on blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ridged their dark floor. A spring-tide from the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breasted the flood descending. Woods of Shene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Hampton's groves had heard that flood all day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more a whisperer soft; and meadow banks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not yet o'er-gazed by Windsor's crested steep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Reading's tower, had yielded to its wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blossom and bud. More high, near Oxenford,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Isis and Cherwell with precipitate stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had swelled the current. Gathering thus its strength<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off and near, allies and tributaries,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That night by London onward rolled the Thames<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beauteous and threatening both.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Its southern bank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fronting the church had borne a hamlet long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where fishers dwelt. Upon its verge that night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perplexed the eldest stood: his hand was laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the gunwale of a stranded boat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His knee was crooked against it. Shrinking still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sad, his eye pursued that racing flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here black like night, dazzled with eddies there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eddies by moonshine glazed. In doubt he mused:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden a Stranger by him stood and spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Launch forth, and have no fear.' The fisher gazed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once on his face; and launched. Beside the helm<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span><span class="i0">That Stranger sat. Then lo! a watery lane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before them opening, through the billows curved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Level, like meadow-path. As when a weed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drifts with the tide, so softly o'er that lane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oarless the boat advanced, and instant reached<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The northern shore, dark with that minster's shade;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before them close it frowned.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">'Where now thou stand'st<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abide thou:' thus the Stranger spake: anon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the church's southern gate he stood:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then lo! a marvel. Inward as he passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its threshold crossed, a splendour as of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth from the bosom of that dusky pile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all its kindling windows streamed, and blazed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From wave to wave, and spanned that downward tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many a fiery bridge. The moon was quenched;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all the edges of the headlong clouds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caught up the splendour till the midnight vault<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone like the noon. The fisher knew, that hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That with vast concourse of the Sons of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That church was thronged; for in it many a head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sun-bright, and hands lifted like hands in prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High up he saw: meantime harmonic strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though whatever moves in earth or skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winds, waters, stars, had joined in one their song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above him floated like a breeze from God<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span><span class="i0">And heaven-born incense. Louder swelled that strain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still the Bride of God, that church late dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glad of her saintly spousals, laughed and shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In radiance ever freshening. By degrees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That vision waned. At last the fisher turned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The matin star shook on the umbered wave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the East there lay a pallid streak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That streak which preludes dawn.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Beside the man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more that Stranger stood:—'Seest thou yon tent?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Brother kneels within it. Thither speed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid him know I sent thee, speaking thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"He whom the Christians name 'the Rock' am I:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Master heard thy prayer: I sought thy church,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sang myself her Consecration rite:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close thou that service with thanksgiving psalm."'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus spake the Stranger, and was seen no more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whether o'er the waters, as of old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Footing that Galilean Sea, with faith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not now infirm he reached the southern shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or passed from sight as one whom crowds conceal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fisher knew not. At the tent arrived,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before its little door he bent, and lo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within, there knelt a venerable man<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span><span class="i0">With hoary hands screening a hoary head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who prayed, and prayed. His tale the fisher told:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With countenance unamazed, yet well content,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That kneeler answered, 'Son, thy speech is true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hence, and announce thy tidings to the King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who leaves his couch but now.'<br /></span> +<span class="i31">'How beautiful'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That old man sang, as down the Thames at morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In multitudinous pomp the barges dropped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Following those twain that side by side advanced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One royal, one pontific, bearing each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Cross in silver blazoned or in gold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'How beautiful, O Sion, are thy courts!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, on thy brow thy Maker's name is writ:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair is this place and awful; porch of heaven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, God's Church is founded on a rock:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It stands, and shall not fall: the gates of Hell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall not prevail against it.'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">From the barge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Sebert and his Queen, antiphonal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rapturous response was wafted: 'I beheld<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jerusalem, the City sage and blest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From heaven I saw it to the earth descending<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sanctity gold-vested, as a Bride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Decked for her Lord. I heard a voice which sang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold the House where God will dwell with men:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span><span class="i0">And God shall wipe the tears from off their face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And death shall be no more.'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Old Thames that day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brightened with banners of a thousand boats<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winnowed by winds flower-scented. Countless hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tossed on the brimming river chaplets wov'n<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On mead or hill, or branches lopped in woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fruit-bloom red, or white with clustering cone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Changing clear stream to garden. Mile on mile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now song was heard, now bugle horn that died<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gradual 'mid sedge and reed. Alone the swan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High on the western waters kept aloof;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remote she eyed the scene with neck thrown back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her ancient calm preferring, and her haunt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crystalline still. Alone the Julian Tower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far down the eastern stream, though tap'stries waved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From every window, every roof o'er-swarmed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With anthem-echoing throngs, maintained, unmoved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roman and Stoic, her Cæsarean pride:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Saxon feasts she fixed a cold, grey gaze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid Christian hymns heard but the old acclaim—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Consul Romanus.'<br /></span> +<span class="i22">When the sun had reached<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its noonday height, a people and its king<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around their minster pressed. With measured tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Introit chanted, up the pillared nave<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span><span class="i0">Reverent they moved: then knelt. Between their ranks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their Bishop last advanced with mitred brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in his hand the Cross, at every step<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Signing the benediction of his Lord.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The altar steps he mounted. Turning then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Westward his face to that innumerous host,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus spake he unastonished: 'Sirs, ere now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This church's Consecration rite was sung:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be ours to sing thanksgiving to our God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ter-Sanctus," and "Te Deum."'<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THE_PENANCE_OF_SAINT_LAURENCE" id="THE_PENANCE_OF_SAINT_LAURENCE"></a><i>THE PENANCE OF SAINT LAURENCE.</i></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Eadbald, King of Kent, persecuting the Church, Laurence the Bishop +deems himself the chief of sinners because he has consented, like +the neighbouring bishops, to depart; but, being consoled by a +wonderful reprimand, faces the King, and offers himself up to +death. The King reproves them that gave him evil counsel. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The day was dying on the Kentish downs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the oakwoods by the Stour was dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While sadly shone o'er snowy plains of March<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her comfortless, cold star. The daffodil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That year was past its time. The leaden stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had waited long that lamp of river-beds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, when the lights of Candlemas are quenched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks forth through February mists. A film<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of ice lay brittle on the shallows: dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swift the central current rushed: the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sighed through the tawny sedge.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">'So fleets our life—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like yonder gloomy stream; so sighs our age—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span><span class="i0">Like yonder sapless sedge!' Thus Laurence mused<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Standing on that sad margin all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His twenty years of gladsome English toil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ending at last abortive. 'Stream well-loved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here on thy margin standing saw I first,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My head by chance uplifting from my book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Ethelbert's strong countenance; he is dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, next him, riding through the April gleams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bertha, his Queen, with face so lit by love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its lustre smote the beggar as she passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And changed his sigh to song. She too is dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And half their thanes that chased the stag that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like echoes of their own glad bugle-horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have passed and are not. Why must I abide?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And why must age, querulous and coward both,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Past days lamenting, fear not less that stroke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which makes an end of grief? Base life of man!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sinks thy slow infection through our bones;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then when you fawned upon us, high-souled youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heroic in its gladness, spurned your gifts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yearning for noble death. In age, in age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We kiss the hand that nothing holds but dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Murmuring, "Not yet!"'<br /></span> +<span class="i23">A tear, ere long ice-glazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung on the old man's cheek. 'What now remains?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some minutes passed; then, lifting high his head,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span><span class="i0">He answered, 'God remains.' His faith, his heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were unsubverted. 'Twas the weight of grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The exhausted nerve, the warmthless blood of age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That pressed him down like sin, where sin was none—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not sin, but weakness only. Long he mused,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then slowly walked, and feebly, through the woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Towards his house monastic. Vast it loomed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through ground-fog seen; and vaster, close beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That convent's church by great Augustine reared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where once old woodlands clasped a temple old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vaunt of false Gods. To Peter and to Paul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That church was dedicate, albeit so long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High o'er the cloudy rack of fleeting years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It bore, and bears, its founder's name, not theirs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therein that holy founder slept in Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Ethelbert, and Bertha. All was changed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Eadbald, new-crowned and bad of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who still, whate'er was named of great or good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made answer, 'Dreams! I say the flesh rules all!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hated the Cross. His Queen, that portent crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She that with name of wife was yet no wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abhorred that Cross and feared. A Baptist new<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that Herodian court had Laurence stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Commanding, 'Put the evil thing away!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since then the woman's to the monarch's hate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had added strength—the serpent's poison-bag<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span><span class="i0">Venoming the serpent's fang. 'Depart the realm!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With voice scarce human thus the tyrant cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Depart or die;' and gave the Church's goods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To clown and boor.<br /></span> +<span class="i19">Upon the bank of Thames<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Settled like ruin. Holy Sebert dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that East Saxon kingdom monarch long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three sons unrighteous now their riot held.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frowning into the Christian Church they strode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full-armed, and each, with far-stretched foot firm set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watching the Christian rite. 'Give us,' they cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While knelt God's children at their Paschal Feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Give us those circlets of your sacred bread:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye feed therewith your beggars; kings are we!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Bishop answered, 'Be, like them, baptized,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sons of God's Church, His Sacrament with man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that cause Mother of Christ's Sacraments,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall ye share her Feast.' With lightning speed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their swords leaped forth; contemptuous next they cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'For once we spare to sweep a witless head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From worthless shoulders. Ere to-morrow's dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hence, nor return!' He sped to Rochester:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her bishop, like himself, was under ban:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The twain to Canterbury passed, and there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resolved to let the tempest waste its wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crossed the seas. By urgency outworn,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span><span class="i0">'Gainst that high judgment of his holier will<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laurence to theirs deferred, but tarried yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For one day more to cast a last regard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On regions loved so long.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">As compline ceased<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He reached the abbey gates, and entered in:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sadly the brethren looked him in the face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet no one said, 'Take comfort!' Sad and sole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He passed to the Scriptorium: round he gazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thought of happy days, when Gregory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One time their Abbot, next their Pope, would send<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some precious volume to his exiled sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While they in reverence knelt, and kissed its edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, kissing, heard once more, as if in dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gregorian chants through Roman palm trees borne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With echoes from the Coliseum's wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adown that Cœlian Hill; and saw God's poor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At feast around that humble board which graced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That palace senatorial once. He stood:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raised a casket from an open chest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from that casket drew a blazoned scroll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And placed it on the window-sill up-sloped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breast-high, and faintly warmed by sinking sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then o'er it bent a space.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">With sudden hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man raised that scroll; aloud he read:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span><span class="i0">'I, Ethelbert the King, and all my Thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honouring the Apostle Peter, cede to God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This Abbey and its lands. If heir of mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cancel that gift, when Christ with angels girt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes way to judge the Nations of this world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His name be cancelled from the Book of Life.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man paused; then read the signatures,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I, Ethelbert, of Kent the King.' Who next?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I, Eadbald, his son;' to these succeeding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I, Hennigisil, Duke;' 'I, Hocca, Earl.'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Can such things be?' Around the old man's brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The veins swelled out; dilated nostril, mouth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Working as mouth of him that tasteth death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With what beside is wiselier unrevealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Witnessed that agony which spake no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dashed the charter on the pavement down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then on it gazed a space.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Remembering soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose name stood first on that dishonoured list,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contrite he raised that charter to his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pressed it there in silence. Hours went by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then dark was all that room, and dark around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The windy corridors and courts stone-paved;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bitter blew the blast: his unlooped cloak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell loose: the cold he noted not. At last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A brother passed the door with lamp in hand:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span><span class="i0">Dazzled, he started first: then meekly spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Beseech the brethren that they strew my bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the church. Until the second watch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There must I fast, and pray,'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">The brethren heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strewed his couch within the vast, void nave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mat and deer-skin, and, more high, that stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old head's nightly pillow. Echoes faint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere long of their receding footsteps died<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While from the dark fringe of a rainy cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An ice-cold moon, ascending, streaked the church<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With gleam and gloom alternate. On his knees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime that aged priest was creeping slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From stone to stone, as when on battle-plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The battle lost, some warrior wounded sore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all forsaken, or some war-horse maimed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drags a blind bulk along the field in search<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thirst-assuaging spring. Glittered serene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That light before the Sacrament of Love:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thither he bent his way, and long time prayed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thence onward crept to where King Ethelbert<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slept, marble-shrined—his ashes, not the King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet ashes kingly since God's temple once,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And waiting God's great day. Before that tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself as rigid, with lean arms outspread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus made the man his moan:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span><span class="i32">'King Ethelbert!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear'st thou in glory? Ofttimes on thy knees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou mad'st confession of thine earthly sins<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me, a wounded worm this day on earth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now comforted art thou, and I brought low:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, though I see no more that beaming front,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And haply for my sins may see it never,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet inwardly I gladden, knowing this<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thou art glad. Perchance thou hear'st me not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thou wert still a heedless man of mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though sage as strong at need. If this were so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not less thy God would hear my prayer to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grant it in thy reverence. Ethelbert!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hadst thy trial time, since, many a year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All shepherdless thy well-loved people strayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What time thyself, their shepherd, knew'st not Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sole shepherd of man's race. King Ethelbert!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rememberest thou that day in Thanet Isle?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That day the Bride of God on English shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set her pure foot; and thou didst kneel to kiss it:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou gav'st her meat and drink in kingly wise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gav'st her thy palace for her bridal bower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This Abbey build'dst—her fortress! O those days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowned with such glories, with such sweetness winged!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou saw'st thy realm made one with Christ's: thou saw'st<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span><span class="i0">Thy race like angels ranging courts of Heaven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This day, behold, thou seest the things thou seest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If there be any hope, King Ethelbert,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Help us this day with God!'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Upon his knees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then crept that exile old to Bertha's tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there made moan: 'Thou tenderest Queen and sweetest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom no man ever gazed on save with joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or spake of, dead, save weeping! Well I know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That on thee in thy cradle Mary flung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lily whiter from her hand, a rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warm from her breath and breast, for all thy life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was made of Chastities and Charities—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This hour thine eyes are on that Vision bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereof the radiance, ere by thee beheld,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave thee thine earthly brightness. Mirrored there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seest thou, like moat in sunbeam well-nigh lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our world of temporal anguish? See it not!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For He alone, the essential Peace Eterne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could see it unperturbed. In Him rejoice!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, 'mid thy heavenly triumph, plead, O plead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For hearts that break below!'<br /></span> +<span class="i31">Upon the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awhile that man sore tried his forehead bowed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then raised it till the frore and foggy beam<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span><span class="i0">Mixed with his wintry hair. Once more he crept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his knees through shadow; reached at length<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His toilsome travel's last and dearest bourn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grave of Saint Augustine. O'er it lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Patriarch's statued semblance as in sleep:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew it well, and found it, though to him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In darkness lost and veil beside of tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With level hands grazing those upward feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft kissed, yet ne'er as now.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">'Farewell forever!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Farewell, my Master, and farewell, my friend!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since ever thou in heaven abid'st—and I——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gregory the Pontiff from that Roman Hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sent thee to work a man's work far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And manlike didst thou work it. Prince, yet child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men saw thee, and obeyed thee. O'er the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy step was regal, meekness of thy Christ<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weighted with weight of conquerors and of kings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men saw a man who toiled not for himself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet never ceased from toil; who warred on Sin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had peace with all beside. In happy hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God laid His holy hand upon thine eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knelt beside thy bed: I leaned mine ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down to thy lips to catch their last; in vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet thou perchance wert murmuring in thy heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I leave my staff within no hireling's hand;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span><span class="i0">Therefore my work shall last," Ah me! Ah me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a Laurence once on Afric's shore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He with his Cyprian died. I too, methinks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had shared—how gladly shared—my Bishop's doom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father, with Gregory pray this night! That God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who promised, "for my servant David's sake,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even yet may hear thy prayer.'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Thus wept the man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till o'er him fell half slumber. Soon he woke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, from between that statue's marble feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifting a marble face, in silence crept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where far off his bed was strewn, and drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deer-skin covering o'er him. With its warmth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep sleep, that solace of lamenting hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which makes the waking bitterer, o'er him sank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor wholly left him, though in sleep he moaned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When from the neighbouring farm, an hour ere dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The second time rang out that clarion voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which bids the Christian watch.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">As thus he lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">T'wards him there moved in visions of the Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Venerable Shape, compact of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loftier than our mortal. Near arrived,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mild, compassionate Splendour shrank his beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or healed with strengthening touch the gazer's eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made worthier of such grace; and Laurence saw<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span><span class="i0">Princedom not less than his, the Apostles' Chief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom the Saviour answered, 'Rock art thou,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And later—crowning Love, not less than Faith—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Feed thou My Sheep, My Lambs!' He knew that shape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For oft, a child 'mid catacombs of Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And winding ways girt by the martyred dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eyes had seen it. Pictured on those vaults<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood Peter, Moses of the Christian Law,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Figured in one that by the Burning Bush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unsandalled knelt, or drew with lifted hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The torrent from the rock, yet wore not less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In aureole round his head the Apostle's name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Petros,' and in his hand sustained the Keys—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such shape once more he saw.<br /></span> +<span class="i29">'And comest thou then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long-waited, or with sceptre-wielding hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earthward to smite the unworthiest head on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or with the darker of those Keys thou bearest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him from the synod of the Saints to shut<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who fled as flies the hireling? Let it be!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not less in that bright City by whose gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warder thou sitt'st, my Master thou shalt see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pacing the diamond terraces of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bastions jacinth-veined, my great Augustine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all who wrought the ill have passed to doom,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span><span class="i0">And all who missed the good. Nor walks he sole:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By him forever and forever pace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Ethelbert, my Bertha! Who can tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in the on-sweeping centuries thrice or twice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These three may name my name?' He spake and wept.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To whom the Apostolic Splendour thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Live, and be strong: for those thou lovest in Christ<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not only in far years shall name thy name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This day be sure that name they name in Christ:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Else wherefore am I here? Not thou alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much more in grief's bewilderment than fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hast from the right way swerved. Was I not strong?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, from the first Elect, and named anew?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I who received, at first, divine command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Brother-band to strengthen; last to rule?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I who to Hebrew and to Gentile both<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flung wide the portals of the heavenly realm?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was I not strong? Behold, thou know'st my fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A second fall was near. At Rome the sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against me raged. Forth by the Appian Way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fled; and, past the gateway, face to face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him met, Who up the steep of Calvary, bare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For man's behoof the Cross. "Where goest thou, Lord?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I spake; then He: "I go to Rome, once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To die for him who fears for me to die."<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span><span class="i0">To Rome returned I; and my end was peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Return thou too. Thy brethren have not sinned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They fled, consentient with the Will Supreme:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their names are written in the Book of Life:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough that He Who gives to each his part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath sealed thy sons and thee to loftier fates;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore more sternly tries. Be strong; be glad:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For strength from joyance comes.'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">The Vision passed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man, seated on his narrow bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolled thrice his eyes around the vast, dim church,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Desiring to retain it. Vain the quest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet still within his heart that Radiance lived:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweetness of that countenance fresh from God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would not be dispossessed, but kindled there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Memorial dawn of brightness, more and more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Growing to perfect day: inviolate peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such peace as heavenly visitants bequeath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-spread his spirit, gradual, like a sea:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth from the bosom of that peace upsoared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope, starry-crowned, and winged, that liberates oft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faith, unextinct, though bound by Powers accursed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That o'er her plant the foot, and hold the chain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Terror and Sloth. To noble spirits set free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delight means gratitude. Thus Laurence joyed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But soon, remembering that unworthy past,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span><span class="i0">Remorse succeeded, sorrow born of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consoled by love alone. 'Ah! slave,' he cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, serving such a God, could'st dream of flight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many a babe, too weak to lift his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is strong enough to die!' While thus he mused<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The day-dawn reaching to his pallet showed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Discipline, wire-woven, in ancient days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Guest of monastic bed. He snatched it thence:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around his bending neck and shoulders lean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dire revenge he hurled it. Spent at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though late, those bleeding hands down dropped: the cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sank on the stony pillow. Little birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low-chirping ere their songs began, attuned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slumber unbroken. In a single hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He slept a long night's sleep.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">The rising sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woke him: but in his heart another sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New-risen serene with healing on its wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Outshone that sun in brightness. 'Mid the choir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His voice was loudest while they chanted lauds:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brother to brother whispered, issuing forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'He walks in stature higher by a head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than in the month gone by!'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">That day at noon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Eadwald, intent to whiten theft<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span><span class="i0">And sacrilege with sanctitudes of law,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Girt by his warriors and his Witena,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enthronèd sat. 'What boots it?' laughed a thane;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Laurence has fled! we battle with dead men!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ay, ay,' the King replied, 'I told you oft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sages can brag; your dreamer weaves his dream:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But honest flesh rules all!' While thus they spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confusion filled the hall: through guarded gates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A priest advanced with mitre and with Cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A monk that seemed not monk, but prince disguised:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was Saint Laurence. As he neared the throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fashion of the tyrant's face was changed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Dar'st thou?' he cried, 'I deemed thee fled the realm—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What seek'st thou here?' The Saint made answer, 'Death.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calmly he told his tale; then ended thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'To me that sinful past is sin of one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buried in years gone by. All else is dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that last look the Apostle on me bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere from my sight he ceased. I saw therein<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reflex of that wondrous last Regard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast by the sentenced Saviour of mankind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On one who had denied Him, standing cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the High Priest's gate. Like him, I wept;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His countenance wrought my penance, not his hand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I scarcely felt the scourge.'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span><span class="i30">King Eadbald<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drave back the sword half drawn, and round him stared;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then sat as one amazed. He rose; he cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ulf! Kathnar! Strip his shoulders bare! If true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His tale, the brand remains!'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Two chiefs stepped forth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They dragged with trembling hand, and many a pause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The external garb pontific first removed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark, blood-stained garment from the bleeding flesh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man kneeling. Once, and only once,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monarch gazed on that disastrous sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Muttering, 'and yet he lives!' A time it was<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of swift transitions. Hearts, how proud soe'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made not that boast—consistency in sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though dark and rough accessible to Grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As earth to vernal showers. With hands hard-clenched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King upstarted: thus his voice rang out:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Beware, who gave ill counsel to their King!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The royal countenance is against them set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ill merchants trafficking with his lesser moods!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does any say the King wrought well of late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warring on Christ, and chasing hence his priests?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man that lies shall die! This day, once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ratify my Father's oath, and mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep the Church in peace: and though I sware<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To push God's monks from yonder monastery<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span><span class="i0">And lodge therein the horses of the Queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those horses, and the ill-persuading Queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall flee my kingdom, and the monks abide!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave work ye worked, my loose-kneed Witena,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This day, Christ's portion yielding to my wrath!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See how I prize your labours!' With his sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He clave the red seal from their statute scroll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stamped it under foot. Once more he spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazing with lion gaze from man to man:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The man that, since my Father, Ethelbert,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though monarch, stooped to common doom of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath filched from Holy Church fee-farm, or grange,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sepulchral brass, gold chalice, bell or book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See he restore it ere the sun goes down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If not, he dies! Not always winter reigns;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May-breeze returns, and bud-releasing breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When hoped the least:—'tis thus with royal minds!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spake: from that day forth in Canterbury<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till reigned the Norman, crowned on Hastings' field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's Church had rest. In many a Saxon realm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Convulsion rocked her cradle: altars raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By earlier kings by later were o'erthrown:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One half the mighty Roman work, and more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell to the ground: Columba's Irish monks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ruin raised. From Canterbury's towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Rome of the North' long named, from them alone<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span><span class="i0">Above sea-surge still shone that vestal fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By tempest fanned, not quenched; and at her breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For centuries six were nursed that Cœlian race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Benedictine Primates of the Land.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="KING_SIGEBERT_OF_EAST_ANGLIA_AND_HEIDA_THE_PROPHETESS" id="KING_SIGEBERT_OF_EAST_ANGLIA_AND_HEIDA_THE_PROPHETESS"></a><i>KING SIGEBERT OF EAST ANGLIA, AND HEIDA THE PROPHETESS.</i></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Sigebert, King of East Anglia, moved by what he has heard from a +Christian priest, consults the Prophetess Heida. In the doctrine he +reports Heida recognises certain sacred traditions from the East, +originally included in the Northern religion, and affirms that the +new Faith is the fulfilment of the great Voluspà prophecy, the +earliest record of that religion, which foretold the destruction +both of the Odin-Gods and the Giant race, the restoration of all +things, and the reign of Love. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Long time upon the late-closed door the King<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kept his eyes fixed. The wondrous guest was gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, seeing that his words were great and sage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compassionate for the sorrowful state of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet sparing not man's sin, their echoes lived<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrilling large chambers in the monarch's breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent for many a year. Exiled in France<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mystery of the Faith had reached his ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In word but not in power. The westering sun<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span><span class="i0">Lengthened upon the palace floor its beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet the strong hand which propped that thoughtful head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sank not, nor moved. Sudden, King Sigebert<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose and spake: 'I go to Heida's Tower:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Await ye my return.'<br /></span> +<span class="i22">The woods ere long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around him closed. Upon the wintry boughs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An iron shadow pressed; and as the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Increased beneath their roofs, an iron sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clangoured funereal. Down their gloomiest aisle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With snow flakes white, the monarch strode, till now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before him, and not distant, Heida's Tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Prophetess by all men feared yet loved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smit by a cold beam from the yellowing west,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone like a tower of brass. Her ravens twain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crested the turrets of its frowning gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unwatched by warder. Sigebert passed in:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the stony vault the queenly Seer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat on her ebon throne.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">With pallid lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King rehearsed his tale; how one with brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lordlier than man's, and visionary eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, wander where they might, saw Spirits still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had told him many marvels of some God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mightier than Odin thrice. He paused awhile:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A warning shadow came to Heida's brow:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span><span class="i0">Nathless she nothing spake. The King resumed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'He spake—that stranger—of the things he saw:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he, his body tranced, it may be dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In spirit oft hath walked the Spirit-Land:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thence, downward gazing, once he saw our earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little vale obscure, and, o'er it hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those four great Fires that desolate mankind:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Fire of Falsehood first; the Fire of Lust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ravening for weeds and scum; the Fire of Hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurling, on war-fields, brother-man 'gainst man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Fire of tyrannous Pride. While yet he gazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, those Fires, widening, commixed, then soared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Threatening the skies. A Spirit near him cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Fear nought; for breeze-like pass the flames o'er him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In whom they won no mastery there below:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But woe to those who, charioted therein,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rode forth triumphant o'er the necks of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And had their day on earth. Proportioned flames<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of other edge shall try their work and them!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus spake my guest: the frost wind smote his brows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While on that moonlit crag we sat, ice-cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet down them, like the reaper's sweat at noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The drops of anguish streamed. Till then, methinks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thing Sin is I knew not.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Calm of voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again he spake. He told me of his God:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span><span class="i0">That God, like Odin, is a God of War:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who serve Him wear His armour day and night:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maiden, nay, the child, must wield the sword;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet none may hate his neighbour. Thus he spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Prophet from far regions: "Wherefore wreck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy brother man? upon his innocent babes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drag down the ruinous roof? Seek manlier tasks!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The death in battle is the easiest death:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be yours the daily dying; lifelong death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death of the body that the soul may live:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">War on the Spirits unnumbered and accurst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, rulers of the darkness of this world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drive, hour by hour, their lances through man's soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wits not of the wounding!"'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Heida turned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A keen eye on the King: 'Whence came your guest?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not from those sun-bright southern shores, I ween?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He answered, 'Nay, from western isle remote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Prophet came.' Then Heida's countenance fell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The West! the West! it should have been the East!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conclude your tale: what saith your guest of God?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King replied: 'His God so loved mankind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, God remaining, he became a man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So hated sin that, sin to slay, He died.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One tear of His had paid the dreadful debt:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not so He willed it: thus He willed, to wake<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span><span class="i0">In man, His lost one, quenchless hate of sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proportioned to the death-pang of a God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor chose He lonely majesty of death:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt sinners paired He died.'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">In Heida's eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trembled a tear. 'A dream was mine in youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When first the rose of girlhood warmed my cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dream of some great Sacrifice that claimed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not praise—not praise—it only yearned to die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Helping the Loved. A maid alone, I thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such sacrifice could offer.' As she spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She pressed upon the pale cheek, warmed once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her cold, thin hand a moment.<br /></span> +<span class="i31">'Maiden-born<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was He, my guest revealed,' the King replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Then from that Angel's "Hail," and her response,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"So be it unto me," when sinless doubt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vanished in world-renewing, free consent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He told the tale;—the Infant in the crib;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shepherds o'er him bowed;' (with widening eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heida, bent forward, saw like them that Child)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The Star that led the Magians from the East——'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The East, the East! It should have been the East!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more she cried; 'our race is from the East:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Persian worshipped t'ward the rising sun:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You said, but now, the West.' The King resumed:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span><span class="i0">'God's priest was from the West; but in the East<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great Deliverer sprang.' Next, step by step,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like herald panting forth in leaguered town<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tidings unhoped for of deliverance strange<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through victory on some battle field remote,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King rehearsed his theme, from that first Word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The Woman's Seed shall bruise the Serpent's head,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prime Gospel, ne'er forgotten in the East,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Calvary's Cross, the Resurrection morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lastly the great Ascension into heaven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever as he spake on Heida's cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The red spot, deepening, spread; within her eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An unastonished gladness waxed more large:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to the marble woman came her youth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more within her heaving breast it lived,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more upon her forehead shone, as when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The after-glow returns to Alpine snows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left death-like by dead day. Question at times<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She made, yet seemed the answer to foreknow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tale complete, low-toned at last she spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Unhappy they to whom these things are hard!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then silent sat, and by degrees became<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more that dreaded prophet, stern and cold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silence deeper grew: the sun, not set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had sunk beneath the forest's western ridge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jagged shadows tinged that stony floor<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span><span class="i0">Whereon the monarch knelt. Slowly therefrom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raised his head; then slowly made demand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Is he apostate who discards old Faith?'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Long time in musings Heida sat, then spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Yea, if that Faith discarded be the Truth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not so, if it be falsehood. God is Truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God-taught, true hearts discern that Truth, and guard:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom God forsakes forsake it. O thou North,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That beat'st thy brand so loud against thy shield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearing nought else, what Truth one day was thine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold within corruption's charnel vaults<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It sleeps this day. What God shall lift its head?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We came from regions of the rising sun:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorning the temples built by mortal hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We worshipp'd God—one God—the Immense, All-Just:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That worship was the worship of great hearts:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Duty was worship then: that God received it:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not if benignly He received;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If God be Love I know not. This I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God loves not priest that under roofs of gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifts, in his right hand held, the Sacrifice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The left, behind him, fingering for the dole.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King of East Anglia's realm, the primal Truths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are vanished from our Faith: the ensanguined rite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The insane carouse survive!'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span><span class="i28">Thus Heida spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heida, the strong one by the strong ones feared;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heida, the sad one by the mourners loved;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heida, the brooder on the sacred Past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The nursling of a Prophet House, the child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of old traditions sage!<br /></span> +<span class="i24">She paused, and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Milder, resumed: 'What moved thee to believe?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Sigebert made answer thus: 'The Sword:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For as a sword that Truth the stranger preached<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ran down into my heart.' Heida to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Well saidst thou "as a Sword:" a Sword is Truth;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As sharp a sword is Love: and many a time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In youth, but not the earliest, happiest youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When first I found that grief was in the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had learned how deep its root, an infant's wail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went through me like a sword. Man's cry it seemed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blindfold, crownèd creature's cry for Truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His spirit's sole deliverer.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Once again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She mused, and then continued, 'Truth and Love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are gifts too great to give themselves for nought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exacting Gods. Within man's bleeding heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If e'er to man conceded, both shall lie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crossed, like two swords—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span><span class="i0">Behold thine image, crowned Humanity!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Better such dower than life exempt from woe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Fathers knew to suffer; joyed in pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They knew not this—how deep its root!'<br /></span> +<span class="i40">Once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Prophetess was mute: again she spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'How named thy guest his God?' The King replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The Warrior God, Who comes to judge the world;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Lord of Love; the God Who wars on Sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ceases not to war.' 'Ay, militant,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heida rejoined, with eyes that shone like stars:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The Persian knew Him. Ormuzd was His name:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unpitying Light against the darkness warred;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the Light the Darkness. Could the Light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remit, one moment's length, to pierce that gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself in gloom were swallowed.'<br /></span> +<span class="i33">Yet again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence Heida sat; then cried aloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Odin, and all his radiant Æsir Gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth thronging daily from the golden gates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Asgard City, their supernal house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">War on that giant brood of Jotünheim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lodged 'mid their mountains of eternal ice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which circles still that sea surrounding earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man's narrow home. I know that mystery now!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That warfare means the war of Good on Ill:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span><span class="i0">We shared that warfare once! This day, depraved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warring, we war alone for rage and hate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men fight as fight the lion and the pard:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For them the sanctity of war is lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost like the kindred sanctity of Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our household boast of old. The Father-God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vowed us to battle but as Virtue's proof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High test of softness scorned. His warrior knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas Odin o'er the battle field who sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pure-handed maiden Goddesses, the Norns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not vulture-like, but dove-like, mild as dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To seal the foreheads of his sons elect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seal them to death, the bravest with a kiss:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His warrior, arming, cried aloud, "This day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I speed five Heroes to Valhalla's Hall:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow night in love I share their Feast!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He honoured whom he slew.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">To her the King:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'That Stranger with severer speech than thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sharp flail and stigma, charged the world with sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vast, wide world, and not one race alone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each nation, he proclaimed, from Man's great stem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Issuing, had with it borne one Word divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rapt from God's starry volume in the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each word a separate Truth, that, angel-like,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before them winging, on their faces flung<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span><span class="i0">Splendour of destined morn, and led man's race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Triumphant long on virtue's road. Themselves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had changed that True to False. The Judge had come;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Power Who both beginning is and end<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had stooped to earth to judge the earth with fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fire of Love, He came to cleanse the just;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fire of Vengeance, to consume the impure:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fan is in His hand: the chaff shall burn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grain be garnered. "Fall, high palace roofs,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He cried, "for ye have sheltered dens of sin:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall, he that, impious, scorned the First and Last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall, he that bowed not to the hoary head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall, he that loosed by fraud the maiden zone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall, he that lusted for the poor man's field;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall, rebel Peoples; fall, disloyal Kings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fall"—dread Mother, is the word offence?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"False Gods, long served; for God Himself is nigh."'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The monarch ceased: on Heida's face that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He feared to look; but when she spake, her voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betrayed no passion of a soul perturbed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Austere it was; not wrathful; these her words:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Son, as I hearkened to thy tale this day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Memory returned to me of visions three<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lighted three great junctures of my life:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thrice thy words were echoes strange of words<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span><span class="i0">That shook my tender childhood, slumbering half,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half-waked by matin beams—"The Gods must die."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three times that awful sound was in mine ear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Later I learned that voice was nothing new.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Son, the earliest record of our Faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sacred that on Runic stave or stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None dared to grave it, lore from age to age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Transmitted by white lips of trembling seers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spared not to wing, like arrow sped from God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That word to man, "Valhalla's Gods must die!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Gods and Giant Race that strove so long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Met in their last and mightiest battle field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must die, and die one death. That prophet-voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Gods have heard. Therefore they daily swell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valhalla's Hall with heroes rapt from earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To aid them in that fight.'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">On Heida's face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last the King, his head uplifting, gazed:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There where the inviolate calm had dwelt alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A million thoughts, each following each, on swept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That calm beneath them still, as when some grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-run by sudden gust of summer storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With inly-working panic thrills at first,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then springs to meet the gale, while o'er it rush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadows with splendours mixed. Upon her breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came down the fire divine. With lifted hands<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span><span class="i0">She stood: she sang a death-song centuries old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dirge prophetic both of Gods and men:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'The iron age shall make an iron end:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The men who lived in hate, or impious love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall meet in one red battle field. That day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The forests of the earth, blackening, shall die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stars down-fall; the Wingèd Hound of Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That chased the Sun from age to age, shall close<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er it at last; the Ash Tree, Ygdrasil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose boughs o'er-roof the skies, whose roots descend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Hell, whose leaves are lives of men, whose boughs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The destined empires that o'er-awe the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall drop its fruit unripe. The Midgard Snake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Circling that sea which girds the orb of earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall wake, and turn, and ocean in one wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-sweep all lands. Thereon shall Naglfar ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The skeleton ship all ribbed with bones of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose sails are woven of night, and by whose helm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stand the Three Fates. When heaves that ship in sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then know the end draws nigh.'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">She ceased; then spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'If any doubt, the Voluspà tells all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The song the mystic maiden, Vola, sang;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our first of prophets she, as I the last:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sang that song no Prophet dared to write.'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span><span class="i2">But Sigebert made answer where he knelt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Faith back rushing blindly on his heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Though man's last nation lay a wreath of dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though earth were sea, not less in heaven the Gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would hold their revels still; Valhalla's Halls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resound the heroes' triumph!'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Once again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heida arose: once more her pallid face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone lightning-like, wan cheeks and flashing eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more she sang: 'The Warder of the Gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soundeth the Gjallar Trumpet, never heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before by Gods or mortals: from their feast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The everlasting synod of the Gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rush forth, gold-armed, with chariot and with horse:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First rides the Father of the flock divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Odin, our King, and, at his right hand, Thor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose thunder hammer splits the mountain crags<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And level lays the summits of the world;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heimdall and Bragi, Uller, Njord, and Tyr,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind them throng; with these the concourse huge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of lesser Gods, and Heroes snatched from earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since man's first battle, part to bear with Gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this their greatest. From their halls of ice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet them stride the mighty Giant-Brood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moving mountains of old Jötunheim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strong with all strengths of Nature, flood or fire,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span><span class="i0">Glacier, or stream volcanic from red hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cutting through grass-green billows;—on they throng<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Topping the clouds, and, leagues before them, flinging<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huge shade, like shade of mountains cast o'er wastes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When sets the sun.' A little time she ceased;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then fiercelier sang: 'Flanking that Giant-Brood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see two Portents, terrible as Sin:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Midgard Snake primeval at the right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With demon-crest as haughtily upheaved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though all ocean curled into one wave:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A million rainbows braid that glooming arch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Death therein is mirrored. At the left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On moves that brother Terror, wolf in shape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, bound till now by craft of prescient Gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weltered in Hell's abyss. Till came the hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A single hair inwoven by heavenly hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sufficed to chain that monster to his rock;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fast is over now; his dusky jaws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last the Eternal Hunger lifts distent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As far as heaven from earth.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">The Prophetess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One moment pressed her palms upon her eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then flung them wide. 'The Father of the Gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Odin, at that Portent hurls his lance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Thor, though bleeding fast, with hammer raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deals with that Serpent's scales.'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span><span class="i36">'The Gods shall win,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shouted the King, forgetting at that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All save the strife, while on his brow there burned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hue of the battle at the battle's height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When no man staunches wound. With voice serene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The storm had left her) Heida made reply:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'If any doubt, the Voluspà tells all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet Valhalla's lower heaven was shaped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Muspell, the great Third Heaven immeasurable,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above it towered, throne of that God Supreme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who knew beginning none, and knows no end:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High on its southern cliff that dread One sits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever from the South withdraws His gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever drops that bright, sky-pointing Sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose splendour dims the noontide sun. That God—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, and the Spirit-Host that wing His light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When shines the Judgment Sign, shall stand on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And judge the earth with fire. Nor men nor Gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall face that fire and live.'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">As Heida spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The broad full moon above the forest soared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And changed her form to light. With hands out-stretched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sang her last of songs: 'The Hour is come:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bifrost, the rainbow-bridge 'twixt heaven and earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shatters; the crystal walls of heaven roll in:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the ruins ride the Sons of Light.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span><span class="i0">That dread One first—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth from His helm the intolerable beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strikes to the battle-field; the Giant-Brood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Die in that flame; and Odin, and his Gods:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valhalla falls, and with it Jötunheim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its ice-piled mountains melting into waves:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fire are all things lost!'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Then wept the King:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Alas for Odin and his brethren Gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in their great hands stayed the northern land!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas for man!' But Heida, with fixed face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereon there sat its ancient calm, replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Nothing that lived but shall again have life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such life as virtue claims. Ill-working men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Loki and with Hela, evil Gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall dwell far down in Náströnd's death-black pile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compact of serpent scales, whose thousand gates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Face to the North, blinded by endless storm:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But from the sea shall rise a happier earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holier and happier. There the good and true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secure shall gladden, and the fiery flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harm them no more. Another Asgard there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where stood that earlier, ere our fathers left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their native East, shall lift sublimer towers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dawn-lighted by a loftier Ararat:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just men and pure shall pace its palmy steeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With him of race divine yet human heart,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span><span class="i0">Baldur, upon whose beaming front the Gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazing, exulted; from whose lips mankind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall gather counsel. Hand in hand with him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall stand the blind God, Hödur, now not blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, witless, slew him with the mistletoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet loved him well. Others, both men and Gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dread Third Heaven attained, shall make abode<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Him Who ever is, and ever was,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enthroned like Him upon its southern cliff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drinking the light immortal. From beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like winds from flowery wildernesses borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The breath of all good deeds and virtuous thoughts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their own, or others', since the worlds were made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All generous sufferings, o'er their hearts shall hang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fragrance perpetual; and, where'er they gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Vision of their God shall on them shine.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Thus Heida spake, and ceased; then added, 'Son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Faith shall never suffer wreck: fear nought!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fulfilment, not Destruction, is its end.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou return, and bid thy herald guest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who sought thee, wandering from his westward Isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Approach my gates at dawn, and in mine ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Divulge his message to this land. Farewell!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Then from his knees the monarch rose, and took<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the huge moonlit woods his homeward way.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="KING_SIGEBERT_OF_ESSEX_OR_A_FRIEND_AT_NEED" id="KING_SIGEBERT_OF_ESSEX_OR_A_FRIEND_AT_NEED"></a><i>KING SIGEBERT OF ESSEX, OR A FRIEND AT NEED.</i></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Sigebert, King of Essex, labours with Cedd the Bishop for the +conversion of his people; but he feasts with a certain impious +kinsman; and it is foretold to him that for that sin, though +pardoned, he shall die by that kinsman's hand. This prophecy having +been accomplished, Cedd betakes himself to Lastingham, there to +pray with his three brothers for the king's soul. His prayer is +heard, and in a few days he dies. Thirty of Cedd's monks, issuing +from Essex to pray at his grave, die also, and are buried in a +circle round it. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'At last resolve, my brother, and my friend!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fling from you, as I fling this cloak, your Gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cleave to Him, the Eternal, One and Sole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The All-Wise, All-Righteous and Illimitable,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who made us, and will judge.' Thus Oswy spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Sigebert, his friend, of Essex King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Essex once Christian. Royal Sebert dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Church of God had sorrow by the Thames:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three Pagan brothers in his place held sway:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They warred upon God's people; for which cause<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span><span class="i0">God warred on them, and by the Wessex sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In one day hewed them down. King Sigebert,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throned in their place, to Oswy thus replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'O friend, I saw the Truth, yet saw it not!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas like the light forth flashed from distant oar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now vivid, vanished now. Not less, methinks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy Christ ere now had won me save for this;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feared that in my bosom love for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not Truth alone, prevailed. I left thy court;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I counselled with my wisest; by degrees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though grieving thus to outrage loyal hearts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reached my resolve: henceforth I serve thy God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My kingdom may renounce me if it will.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then came the Bishop old, and nigh that Wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which spans the northern land from sea to sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Baptized him to the God Triune. At night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King addressed him thus: 'My task is hard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yield me four priests of thine from Holy Isle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To shape my courses.' Finan gazed around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made election—Cedd and others three;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He consecrated Cedd with staff and ring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by the morning's sunrise Sigebert<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rode with them, face to south.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">The Spring, long checked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell, like God's Grace, or fire, or flood, at once<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er all the land: it swathed the hills in green;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span><span class="i0">It fringed with violets cleft and rock; illumed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stream with primrose tufts: but mightier far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Spring which triumphed in the monarch's breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All doubt dispelled. That smile which knew not cause<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked like his angel's mirrored on his face:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times he seemed with utter gladness dazed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times he laughed aloud. 'Father,' he cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'That darkness from my spirit is raised at last:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah fool! ah fool! to wait for proof so long!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unseal thine eyes, and all things speak of God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The snows on yonder thorn His pureness show;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon golden iris bank His love. But now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I marked a child that by its father ran:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some mystery they seemed of love in heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imaged in earthly love. 'With sad, sweet smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man answered: 'Pain there is on earth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bereavement, sickness, death.' The King replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'It was by suffering, not by deed, or word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's Son redeemed mankind.' Then answered Cedd:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'God hath thee in His net; and well art thou!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Truth thou seest this day, and feelest, live!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall it live within thee. If, more late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rebuke should come, or age, remember then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This day-spring of thy strength, and answer thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"With me God feasted in my day of youth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So feast He now with others!"'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span><span class="i30">Years went by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Cedd in work and word was mighty still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And throve with God. The strong East Saxon race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew gentle in his presence: they were brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faith is courage in the things divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Courage with meekness blent. The heroic heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beats to the spiritual cognate, paltering not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fraudulent with truth once known. Like winds from God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's message on them fell. Old bonds of sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snapt by the vastness of the growing soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst of themselves; and in the heart late bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Virtue had room to breathe. As when that Voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Primeval o'er the formless chaos rolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, straight, confusions ceased, the greater orb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruling the day, the lesser, night; even so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Born of that Bethlehem Mystery, order lived:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Divine commandments fixed a firmament<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt man's lower instincts and his mind:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From unsuspected summits of his spirit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The morning shone. The nation with the man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Partook the joy: from duty freedom flowed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there where tribes had roved a people lived.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pathos of strange beauty hung thenceforth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er humblest hamlet: he who passed it prayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'May never sword come here!' Bishop and King<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span><span class="i0">Together laboured: well that Bishop's love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repaid that royal zeal. If random speech<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Censured the King, though justly, sudden red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Circling the old man's silver-tressèd brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Showed, though he spake not, that in saintly breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The human heart lived on.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">In Ithancester<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dwelt, and toiled: not less to Lindisfarne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ancient home, in spirit oft he yearned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Longing for converse with his God alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made retreat there often, not to shun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Labour allotted, but to draw from heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strength for his task. One year, returning thence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dëira's King addressed him as they rode:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'My father, choose the richest of my lands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And build thereon a holy monastery;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall my realm be blessed, and I, and mine.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He answered: 'Son, no wealthy lands for us!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spake not the prophet: "There where dragons roamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In later days the grass shall grow—the reed"?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I choose those rocky hills that, on our left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drag down the skiey waters to the woods:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such loved I from my youth: to me they said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Bandits this hour usurp our heights, and beasts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cumber our caves: expel the seed accurst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yield us back to God!"'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span><span class="i28">The King gave ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Cedd within those mountains passed his Lent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Driving with prayer and fast the spirits accurst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ignominy forth. Foundations next<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He laid with sacred pomp. Fair rose the walls:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day the March sea blew its thunder blasts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through wide-mouthed trumpets of ravine or rift<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On winding far to where in wooden cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man prayed, while o'er him rushed the cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Storm-borne from crag to crag. Serener breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With alternation soft in Nature's course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Following ere long, great Easter's harbinger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus spake he: 'I must keep the Feast at home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My children there expect me.' Parting thence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He left his brothers three to consummate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His work begun, Celin, and Cynabil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Chad, at Lichfield Bishop ere he died.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Lastingham had birth.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Beside the Thames<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime dark deeds were done. There dwelt two thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kinsmen of the King, his friends in youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of meanest friend unworthy. Far and wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They ravined, and the laws of God and man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despised alike. Three times, in days gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A warning hand their Bishop o'er them raised;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fourth like bolt from heaven on them it fell,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span><span class="i0">And clave them from God's Church. They heeded not;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now the elder kept his birthday feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summoning his friends around him, first the King.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubtful and sad, the o'er-gentle monarch mused:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'To feast with sinners is to sanction sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A deed abhorred; the alternative is hard:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must then their sovereign shame with open scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kinsman and friend? I think they mourn the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, were our Bishop here, would pardon sue.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boding, yet self-deceived, he joined that feast:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thereat he saw scant sign of penitence:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere long he bade farewell.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">That self-same hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cedd from his northern pilgrimage returned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monarch met him at the offenders' gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, instant when he saw that reverend face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sin before him stood. Down from his horse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaping, he told him all, and penance prayed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long time the old man on that royal front<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fixed a sad eye. 'Thy sin was great, my son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shaming thy God to spare a sinner's shame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sin thy God forgives, and I remit:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But those whom God forgives He chastens oft:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My son, I see a sign upon thy brow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yonder lessening moon completes her wane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, the blood-stained hand late clasped in thine<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span><span class="i0">Shall drag thee to thy death.' The King replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'A Sigebert there lived, East Anglia's King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose death was glorious to his realm. May mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark and inglorious, strengthen hearts infirm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And profit thus my land.'<br /></span> +<span class="i26">A time it was<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Christian mercy, judged by Pagan hearts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not virtue seemed but sin. That sin's reproach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King had long sustained. Ere long it chanced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, near the stronghold of that impious feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A vanquished rebel, long in forests hid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drew near, and knelt to Sigebert for grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And won his suit. The monarch's kinsmen twain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those men of blood, forth-gazing from a tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw all; heard all. Upon them fury fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when through cloudless skies there comes a blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From site unknown, that, instant, finds its prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Circling some white-sailed bark, or towering tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with a touch, down-wrenching; all things else<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unharmed, though near. They snatched their daggers up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rushed upon their prey, and, shouting thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'White-livered slave, that mak'st thy throne a jest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mock'st great Odin's self, and us, thy kin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To please thy shaveling,' struck him through the heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, spurring through the woodlands to the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were never heard of more.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span><span class="i24">Throughout the land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lament was made; lament in every house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though in each its eldest-born lay dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lament far off and near. The others wept:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cedd, in long vigils of the lonely night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not wept alone, but lifted strength of prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, morn by morn, that Sacrifice Eterne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mightier tenfold in impetrative power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than prayers of all man's race, from Adam's first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his who latest on the Judgment Day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall raise his hands to God. Four years went by:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mourner's wound they staunched not. Oft in sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He murmured low, 'Would I had died for thee!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once, half-waked by rush of morning rains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Why saw I on his brow that fatal sign?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He might have lived till now!' Within his heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last there rose a cry, 'To Lastingham!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray with thy brothers three, for saints are they:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall thy friend, who resteth in the Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With perfect will submiss, the waiting passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gaze on God's Vision with an eye unscaled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In glory everlasting.' At that thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace on the old man settled. Staff in hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth on his way he fared. Nor horse he rode<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor sandals wore. He walked with feet that bled,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span><span class="i0">Paying, well pleased, that penance for his King;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And murmured ofttimes, 'Not my blood alone!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, but my life, my life!'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Yet penance pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like pain of suffering Souls at peace with God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quelled not that gladness which, from secret source<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rising, o'erflowed his heart. Old times returned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more beside him rode his King in youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Southward to where his realm—his duty—lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exulting captive of the Saviour Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With face love-lit. As then, the vernal prime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hourly with ampler respiration drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delight of purer green from balmier airs:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As then the sunshine glittered. By their path<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now hung the woodbine; now the hare-bell waved;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rivulets new-swoll'n by melted snows, and birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid echoing boughs with rival rapture sang:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times the monks forgat their Christian hymns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By humbler anthems charmed. They gladdened more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beholding oft in cottage doors cross-crowned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Angelic faces, or in lonely ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once as they passed there stood a little maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some ten years old, alone 'mid lonely pines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With violets crowned and primrose. Who were those,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The forest's white-robed guests, she nothing knew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not less she knelt. With hand uplifted Cedd<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span><span class="i0">Signed her his blessing. Hand she kissed in turn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then waved, yet ceased not from her song, 'Alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Two lovers sat at sunset.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Every eve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some village gave the wanderers food and rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or half-built convent with its church thick-walled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And polished shafts, great names in after times,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ely, and Croyland, Southwell, Medeshamstede,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adding to sylvan sweetness holier grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or rising lonely o'er morass and mere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bowery thickets isled, where dogwood brake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Retained, though late, its red. To Boston near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Ouse, and Aire, and Derwent join with Trent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And salt sea waters mingle with the fresh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They met a band of youths that o'er the sands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advanced with psalm, cross-led. The monks rejoiced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save one from Ireland—Dicul. He, quick-eared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had caught that morn a war-cry on the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, sideway glancing from his Office-book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Descried the cause. From Mercia's realm a host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had crossed Northumbria's bound. His thin, worn face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-flamed with sudden anger, thus he cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'In this, your land, men say, "Who worketh prays;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In mine we say, "Well prays who fighteth well:"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Pagan race treads down your homesteads! Slaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That close not with their throats!'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span><span class="i34">Advancing thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the tenth eve they came to Lastingham:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth rushed the brethren, watching long far off,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet them, first the brothers three of Cedd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who kissed him, cheek and mouth. Gladly that night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those foot-worn travellers laid them down, and slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save one alone. Old Cedd his vigil made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, kneeling by the tabernacle's lamp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prayed for the man he mourned for, ending thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Thou Lord of Souls, to Thee the Souls are dear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou yearn'st toward them as they yearn to Thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, not prayer alone for him I raise:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I offer Thee my life.' When morning's light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that great church commingled with its gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monks, slow-pacing, by that kneeler knelt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And prayed for Sigebert, beloved of God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lastly offered Mass: and it befell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That when, the Offering offered, and the Dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rightly remembered, he who sang that Mass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had reached the 'Nobis quoque famulis,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There came to Cedd an answer from the Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard in his heart; and he beheld his King<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throned 'mid the Saints Elect of God who keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perpetual triumph, and behold that Face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which to its likeness hourly more compels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those faces t'ward It turned. That function o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span><span class="i0">Thus spake the Bishop: 'Brethren, sing "Te Deum;"'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They sang it; while within him he replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Lord, let Thy servant now depart in peace.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A week went by with gladness winged and prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In wonder Cedd beheld those structures new<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From small beginnings reared, though many a gift,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sent for that work's behoof, had fed the poor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In famine time laid low. Moorlands he saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By cornfields vanquished; marked the all-beauteous siege<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pasture yearly threatening loftier crags<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud with the bleat of lambs. Their shepherd once<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had roved a bandit; next had toiled a slave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now with both hands he poured his weekly wage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down on his young wife's lap, his pretty babes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gambolling around for joy. A hospital<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood by the convent's gate. With moistened eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Musing on Him Who suffers in His sick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Bishop paced it. There he found his death:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That year a plague had wasted all the land:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It reached him. Late that night he said, ''Tis well!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In three days more he lay with hands death cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crossed on a peaceful breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Like winter cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Borne through dark air, that portent feared of man,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span><span class="i0">Ill tidings, making way with mystic speed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadowed ere long the troubled bank of Thames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spread a wailing round its Minsters twain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint Peter's and Saint Paul's. Saint Alban's caught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cry, and northward echoed. Southward soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forlorn it rang 'mid towers of Rochester;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then seaward died. But in that convent pile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein so long the Saint had made abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A different grief there lived, a deeper grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That grief which part hath none in sobs or tears—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which needs must act. There thirty monks arose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, taking each his staff, made vow thenceforth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To serve God's altar where their father died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or share his grave. Through Ithancestor's gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As forth they paced between two kneeling crowds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little homeless boy, who heard their dirge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Late orphaned, at its grief he marvelled not),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So loved them that he followed, shorter steps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubling 'gainst theirs. At first the orphan went<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mood relaxed: before them now he ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pluck a flower; as oft he lagged behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild bird's song so aptly imitating<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, by his music drawn, or by his looks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bird at times forgat her fears, and perched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pleased on his arm. As flower and bird to him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such to those monks the child. Better each day<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span><span class="i0">He loved them; yet, revering, still he mocked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though he mocked, he kissed. The westering sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the eighth eve from towers of Lastingham<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Welcomed those strangers. In another hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well-nigh arrived, they saw that grave they sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sole on the church's northern slope. As when,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some father, absent long, returns at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His children rush loud-voiced from field to house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cling about his knees; and they that mark—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old reaper, bent no more, with hook in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or ploughman, leaning 'gainst the old blind horse—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beholding wonder not; so to that grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rushed they; so clung. Around that grave ere long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their own were ranged. That plague which smote the sire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spared not his sons. With ministering hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From pallet still to pallet passed the boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now from the dark spring wafting colder draught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now moistening fevered lips, or on the brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spreading the new-bathed cincture. Him alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The infection reached not. When the last was gone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He felt as though the earth, man's race—yea, God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself—were dead. Around he gazed, and spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Why then do I remain?'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">From hill to hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The monks on reverend offices intent)<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span><span class="i0">All solitary oft that boy repaired,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From each in turn forth gazing, fain to learn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If friend were t'wards him nighing. Many a hearth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More late, bereavement's earlier anguish healed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Welcomed the creature: many a mother held<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The milk-bowl to his mouth, in both hands stayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With smile the deeper for the draught prolonged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lodged, as he departed, in his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her latest crust. With children of his age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seldom he played. That convent gave him rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor lost he aught, surviving thus his friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since childhood's sacred innocence he kept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While life remained, unspotted. When mature<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Five years he lived there monk, and reverence drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To that high convent through his saintly ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then died. Within that cirque of thirty graves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They laid him, close to Cedd. In later years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because they ne'er could learn his name or race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet forget his gentle looks, the name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Deodatus graved they on his tomb.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="KING_OSWALD_OF_NORTHUMBRIA_OR_THE_BRITONS_REVENGE" id="KING_OSWALD_OF_NORTHUMBRIA_OR_THE_BRITONS_REVENGE"></a><i>KING OSWALD OF NORTHUMBRIA, OR THE BRITON'S REVENGE.</i></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Northumbria having been subdued by Pagan Mercia, Oswald raises +there again the Christian standard. Penda wages war against him, in +alliance with Cadwallon, a Cambrian prince who hates the Saxon +conquerors the more bitterly when become Christians. Encouraged by +St. Columba in a vision, Oswald with a small force vanquishes the +hosts of Cadwallon, who is slain. He sends to Iona for monks of St. +Columba's order, converts his country to the Faith, and dies for +her. The earlier British race expiates its evil revenge. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The agony was over which but late<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had shook to death Northumbrian realm new-raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Edwin, dear to God. The agony<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last was over; but the tear flowed on:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Faith of Christ had fallen once more to dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Faith which spoused with golden marriage ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The land to God, when Coiffi, horsed and mailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chief Priest himself, hurled at the Temple's wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lance, and quivering left it lodged therein.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span><span class="i0">The agony had ceased; yet Rachael's cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still pierced the childless region. Penda's sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had swept it, Mercia's Christian-hating King;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fiercelier Cadwallon's, Cambria's Christian Prince,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christian in vain. The British wrong like fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burned in his heart. Well-nigh two hundred years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That British race, they only of the tribes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Rome subdued, sustained unceasing war<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Gainst those barbaric hordes that, nursed long since<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid Teuton woods, when Rome her death-wound felt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And '<i>Habet</i>' shrilled from every trampled realm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rushed forth in ruin o'er her old domain:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That race against the Saxon still made head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Large remnant yet survived. The Western coast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was theirs; old sea-beat Cornwall's granite cliffs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And purple hills of Cambria; northward thence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strathclyde, from towered Carnegia's winding Dee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Morecombe's shining sands, and those fair vales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since loved by every muse, where silver meres<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slept in the embrace of yew-clad mountain walls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tracts of midland Britain and the East.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remained the memory of the greatness lost;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Druid circles of the olden age;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ash-strewn cities radiant late with arts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extinct this day; bath, circus, theatre<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mosaic-paved; the Roman halls defaced;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span><span class="i0">The Christian altars crushed. That last of wrongs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vanquished punished with malign revenge:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never had British priest to Saxon preached;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when that cry was heard, 'The Saxon King<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Edwin hath bowed to Christ,' on Cambrian hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor man nor woman smiled.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">They had not lacked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The timely warning. From his Kentish shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Augustine stretched to them paternal hands:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Later, he sought them out in synod met,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their custom, under open roof of heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The Mother of the Churches,' thus he spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Commands—implores you! Seek from her, and win<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Sacrament of Unity Divine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus strengthened, be her strength! With her conjoined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Subdue your foe to Christ!' He sued in vain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The British bishops hurled defiance stern<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against his head, while Cambrian peaks far off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkened, and thunder muttered. From his seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slowly and sadly as the sun declined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last, though late, that Roman rose and stretched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lean hand t'ward that circle, speaking thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Hear then the sentence of your God on sin!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because ye willed not peace, behold the sword!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because ye grudged your foe the Faith of Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span><span class="i0">Nor holp to lead him on the ways of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that cause from you by the Saxon hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your country shall be taken!'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Edwin slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off in exile dwelt his nephews long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oswald and Oswy. Alba gave them rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alba, not yet called Scotland. Ireland's sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Scoti named, had warred on Alba's Picts:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Columba's Gospel vanquished either race;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Won both to God. It won not less those youths,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In boyhood Oswald, Oswy still a child.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That child was wild and hot, and had his moods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despotic now, now mirthful. Mild as Spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was Oswald's soul, majestic and benign;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thoughtful his azure eyes, serene his front;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He of his ravished sceptre little recked;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shepherds were his friends; the mountain deer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would pluck the ivy fearless from his hand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In gladness walked he till Northumbria's cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smote on his heart. 'Why rest I here in peace,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus mused he, 'while my brethren groan afar?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By night he fled with twelve companion youths,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christians like him, and reached his native land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too fallen it seemed to aid him. On he passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ways were desolate, yet evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A slender band around his footsteps drew,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span><span class="i0">Less seeking victory than an honest death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft gazed their King upon them; murmured oft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Few hands—true hearts!' Sudden aloud he cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Plant here the royal Standard, friends, and hence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let sound the royal trumpet.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Stern response<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reached him ere long: not Mercia's realm alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cambria that heard the challenge joined the war:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cambria, upon whose heart the ancestral woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ever with the years, like letters graved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On growing pines, grew larger and more large;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Penda forth she stretched a hand blood-red;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christian with Pagan joined, an unblest bond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A league accursed. The indomitable hate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compelled that league. Still from his cave the Seer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Admonished, 'Set the foe against the foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slay last the conqueror!' and from rock and hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Bard cried, 'Vengeance!' In the bardic clan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hatred of their country's ancient bane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lived like a faith. One night it chanced a tarn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secreted high 'mid cold and moonless hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bursting its bank down burst. That valley's Bard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clomb to the church-roof from his buried house:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thence rang his song,—'twas 'Vengeance!—Vengeance' still!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That torrent reached the roof: he clomb the tower:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span><span class="i0">The torrent mounted: on the bleak hill-side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night the dalesmen, wailing o'er their drowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the roar of winds and downward rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still heard that war-song, 'Vengeance! Blood for blood!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last the tower fell flat, and winter morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone on the waters only.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Three short weeks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dinned with alarums passed; in Mercia still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay Penda, sickness-struck, when, face to face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Cambrian host and Oswald's little band<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exulting met at sunset near a height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then 'Heaven-Field' named, but later 'Oswald's Field,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Backed by that Wall the Roman built of old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fence from sea to sea. There Oswald stood:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There raised with hands outstretched a mighty Cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strong-based, and deep in earth: his comrades twelve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around it heaped the soil, while priests white-stoled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chanted 'Vexilla Regis.' Work and rite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Complete, the King knelt down and made his prayer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'True God Eternal, look upon this Cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sole now standing on Northumbria's breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And help Thine own, though few, who trust in Thee!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That night before his tent the wanderer sate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listening the circling sentinel, or bay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wakeful hound remote, or downward course<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span><span class="i0">Of streams from moorland hills. Before his view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His whole life rose: his father's angry brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eyes all-wondrous, and all-tender hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her, his mother, striving evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep betwixt her husband and her sire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unbroken bond: his exiled days returned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kind that pitied them, the rude that jeered;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lastly, that monk whose boast was evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Columba of Iona, Columkille;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That monk who made him Christian. 'Come what may,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Oswald mused, 'I have not lived in vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lose I or win, a kingdom there remains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though not on earth!' A tear the vision dimmed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thus he closed, 'My mother will be there!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then sank his lids in slumber.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">On his sleep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was this indeed but dream?—a glory brake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Columba, dear to Oswald from his youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Columba, clad in glory as the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside him stood, and spake: 'Be strong! On earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There lives not who can guess the might of prayer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What then is prayer on high?' The saintly Shape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavenward his hands upraised, while rose to heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His stature, towering ever high and higher,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warlike and priestly both. As morning cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blown by a mighty wind his robe ran forth,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span><span class="i0">Then stood, a golden wall that severance made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt Oswald's band and that unnumbered host.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again he spake, 'Put on thee heart of man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fight: though few, thy warriors shall not die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In darkness of an unbelieving land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But live, and live to God.' The vision passed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Oswald's seat his warriors stood and cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The Bull-horn! Hark!' The monarch told them all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They answered, 'Let thy God sustain thy throne:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thenceforth our God is He.'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">The sun uprose:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere long the battle joined. Three dreadful hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubtful the issue hung. Fierce Cambria's sons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With chief and clan, with harper and with harp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though terrible yet mirthful in their mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rushed to their sport. Who mocked their hope that day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did Angels help the just? Their falling blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say, leaped it up once more, each drop a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their phalanx to replenish? Backward driven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again that multitudinous foe returned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With clangour dire; futile, again fell back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down dashed, like hailstone showers from palace halls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where princes feast secure. Astonishment<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smote them at last. Through all those serried ranks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compact so late, sudden confusions ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like lines divergent through a film of ice<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span><span class="i0">Stamped on by armèd heel, or rifts on plains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prescient of earthquake underground. Their chiefs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounded the charge;—in vain: Distrust, Dismay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ill Gods, the darkness lorded of that hour:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Panic to madness turned. Cadwallon sole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From squadron on to squadron speeding still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As on a wingèd steed—his snow-white hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind him blown—a mace in either hand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stayed while he might the inevitable rout;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then sought his death, and found. Some fated Power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mightier than man's that hour dragged back his hosts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against their will and his; as when the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrouded herself, drags back the great sea-tides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That needs must follow her receding wheels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though wind and wave gainsay them, breakers wan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thundering indignant down nocturnal shores,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And city-brimming floods against their will<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down drawn to river-mouths.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">In after days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who scaped made oath that in the midmost fight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green earth sickened with a brazen glare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While darkness held the skies. They saw besides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Heaven-Field height a Cross, and, at its foot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sworded warrior vested like a priest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who still in stature high and higher towered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As raged the battle. Higher far that Cross<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span><span class="i0">Above him rose, barring with black the stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bickered through the eclipse's noonday night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever from its bleeding arms sent forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thick-volleyed lightnings, azure fork and flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all that headlong host.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">At eventide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thickest fight had mingled, Oswald stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With raiment red as his who treads alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wine-vat when the grapes are all pressed out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet scathless and untouched. His mother's smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was radiant on his pure and youthful face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joyous, but not exulting. At his foot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cadwallon lay, with four-score winters white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A threatening corse: not death itself could shake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mace from either rigid hand close-clenched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or smooth his brow. Above him Oswald bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then spake: 'He also loved his native land:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bear him with honour hence to hills of Wales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lay him with his Fathers.'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Thus was raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In righteousness King Oswald's throne. But he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mindful in victory of Columba's word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus mused, 'The Master is as he that serves:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How shall I serve this people?' O'er the waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then sent he of his Twelve the eldest three:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They to Iona sailed, and standing there<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span><span class="i0">In full assembly of Iona's saints<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Addressed them: 'To Columba Oswald thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let him that propped the King on Heaven-Field's height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That held the battle-balance high that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unite my realm to Christ!' The monks replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Such mission should be Aidan's.' Aidan went.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With gladness Oswald met him, and with gifts:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Aidan said, 'Entreat me not to dwell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There where Paulinus dwelt, the man of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thy chief city, York. Thy race is fierce;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And meekness only can subdue the proud:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy people first I want;—through them the great.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grant me some island 'mid the raging main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Humble and low, not cheered by smiling meads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where with my brethren I may watch with God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Henceforth my only aid.' Oswald replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Let Lindisfarne be thine. That rock-based keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Built by my grandsire Ida o'er it peers:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall be near thee though I see thee not.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then Aidan on the Isle of Lindisfarne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upreared that monastery which ruled in Christ<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So long the Northern realm. A plain rock-girt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Level it lies and low: nor flower nor fruit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gladdens its margin: thin its sod, and bleak:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twice, day by day, the salt sea hems it round:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span><span class="i0">And twice a day the melancholy sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-wailed by sea-bird, and with sea-weed strewn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Replace the lonely ocean. Sacred Isles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That westward, eastward, guard the imperial realm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Iona! Lindisfarne! With you compared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How poor that lilied Delos of old Greece,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all its laurel bowers and nightingales!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">England's great hands were ye to God forth stretched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through adverse climes, beneath the Boreal star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That took His Stigmata. In sanctity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were her foundations laid. Her later crowns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Freedom first, of Science, and of Song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She owes them all to you!<br /></span> +<span class="i30">In Lindisfarne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aidan, and his, rejoicing dwelt with God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the winter storm their anthems rose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from their sanctuary lamp the gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far shone from wave to wave. On starless nights<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Bamborough's turret Oswald watched it long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before his casement kneeling—first alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Companioned later. Kineburga there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside him knelt ere long, his tender bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young, beauteous, modest, noble. 'Not for them,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus spake the newly wedded, 'not for them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For man's sake severed from the world of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ceaseless vigil warring upon sin,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span><span class="i0">Ah, not for them the flower of life, the harp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High feast, or bridal torch!' Purer perchance<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Their</i> bridal torch burned on because from far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sacred lamp had met its earliest beam!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There Aidan lived, and wafted, issuing thence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er wilds Bernician and fierce battle-fields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strength majestic of his still retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The puissance of a soul whose home was God.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'What man is this,' the warriors asked, 'that moves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unarmed among us; lifts his crucifix,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And says, "Ye swords, lie prone"?' The revelling crew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose from their cups: 'He preaches abstinence:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, the man is mortified himself:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moonlight of his watchings and his fasts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He carries on his face.' When Princes forced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Largess upon him, he replied, 'I want<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not yours but you;' and with their gifts redeemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The orphan slave. The poor were as his children:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He to the beggar stinted not his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor, giving, said 'Be brief.' Such seed bare fruit:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God in the dark, primeval woods had reared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A race whose fierceness had its touch of ruth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave, cordial, chaste, and simple. Reverence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That race preserved: Reverence advanced to Love:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ties of life it honoured: lit from heaven<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span><span class="i0">They wore a meaning new. The Faith of Christ<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Banished the bestial from the heart of man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Restored the Hope divine.<br /></span> +<span class="i25">In all his toils<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oswald with Aidan walked. Impartial law,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not licence, not despotic favour, stands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Truth auxiliar true. Such laws were his:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet not through such alone he worked for Truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Function he claimed more high. When Aidan preached;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In forest depths when thousands girt him round;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When countless eyes, a clinging weight, were bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his lips—all knew they spake from God,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King, with monks from Ireland knit of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the Bishop stood; each word he spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Changed to the Saxon tongue.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Earth were not earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If reign like Oswald's lasted. Penda lived;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor e'er from Oswald turned for eight long years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An eye like some swart planet feared of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Omen of wars or plague. Cadwallon's fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ally ill-starred, that fought without his aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-flushed old hatred with a fiery shame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cadwallon nightly frowned above his dreams.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tyrant watched his time. At Maserfield<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The armies met. There on Northumbria's day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Settled what seemed, yet was not, endless night<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span><span class="i0">There Faith and Virtue, deathless, seemed to die:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There holy Oswald fell. For God he fought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fought for his country. Walled with lances round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sheaf of arrows quivering in his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One moment yet he stood. 'Preserve,' he cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'My country, God!' then added, gazing round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'And these my soldiers: make their spirits thine!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus perished good King Oswald, King and Saint;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint by acclaim of nations canonised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet the Church had spoken. Year by year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Hexham monks to Heaven-Field, where of old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had stood that 'Cross which conquered,' made repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With chanted psalm; and pilgrims daily prayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where died the just and true. Not vain their vows:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In righteousness foundations had been laid:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earthquake reached them not. The Dane passed by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High up the Norman glittered: but beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Faith profounder based, and gentler Law<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Saxon realm lived on.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">But never more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Heaven-Field's wreck the Briton raised his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Britain thenceforth was England. His the right;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The land was his of old; and in God's House<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His of the island races stood first-born:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not less he sinned through hate, esteeming more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Memories of wrong than forward-looking hopes<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span><span class="i0">And triumphs of the Truth. For that cause God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His face in blessing to the younger turned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More honouring Pagans who in ignorance erred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than those who, taught of God, concealed their gift,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Divorcing Faith from Love. Natheless they clung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That remnant spared, to rocky hills of Wales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eagle clutch, whoe'er in England ruled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Horsa's day to Edward's. Centuries eight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In gorge or vale sea-lulled they held their own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By native monarchs swayed, while native harps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rang out from native cliffs defiant song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild as their singing pines. Heroic Land!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freedom was thine; the torrent's plunge; the peak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pale mist past it borne! Heroic Race!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caractacus was thine, and Galgacus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Boadicea, greater by her wrongs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than by her lineage. Battle-axe of thine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rang loud and long on Roman helms ere yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hengist had trod the island. Thine that King<br /></span> +<span class="i0">World-famed, who led to fifty war-fields forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Gainst Saxon hosts his sinewy, long-haired race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unmailed, yet victory-crowned; that King who left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tintagel, Camelot, and Lyonnesse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal names, though wild as elfin notes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From phantom rocks echoed in fairy land—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great Arthur! Year by year his deeds were sung,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span><span class="i0">While he in Glastonbury's cloister slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First by the race he died for, next by those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their children, exiles in Armoric Gaul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Europe's minstrels then, from age to age;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ne'er by ampler voice, or richlier toned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than England lists to-day. Race once of Saints!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine were they, Ninian thine and Kentigern,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Iltud and Beino, yea and David's self,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy crown of Saints, and Winifred, their flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who fills her well with healing virtue still.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cadoc was thine, who to his Cambrian throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Preferred that western convent at Lismore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet taught the British Princes thus to sing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'None loveth Song that loves not Light and Truth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None loveth Light and Truth that loves not Justice:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None loveth Justice if he loves not God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None loveth God that lives not blest and great.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="CEADMON_THE_COWHERD_THE_FIRST_ENGLISH_POET" id="CEADMON_THE_COWHERD_THE_FIRST_ENGLISH_POET"></a><i>CEADMON THE COWHERD, THE FIRST ENGLISH POET.</i></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Ceadmon, a cowherd, being at a feast, declares when the harp +reaches him, that he cannot sing. As he sleeps, a divine Voice +commands him to sing. He obeys, and the gift of song is imparted to +him. Hilda, Abbess of Whitby, enrolls him among her monks; and in +later years he sings the revolt of the Fallen Angels, and many +Christian mysteries, thus becoming the first English poet. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alone upon the pleasant bank of Esk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceadmon the Cowherd stood. The sinking sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reddened the bay, and fired the river-bank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flamed upon the ruddy herds that strayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the marge, clear-imaged. None was nigh:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that cause spake the Cowherd, 'Praise to God!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He made the worlds; and now, by Hilda's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Planteth a crown on Whitby's holy crest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daily her convent towers more high aspire:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daily ascend her Vespers. Hark that strain!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span><span class="i0">He stood and listened. Soon the flame-touched herds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sent forth their lowings, and the cliffs replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Ceadmon thus resumed: 'The music note<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rings through their lowings dull, though heard by few!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor kine, ye do your best! Ye know not God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet man, his likeness, unto you is God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And him ye worship with obedience sage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A grateful, sober, much-enduring race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That o'er the vernal clover sigh for joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With winter snows contend not. Patient kine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What thought is yours, deep-musing? Haply this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"God's help! how narrow are our thoughts, and few!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not so the thoughts of that slight human child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who daily drives us with her blossomed rod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From lowland valleys to the pails long-ranged!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take comfort, kine! God also made your race!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If praise from man surceased, from your broad chests<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That God would perfect praise, and, when ye died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resound it from yon rocks that gird the bay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God knoweth all things. Let that thought suffice!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Thus spake the ruler of the deep-mouthed kine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They were not his; the man and they alike<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A neighbour's wealth. He was contented thus:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span><span class="i0">Humble he was in station, meek of soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unlettered, yet heart-wise. His face was pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stately his frame, though slightly bent by age:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow were his eyes, and slow his speech, and slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His musing step; and slow his hand to wrath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A massive hand, but soft, that many a time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had succoured man and woman, child and beast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet could fiercely grasp the sword. At times<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As mightily it clutched his ashen goad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When like an eagle on him swooped some thought:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then stood he as in dream, his pallid front<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brightening like eastern sea-cliffs when a moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unrisen is near its rising.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Round the bay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime, as twilight deepened, many a fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up-sprang, and horns were heard. Around the steep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bannered pomp and many a tossing plume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advancing slow a cavalcade made way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oswy, Northumbria's king, the foremost rode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oswy triumphant o'er the Mercian host,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invoking favour on his sceptre new;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With him an Anglian prince, student long time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Bangor of the Irish, and a monk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Frankish race far wandering from the Marne:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They came to look on Hilda, hear her words<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of far-famed wisdom on the Interior Life;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span><span class="i0">For Hilda thus discoursed: 'True life of man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is life within: inward immeasurably<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The being winds of all who walk the earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he whom sense hath blinded nothing knows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that wide greatness: like a boy is he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A boy that clambers round some castle's wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In search of nests, the outward wall of seven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet nothing knows of those great courts within,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hall where princes banquet, or the bower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where royal maids discourse with lyre and lute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much less its central church, and sacred shrine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein God dwells alone.' Thus Hilda spake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they that gazed upon her widening eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low whispered, each to each, 'She speaks of things<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which she hath seen and known.'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">On Whitby's height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The royal feast was holden: far below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A noisier revel dinned the shore; therein<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The humbler guests made banquet. Many a tent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleamed on the yellow sands by ripples kissed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a savoury dish sent up its steam;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The farmer from the field had brought his calf;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fishers that increase scaled which green-gulfed seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From womb crystalline, teeming, yield to man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Jock, the woodsman, from his oaken glades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tall stag, arrow-pierced. In gay attire<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span><span class="i0">Now green, now crimson, matron sat and maid:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each had her due: the elder, reverence most,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lovelier that and love. Beside the board<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beggar lacked not place.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">When hunger's rage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sharpened by fresh sea-air, was quelled, the jest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Succeeded, and the tale of foreign lands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, boast who might of distant chief renowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His battle-axe, or fist that felled an ox,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Anglian's answer was 'our Hilda' still:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Is not her prayer trenchant as sworded hosts?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her insight more than wisdom of the seers?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What birth like hers illustrious? Edwin's self,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dëira's exile, next Northumbria's king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her kinsman was. Together bowed they not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he of holy hand, missioned from Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Paulinus, o'er them poured the absolving wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And joined to Christ? Kingliest was she, that maid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who spurned earth-crowns!' More late the miller rose—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He ruled the feast, the miller old, yet blithe—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cried, 'A song!' So song succeeded song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For each man knew that time to chant his stave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But no man yet sang nobly. Last the harp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made way to Ceadmon, lowest at the board:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He pushed it back, answering, 'I cannot sing:'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span><span class="i0">The rest around him flocked with clamour, 'Sing!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one among them, voluble and small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shot out a splenetic speech: 'This lord of kine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our herdsman, grows to ox! Behold, his eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Move slow, like eyes of oxen!'<br /></span> +<span class="i31">Slowly rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceadmon, and spake: 'I note full oft young men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quick-eyed, but small-eyed, darting glances round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now here, now there, like glance of some poor bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That light on all things and can rest on none:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ready are they with their tongues as eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all their songs are chirpings backward blown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On winds that sing God's song, by them unheard:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My oxen wait my service: I depart.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then strode he to his cow-house in the mead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Displeased though meek, and muttered, 'Slow of eye!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My kine are slow: if rapid I, my hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might tend them worse.' Hearing his step, the kine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turned round their hornèd fronts; and angry thoughts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went from him as a vapour. Straw he brought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strewed their beds; and they, contented well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laid down ere long their great bulks, breathing deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the glimmering moonlight. He, with head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Propped on a favourite heifer's snowy flank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rested, his deer-skin o'er him drawn. Hard days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring slumber soon. His latest thought was this:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span><span class="i0">'Though witless things we are, my kine and I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet God it was who made us.'<br /></span> +<span class="i29">As he slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside him stood a Man Divine, and spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ceadmon, arise, and sing,' Ceadmon replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'My Lord, I cannot sing, and for that cause<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth from the revel came I. Once, in youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I willed to sing the bright face of a maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And failed, and once a gold-faced harvest-field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And failed, and once the flame-eyed face of war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And failed again.' To him the Man Divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Those themes were earthly. Sing!' And Ceadmon said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'What shall I sing, my Lord?' Then answer came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ceadmon, stand up, and sing thy song of God.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">At once obedient, Ceadmon rose, and sang;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And help was with him from great thoughts of old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yearly within his silent nature stored,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That swelled, collecting like a flood which bursts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In spring its icy bar. The Lord of all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sang; that God beneath whose hand eterne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then when He willed forth-stretched athwart the abyss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creation like a fiery chariot ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth-borne on wheels of ever-living stars:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span><span class="i0">Him first he sang. The builder, here below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From fair foundations rears at last the roof;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Song, a child of heaven, begins with heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The archetype divine, and end of all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More late descends to earth. He sang that hymn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Let there be light, and there was light;' and lo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the void deep came down the seal of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stamped immortal form. Clear laughed the skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From circumambient deeps the strong earth brake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both continent and isle; while downward rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sea-surge summoned to his home remote.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then came a second vision to the man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There standing 'mid his oxen. Darkness sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sang, of pleasant frondage clothed the vales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And purple glooms ambrosial cast from hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now by the sun deserted, which the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A glory new-created in her place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silvered with virgin beam, while sang the bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her first of love-songs on the branch first-flower'd—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not yet the lion stalked. And Ceadmon sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-awed, the Father of all humankind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Standing in garden planted by God's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And girt by murmurs of the rivers four,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between the trees of Knowledge and of Life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eastward face. In worship mute of God,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span><span class="i0">Eden's Contemplative he stood that hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not her Ascetic, since, where sin is none,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No need for spirit severe.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">And Ceadmon sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's Daughter, Adam's Sister, Child, and Bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Mother Eve. Lit by the matin star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That nearer drew to earth and brighter flashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet her gaze, that snowy Innocence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood up with queenly port: she turned; she saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth's King, mankind's great Father: taught by God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immaculate, unastonished, undismayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In love and reverence to her Lord she drew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, kneeling, kissed his hand: and Adam laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hand, made holier, on that kneeler's head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spake; 'For this shall man his parents leave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to his wife cleave fast.'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">When Ceadmon ceased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus spake the Man Divine: 'At break of day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seek out some prudent man, and say that God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath loosed thy tongue; nor hide henceforth thy gift.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Ceadmon turned, and slept among his kine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreamless. Ere dawn he stood upon the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In doubt: but when at last o'er eastern seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun, long wished for, like a god upsprang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more he found God's song upon his mouth<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span><span class="i0">Murmuring high joy; and sought an ancient friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And told him all the vision. At the word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He to the Abbess with the tidings sped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she made answer, 'Bring me Ceadmon here.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Then clomb the pair that sea-beat mount of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fanned by sea-gale, nor trod, as others used,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The curving way, but faced the abrupt ascent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And halted not, so worked in both her will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till now between the unfinished towers they stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Panting and spent. The portals open stood:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceadmon passed in alone. Nor ivory decked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor gold, the walls. That convent was a keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strong 'gainst invading storm or demon hosts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And naked as the rock whereon it stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, as a church, august. Dark, high-arched roofs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slowly let go the distant hymn. Each cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cinctured its statued saint, the peace of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On every stony face. Like caverned grot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off the western window frowned: beyond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close by, there shook an autumn-blazoned tree:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No need for gems beside of storied glass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">He entered last that hall where Hilda sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begirt with a great company, the chiefs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far ranged from end to end. Three stalls, cross-crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span><span class="i0">Stood side by side, the midmost hers. The years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had laid upon her brows a hand serene;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There left alone a blessing. Levelled eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sable, and keen, with meditative might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conjoined the instinct and the claim to rule:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Firm were her lips and rigid. At her right<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat Finan, Aidan's successor, with head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snow-white, and beard that rolled adown a breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never by mortal passion heaved in storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cloister of majestic thoughts that walked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Humbly with God. High in the left-hand stall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oswy was throned, a man in prime, with brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less youthful than his years. Exile long past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or deepening thought of one disastrous deed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had left a shadow in his eyes. The strength<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of passion held in check looked lordly forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From head and hand: tawny his beard; his hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thick-curled and dense. Alert the monarch sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half turned, like one on horseback set that hears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he alone, the advancing trump of war.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the long gallery strangers thronged in mass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dane or Norwegian, huge of arm through weight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of billows oar-subdued, with stormy looks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild as their waves and crags; Southerns keen-browed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pure Saxon youths, fair-fronted, with mild eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These less than others strove for nobler place,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span><span class="i0">And Pilgrim travel-worn. Behind the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And higher-ranged in marble-arched arcade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat Hilda's sisterhood. Clustering they shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White-veiled, and pale of face, and still and meek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An inly-bending curve, like some young moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose crescent glitters o'er a dusky strait.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In front were monks dark-stoled: for Hilda ruled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though feminine, two houses, one of men:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon two chasm-divided rocks they stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To various service vowed, though single Faith:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not ever, save at rarest festival,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their holy inmates met.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">'Is this the man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Favoured, though late, with gift of song?' thus spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hilda with gracious smile. Severer then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She added: 'Son, the commonest gifts of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He counts His best, and oft temptation blends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ampler boon. Yet sing! That God who lifts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The violet from the grass could draw not less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Song from the stone hard by. That strain thou sang'st,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more rehearse it.'<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Ceadmon from his knees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose and stood. With princely instinct first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strong man to the Abbess bowed, and next<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To that great twain, the bishop and the king,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span><span class="i0">Last to that stately concourse each side ranged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the long hall; then, dubious, answered thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Great Mother, if that God who sent the song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vouchsafe me to recall it, I will sing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I misdoubt it lost.' Slowly his face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down-drooped, and all his body forward bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While brooding memory, step by step, retraced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its backward way. Vainly long time it sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The starting-point. Then Ceadmon's large, soft hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Opening and closing worked; for wont were they,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In musings when he stood, to clasp his goad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And plant its point far from him, thereupon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Propping his stalwart weight. Customed support<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now finding not, unwittingly those hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reached forth, and on Saint Finan's crosier-staff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Settling, withdrew it from the old bishop's grasp;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Ceadmon leant thereon, while passed a smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From chief to chief to see earth's meekest man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spiritual sceptre claim of Lindisfarne.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They smiled; he triumphed: soon the Cowherd found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That first fair corner-stone of all his song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thence rose the fabric heavenward. Lifting hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more his lordly music he rehearsed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The void abyss at God's command forth-flinging<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creation like a Thought: where night had reigned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The universe of God.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span><span class="i22">The singing stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which with the Angels sang when earth was made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sang in his song. From highest shrill of lark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To ocean's moaning under cliffs low-browed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And roar of pine-woods on the storm-swept hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No tone was wanting; while to them that heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange images looked forth of worlds new-born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair, phantom mountains, and, with forests plumed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaven-topping headlands, for the first time glassed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In waters ever calm. O'er sapphire seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green islands laughed. Fairer, the wide earth's flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eden, on airs unshaken yet by sighs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From bosom still inviolate forth poured<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal sweets that sense to spirit turned.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In part those noble listeners <i>made</i> that song!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their flashing eyes, their hands, their heaving breasts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tumult self-stilled, and mute, expectant trance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas these that gave their bard his twofold might—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That might denied to poets later born<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, singing to soft brains and hearts ice-hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Applauded or contemned, alike roll round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A vainly-seeking eye, and, famished, drop<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hand clay-cold upon the unechoing shell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Missing their inspiration's human half.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Thus Ceadmon sang, and ceased. Silent awhile<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span><span class="i0">The concourse stood, for all had risen, as though<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waiting from heaven its echo. Each on each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazed hard and caught his hands. Fiercely ere long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their gratulating shout aloft had leaped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Hilda laid her finger on her lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or provident lest praise might stain the pure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or deeming song a gift too high for praise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She spake: 'Through help of God thy song is sound:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now hear His Holy Word, and shape therefrom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A second hymn, and worthier than the first.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">She spake, and Finan standing bent his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the sacred tome in reverence stayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his kneeling deacon's hands and brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweetly sang five verses, thus beginning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'<i>Cum esset desponsata</i>,' and was still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And next rehearsed them in the Anglian tongue:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Ceadmon took God's Word into his heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ruminating stood, as when the kine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their flowery pasture ended, ruminate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And was a man in thought. At last the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone from his dubious countenance, and he spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Great Mother, lo! I saw a second Song!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">T'wards me it sailed; but with averted face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And borne on shifting winds. A man am I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sluggish and slow, that needs must muse and brood;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span><span class="i0">Therefore those verses till the sun goes down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will I revolve. If song from God be mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Expect me here at morn.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">The morrow morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that high presence Ceadmon stood and sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A second song, and worthier than his first;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Hilda said, 'From God it came, not man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou therefore live a monk among my monks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sing to God.' Doubtful he stood—'From youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My place hath been with kine; their ways I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how to cure their griefs,' Smiling she spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Our convent hath its meads, and kine; with these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consort each morn: at noon to us return.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Ceadmon knelt, and bowed, and said, 'So be it:'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And aged Finan, and Northumbria's king<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oswy, approved; and all that host had joy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Thus in that convent Ceadmon lived, a monk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Humblest of all the monks, save him that knelt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In cell close by, who once had been a prince.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seven times a day he sang God's praises, first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When earliest dawn drew back night's sable veil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With trembling hand, revisiting the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some pale maid that through the curtain peers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round her sick mother's bed, misdoubting half<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If sleep lie there, or death; latest when eve<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span><span class="i0">Through nave and chancel stole from arch to arch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And laid upon the snowy altar-step<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last a brow of gold. In later years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By ancient yearnings driven, through wood and vale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He tracked Dëirean or Bernician glades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To holy Ripon, or late-sceptred York,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not yet great Wilfred's seat, or Beverley:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The children gathered round him, crying, 'Sing!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They gave him inspiration with their eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with his conquering music he returned it.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oftener he roamed that strenuous eastern coast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Jarrow and to Wearmouth, sacred sites<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The well-beloved of Bede, or northward more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Bamborough, Oswald's keep. At Coldingham<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His feet had rest; there where St. Ebba's Cape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ends the lonely range of Lammermoor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sustained for centuries o'er the wild sea-surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In region of dim mist and flying bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fronting the Forth, those convent piles far-kenned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The worn-out sailor's hope.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Fair English shores,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despite those blinding storms of north and east,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despite rough ages blind with stormier strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or froz'n by doubt, or sad with worldly care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fragrance as of Carmel haunts you still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bequeathed by feet of that forgotten Saint<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span><span class="i0">Who trod you once, sowing the seed divine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fierce tribes that kenned him distant round him flocked;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On sobbing sands the fisher left his net,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lamb the shepherd on the hills of March,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suing for song. With wrinkled face all smiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like that blind Scian circling Grecian coasts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If God the song accorded, Ceadmon sang;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If God denied it, after musings deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He answered, 'I am of the kine and dumb;'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man revered his art, and fraudful song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Esteemed as fraudful coin.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Music denied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He solaced them with tales wherein, so seemed it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nature and Grace, inwoven, like children played,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like two sisters o'er one sampler bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Braided one text. Ever the sorrowful chance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ending in joy, the human craving still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like creeper circling up the Tree of Life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted by hand unseen, witnessed that He,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man's Maker, is the Healer too of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And life His school parental. Parables<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shewed in all things. 'Mark,' one day he cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Yon silver-breasted swan that stems the lake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Taking nor chill nor moisture! Such the soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That floats o'er waters of a world corrupt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Itself immaculate still.'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span><span class="i34">Better than tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They loved their minstrel's harp. The songs he sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were songs to brighten gentle hearts; to fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strong hearts with holier courage; hope to breathe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through spirits despondent, o'er the childless floor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or widowed bed, flashing from highest heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A beam half faith, half vision. Many a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His own, and tears of those that listened, fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft as he sang that hand, lovely as light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth stretched, and gathering from forbidden boughs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fruit fatal to man. He sang the Flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sin's doom that quelled the impure, yet raised to height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Else inaccessible, the just. He sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That patriarch facing at divine command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The illimitable waste—then, harder proof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifting his knife o'er him, the seed foretold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sang of Israel loosed, the ten black seals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down pressed on Egypt's testament of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Covenant of pride with penance; sang the face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Moses glittering from red Sinai's rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Tables twain, and Mandements of God.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Christian nights he sang that jubilant star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which led the Magians to the Bethlehem crib<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Joseph watched, and Mary. Pale, in Lent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tremulous and pale, he told of Calvary,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor added word, but, as in trance, rehearsed<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span><span class="i0">That Passion fourfold of the Evangelists,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, terrible and swift—not like a tale—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With speed of things which must be done, not said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A river of bale, from guilty age to age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the astonied shores of common life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Annual makes way, the history of the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not of one day, one People. To its fount<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stream he tracked, that primal mystery sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, chanted later by a thousand years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Music celestial, though with note that jarred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some wandering orb troubling its starry chime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amazed the nations, 'There was war in heaven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Michael and they, his angels, warfare waged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Satan and his angels.' Brief that war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ruin total. Brief was Ceadmon's song:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therein the Eternal Face was undivulged:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therein the Apostate's form no grandeur wore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grandeur was elsewhere. Who hate their God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Change not alone to vanquished but to vile.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Easter morns he sang the Saviour Risen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eden Regained. Since then on England's shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though many sang, yet no man sang like him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">O holy House of Whitby! on thy steep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoice, howe'er the tempest, night or day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afflict thee, or the hand of Time to earth<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span><span class="i0">Drag down thine airy arches long suspense;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoice, for Ceadmon in thy cloisters knelt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And singing paced beside thy sounding sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long years he lived; and with the whitening hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More youthful grew in spirit, and more meek;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, those that saw him said he sang within<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then when the golden mouth but seldom breathed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sonorous strain, and when—that fulgent eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer bright—still on his forehead shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not flame but purer light, like that last beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, when the sunset woods no longer burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maintains high place on Alpine throne remote,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or utmost beak of promontoried cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heavenward dies in smiles. Esteem of men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daily he less esteemed, through single heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More knit with God. To please a sickly child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sang his latest song, and, ending, said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Song is but body, though 'tis body winged:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul of song is love: the body dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul should thrive the more.' That Patmian Sage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose head had lain upon the Saviour's breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who in high vision saw the First and Last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who heard the harpings of the Elders crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who o'er the ruins of the Imperial House<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ashes of the twelve great Cæsars dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Witnessed the endless triumph of the Just,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span><span class="i0">To humbler life restored, and, weak through age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But seldom spake, and gave but one command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great '<i>Mandatum Novum</i>' of his Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'My children, love each other!' Like to his<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was Ceadmon's age. Weakness with happy stealth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Increased upon him: he was cheerful still:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He still could pace, though slowly, in the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still gladsomely converse with friends who wept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still lay a broad hand on his well-loved kine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The legend of the last of Ceadmon's days:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hospital wherein the old monks died<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood but a stone's throw from the monastery:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Make there my couch to-night,' he said, and smiled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They marvelled, yet obeyed. There, hour by hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man, low-seated on his pallet-bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence watched the courses of the stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or casual spake at times of common things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And three times played with childhood's days, and twice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His father named. At last, like one that, long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compassed with good, is smit by sudden thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of greater good, thus spake he: 'Have ye, sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here in this house the Blessed Sacrament?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They answered, wrathful, 'Father, thou art strong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shake not thy children! Thou hast many days!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Yet bring me here the Blessed Sacrament,'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span><span class="i0">Once more he said. The brethren issued forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save four that silent sat waiting the close.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere long in grave procession they returned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two deacons first, gold-vested; after these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That priest who bare the Blessed Sacrament,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And acolytes behind him, lifting lights.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then from his pallet Ceadmon slowly rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And worshipped Christ, his God, and reaching forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His right hand, cradled in his left, behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therein was laid God's Mystery. He spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Stand ye in flawless charity of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">T'ward me, my sons; or lives there in your hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Memory the least of wrong?' The monks replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Father, within us lives nor wrong, nor wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But love, and love alone.' And he: 'Not less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Am I in charity with you, my sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all my sins of pride, and other sins,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Humbly I mourn.' Then, bending the old head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the old hand, Ceadmon received his Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be his soul's viaticum, in might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leading from life that seems to life that is;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long, unpropped by any, kneeling hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made thanksgiving prayer. Thanksgiving made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sat upon his bed, and spake: 'How long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet the monks begin their matin psalms?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'That hour is nigh,' they answered; he replied,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span><span class="i0">'Then let us wait that hour,' and laid him down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With those kine-tending and harp-mastering hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crossed on his breast, and slept.<br /></span> +<span class="i36">Meanwhile the monks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lights removed in reverence of his sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat mute nor stirred such time as in the Mass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between '<i>Orate Fratres</i>' glides away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And '<i>Hoc est Corpus Meum</i>.' Northward far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great deep, seldom heard so distant, roared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round those wild rocks half way to Bamborough Head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For now the mightiest spring-tide of the year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Following the magic of a maiden moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Approached its height. Nearer, that sea which sobbed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In many a cave by Whitby's winding coast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or died in peace on many a sandy bar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From river-mouth to river-mouth outspread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They heard, and mused upon eternity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That circles human life. Gradual arose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A softer strain and sweeter, making way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er that sea-murmur hoarse; and they were ware<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in the black far-shadowing church whose bulk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up-towered between them and the moon, the monks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their matins had begun. A little sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That moment reached them from the central gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Guarding the sleeper's bed; a second sigh<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span><span class="i0">Succeeded: neither seemed the sigh of pain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some one said, 'He wakens.' Large and bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the church-roof sudden rushed the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smote the cross above that sleeper's couch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smote that sleeper's face. The smile thereon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was calmer than the smile of life. Thus died<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceadmon, the earliest bard of English song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="KING_OSWY_OF_NORTHUMBRIA_OR_THE_WIFES_VICTORY" id="KING_OSWY_OF_NORTHUMBRIA_OR_THE_WIFES_VICTORY"></a><i>KING OSWY OF NORTHUMBRIA, OR THE WIFE'S VICTORY</i>.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Oswy, King of Bernicia, being at war with his kinsman Oswin, slays +him unarmed. He refuses to repent of this sin; yet at last, subdued +by the penitence, humility, and charity of Eanfleda, his wife, +repents likewise, and builds a monastery over the grave of Oswin. +Afterwards he becomes a great warrior and dies a saint. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Young, beauteous, brave—the bravest of the brave—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who loved not Oswin? All that saw him loved:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aidan loved most, monk of Iona's Isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Northumbria's bishop next, from Lindisfarne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruling in things divine. One morn it chanced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Oswin, noting how with staff in hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Aidan roamed his spiritual realm, footbare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wading deep stream, and piercing thorny brake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sent him a horse—his best. The Saint was pleased;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, onward while he rode, and, musing, smiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think of these his honours in old age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A beggar claimed his alms. 'Gold have I none,'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span><span class="i0">Aidan replied; 'this horse be thine!' The King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearing the tale, was grieved. 'Keep I, my lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No meaner horses fit for beggar's use<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thus my best should seem a thing of naught?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Saint made answer: 'Beggar's use, my King!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What was that horse? The foal of some poor mare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The least of men—the sinner—is God's child!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then dropped the King on both his knees, and cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Father, forgive me!' As they sat at meat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oswin was mirthful, and at jest and tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hungry thanes laughed loud. But great, slow tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence trickled down old Aidan's face:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These all men marked; yet no man question made.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last to one beside him Aidan spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Irish tongue, unknown to all save them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'God will not leave such meekness long on earth.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who loved not Oswin? Not alone his realm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dëira, loved him, but Bernician lords<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose monarch, Oswy, was a man of storms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fierce King albeit in youth baptized to Christ;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At heart half pagan. Swift as northern cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through summer skies, he swept with all his host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down on the rival kingdom. Face to face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The armies stood. But Oswin, when he marked<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span><span class="i0">His own a little flock 'mid countless wolves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Addressed them thus: 'Why perish, friends, for me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From exile came I: for my people's sake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To exile I return, or gladlier die:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Depart in peace.' He rode to Gilling Tower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And waited there his fate. Thither next day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Oswy marched, and slew him.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Twelve days passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Aidan, while through green Northumbria's woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pensive he paced, steadying his doubtful steps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Felt death approaching. Giving thanks to God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man laid him by a church half raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid great oaks and yews, and, leaning there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His head against the buttress, passed to God.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They made their bishop's grave at Lindisfarne;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Oswin rested at the mouth of Tyne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within a wave-girt, granite promontory<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where sea and river meet. For many an age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pilgrim from far countries came in faith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To that still shrine—they called it 'Oswin's Peace,'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thither the outcast fled for sanctuary:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sick man there found health. Thus Oswin lived,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though dead, a benediction in the land.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What gentlest form kneels on the rain-washed ground<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span><span class="i0">From Gilling's keep a stone's-throw? Whose those hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now pressed in anguish on a bursting heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now o'er a tearful countenance spread in shame?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What purest mouth, but roseless for great woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With zeal to youthful lovers never known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Presses a new-made grave, and through the blades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of grass wind-shaken breathes her piteous prayer?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save from remorse came ever grief like hers?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet how could ever sin, or sin's remorse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Find such fair mansion? Oswin's grave it is;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she that o'er it kneels is Eanfleda,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kinswoman of the noble dead, and wife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Oswin's murderer—Oswy.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Saddest one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweetest! Lo, that cloud which overhung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her cradle swathes once more in deeper gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her throne late won, and new-decked bridal bed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This was King Edwin's babe, whose natal star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone on her father's pathway doubtful long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone there a line of light, from pagan snares<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leading to Christian baptism. Penda heard—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Penda, that drew his stock from Odin's loins,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Penda, that drank his wine from skulls of foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Penda, fierce Mercia's king. He heard, and fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ruin on the region. Edwin dead,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span><span class="i0">Paulinus led the widow and her babe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to that Kentish shore whereon had reigned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its grandsire Ethelbert.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">The infant's feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pattered above the pavement of that church<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Canterbury by Augustine raised;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The child grew paler when Gregorian chants<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shook the dim roofs. Gladly the growing girl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearkened to stories of her ancestress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clotilda, boast of France, but weeping turned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From legends whispered by her Saxon nurse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Loke, the Spirit accursed that slanders gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Sinna, Queen of Hell. The years went by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last had brought King Oswy's embassage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With suit obsequious, 'Let the princess share<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With me her father's crown.' To simple hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Changes come gently. Soon, all trust, she stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before God's altar with her destined lord:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adown her finger while the bride-ring ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So slid into her heart a true wife's love:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rooted in faith, it ripened day by day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now the end was this!<br /></span> +<span class="i28">There as she knelt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A strong foot clanged behind her. 'Weeping still!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up, wife of mine! If Oswin had not died<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His gracious ways had filched from me my realm,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span><span class="i0">The base so loved his meekness!' Turning not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She answered low: 'He died an unarmed man:'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Oswy: 'Fool that fought not when he might;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At least his slaughtered troop had decked his grave!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I scorned him for his grief that men should die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, scorning him, I hated; yea, for that<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His blood is on my sword!'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">The priests of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had faced the monarch and denounced his crime:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They might as well have preached to ocean waves:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He felt no anger: he but deemed them mad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smiling went his way. Thus autumn passed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The queen—he knew it—when alone wept on:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Near him the pale face smiled; the voice was sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loving the service; the obedience full:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neither by words, by silence, nor by looks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She chid him. Like some penitent she walked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mourns her own great sin.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Yet Oswy's heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remorseless thus, had moods of passionate love:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A warrior of his host, Tosti by name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay low, plague-stricken: kith and kin had fled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whole days the king sustained upon his knees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sufferer's head, and cheered his heart with songs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Odin, strangely blent with Christian hymns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While ofttimes stormy bursts of tears descended<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span><span class="i0">Upon that face upturned. Ministering he sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till death the vigil closed.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">One winter night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From distant chase belated he returned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And passed by Oswin's grave. The snow, new-fallen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whitened the precinct. In the blast she knelt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While coldly glared the broad and bitter moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon those flying flakes that on her hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Settled, or on her thin, light raiment clung.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She heard him not draw nigh. She only beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her breast, and, praying, wept: 'Our sin, our sin!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There as the monarch stood a change came o'er him:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old, exiled days in Alba as a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Redawned upon his spirit, and that look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Aidan's eyes when, binding first that cross<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long by his pupil craved, around his neck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He whispered: 'He who serveth Christ, his Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must love his fellow-man.' As when a stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ice dissolved, grows audible once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So came to him those words. They dragged him down:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knelt beside his wife, and beat his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said, 'My sin, my sin!' Till earliest morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glimmered through sleet that twain wept on, prayed on:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it the rising sun that lit at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fair face upward lifted;—kindled there<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span><span class="i0">A lovelier dawn than o'er it blushed when first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dropped on her bridegroom's breast? Aloud she cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Our prayer is heard: our penitence finds grace:'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then added: 'Let it deepen till we die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A monastery build we on this grave:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So from this grave, while fleet the years, that prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall rise both day and night, till Christ returns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To judge the world—a prayer for him who died;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A prayer for one who sinned, but sins no more.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where Gilling's long and lofty hill o'erlooks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For leagues the forest-girdled plain, ere long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A monastery stood. That self-same day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In tears the penitential work began;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In tears the sod was turned. The rugged brows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of March relaxed 'neath April's flying kiss:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again the violet rose, the thrush was loud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mayday had come. Around that hallowed spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full many a warrior met; some Christians vowed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some muttering low of Odin. Near to these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood one of lesser stature, keener eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More fiery gesture. Splenetic, he marked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christian albeit himself, those Christian walls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Saxon converts raised:—he was a Briton.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invisibly that morn a dusky crape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erstretched the sky; and slowly swayed the bough<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span><span class="i0">Heavy with midnight rains. Through mist the woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let out the witchery of their young fresh green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Backed by the dusk of ruddy oaks that still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reserved at heart the old year's stubbornness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet blent it with that purple distance glimpsed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the forest alleys.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">In a tent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Finan sang Mass: his altar was that stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which told where Oswin died. Before it knelt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The king, the queen: alone their angels know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their thoughts that hour! The sacred rite complete,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They raised their brows, and, hand-in-hand, made way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where, beyond the portal, shone blue skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nature's long-struggling smile at last divulged.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The throng—with passion it had prayed for each—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Divided as they passed. In either face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They saw the light of that conceded prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The peace of souls forgiven.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">From that day forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hourly in Oswy's spirit soared more high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one true greatness. Flaming heats of soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through faith subjected to a law divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like fire, man's vassal, mastering iron ore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Learned their true work. The immeasurable strength<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had found at once its master and its end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, balanced thus while weighted, soared to God.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span><span class="i0">In all his ways he prospered, work and word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yoked to one end. Till then the Kingdoms Seven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Opposed in interests as diverse in name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had looked on nothing like him. Now, despite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mercia that frowned, they named him king of kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bretwalda; and the standard of the Seven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In peace foreran his feet. The Spirits of might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before his vanguard winged their way in war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scattering the foe; and in his peacefuller years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the aerial hillside high and higher<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The golden harvest clomb, waving delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On eyes upraised from winding rivers clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shone with milky sails. His feet stood firm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For with his growing greatness ever grew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His penitence. Still sang the cloistered choir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Year after year pleading o'er Oswin's tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'To him who perished grant thy Vision, Lord;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him the slayer, penitence and peace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let Oswin pray for Oswy:' Oswin prayed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">What answered Penda when the tidings came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Oswy glorying in the yoke of Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Oswy's victories next? Grinding his teeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spake what no man heard. Then rumour rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of demon-magic making Oswy's tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell as his sword. 'Within the sorcerer's court,'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span><span class="i0">It babbled, 'stood the brave East Saxon king:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his shoulder Oswy laid a hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accursed and whispered in his ear. The king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down sank, perforce, a Christian!' Lightning flashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From under Penda's gray and shaggy brows;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Forth to Northumbria, son,' he cried, 'and back;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And learn if this be true.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">That son obeyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peada, to whose heart another's heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alcfrid's, King Oswy's son, was knit long since<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As David's unto Jonathan's. One time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tenderer heart had leaned, or seemed to lean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Motioning that way, Alfleda's, Alcfrid's sister,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Younger than he six years. 'Twas so no more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer on Peada's eyes her eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rested well-pleased: not now the fearless hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tarried in his contented. 'Sir and king,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peada thus to Oswy spake, 'of old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy child—then child indeed—would mount my knee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, when I seek her, like a swan she fleets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That arches back its neck 'twixt snowy wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, swerving, sideway drifts. My lord and king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The child is maiden: give her me for wife!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oswy made answer: 'He that serves not Christ<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can wed no child of mine.' Alfleda then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dropping her broidery lifted on her sire<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span><span class="i0">Gently the dewy light of childlike eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spake, 'But he in time will worship Christ!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, without blush or tremor, to her work<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Softly returned. Silent her mother smiled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That moment, warned of God, from Lindisfarne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Finan, unlooked for, entered. Week by week<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reverend and mild he preached the Saviour-Lord:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grave-eyed, with listening face and forehead bowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prince gave ear, not like that trivial race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who catch the sense ere spoken, smile assent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in a moment lose it. On his brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times the apprehension dawned, at times<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faded. Oft turned he to his Mercian lords:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'How trow ye, friends? He speaks of what he knows!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good tidings these! Each evening while I muse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distinct they shine like yonder mountain range;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each morning, mists conceal them.' Passed a month;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then suddenly, as one that wakes from dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peada rose: 'Far rather would I serve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy Christ,' he said, 'and thus Alfleda lose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than win Alfleda, and reject thy Christ.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spake: old Finan first gave thanks to God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who grants the pure heart valour to believe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then took his hand and led him to that Cross<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Heaven-Field raised beneath the Roman Wall,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span><span class="i0">That cross King Oswald's standard in the fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cross Cadwallon's sentence as he fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'That cross which conquered;'—there to God baptized;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Likewise his thanes and earls.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Meantime, far off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Penda's palace-keep the revel raged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High feast of rites impure. At banquet sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monarch and his chiefs; chant followed chant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bleeding with wars foregone. The day went by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, setting ere its time, a sanguine sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dipped into tumult vast of gathering storm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That soon incumbent leant from tower to tower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shook them to their base. As high within<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gladness mounted, meeting storm with storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till cried that sacrificial priest whose knife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had pierced the warrior victim's willing throat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That morn, 'Already with the gods we feast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! round Valhalla swell the phantom wars!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere ceased the shout applausive, from his seat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uprose the warrior Saxo, in his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The goblet, in the other Alp, his sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pointing to heaven. 'To Odin health!' he cried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Would that this hour he rode into this hall!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He should not hence depart till blood of his<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had reddened Sleipner's flank, his snow-white steed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This sword would shed that blood!' Warriors sixteen<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span><span class="i0">Leaped up in wrath, and for a moment rage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rocked the huge hall. But Saxo waved his sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, laughing, shouted, 'Odin's sons, be still!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Count it no sin to battle with high gods!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great-hearted they! They give the blow and take!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Odin who was ever leal as I?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As sudden as it rose the tumult fell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So ceased the storm without: but with it ceased<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rapture and the madness, and the shout:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wine-cup still made circuit; but the song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Froze in mid-air. Strange shadow hung o'er all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neighbour to neighbour whispered: courtiers slid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through doors scarce open. Rumour had arrived,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If true or false none knew.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">The morrow morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Penda's court the bravest fled in fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Questioning with white lips, 'Will he slay his son?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or skulked at distance. Penda by the throat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Catching a white-cheeked courtier, cried: 'The truth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What whisper they in corners?' On his knees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That courtier made confession. Penda then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Live, since my son is yet a living man!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Christian, say'st thou? Let him serve his Christ!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That man whom ever most I scorned is he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who vows him to the service of some god,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet breaks his laws; for that man walks, a lie.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span><span class="i0">My son shall live, and after me shall reign:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Northumbrian realm shall die!'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Thus Penda spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sent command from tower and town to blow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instant the trumpet of his last of wars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fanning from Odin's hall with airs ice-cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of doom the foes of Odin. 'Man nor child,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sware,'henceforth shall tread Northumbrian soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor hart nor hind: I spare the creeping worm:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My scavenger is he,' The Mercian realm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose at his call, innumerable mass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of warriors iron-armed. East Anglia sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hosts in aid. Apostate Ethelwald,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Oswy's nephew, joined the hostile league,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thirty chiefs beside that ruled by right<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Princedom or province. Mightier far than these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Cambria, brooding o'er the ancestral wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Saxon's sin original, met his call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vowed her to the vengeance.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Bravest hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hate most the needless slaughter. Oswy mused:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Long since too much of blood is on this hand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall I for pride or passion risk once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Northumbria, my mother;—rudely stain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her pretty babes with blood?' To Penda then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Camped on the confines of the adverse realms,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span><span class="i0">He sent an embassage of reverend men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warriors and priests. Before them, staff in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peaceful, with hoary brows and measured tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twelve heralds paced. Twelve caskets bare they heaped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With gems and gold, and thus addressed the King:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Lord of the Mercian realm, renowned in arms!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our lord, Northumbria's monarch, bids thee hail:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never yet in little thing or great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath wronged thy kingdom; yet thy peace he woos:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accept the gifts he sends thee, and, thus crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Depart content.' Penda with backward hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waved them far from him, and vouchsafed no word.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sadness they returned: but Oswy smiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearing their tale, and said: 'My part is done:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let God decide the event,' He spake, and took<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The caskets twelve, and placed them, side by side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the altar of his chiefest church,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vowed to raise to God twelve monasteries,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In honour of our Lord's Apostles Twelve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On greenest upland, or in sylvan glade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where purest stream kisses the richest mead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His vow recorded, sudden through the church<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ran with fleet foot a lady mazed with joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crying, 'A maiden babe! and lo, the queen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Late dying lives and thrives!' That eve the king<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bestowed on God the new-born maiden babe,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span><span class="i0">Laying her cradled 'mid those caskets twelve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Six at each side; and said: 'For her nor throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor marriage bower! She in some holy house<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall dwell the Bride of Christ. But thou, just God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This day avenge my people!'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Windwaed field<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard, distant still, that multitudinous foe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trampling the darksome ways. With pallid face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Morning beheld their standards, raven-black—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Penda had thus decreed, before him sending<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Northumbria's sentence. On a hill, thick-set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood Oswy's army, small, yet strong in faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wedge-like phalanx, fenced by rocks and woods;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A river in its front. His standards white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sustained the Mother-Maid and Babe Divine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From many a crag his altars rose, choir-girt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crowned by incense wreath.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">An hour ere noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That river passed, in thunder met the hosts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Penda, straitened by that hilly tract,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could wield not half his force. Sequent as waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On rushed they: Oswy's phalanx like a cliff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Successively down dashed them. Day went by:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last the clouds dispersed: the westering sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glared on the spent eyes of those Mercian ranks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which in their blindness each the other smote,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span><span class="i0">Or, trapped by hidden pitfalls, fell on stakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And died blaspheming. Little help that day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gat they from Cambria. She on Heaven-Field height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had felt her death-wound, slow albeit to die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The apostate Ethelwald in panic fled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The East Anglians followed. Swollen by recent rains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And choked with dead, the river burst its bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And raced along the devastated plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till cry of drowning horse and shriek of man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rang far and farther o'er that sea of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A battle-field but late. This way and that<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Briton or Mercian where he might escaped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through flood or forest. Penda scorned to fly:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrice with extended arms he met and cursed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fugitives on rushing. As they passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He flung his crownèd helm into the wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bit his brazen shield, above its rim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Levelling a look that smote with chill like death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their hearts that saw it. Yet one moment more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sat like statue on some sculptured horse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With upraised hand, close-clenched, denouncing Heaven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then burst his mighty heart. As stone he fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dead on the plain. Not less in after times<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mercian to Mercian said, 'Without a wound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Penda died, although on battle-field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore with Odin Penda shares not feast.'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span><span class="i0">Thus pagan died old Penda as he lived:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet Penda's sons were Christian, kindlier none;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His daughters nuns; and lamb-like Mercia's House,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lion one while, made end. King Oswy raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His monasteries twelve: benigner life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around them spread: wild waste, and robber bands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vanished: the poor were housed, the hungry fed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Oswy sent his little new-born babe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dewed with her mother's tear-drops, Eanfleda,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some young lamb with fillet decked and flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet dedicated not to death, but life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Hilda sent on Whitby's sea-washed hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who made her Bride of Christ. The years went by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Oswy, now an old king, glory-crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His country from the Mercian thraldom loosed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And free from north to south, in heart resolved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pilgrim, Romeward faring with bare feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make his rest by Peter's tomb and Paul's.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God willed not thus: within his native realm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sickness unto death clasped him with hold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gentle but firm. Long sleepless, t'ward the close<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid his wanderings smiling, from the couch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stretched a shrivelled hand, and pointing said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Who was it fabled she had died in age?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all her youthful beauty holy and pure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, where she kneels upon the wintry ground,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span><span class="i0">The snow-flakes circling round her, yet with face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright as a star!' so spake the king, and taking<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into his heart that vision, slept in peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His daughter, abbess then on Whitby's height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within her church interred her father's bones<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside her grandsire's, Edwin. Side by side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They rested, one Bernicia's king, and one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dëira's—great Northumbrian sister realms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long foes, yet blended by that mingling dust.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THE_VENGEANCE_OF_THE_MONKS_OF_BARDENEY" id="THE_VENGEANCE_OF_THE_MONKS_OF_BARDENEY"></a><i>THE VENGEANCE OF THE MONKS OF BARDENEY</i>.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Osthryda, Queen of Mercia, translates the relics of her uncle, +Oswald of Northumberland, to the Abbey of Bardeney. The monks +refuse them admittance because King Oswald had conquered and kept +for one year Lindsay, a province of Mercia. Though hourly expecting +the destruction of their Abbey, they will yield neither to threats +nor to supplications, nor even to celestial signs and wonders. At +last, being convinced by the reasoning of a devout man, they repent +of their anger. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Silent, with gloomy brows in conclave sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monks of Bardeney, nigh the eastern sea;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rumour, that still outruns the steps of ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smote on their gates with news: 'Osthryda comes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bury here her royal uncle's bones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Northumbrian Oswald.' Oswald was a Saint;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had loosed from Pagan bonds that Christian land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His own by right. But Oswald had subdued<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lindsay, a Mercian province; and the monks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were sons of Mercia leal and true. Osthryda,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span><span class="i0">Northumbrian born, had wedded Mercia's King;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore the monks of Bardeney pondered thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'This Mercian Queen spurns her adopted country!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must Mercia therefore build her conqueror's tomb?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though earth and hell cried "Ay," it should not be!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus mused the brethren till the sun went down:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then lo! beyond a vista in the woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drew nigh a Bier, black-plumed, with funeral train:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thereon the stern monks gazed, and gave command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To close the Abbey's gate. Beside that gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tent-roofed that Bier remained.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Before them soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood up the royal herald. Thus he spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ye sacred monks of Bardeney's Abbey, hail!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Osthryda, wife of Ethelred our King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prays that God's peace may keep this House forever.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Queen has hither brought, by help of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Oswald's bones, and sues for them a grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within this hallowed precinct.' Answer came:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'King Oswald, living, was Northumbria's King;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Oswald, by the pride of life seduced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrested from Mercia's sceptre Lindsay's soil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore in Lindsay's soil King Oswald, dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May never find repose.'<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Before them next<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three earls advanced full-armed, and spake loud-voiced:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span><span class="i0">'Our Queen is consort of the Mercian King;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye, monks, are Mercian subjects! Sirs, beware!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our King and Queen have loved you well till now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ranked your abbey highest in their realm:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But hearts ingrate can sour the mood of love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Ethelred, though mild as summer skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When mildly used, once angered'——Answer came:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'We know it, and await our doom, content:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Mercia's King contemns his realm, more need<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Mercia's priests her confessors should die:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Bardeney's church King Oswald ne'er shall rest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye have your answer, Earls!'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Through that dim hall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere long a gentler embassage made way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three priests; arrived, they knelt, and, reverent, spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Fathers and brethren, Oswald was a Saint!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He loosed his native land from pagan thrall:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Churches and convents everywhere he built:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His relics, year by year, grow glorious more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through miracles and signs. Fathers revered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within this sanctuary beloved of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vouchsafe his dust interment!' They replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'We know that Oswald is a Saint with God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know he freed his realm from pagan thrall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know that churches everywhere he built;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know that from his relics Grace proceeds<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span><span class="i0">As light from sun and moon. In heaven a crown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rests on Saint Oswald's head: yet here on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Oswald's foot profaned our Mercian bound:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore in Mercian earth he finds not grave.'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Silent those priests withdrew. An hour well-nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went by in silence. Then with forehead crowned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mourner's veil, and step of one that mourns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Queen advanced, a lady at each side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'mid the circle stood, and thus implored:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Not as your Sovereign come I, holy Sirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since all are equal in the House of God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor stand I here a stranger. Many a day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this your church, I knelt, while yet a child;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then too, as now, within my breast there lived<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tenderest of its ardours and the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Zeal for my kinsman's fame. That time how oft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard my Father, Oswy, cry aloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O Brother, had I walked but in thy ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My foot had never erred!" In maiden youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I met with one who shared my loyal zeal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mercian himself: 'twas thus he won my heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My royal husband shared it; shares this hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My trust that 'mid the altars reared by us<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To grace this chiefest Minster of our realm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May rest the relics of our household Saint—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To spurn them from your threshold were to shame.'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span><span class="i2">She spake: benign and soft the answering voice:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Entreat us not, thou mourner true and kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest we, by pity from the straight path drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sin more than thou. Thou know'st what thing love is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus loving one who died before thy birth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up to the measure of high love and fit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou lov'st him for this cause, because thy heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath never rested on base love and bad:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lady, a sterner severance monks have made:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not base and bad alone do they reject,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lesser good for better and for best:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore what yet remains they love indeed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A single earthly love is theirs unblamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their Country! Lo, the wild-bird loves her nest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lions their caves:—to us God gave a Country.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What heart of man but loves that mother-land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose omnipresent arms are round him still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vale and plain; whose voice in every stream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose breath his forehead cools; whose eyes with joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Regard her offspring issuing forth each morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On duteous tasks; to rest each eve returning?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who that loves her but must hate her foes?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lady, accept God's Will, nor strive by prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To change it. In our guest-house rest this night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, and thy train.'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i25">Severe the Queen replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Yea, in thy guest-house I will lodge this night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unvanquished, undiscouraged, not to cease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From prayer: of that be sure. I make henceforth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My prayer to God, not man. To Him I pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Lord of all, Who changes at His will<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stony heart to flesh.'<br /></span> +<span class="i27">She spake: then turned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On those old faces, keenlier than before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her large slow eyes; and instant in her face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sadness deepened: but the wrath was gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sadness said, 'Love then as deep as mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grief like mine, in other breasts may spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From source how different!' Long she gazed, like child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That knows not she is seen to gaze, with looks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though she took that hoary-headed band<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into her sorrowing heart. Silent she sighed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then passed into the guest-house with her train:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There prayed all night for him, that Saint in heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ill-honoured upon earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Within their church<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime the monks the 'Dies Iræ' sang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The yellow tapers ranged as round a corse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Penitential Psalms in order due.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their rite was for the living: ere the time<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span><span class="i0">They sang the obsequies of sentenced men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foreboding wrath to come. Sad Fancy heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flames up-rushing o'er their convent home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ruin of their church late-built, the wreck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It might be of their Order. Fierce they knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Mercian royal House! Against their King<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hurled no ban: venial they deemed his crime:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'He moves within the limits of his right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though wrongly measuring right. He sees but this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His subjects break his laws. Some sin of youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may be hides from him a right more high:'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus spake they in their hearts.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">While rival thus<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brethren and the Queen sent up their prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sacred night hung midway in her course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, there fell from God tempest and storm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buffeting that abbey's walls. The woods around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Devastated by stress of blast on blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howled like the howling of wild beasts when fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invests their ambush, and their cubs late-born<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blaze in red flame. Trembling, the strong-built towers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoed the woodland moans. All night the Queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Propped by those two fair Seraphs, Faith and Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prayed on in hope, or hearing not that storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or mindful that where danger most abounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There God is nearest still. Meantime the Tent<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span><span class="i0">Covering that royal Bier, unshaken stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the unyielding abbey-gates close-barred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like something shielded by a heavenly charm:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When morning came, shattered all round it lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both trunk and bough; but in the rising sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storm-drop shook not on that snowy shrine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Things wondrous more that Legend old records:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An hour past sunrise from the meads and moors<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came wide-eyed herdsmen thronging, with demand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'What means this marvel? All the long still night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While heaven and earth were dark, and peaceful sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closed in her arms the wearied race of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keeping our herds on meads and moorlands chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We saw a glittering Tent beside your gates:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above it, and not far, a pillar stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All light, and high as heaven!' The abbot answered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Fair Sirs, ye dreamed a dream; and sound your sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Untroubled by the terror of the storm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereof those woodland fragments witness still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a forest patriarch prostrate laid:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There rose no pillar by our gates: yon Tent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood there, and stood alone.' In two hours' space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shepherds arrived, from hills remoter sped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making the same demand. With eye ill pleased<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus answered brief the prior: 'Friends, ye jest!'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span><span class="i0">And they in wrath departed. Once again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came foresters from Lindsay's utmost bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On horses blown, and spake: 'O'er yonder Tent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all the courses of the long still night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, a shining pillar hovering stood:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It rained a glory on your convent walls:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It flung a trail of splendour o'er your woods:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We watched it hour by hour. Like Oswald's Cross<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Heaven-Field planted in the days of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It waxed in height:—the stars were quenched.' Replied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With reddening brows the youngest of those monks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Sirs, ye have had your bribe, and told your tale:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Depart!' and they departed great in scorn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Long time the brethren sat; discoursed long time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each with his neighbour. 'Craft of man would force<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dishonest deed on this our holy House,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By miracles suborned;' thus spake the first:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The second answered, 'Ay, confederates they!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The good Queen knew not of it:' then the third,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Not so! these men are simple folks, I ween:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor time for fraud had they. What sail is yon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So weather-worn that nears the headland?' Soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pilot stood before them; at his side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A priest, long years an inmate of their House,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But late a pilgrim in the Holy Land.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span><span class="i0">Their greetings over, greetings warm and kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus spake the Pilgrim: 'Brothers mine, rejoice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our God is with us! For our House I prayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three times with forehead on the Tomb of Christ;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Last night there came to me, in visible form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An answer to that prayer. All day our ship,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before a great wind rushed t'ward Mercian shores:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To them I turned not: on the East I gazed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O happy East," I mused, "O Land, true home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of every Christian heart! The Saviour's feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy streets, thy cornfields trod! With these compared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our country's self seems nothing!" In my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imaged successive, rose once more those sites<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Capernaum, Nain, Bethsaida, Bethlehem—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er my feet had strayed. At midnight, cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wonder rang around me, and I turned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw once more our convent on its hill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw beside its gate a Tent snow-white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw a glittering pillar o'er that Tent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt heaven and earth suspense! Serene it shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such pillar as led forth the Chosen Race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By night from Egypt's coasts. From wave to wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moon-like it paved a path! I cried, "Thank God!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For who shall stay yon splendour till it reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Syrian shore? England," I said, "my country,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall lay upon Christ's Tomb a hand all light,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span><span class="i0">Whatever tempest shakes the world of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thenceforth His servant vowed!"'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">When ceased that voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There fell upon the monks a crisis strange;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where that Pilgrim looked for joy, behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubt, wrath, and anguish! Faces old long since<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew older, stricken as by hectic spasm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So fierce a pang had clutched them by the throat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While drops of sweat on many a wrinkled brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung large like dewy beads condensed from mist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On cliffs by torrents shaken. Mute they sat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then sudden rose, uplifting helpless hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when from distant rock sore-wounded men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who all day long have watched some dreadful fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold it lost, or else foresee it lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with it lost their country's hearths and homes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet can bring no succour. Thus with them—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They knew themselves defeated; deemed the stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of heaven had fought against them in their course;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet still believed, and could not but believe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their cause the cause of Justice, and its wreck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wreck of priestly honour, patriot faith:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last the youngest of the brethren spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Come what come may, God's monks must guard the Right.'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death-like a silence on that conclave fell—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span><span class="i0">Then rose a monk white-headed, well-nigh blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Esteemed a Saint, who had not uttered speech<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since came the tidings of the Queen's resolve:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low-voiced he spake, with eyes upon the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And inward smile that dimly reached his lips:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Brethren, be wary lest ye strive with God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through wrath, that blind incontinence of age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For what He wills He works. By passion warped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye deem this trial strange, this conflict new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yourselves doomed men that stand between two Fates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On one side right, on one side miracles!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brethren, the chief of miracles is this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That knowing what ye know ye know no more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye know long since that Oswald is a Saint:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye know the sins of Saints are sins forgiven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What then? Shall man revenge where God forgives?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be wroth with those He loves? Ye, seeing much,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See not the sun at noontide! God last night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sent you in love a miracle of love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To quell in you a miracle of wrath:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Discern its import true!<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Sum up the past!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus much is sure: we heard those thunder peals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unheard by hind or shepherd, near or far:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis sure not less that light the shepherds saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We saw not; neither we nor yet the Queen<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span><span class="i0">What then? Is God not potent to divulge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thing He wills, or hide it? Brethren, God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrouding from us that beam far dwellers saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Admonished us perchance that far is near;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ofttimes distance makes intelligible<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What, nigh at hand, is veiled. This too He taught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That when Northumbrian foot our Mercia spurned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The men who saw that ruin saw not all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The light of Christ drew near us in that hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His pillar o'er us stood, and in our midst:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pang, the shame, were transient. See the whole!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The old man paused a space, and then resumed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Brethren, that day our country suffered wrong:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One day she may inflict it. Years may bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The aggressor of past time a penitent grief;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wronged may meet her penitence with scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Guiltier through malice than her foe's worst rage:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were it not well to leave that time unborn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Magnanimous ensample? Hard it were<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lay in Mercian earth the unforgiven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Wholly</i> to pardon—that I deem not hard.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My voice is this: forgive we Oswald's sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lay his relics in our costliest shrine!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus spake the aged man. That self-same eve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The western sun descending, while the church,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grey shaft transfigured by the glow divine,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span><span class="i0">Grey wall in flame of light pacific washed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone out all golden like that flower all gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which shoots through sunset airs an arrowy beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In charity perfected moved the monks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer sad, a long procession forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With foreheads smoothed as by the kiss of death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eyes like eyes of Saints from death new risen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bearing the relics of Northumbria's King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oswald, the man of God. Behind them paced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warriors and chiefs; Osthryda last, the Queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With face whereon that great miraculous light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By her all night unseen, appeared to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And foot that might have trod the ocean waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unwetted save its palm. A shrine gem-wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Received the royal relics. O'er them drooped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Northumbria's standard, guest of Mercian airs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through which it once had sailed, a portent dire:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whosoe'er in after centuries knelt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Oswald's grave, and, praying, wooed his prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Departed, in his heart the peace of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passions corrupt expelled, and demon snares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Irreverent love, and anger past its bound.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="HOW_SAINT_CUTHBERT_KEPT_HIS_PENTECOST_AT_CARLISLE" id="HOW_SAINT_CUTHBERT_KEPT_HIS_PENTECOST_AT_CARLISLE"></a><i>HOW SAINT CUTHBERT KEPT HIS PENTECOST AT CARLISLE.</i></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Saint Cuthbert while a boy wanders among the woods of Northumbria, +bringing solace to all. Later he lives alone in the island of +Farne. Being made bishop, many predict that he will be able neither +to teach his people nor to rule his diocese. His people flock to +him gladly, but require that he should teach them by parable and +tale. This he does, and likewise rules his diocese with might. He +discourses concerning common life. Keeping his Pentecost at +Carlisle, he preaches on that Feast and the Resurrection from the +Dead. Herbert, an eremite, beseeching him that the two may die the +same day, he prays accordingly, and they die the same hour. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Saint Cuthbert, yet a youth, for many a year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walked up and down the green Northumbrian vales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well loving God and man. The rockiest glens<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And promontories shadowing loneliest seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where lived the men least cared for, most forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sought, and brought to each the words of peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er he went he preached that God all Love;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span><span class="i0">For, as the sun in heaven, so flamed in him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That love which later fired Assisi's Saint:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, rumour ran that every mountain beast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Obeyed his loving call; that when all night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knelt upon the frosty hills in prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hare would couch her by his naked feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warm them with her fur. To manhood grown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dwelt in Lindisfarne; there, year by year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prospering yet more in vigil and in fast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And paced its shores by night, and blent his hymns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With din of waves. Yet ofttimes o'er the strait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He passed, once more in search of suffering men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wafting them solace still. Where'er he went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those loved as children first, again he loved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As youth and maid, and in them nursed that Faith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through which pure youth passes o'er passion's waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Him Who trod that Galilean sea:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He clasped the grey-grown sinner in his arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And won from him repentance long delayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then with him shared the penance he enjoined.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O heart both strong and tender! offering Mass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awe-struck he stood as though on Calvary's height:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The men who marked him shook.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Twelve winters passed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then mandate fell upon the Saint from God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or breathed upon him from the heavenly height,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span><span class="i0">Or haply from within. It drave him forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hermit into solitudes more stern.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Farewell,' he said, 'my brethren and my friends!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No holier life than yours, pure Cœnobites<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pacing one cloister, sharing one spare meal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chanting to God one hymn! yet I must forth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Farewell, my friends, farewell!' On him they gazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And knew that God had spoken to his soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And silent stood, though sorrowing.<br /></span> +<span class="i38">Long that eve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brethren grieved, noting his vacant stall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet thus excused their sadness: 'Well for him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And high his place in heaven; but woe to those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Henceforth of services like his amerced!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here lived he in the world; here many throng;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him in time some lesser bishopric<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might well have fallen, behoof of countless souls!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such dream is past forever!'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Forth he fared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Farne, a little rocky islet nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where man till then had never dared to dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By dreadful rumours scared. In narrow cave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worn from the rock, and roughly walled around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The anchoret made abode, with lonely hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raising from one poor strip his daily food,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Barley thin-grown, and coarse. He saw by day<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span><span class="i0">The clouds on-sailing, and by night the stars;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard the eternal waters. Thus recluse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man lived on in vision still of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through contemplation known: and as the shades,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each other chase all day o'er steadfast hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even so, athwart that Vision unremoved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever rushed the tumults of this world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man's fleeting life, the rise and fall of states,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While changeless measured change; the spirit of prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fanning that wondrous picture oft to flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until the glory grew insufferable.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long years thus lived he. As the Apostle Paul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though raised in raptures to the heaven of heavens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not therefore loved his brethren less, but longed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To give his life—his all—for Israel's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So Cuthbert, loving God, loved man the more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wont of old. To him the mourners came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sinners bound by Satan. At his touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their chains fell from them light as summer dust:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each word he spake was as a Sacrament<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clothed with God's grace; beside his feet they sat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in their perfect mind; thence through the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bare their deliverer's name.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">So passed his life:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There old he grew, and older yet appeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By fasts outworn, though ever young at heart;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span><span class="i0">When lo! before that isle a barge there drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bearing the royal banner. Egfrid there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With regal sceptre sat, and many an earl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a mitred bishop at his side.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Northumbria's see was void: a council's voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joined with a monarch's called him to its throne:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain he wept, and knelt, and sued for grace:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Six months' reprieve alone he won; then ruled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Lindisfarne, chief Bishop of the North.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But certain spake who deemed that they were wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fools all beside: 'Shall Cuthbert crosier lift?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A child, 'tis known he herded flocks for hire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Housed in old Renspid's hut, his Irish nurse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who told him tales of Leinster Kings, his sires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how her hands, their palace wrecked in war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had snatched him from its embers. Yet a boy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He rode to Melrose and its wondering monks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mimic warrior, in his hand a lance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With shepherd youth for page, and spake: "'Tis known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christ's kingdom is a kingdom militant:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A son of Kings I come to guard His right<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And battle 'gainst his foes!" For lance and sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A book they gave him; and they made him monk:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Savage since then he couches on a rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As fame reports, with birds' nests in his beard!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span><span class="i0">Can dreamers change to Bishops? Vision-dazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Move where he may, that slowly wandering eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will see in man no more than kites or hawks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men, if they note, will flee him.' Thus they buzzed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Self-praised, and knowing not that simpleness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is sacred soil, and sown with royal seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heroic seed and saintly.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Mitred once<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such gibes no more assailed him: one short month<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sufficed the petty cavil to confute;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One month well chronicled in book which verse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Late born, alas, in vain would emulate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once he called to mind the days that were;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wanderings in Northumbrian glens; the hearths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That welcomed him so joyously; at once<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within his breast the heart parental yearned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He longed to see his children, scattered wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Humber's bank to Tweed, from sea to sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cried to those around him: 'Let us forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And visit all my charge; and since Carlisle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remotest sits upon its western bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep there this year our Pentecost!' Next day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He passed the sands, left hard by ebbing tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His cross-bearer and brethren six in front,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trod the mainland. Reverent, first he sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His childhood's nurse, and 'neath her humble roof<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span><span class="i0">Abode one night. To Melrose next he fared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honouring his master old.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Southward once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returning, scarce a bow-shot from the woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There rode to him a mighty thane, one-eyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With warriors circled, on a jet-black horse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Barbaric shape and huge, yet frank as fierce,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who thus made boast: 'A Jute devout am I!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What raised that convent-pile on yonder rock?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This hand! I wrenched the hillside from a foe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By force, and gave it to thy Christian monks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To spite yet more those Angles! Island Saint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unprofitable have I found thy Faith!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, those priests, thy thralls, are savage men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unrighteous, ruthless! For a sin of mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They laid on me a hundred days of fast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man am I keen-witted: friend and liege<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I summoned, shewed my wrong, and ended thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Sirs, ye are ninety-nine, the hundredth I;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I counsel that we share this fast among us!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow from the dawn to evening's star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No food as bulky as a spider's tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall pass our lips; and thus in one day's time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My hundred days of fast shall stand fulfilled."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrathful they rose, and sware by Peter's keys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fight they would, albeit 'gainst Peter's self;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span><span class="i0">But fast they would not save for personal sins.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Signal I made: then backward rolled the gates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, captured thus, they fasted without thanks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cancelling my debt—a hundred days in one!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beseech you, Father, chide your priests who breed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contention thus 'mid friends!' The Saint replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Penance is irksome, Thane: to 'scape its scourge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ways are there various; and the easiest this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep far from mortal sin.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Where'er he faced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The people round him pressed—the sick, the blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young mothers sad because a babe was pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Likewise the wives of fishers, praying loud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their husbands' safe return. Rejoiced he was<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see them, hear them, touch them; wearied never:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er they said delighted still he heard:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rise and fall of empires touched him less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The book rich-blazoned, or the high-towered church:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'We have,' he said, 'God's children, and their God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rest is fancy's work.' Him too they loved;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loved him the more because, so great and wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stumbled oft in trifles. Once he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'How well those pine-trees shield the lamb from wind!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A smile ran round; at last the boldest spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Father, these are not pine-trees—these are oaks.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Cuthbert answered, 'Oaks, good sooth, they are!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span><span class="i0">In youth I knew the twain apart: the pine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wears on his head the Cross.' Instruction next<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gave them, how the Cross had vanquished sin:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then first abstruse to some appeared his words.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Father,' they answered, 'speak in parables!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For pleasant is the tale, and, onward passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keeps in our hearts thy lesson.'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">While they spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A youth rich-vested tossed his head and cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Father, why thus converse with untaught hinds?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their life is but the life of gnats and flies:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They think but of the hour. Behold yon church!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I reared it both for reverence of thy Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And likewise that through ages yet to come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My name might live in honour!' At that word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cuthbert made answer: 'Hear the parable!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My people craved for such.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">A monk there lived<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holiest of men reputed. He was first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On winter mornings in the freezing stall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meekest when chidden; fervent most in prayer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, late in life, when heresies arose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That book he wrote, like tempest winged from God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drave them to darkness back. Grey-haired he died;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With honour was interred. The years went by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His grave they opened. Peacefully he slept,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span><span class="i0">Unchanged, the smile of death upon his lips:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the right hand alone, for so it seemed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had Death retained his power: five little lines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White ashes, showed where once the fingers lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All saw it—simple, learned, rich and poor:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None might divine the cause. That night, behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Saintly Shape beside the abbot stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright like the sun except one lifted palm—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thereon there lay a stain. 'Behold that hand!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Spirit spake, 'that, toiling twenty years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sent forth that book which pacified the world;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For it the world would canonise me Saint!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See that ye do it not! Inferior tasks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wrought for God alone. Building that book<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too oft I mused, "Far years will give thee praise."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I expiate that offence.'<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Another day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sweet-faced woman raised her voice, and cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Father! those sins denounced by God I flee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet tasks imposed by God too oft neglect:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands thus a soul imperilled?' Cuthbert spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ye sued for parables; I speak in such,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though ill, a language strange to me, and new.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There lived a man who shunned committed sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet daily by omission sinned and knew it:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his own way, not God's, he served his God;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span><span class="i0">And there was with him peace; yet not God's peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So passed his youth. In age he dreamed a dream:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dreamed that, being dead, he raised his eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw a mountain range of frozen snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard, "Committed sins innumerable<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though each one small—so small thou knew'st them not—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uplifted, flake by flake as sin by sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon barrier 'twixt thy God and thee! Arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembering that of sins despair is worst:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be strong, and scale it!" Fifty years he scaled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those hills; so long it seemed. A cavern next<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Entering, with mole-like hands he scooped his way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And reached at last the gates of morn. Ah me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A stone's cast from him rose the Tree of Life:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard its sighs ecstatic: Full in view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Beatific River rolled; beyond<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All-glorious shone the City of the Saints<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clothed with God's light! And yet from him that realm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was severed by a gulf! Not wide that strait;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed a strong man's leap twice told—no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, as insuperably soared that cliff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfathomably thus its sheer descent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walled the abyss. Again he heard that Voice:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Henceforth no place remains for active toils,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Penance for acts perverse. Inactive sloth<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span><span class="i0">Through passive suffering meets its due. On earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sloth a nothing seemed; a nothing now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That chasm whose hollow bars thee from the Blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor slender film of insubstantial air.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Self-help is here denied thee; for that cause<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A twofold term thou need'st of pain love-taught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To expiate Love that lacked." That term complete<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An angel caught him o'er that severing gulf:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thenceforth he saw his God.'<br /></span> +<span class="i29">With such discourse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Progress, though slow and interrupted oft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Saint of God, by no delay perturbed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made daily through his sacred charge. One eve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He walked by pastures arched along the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many companied. The on-flowing breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glazed the green hill-tops, bending still one way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glossy grasses: limitless below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ocean mirror, clipped by cape or point<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With low trees inland leaning, lay like lakes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flooding rich lowlands. Southward far, a rock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touched by a rainy beam, emerged from mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shone, half green, half gold. That rock was Farne:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though strangers, those that kenned it guessed its name:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Doubtless 'twas there,' they said, 'our Saint abode!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then pressed around him, questioning: 'Rumour goes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father beloved, that in thine island home<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span><span class="i0">Thou sat'st all day with hammer small in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shaping, from pebbles veined, miraculous beads<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That save their wearers still from sword and lance:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are these things true? 'Smiling the Saint replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'True, and not true! That isle in part is spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pebbles divers-fashioned, some like beads:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gathered such, and gave to many a guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adding, "Such beads shall count thy nightly prayers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray well; then fear no peril!"'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Others came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus demanded: 'Rumour fills the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father, that birds miraculous crowned thine isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And awe-struck let thee lift them in thy hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though scared by all beside.' Smiling once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Saint made answer, 'True, and yet not true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sea-birds elsewhere beheld not throng that isle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A breed so loving and so firm in trust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, yet unharmed by man, they flee not man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wondering they gaze; who wills may close upon them!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I signed a league betwixt that race and man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pledging the mariners who sought my cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To reverence still that trust.' He ended thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'My friends, ye seek me still for parables;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seek them from Nature rather:—here are two!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those pebble-beads are words from Nature's lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exhorting man to pray; those fearless birds<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span><span class="i0">Teach him that trust to innocence belongs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By right divine, and more avails than craft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To shield us from the aggressor.' Some were glad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearing that doctrine; others cried, 'Not so!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Saint—all know it—makes miraculous beads;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, being humble, he conceals his might:'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many an age, when slept that Saint in death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passing his isle by night the sailor heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint Cuthbert's hammer clinking on the rock;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And age by age men cried, 'Our Cuthbert's birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revere the Saint's command.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">While thus they spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A horseman over moorlands near the Tweed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made hasty way, and thus addressed the Saint:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Father, Queen Ermenburga greets thee well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this her message:—"Queen am I forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long buffeted by many a storm of state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And worn at heart besides; for in our house<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace lived not inmate, but a summer guest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, my lord, the King is slain in fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And changed the aspect now things wore of old:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou therefore, man of God, approach my gates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With counsel sage. This further I require;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy counsel must be worthy of a Queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor aught contain displeasing."' Cuthbert spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'My charge requires my presence at Carlisle;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span><span class="i0">Beseech the Queen to meet me near its wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On this day fortnight.'<br /></span> +<span class="i24">Thitherwards thenceforth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swiftlier he passed, while daily from the woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woodmen flocked, and shepherds from the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Concourse still widening. These among there moved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hermit meek as childhood, calm as eld,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long years Saint Cuthbert's friend. Recluse he lived<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within a woody isle of that fair lake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Derwent lulled and Greta. Others thronged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round Cuthbert's steps; that hermit stood apart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With large dark eyes upon his countenance fixed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pale cheek dewed with tears. The name he bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was 'Herbert of the Lake.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Two weeks went by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Cuthbert reached his journey's end. Next day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God sent once more His Feast of Pentecost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gladden men; and all His Church on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone out, irradiate as by silver gleams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashed from her whiter Sister in the skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every altar laughed, and every hearth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a simple hind in spirit heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind which through that 'upper chamber' swept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Careering through the universe of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New life through all things poured. Cuthbert that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Borne on by wingèd winds of rapturous thought,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span><span class="i0">Forth from Carlisle had fared alone, and reached<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere long a mead tree-girded;—in its midst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swift-flowing Eden raced from fall to fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Showering at times her spray on flowers as fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As graced that earlier Eden; flowers so light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each feeblest breath impalpable to man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now shook them and now swayed. Delighted eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Saint upon them fixed. Ere long he gazed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As glad on crowds thronging the river's marge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For now the high-walled city poured abroad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her children rich and poor. At last he spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Glory to Him Who made both flowers and souls!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He doeth all things well! A few weeks past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon river rushed by wintry banks forlorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What decks it thus to-day? The voice of Spring!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She called those flowers from darkness forth: she flashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her life into the snowy breast of each:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This day she sits enthroned on each and all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thrones are myriad; but the Enthroned is One!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He paused; then, kindling, added thus: 'O friends!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis thus with human souls through faith re-born:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One Spirit calls them forth from darkness; shapes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One Christ, in each conceived, its life of life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One God finds rest enthroned on all. Once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thrones are many; but the Enthroned is One!'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span><span class="i0">Again he paused, and mused: again he spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Yea, and in heaven itself, a hierarchy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is that glories in the name of "Thrones:"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The high cherubic knowledge is not theirs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not theirs the fiery flight of Seraph's love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all their restful beings they dilate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make a single, myriad throne for God—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Children, abide in unity and love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall your lives be one long Pentecost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your hearts one throne for God!'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">As thus he spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A breeze, wide-wandering through the woodlands near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Illumed their golden roofs, while louder sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The birds on every bough. Then horns were heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resonant from stem to stem, from rock to rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While moved in sight a stately cavalcade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flushing the river's crystal. Of that host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foremost and saddest Ermenburga rode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Queen sad-eyed, with large imperial front<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By sorrow seamed: a lady rode close by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind her earls and priests. Though proud to man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her inborn greatness made her meek to God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She signed the Saint to stay not his discourse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And placed her at his feet.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">His words were great:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spake of Pentecost; no transient grace,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span><span class="i0">No fugitive act, consummated, then gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But God's perpetual presence in that Church<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-shadowed still, like Mary, by His Spirit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fecundated in splendour by His Truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made loving through His Love. The reign of Love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He showed, though perfected in Christ alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not less co-eval with the race of man:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For what is man? Not mind: the beasts can think:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not passions; appetites: the beasts have these:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, but Affections ruled by Laws Divine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These make the life of man. Of these he spake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proclaimed of these the glory. These to man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are countless loves revealing Love Supreme:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These and the Virtues, warp and woof, enweave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A single robe—that sacrificial garb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worn from the first by man, whose every act<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love in spirit was self-sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And prophesied the Sacrifice Eterne:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through these the world becomes one household vast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through these each hut swells to a universe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Traversed by stateliest energies wind-swift,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And planet-crowned, beneath their Maker's eye.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All hail, Affections, angels of the earth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woe to that man who boasts of love to God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet his neighbour scorns! While Cuthbert spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A young man whispered to a priest, 'Is yon<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span><span class="i0">That Anchoret of the rock? Where learned he then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This loving reverence for the hearth and home?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mark too that glittering brow!' The priest replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'What! shall a bridegroom's face alone be bright?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knows a better mystery! This he knows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, come what may, all o'er the earth forever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God keeps His blissful Bridal-feast with man:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each true heart there is guest!'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Once more the Saint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose and spake: 'O loving friends, my children,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christ's sons, His flock committed to my charge!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I spake to you but now of humbler ties,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not highest, with intent that ye might know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How pierced are earthly bonds by heavenly beam;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, speaking with lame tongue in parables,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shewed you but similitudes of things—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twilight, not day. Make question then who will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall I mend my teaching.'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Prompt and bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As children issuing forth to holyday,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then flocked to Cuthbert's school full many a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Successive: each with simpleness of heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His doubt propounded; each his question asked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, careless who might hear, confessed his sins,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And absolution won. Among the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little seven years' boy, with sweet, still face,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span><span class="i0">Yet strong not less, and sage, drew softly near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His great calm eyes upon the patriarch fixed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And silent stood. From Wessex came that boy:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By chance Northumbria's guest. Meantime a chief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Demanded thus: 'Of all the works of might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What task is worthiest?' Cuthbert made reply:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'His who to land barbaric fearless fares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And open flings God's palace gate to all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cries "Come in!"' That concourse thrilled for joy:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone that seven years' child retained the word:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rest forgat it. 'Winifrede' that day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men called him; later centuries, 'Boniface,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because he shunned the ill, and wrought the good:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In time the Teuton warriors knew that brow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their great Apostle he: they knew that voice:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And happy Fulda venerates this day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her martyr's gravestone.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Next, to Cuthbert drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three maidens hand in hand, lovely as Truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trustful, though shy: their thoughts, when hidden most,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wore but a semilucid veil, as when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through gold-touched crystal of the lime new-leaved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On April morns the symmetry looks forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of branch and bough distinct. Smiling, they put<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last their question: 'Tell us, man of God,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span><span class="i0">What life, of lives that women lead, is best;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then show us forth in parables that life!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He answered: 'Three; for each of these is best:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First comes the Maiden's: she who lives it well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Serves God in marble chapel white as snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His priestess—His alone. Cold flowers each morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She culls ere sunrise by the stainless stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lays them on that chapel's altar-stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sings her matins there. Her feet are swift<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day in labours 'mid the vales below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheering sad hearts: each evening she returns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To that high fane, and there her vespers sings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then sleeps, and dreams of heaven.'<br /></span> +<span class="i36">With witching smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The youngest of that beauteous triad cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'That life is sweetest! I would be that maid!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cuthbert resumed: 'The Christian Wife comes next:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She drinks a deeper draught of life: round her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ampler sweep its sympathies extend:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An infant's cry has knocked against her heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Evoking thence that human love wherein<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Self-love hath least. Through infant eyes a spirit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath looked upon her, crying, "I am thine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creature from God—dependent yet on thee!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thenceforth she knows how greatness blends with weakness;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span><span class="i0">Reverence, thenceforth, with pity linked, reveals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To her the pathos of the life of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thing divine, and yet at every pore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bleeding from crownèd brows. A heart thus large<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath room for many sorrows. What of that?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its sorrow is its dowry's noblest part.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She bears it not alone. Such griefs, so shared—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sickness, and fear, and vigils lone and long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waken her heart to love sublimer far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than ecstasies of youth could comprehend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift her perchance to heights serene as those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Ascetic treadeth.'<br /></span> +<span class="i24">'I would be that wife!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus cried the second of those maidens three:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet who that gazed upon her could have guessed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creature so soft could bear a heart so brave?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She seemed that goodness which was beauteous too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Virtue at once, and Virtue's bright reward;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delight that lifts, not lowers us; made for heaven;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made too to change to heaven some brave man's hearth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She added thus: 'Of lives that women lead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell us the third!'<br /></span> +<span class="i20">Gently the Saint replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The third is Widowhood—a wintry sound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet, for her who widow is indeed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That winter something keeps of autumn's gold,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span><span class="i0">Something regains of Spring's first flower snow-white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snow-cold, and colder for its rim of green.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She feels no more the warmly-greeting hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eyes she brightened rest on her no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her full-orbed being now is cleft in twain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her past is dead: daily from memory's self<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear things depart; yet still she is a wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wife the more because of bridal bonds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lives but their essence, waiting wings in heaven;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More wife; and yet, in that great loneliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More maiden too than when first maidenhood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lacked what it missed not. Like that other maid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She too a lonely Priestess serves her God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, though her chapel be a funeral vault,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its altar black like Death;—the flowers thereon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tinct with the Blood Divine. Above that vault<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She hears the anthems of the Spouse of Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Widowed, like her, though Bride.'<br /></span> +<span class="i36">'O fair, O sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O beauteous lives all three; fair lot of women!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus cried again the youngest of those Three,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too young to know the touch of grief—or cause it—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A plant too lightly leaved to cast a shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eldest with pale cheek, and lids tear-wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made answer sad: 'I would not be a widow.'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then Cuthbert spake once more with smile benign:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span><span class="i0">'I said that each of these three lives is best:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are who live those three conjoined in one:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The nun thus lives! What maid is maid like her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, free to choose, has vowed a maidenhood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secure 'gainst chance or choice? What bride like her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose Bridegroom is the spouse of vestal souls?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What widow lives in such austere retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such hourly thought of him she ne'er can join<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save through the gate of death? If those three lives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In separation lived are fair and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How show they, blent in one?'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Of those who heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The most part gladdened; those who knew how high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Virtue, renouncing all besides for God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath leave to soar on earth. Yet many sighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jealous for happy homesteads. Cuthbert marked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shame-faced sadness, and continued thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'To praise the nun reproaches not, O friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But praises best that life of hearth and home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Cana blessed by Him who shared it not.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The uncloistered life is holy too, and oft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through changeful years in soft succession links<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those three fair types of woman; holds, diffused,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That excellence severe which life detached<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sustains in concentration.' Long he mused;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then added thus: 'When last I roved these vales<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span><span class="i0">There lived, not distant far, a blessed one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revered by all: her name was Ethelreda:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew her long, and much from her I learned.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath her Pagan father's roof there sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ofttimes a Christian youth. With him the child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walked, calling him "her friend." He loved the maid:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still young, he drew her to the fold of Christ;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Espoused her three years later; died in war<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere three months passed. For her he never died!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortalised by faith that bond lived on;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now close by, and now 'mid Saints of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She saw her husband walk. She never wept;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fire which lit her eye and flushed her cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dried up, it seemed, her tears: the neighbours round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Called her "the lady of the happy marriage."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She died long since, I doubt not.' Forward stepped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A slight, pale maid, the daughter of a bard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And answered thus: 'Two months ago she died.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Cuthbert: 'Tell me, maiden, of her death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see you be not chary of your words,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For well I loved that woman.' Tears unfelt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fast streaming down her pallid cheek, the maid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Replied—yet often paused: 'A sad, sweet end!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A long night's pain had left her living still:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I found her on the threshold of her door:—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span><span class="i0">Her cheek was white; but, trembling round her lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dimly o'er her countenance spread, there lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something that, held in check by feebleness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet tended to a smile. A cloak tight-drawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the cold March wind screened her, save one hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched on her knee, that reached to where a beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thin slip of watery sunshine, sunset's last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slid through the branches. On that beam, methought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rested her eyes half-closed. It was not so:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For when I knelt, and kissed that hand ill-warmed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling she said: "The small, unwedded maid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has missed her mark! You should have kissed the ring!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full forty years upon a widowed hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It holds its own. It takes its latest sunshine."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She lived through all that night, and died while dawned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through snows Saint Joseph's morn.'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">The Queen, with hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden and swift, brushed from her cheek a tear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a sob from that thick-crowding host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confessed what tenderest love can live in hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Defamed by fools as barbarous. Cuthbert sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence long. Before his eyes she passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maid, the wife, the widow, all in one;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With these,—through these—he saw once more the child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, saw the child's smile on the lips of death,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span><span class="i0">That magic, mystic, smile! O heart of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What strange capacities of grief and joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are thine! How vain, how ruthless such, if given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For transient things alone! O life of man!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What wert thou but some laughing demon's scoff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If prelude only to the eternal grave!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Deep cries to deep'—ay, but the deepest deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crying to summits of the mount of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drags forth for echo, 'Immortality.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was the Death Divine that vanquished death!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shorn of that Death Divine the Life Divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Albeit its feeblest tear had cleansed all worlds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cancelled all guilt, had failed to reach and sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deepest in man's nature, Love and Grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Profoundest each when joined in penitent woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Failed thence to wake man's hope. The loftiest light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashed from God's Face on Reason's orient verge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Answers that bird-cry from the <i>Heart</i> of man—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Heart that, darkling, kept so long its watch—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The auspice of the dawn.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Like one inspired<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Saint arose, and raised his hands to God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then to his people turned with such discourse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As mocks the hand of scribe. No more he spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In parables; adumbrated no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Dimly as in a glass' his doctrine high,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span><span class="i0">But placed it face to face before men's eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Essential Truth, God's image, meet for man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself God's image. Worlds he showed them new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worlds countless as the stars that roof our night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair fruitage of illimitable boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pushed from that Tree of Life from Calvary sprung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That over-tops and crowns the earth and man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Preached the Resurgent, the Ascended God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dispensing 'gifts to men.' The tongue he spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed Pentecostal—grace of that high Feast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all who heard, the simple and the sage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard still a single language sounding forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all one Promise. From that careworn Queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who doffed her crown, and placed it on the rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Murmuring, 'Farewell forever, foolish gaud,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him the humblest hearer, all made vow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To live thenceforth for God. The form itself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of each was changed to saintly and to sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each countenance beamed as though with rays cast down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From fiery tongues, or angel choirs unseen.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus like high gods on mountain-tops of joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those happy listeners sat. The body quelled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all that body's might usurped to cramp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through ceaseless, yet unconscious, weight of sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conceptions spiritual, might more subtly skilled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than lusts avowed, to sap the spirit's life—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span><span class="i0">In every soul its nobler Powers released<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood up, no more a jarring crowd confused<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each trampling each and oft the worst supreme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not thus, but grade o'er grade, in order due,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pomp hierarchical. Yet hand in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not severed, stood those Powers. To every Mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That truth new learned was palpable and dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not abstract nor remote, with cordial strength<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enclasped as by a heart; through every Heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Serene affections swam 'mid seas of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reason's translucent empire without bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fountained from God. Silent those listeners sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Parleying in wordless thought. For them the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was lost—and won; its sensuous aspects quenched;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its heavenly import grasped. The erroneous Past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay like a shrivelled scroll before their feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweet as some immeasurable rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Expanding leaf on leaf, varying yet one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Everlasting Present round them glowed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dead was desire, and dead not less was fear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fear of change—of death.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">An hour went by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun declined: then rising from his seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Herbert, the anchoret of the lonely lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made humble way to Cuthbert's feet with suit:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'O Father, and O friend, thou saw'st me not;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span><span class="i0">Yet day by day thus far I tracked thy steps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At distance, for my betters leaving place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great and wise that round thee thronged; the young<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who ne'er till then had seen thy face; the old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who saw it then, yet scarce again may see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Father, a happier lot was mine, thou know'st,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or had been save for sin of mine: each year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sought thy cell, thy words of wisdom heard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet still, alas! lived on like sensual men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who yield their hearts to creatures—fixing long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A foolish eye on gold-touched leaf, or flower—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not Him, the great Creator. Father and Friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The years run past. I crave one latest boon:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grant that we two may die the self-same day!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Cuthbert knelt, and prayed. At last he spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Thy prayer is heard; the self-same day and hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We two shall die.'<br /></span> +<span class="i20">That promise was fulfilled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For two years only on exterior tasks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God set His servant's hands—the man who 'sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all things rest,' nor e'er had ceased from rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then when his task was heaviest. Two brief years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He roamed on foot his spiritual realm:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The simple still he taught: the sad he cheered:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er he went he founded churches still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And convents; yea, and, effort costlier far,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span><span class="i0">Spared not to scan defect with vigilant eye:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That eye the boldest called not 'vision-dazed';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Saint he found no 'dreamer:' sloth or greed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Scaped not his vengeance: scandals hid he not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dragged them into day, and smote them down:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before his face he drave the hireling priest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bandit thane: unceasing cried, 'Ye kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cease from your wars! Ye masters, loose your slaves!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two years sufficed; for all that earlier life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had trained the Ascetic for those works of might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the attempt of all but boundless love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in him kept unspent the fire divine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never such Bishop walked till then the North,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever since, nor ever, centuries fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So lived in hearts of men. Two years gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His strength decayed. He sought once more his cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sea-lulled; and lived alone with God; and saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more, like lights that sweep the unmoving hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's providences girdling all the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With glory following glory. Tenderer-souled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Herbert meantime within his isle abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At midnight listening Derwent's gladsome voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mingling with deep-toned Greta's, 'Mourner' named;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pacing, each day, the shore; now gazing glad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On gold-touched leaf, or bird that cut the mere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now grieved at wandering thoughts. For men he prayed;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span><span class="i0">And ever strove to raise his soul to God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And God, Who venerates still the pure intent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgat not his; and since his spirit and heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holy albeit, were in the Eyes Divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less ripe than Cuthbert's for the Vision Blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Least faults perforce swelling where gifts are vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That God vouchsafed His servant sickness-pains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Virtue to perfect in a little space,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That both might pass to heaven the self-same hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It came: that sun which flushed the spray up-hurled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In cloud round Cuthbert's eastern rock, while he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within it dying chanted psalm on psalm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere long enkindled Herbert's western lake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The splendour waxed; mountain to mountain laughed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, brightening, nearer drew, and, nearing, clasped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That heaven-dropp'd beauty in more strict embrace:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cliffs successive caught their crowns of fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blencathara last. Slowly that splendour waned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the glooming gorge of Borrodale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her purple cowl shadowing her holy head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the dim lake twilight with silent foot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stepped like a spirit. Herbert from his bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of shingles watched that sunset till it died;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And at one moment from their distant isles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those friends, by death united, passed to God.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="SAINT_FRIDESWIDA_OR_THE_FOUNDATIONS_OF_OXFORD" id="SAINT_FRIDESWIDA_OR_THE_FOUNDATIONS_OF_OXFORD"></a><i>SAINT FRIDESWIDA, OR THE FOUNDATIONS OF OXFORD</i>.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Frideswida flies from the pursuit of a wicked king, invoking the +Divine aid and the prayers of St. Catherine and St. Cecilia. She +escapes; and at the hour of her death those Saints reveal to her +that in that place, near the Isis, where she has successively +opened a blind man's eyes and healed a leper, God will one day +raise up a seat of Learning, the light and the health of the realm. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'One love I; One: within His bridal bower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My feet shall tread: One love I, One alone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Mother is a Virgin, and His Sire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The unfathomed fount of pureness undefiled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him love I Whom to love is to be chaste:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him love I touched by Whom my forehead shines:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom she that clasps grows spotless more and more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, to mine His spirit He hath joined:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And His the blood that mantles in my cheek:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ring is on my finger.'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span><span class="i26">Thus she sang;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then walked and plucked a flower: she sang again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'That which I longed for, lo, the same I see:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That which I hoped for, lo, my hand doth hold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last in heaven I walk with Him conjoined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom, yet on earth, I loved with heart entire.'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus carolled Frideswida all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Treading the opens of a wood far spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around the upper waters of the Thames.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christian almost by instinct, earth to her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was shaped but to sustain the Cross of Christ.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her mother lived a saint: she taught her child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From reason's dawn, to note in all things fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their sacred undermeanings. 'Mark, my child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In lamb and dove, not fleshly shapes,' she said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'But heavenly types: upon the robin's breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revere that red which bathed her from the Cross<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With slender bill striving to loose those Nails!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dying, that mother placed within her hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A book of saintly legends. Thus the maid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew up with mysteries clothed, with marvels fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fearless creature swift as wind or fire:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But fires of hers were spirit-fires alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All else like winter moon. The Wessex King<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had gazed upon the glory of her face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deemed that face a spirit's. He had heard<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span><span class="i0">Her voice; it sounded like an angel's song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But wonder by degrees declined to love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such love as Pagans know. The unworthy suit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She scorned, from childhood spoused in heart to Christ:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She fled: upon the river lay a boat:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She rowed it on through forests many a mile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A month had passed since then.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Midsummer blazed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On all things round: the vast, unmoving groves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched silent forth their immemorial arms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arching a sultry gloom. Within it buzzed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feebly the insect swarm: the dragon-fly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stayed soon his flight: the streamlet scarce made way:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In shrunken pools, panting, the cattle stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Languidly browsing on the dried-up sprays:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No bird-song shook the bower. Alone that maid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glided light-limbed, as though some Eden breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hers only, charioted the songstress on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like those that serve the May. Beneath a tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low-roofed at last she sank, with eyes up-raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On boughs that, ivy-twined and creeper-trailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkened the shining splendour of the sky:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between their interspaces, here and there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It flashed in purple stars.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Enraptured long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For admiration was to her as love,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span><span class="i0">The maiden raised at last her mother's book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lit upon her childhood's favourite tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Catherine in vision wed to Bethlehem's Babe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who from His Virgin-Mother leaning, dropped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ring adown her finger. Princely pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pride not less of soaring intellect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once in her were changed to pride of love:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain her country's princes sued her grace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kingdoms of earth she spurned. Around her seat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The far-famed Alexandrian Sages thronged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Branding her Faith as novel. Slight and tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid them, keen-eyed the wingless creature stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like daughter of the sun on earth new-lit:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Faith she shewed of all things first and last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All lesser truths its prophets. Swift as beams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth flashed such shafts of high intelligence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That straight their lore sophistic shrivelled up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Christians they arose. The martyr's wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was pictured in the margin, dyed with red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And likewise, azure-tinct on golden ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her queenly throne in heaven. 'Ah shining Saint!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half weeping, smiling half, the virgin cried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Yet dear not less thy sister of the West;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For never gaze I on that lifted face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or mark that sailing angel near her stayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But straight her solemn organs round me swell;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span><span class="i0">All discords cease.' Then with low voice she read<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Rome's Cecilia, her who won to Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(That earlier troth inviolably preserved)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her Roman bridegroom, wondering at that crown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invisible itself, that round her breathed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose-breath celestial; her that to the Church<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave her ancestral house; and, happier gift,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Devotion's heavenliest instrument of praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her that, unfearing, dared that Roman sword;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when its work was done, for centuries lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like marble, 'mid the catacombs, unchanged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sleep-resembling death.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">From earliest dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That maiden's eyes had watched: wearied at noon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their silver curtains closed. Huge mossy roots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pillowed her head, that slender book wide-leaved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In stillness, like some brooding, white-winged dove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spread on her bosom: 'gainst its golden edge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rested, gold-tinged, the dimpled ivory chin—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud thunders broke that sleep; the tempest blast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came up against the woods, while bolt on bolt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ran through them sheer. She started up: she saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Pagan prince and many a sworded serf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rushing towards her. Fleeter still she fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, as some mountain beast tender and slight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, pasturing spring-fed lilies of Cashmere,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span><span class="i0">Or slumbering where its rock-nursed torrents fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden not distant hears the hunter's cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mocks pursuit at first, but slackens soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathless and spent, so failed her limbs ere long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A horror of great faintness o'er her crept;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More near she heard their shout. She staggered on:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To threat'ning phantoms all things round were changed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About her towered in ruin hollow trunks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of spiked and branchless trees, survivors sole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of woods that, summer-scorched, then lightning-struck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A century past, for one short week had blazed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blackened ever since. She knelt: she raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hands to God: she sued for holier prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint Catherine, Saint Cecilia. At that word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind her close a cry of anguish rang:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silence succeeded. As by angels' help<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She reached a river's bank: sun-hardened clay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Retained the hoof-prints of the drinking herd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, shallower for long heats, the oxen's ford<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Challenged her bleeding feet. She crossed unharmed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon in green-gold pastures girt by woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood up secure. Then forth she stretched her hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Agnes praising God amid the flame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Omnipotent, Eternal, Worshipful,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One God, Immense, and All-compassionate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou from the sinner's snare hast snatched the feet<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span><span class="i0">Of her that loved Thee. Glory to Thy name.'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thenceforth secure she roamed those woods and meads;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dwellers in that region brought her bread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon that countenance gazing, some with awe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all with love. To her the maidens came:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tell us,' they said, 'what mystery hast thou learned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sweet and good;—thy Teacher, who was he;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grey-haired, or warrior young?' To them in turn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceaseless she sang the praises of her Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Virgin Mother and His heavenly court,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warriors on earth for justice. They for her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Renounced all else, the banquet and the dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nuptial rites revered. A low-roofed house<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inwoven of branches 'mid the woods they raised;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There dwelt, and sang her hymn, and prayed her prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loved her Saviour-Sovereign. Year by year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More high her bright feet scaled the heavenly mount<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of lore divine and knowledge of her God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with sublimer chant she hymned His praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While oft some bishop, tracking those great woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In progress to his charge, beneath their roof<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Baptizing or confirming made abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all which lacked supplied, nor discipline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Withheld, nor doctrine high. The outward world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To them a nothing, made of them its boast:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Saint, it said, within that forest dwelt,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span><span class="i0">A Saint that helped their people. Saint she was,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And therefore wrought for heaven her holy deeds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal stand they on the heavenly roll;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet fewest acts suffice for heavenly crown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And two of hers had consequence on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like water circles widening limitless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For man still helpful. Hourly acts of hers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Interior acts invisible to men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance were worthier. Humblest faith and prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are oft than miracle miraculous more:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To us the exterior marks the interior might:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These two alone record we.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Years had passed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One day when all the streams were dried by heat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rainless fields had changed from green to brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">T'wards her there drew, by others led, a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old, worn, and blind. He knelt, and wept his prayer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Help, Saint of God! That impious King am I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That King abhorred, his people's curse and bane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who chased thee through these woods with fell resolve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worst vengeance seeking for insulted pride:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rememberest thou that, near thee as I closed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kneeling thou mad'st thy prayer? Instant from God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blindness fell on me. Forward still I rushed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere long amid those spiked and branded trunks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lie as lie the dead. If hope remains,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span><span class="i0">For me if any hope survives on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It rests with thee; thee only!' On her knees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sank in prayer; her fingers in the fount<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She dipped; then o'er him signed the Saviour's cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thrice invoked that Saviour. At her word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, that sightless King arose, and saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rendered thanks to God.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">The legend saith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint Catherine by her stood that night, and spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Once more I greet thee on thy dying day.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again the years went by. That sylvan lodge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had changed to convent. Beautiful it stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not far from Isis, though on loftier ground:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad outcasts knew it well: whate'er their need<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There found they solace. One day toward it moved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dread apparition and till then unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like one constrained, with self-abhorrent steps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A leper, long in forest caverns hid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to their cells the nuns had shrunk, o'erawed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remained but Frideswida. Thus that wretch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With scarce organic voice, and aiding sign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wailed out the supplication of despair:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Fly not, O saintly virgin! Yet, ah me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What help though thou remainest? Warned from heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span><span class="i0">I know that not thy fountain's healing wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could heal my sorrow: not those spotless hands:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not even thy prayer. To me the one sole aid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were aid impossible—a kiss of thine.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment stood she: not in doubt she stood:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First slowly, swiftly then to where he knelt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She moved: with steadfast hand she raised that cloth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which veiled what once had been a human face:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er it she signed in faith the cross of Christ:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wept aloud, 'My brother!' Folding then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stainless to stained, with arms about him wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sacred silence mouth to mouth she pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A long, long sister's kiss. Like infant's flesh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blighted and the blasted back returned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That leper rose restored.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">The legend saith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Saint Cecilia by her stood that night:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Once more I greet thee on thy dying day.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">It came at last, that day. Her convent grew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In grace with God and man: the pilgrim old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sought it from far; the gifts of kings enlarged:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It came at last, that day. There are who vouch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The splendour of that countenance never waned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus much is sure; it waxed to angels' eyes:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Welcomed it came, that day desired, not feared.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span><span class="i0">By humbleness like hers those two fair deeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were long forgotten: each day had its task:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not hardest that of dying. Why should sobs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trouble the quiet of a holy house<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because its holiest passes? Others wept;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sufferer smiled: 'Ah, little novices,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How little of the everlasting lore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your foolish mother taught you if ye shrink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From trial light as this!' She spake; then sank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In what to those around her seemed but sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The midnoon August sunshine on her hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ampler radiance lying than that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, danger near her yet to her unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath that forest tree her eyelids closed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her book upon her bosom.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Near her bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not danger now but heralds ever young,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint Catherine, Saint Cecilia, stood once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Linked hand in hand, with aureoles interwreathed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One gazing stood as though on radiance far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With widening eyes: a listener's look intent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The other's, soft with pathos more profound.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Roman sister spake: 'Rejoice, my child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoice, thus near the immeasurable embrace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breast expectant of the unnumbered Blest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That swells to meet thee! Yea, and on the earth<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span><span class="i0">For thee reward remaineth. Happy thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through prayer his sight restoring to thy foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sole foe that e'er thou knew'st though more his own!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Child! darkness is there worse than blindness far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein erroneous wanders human Pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That prayer of thine from age to age shall guard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A realm against such darkness. Where yon kine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stand in mid ford, quenching their noontide thirst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy footsteps crossed of old the waters. God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the unerasing current sees them still!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close by, a nation from a purer flood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall quench a thirst more holy, quaffing streams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Knowledge loved as Truth. Majestic piles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall rise by yonder Isis, honouring, each,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My clear-eyed sister of the sacred East<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That won to Christ the Alexandrian seers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winning, herself, from chastity her lore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon their fronts, aloft in glory ranged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With face to East, and cincture never loosed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All Sciences shall stand, daughters divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Him that Truth eterne and boon to man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holding in spotless hand, not lamp alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lamp and censer both, and both alike<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From God's great Altar lighted.'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Spake in turn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Alexandrian with the sunlike eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span><span class="i0">'Beside those Sciences shall stand a choir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As fair as they; as tall; those sister Arts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High daughters of celestial Harmony,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Diverse yet one, that bind the hearts of men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To steadfast Truth by Beauty's sinuous cords;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She that to marble changes mortal thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She that with rainbow girds the cloud of life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She that above the streaming mist exalts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rock-rooted domes of prayer; and she that rears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With words auguster temples. Happy thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Healing that leper with thy virgin kiss!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A leprosy there is more direful, child!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therein the nations rot when flesh is lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spirit dies. Such ruin Arts debased<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gender, or, gendered long, exasperate more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou, rejoice! From this pure centre Arts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfallen shall breathe their freshness through the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With kiss like thine healing a nation's wound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Year after year successive; listening, each,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sister's organ music in the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prime Art that, challenging not eye but ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Faith is nearest, and of Arts on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that cause, living soul.'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">That prophecy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Found its accomplishment. In later years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There where of old the Oxen had their Ford,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span><span class="i0">The goodliest city England boasts arose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mirrored in sacred Isis; like that flood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its youth for aye renewing. Convents first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through stately groves levelled their placid gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With cloisters opening dim on garden gay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or moonlit lawn dappled by shadowing deer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above them soared the chapel's reverent bulk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With storied window whence, in hues of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Martyrs looked down, or Confessor, or Saint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On tomb of Founder with its legend meek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Pro animâ orate.' Night and day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mounted the Church's ever-varying song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sustained on organ harmonies that well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might draw once more to earth, with wings outspread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heavenly face made heavenlier by that strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cecilia's Angel. Of those convents first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was Frideswida's, ruled in later years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Canons Regular, later yet rebuilt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By him of York, that dying wept, alas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Had I but served my Maker as my king!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To colleges those convents turned; yet still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earlier inspiration knew not change:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great tradition died not: near the bridge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Magdalen's tower still rang the lark-like hymn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On May-day morn: high ranged in airy cells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Facing the East, all Sciences, all Arts,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span><span class="i0">Yea, and with these all Virtues, imaged stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Best imaged stood in no ideal forms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Craft unhistoric of some dreamer's brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But life-like shapes of plain heroic men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who in their day had fought the fight of Faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warriors and sages, poets, saints, and kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And earned their rest: the long procession paced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up winding slow the college-girded street<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where in high cathedral slept the Saint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing its 'Alma Redemptoris Mater,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On August noons, what time the Assumption Feast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From purple zenith of the Christian heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brightened the earth. That hour not bells alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chiming from countless steeples made reply:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laughed out that hour high-gabled roof and spire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kindling shone out those Sciences, those Arts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pagan one time, now confessors white-robed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the holy City gave response,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Deus illuminatio mea est.'<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THE_BANQUET_HALL_OF_WESSEX_OR_THE_KING_WHO_COULD_SEE" id="THE_BANQUET_HALL_OF_WESSEX_OR_THE_KING_WHO_COULD_SEE"></a><i>THE BANQUET HALL OF WESSEX, OR THE KING WHO COULD SEE.</i></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Kenwalk, King of Wessex, is a Pagan, but refuses to persecute +Christians. He is dethroned by the Mercian King, and lives an exile +in a Christian land. There he boasts that he never accords faith to +what he hears, and believes only what he sees; yet, his eye being +single, he sees daily more of the Truth. Wessex is delivered, and a +great feast held at which the Pagan nobles, priests, and bards all +conspire for the destruction of the Faith. Birinus, the bishop, +having withstood them valiantly, Kenwalk declares himself a +Christian. Birinus prophesies of England's greatest King. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">King Cynegils lay dead, who long and well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had judged the realm of Essex. By his bier<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Christians standing smote their breasts, and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ill day for us:' but all about the house<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clustering in smiling knots of twos and threes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sons of Odin whispered, or with nods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave glad assent. Christ's bishop sent from Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Birinus, to the king had preached for years<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span><span class="i0">The Joyous Tidings. Cynegils believed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with him many; but the most refrained:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With these was Kenwalk; and, his father dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kenwalk was king.<br /></span> +<span class="i22">A valiant man was he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man of stubborn will, but yet at heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Magnanimous and just. To one who said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Strike, for thine hour is come!' the king new-crowned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made answer, 'Never! Each man choose his path!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My father chose the Christian—Odin's I.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I crossed my father oft a living man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I war not on him dead.'<br /></span> +<span class="i25">That giant hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which spared Religion ruled in all beside:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He harried forth the robbers from the woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wrecked the pirates' ships. He burned with fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A judge unjust, and thrice o'er Severn drave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The invading Briton. Lastly, when he found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That woman in his house intolerable,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From bed and realm he hurled her forth, though crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ensuing thence great peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i23">Not long that peace:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Mercian king, her brother, heard her tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With blackening brow. The shrill voice stayed at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubly incensed the monarch made reply:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span><span class="i0">'Sister, I never loved you;—who could love?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But him who spurned you from his realm I hate:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fear nought! your feast of vengeance shall be full!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spake; then cried, 'To arms!'<br /></span> +<span class="i37">In either land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like thunders low and far, or windless plunge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of waves on coasts long silent that proclaim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though calm the sea for leagues, tempest far off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shoreward swells, thus day by day was heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The direful preparation for a war<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Destined no gladsome tournament to prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But battle meet for ancient foes resolved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To clear old debts; make needless wars to come.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not long that strife endured; on either side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valour was equal; but on one, conjoined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The skill most practised, and the heavier bones:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The many fought the few. On that last field<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas but the fury of a fell despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not hope, that held the balance straight so long:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere sunset all was over. From the field<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wounded remnant dragged their king, half dead:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Mercian host pursued not.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Many a week<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low lay the broken giant nigh to death:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last, like creeping plant down-dragged, not crushed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, washed by rains, and sunshine-warmed, once more<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span><span class="i0">Its length uplifting, feels along the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gradual finds its 'customed prop, so he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strengthening each day, with dubious eyes at first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around him peered, but raised at length his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, later, question made. His health restored,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sought East Anglia, where King Anna reigned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His chief of friends in boyhood. Day by day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spirit more buoyant to the exile came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And winged him on his way: his country's bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once passed, his darker memories with it sank:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through Essex hastening, stronger grew his step;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">East Anglian breezes from the morning sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fanned him to livelier pulse: wild April growths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gladdened his spirit with glittering green. More fresh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He walked because the sun outfaced him not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Veiled, though not far. That shrouded sun had ta'en<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its passion from the wild-bird's song, but left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quiet felicities of notes low-toned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That kept in tune with streams too amply brimmed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To chatter o'er their pebbles. Kenwalk's soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Partook not with the poet's. Loveliest sights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like music brightening those it fails to charm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roused but his mirthful mood. To each that passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He tossed his jest: he scanned the labourer's task;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reviled the luckless boor that ploughed awry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beat the smith that marred the horse's hoof:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span><span class="i0">At times his fortunes thus he moralised:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Here walk I, crownless king, and exiled man:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Mercian brother lists his sister's tongue:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say, lark! which lot is happiest?'<br /></span> +<span class="i33">Festive streets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tapestries from windows waving, banners borne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By white-clad children chanting anthems blithe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With these East Anglia's king received his friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Entering the city gate. In joyous sports<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That day was passed. At banquet Christian priests<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat with his thanes commingled. Anna's court<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was Christian, and, for many a league around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His kingdom likewise. As the earth in May<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glistens with vernal flowers, or as the face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of one whose love at last has found return<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Irradiate shines, so shone King Anna's house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A home of Christian peace. Fair sight it was—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Justice and Love, the only rivals there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-ruled it, and attuned. Majestic strength<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked forth in every glance of Anna's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too great for pride to dwell there. Tender-souled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As that first streak, the harbinger of dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revealed through cloudless ether, such the queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All charity, all humbleness, all grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All womanhood. Harmonious was her voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dulcet her movements, undisguised her thoughts,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span><span class="i0">As though they trod an Eden land unfallen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And needed raiment none. Some heavenly birth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their children seemed, blameless in word and act,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sisters as their brothers frank, and they,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though bolder, not less modest. Kenwalk marked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And marking, mused in silence, 'Contrast strange<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These Christians with the pagan races round!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something those pagans see not these have seen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something those pagans hear not these have heard:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubtless there's much in common. What of that?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis thus 'twixt man and dog; yet knows the dog<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His master walks in worlds by him not shared—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance for me too there are worlds unknown!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Thus God to Kenwalk shewed the things that bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of God true witness, seeing in his soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Justice and Judgment, and, with these conjoined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valour and Truth: for as the architect<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On tower four-square and solid plants his spire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not on meads below, though gay with flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On those four virtues God the fabric rears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of virtues loftier yet—those three, heaven-born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pointing heavenward.<br /></span> +<span class="i29">To those worlds unknown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kenwalk ere long stood nigh. In three short months<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loveliest of those children, and last born,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span><span class="i0">Lay cold in death. Old nurses round her wailed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mighty heart of Kenwalk shook for dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Entering the dim death-chamber. On a bier<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maiden lay, the cross upon her breast:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside her sat her mother, pale as she,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet calm as pale. When Kenwalk near her drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She lifted from that bier a slender book<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And read that record of the three days' dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised by the Saviour from that death-cave sealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A living man. Once more she read those words,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I am the Resurrection and the Life,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then added, low, with eyes up cast to heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'With Him my child awaits me.' Kenwalk saw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, what he saw, believing, half believed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not more—the things he heard.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Yes, half believed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, call it obduracy, call it pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call it self-fear, or fear of priestly craft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He closed his ear against the Word Divine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thing he saw he trusted; nought beyond.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three years went by. Once, when his friend had named<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Name all-blessed, Kenwalk frowned. Since then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Name was named no more. O'er hill and dale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They chased the wild deer; on the billow breathed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inspiring airs; in hall of joyance trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mazes of the dance. Then war broke out:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span><span class="i0">Reluctant long King Anna sought the field;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurled back aggression. Kenwalk, near him still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watched him with insight keener than his wont,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, wondering, marked him least to pagans like<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inly, when like perforce in outward deed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The battle frenzy took on him no hold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Severe his countenance grew; austere and sad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fatal, not wrathful. Vicar stern he seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some dread, judgment-executing Power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against his yearnings; not despite his will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once, when above the faithless town far off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The retributive smoke leaped up to heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He closed with iron hand on Kenwalk's arm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slowly spake—a whisper heard afar—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'See you that town? Its judgment is upon it!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gave it respite twice. This day its doom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is irreversible.'<br /></span> +<span class="i18">The invader quelled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anna and Kenwalk on their homeward way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rode by the grave of saintly Sigebert,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Anna's predecessor. Kenwalk spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Some say the people keep but memory scant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of benefits: I trust the things I see:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never passed that tomb but round it knelt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A throng of supplicants! King Sigebert<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conversed, men say, with prophet and with seer:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span><span class="i0">I never loved that sort:—who wills can dream—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet what I see I see.'<br /></span> +<span class="i22">'They pray for him,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anna replied, 'who perished for their sake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long years he lived recluse at Edmondsbury,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tonsured monk: around its walls one day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose that cry, "The Mercian, and his host!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth, holy King, and lead, as thou wert wont,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy people to the battle, lest they die!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again I see him riding at their head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifting a cross, not sword. The battle lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again I see him fall.' With rein drawn tight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King Kenwalk mused; then smote his hands, and cried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'My father would have died like Sigebert!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lacked but the occasion!' After pause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad-faced, with bitter voice he spake once more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Such things as these I might have learned at home!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shunned my father's house lest fools might say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'He thinks not his own thoughts.'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Thus month by month,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Faith which 'comes by hearing' had not come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Kenwalk yet, not less since sight he used<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In honest sort, and resolute to learn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God shewed him memorable things and great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which sight unblest discerns not, tutoring thus<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span><span class="i0">A kingly spirit to a kingly part:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before him near it lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i24">The morrow morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great tidings came: in Wessex war was raised:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kenwalk, departing thus to Anna spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Anna, and his consort: 'Well I know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What thanks are those the sole your hearts could prize:'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With voice that shook he added: 'Man am I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That make not pledge: yet, if my father's God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sets free my father's realm——' again he paused;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then westward rode alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">Well planned, fought well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For Kenwalk, of the few reverse makes wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From him had put his youth's precipitance)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That virtuous warfare triumphed. Swift as fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The news from Sherburne and from Winbourne flashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Sarum, Chertsey, Malmsbury. That delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On earth the nearest to religious joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rapture of a trampled land set free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swelled every breast: the wounded in their wounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoiced, not grieved: the sick forgat their pains:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mourner dashed away her tear and cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Wessex is free!' Remained a single doubt:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christians crept forth from cave and hollow tree:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more the exiled monk was seen; and one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who long in minstrel's garb, with harp in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span><span class="i0">Old, poor, half blind, had sat beside a bridge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, charming first the wayfarer with song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had won him next with legends of the Cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood up before his altar. Rumour ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Once more Birinus lifts his crosier-staff!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then muttered priests of Odin, 'Cynegils<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know was Christian. Kenwalk holds—or held,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ancestral Faith, yet warred not on the new:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tolerance means still connivance.'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Peace restored,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within King Kenwalk's echoing palace hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hall alike of council and of feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Great Ones of the Wessex realm were met:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Birinus sat among them, eyed from far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With anger and with hatred. Council o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Banquet succeeded, and to banquet song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Saxon's after-banquet. Many a harp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That day by flying hand entreated well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Divulged its secret, amorous, or of war;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a warrior sang his own great deeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or dirge of ancient friend Valhalla's guest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor stinted foeman's praise. Silent meanwhile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far down the board a son of Norway sat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ungenial guest with clouded brows and stern,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eyes that flashed beneath them: bard was he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warrior and bard. Not his the song for gold!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span><span class="i0">He sang but of the war-fields and the gods;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lays of love despised. 'Thy turn is come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Son of the ice-bound North,' thus spake a thane:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Sing thou! The man who sees that face, already<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half hears the tempest singing through the pines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shade thy gulfs hill-girt.' The stranger guest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Answered, not rising: 'Yea, from lands of storm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seas cut through by fiery lava floods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I come, a wanderer. Ye, meantime, in climes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Balm-breathing, gorge the fat, and smell the sweet:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye wed the maid whose sire ye never slew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bask in unearned triumph. Feeble spirits!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Endless ye deem the splendours of this hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And call defeat opprobrious! Sirs, our life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is trial. Victory and Defeat are Gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That toss man's heart, their plaything, each to each:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great Mercia knows that truth—of all your realms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faithfullest to Odin far!'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">'Nay, minstrel, sing,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more, not wroth, they clamoured. He replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Hear then my song; but not those songs ye sing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have against you somewhat, Wessex men!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye are not as your fathers, when, in youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I trod your coasts. That time ye sang of Gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sole theme for manlike song. On Iceland's shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We keep our music's virtue undefiled:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span><span class="i0">While summer lasts we fight; by winter hearths,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or ranged in sunny coves by winter seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt the snow-plains and the hills of fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing we feed on legends of the Gods:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye sing but triumphs of the hour that fleets;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye build you kingdoms: next ye dash them down:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye bow to idols! O that song of mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might heal this people's wound!'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Then rose the bard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And took his harp, and smote it like a man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sang full-blooded songs of Gods who spurn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their heaven to war against that giant race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throned 'mid the mountains of old Jötunheim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That girdle still the unmeasured seas of ice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With horror and strange dread. Innumerable,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ever-winding labyrinths, glacier-thronged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those mountains raise their heads among the stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That palsied glimmer 'twixt their sunless bulks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-shadowing seas and lands. O'er Jötunheim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glittering car of day hath never shone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There endless twilight broods. Beneath it sit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The huge Frost-Giants, sons of Örgelmir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Themselves like mountains, solitary now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now grouped, with knees drawn up, and heads low bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plotting new wars. Those wars the Northman sang;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thunder-like rang out the vast applause.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span><span class="i0">That hour Birinus whispered one close by:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Not casual this! Ill spirits, be sure, this day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And impious men will launch their fiercest bolts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To crush Christ's Faith for ever!'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Jocund songs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bard sang next: how Thor had roamed disguised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through Jötunheim, and found the giant-brood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feasting; and how their king gave challenge thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Sir, since you deign us visit, show us feats!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold yon drinking horn! with us a child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drains it at draught.' The God inclined his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swelled his lips; and three times drank: yet lo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nigh full that horn remained, the dusky mead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In mockery winking! Spake once more the king:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Behold my youngest daughter's chief delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon wild-cat grey! She lifts it: lift it thou!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The God beneath it slipped his arm and tugged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tugging, ever higher rose and higher;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild cat arched her back and with him rose;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But one foot left the ground! Last, forward stept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A haggard, lame, decrepid, toothless crone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cried, 'Canst wrestle, friend?' He closed upon her:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Firm stood she as a mountain: she in turn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closed upon Thor, and brought him to one knee:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lower she could not bend him. Thor for rage<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span><span class="i0">Clenched both his fists until his finger-joints<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew white as snow late fallen!<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Loud and long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laughter rose: the minstrel frowned dislike:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I have against you somewhat, Wessex men!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In laughter spasms ye reel, or shout applause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Music surceased. Like rocks your fathers sat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In every song they knew some mystery lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mystery of man or nature. Greater God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is none than Thor, whom, witless, thus ye flout.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That giant knew his greatness, and, at morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While vexed at failure through the gates he passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Addressed him reverent: 'Lift thy head, great Thor!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disguised thou cam'st; not less we knew thee well:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave battle fought'st thou, seeming still to fail:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy foes were phantoms! Phantasies I wove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To snare thine eyes because I feared thy hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pledged thy strength to tasks impossible.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That horn thou could'st not empty was the sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At that third draught such ebb-tide stripp'd the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As left whole navies stranded! What to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild-cat appeared was Midgard's endless snake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose infinite circle clasps the ocean round:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then when her foot thou liftedst, tremour went<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From iron vale to vale of Jötunheim:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hadst thou but higher raised it one short span,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span><span class="i0">The sea had drowned the land! That toothless crone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was Age, that drags the loftiest head to earth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She bent thy knee alone. Come here no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On equal ground thou fight'st us in the light:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this, our native land, the stronger we,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mock thee by Illusions!'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">After pause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With haughty eye cast round, the minstrel spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Now hear ye mysteries of the antique song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though few shall guess their import!' Then he sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Legends primeval of that Northern race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dread beginnings of the heavens and earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, save the shapeless chaos, nothing was:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Ymer first, by some named Örgelmir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The giant sire of all the giant brood:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him for his sins the sons of Bör destroyed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then fashioned of his blood the seas and streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of his bones the mountains; of his teeth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cliffs firm set against the aggressive waves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Last, of his skull the vast, o'er-hanging heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of his brain the clouds.<br /></span> +<span class="i30">'Sing on,' they cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Next sang he of that mystic shape, earth-born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wondrous cow, Auhumla. Herb that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was none, nor forest growth; yet on and on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wandered by the vapour-belted seas,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span><span class="i0">And, wandering, from the stones and icebergs cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That creaked forlorn against the grey sea-crags,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She licked salt spray, and hoary frost, and lived;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever where she licked sprang up, full-armed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men fair and strong!<br /></span> +<span class="i22">Once more they cried, 'Sing on!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Last sang the minstrel of the Night and Day:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Car-borne they sweep successive through the heaven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First rides the dusky maid by men called Night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sleep-bringing, pain-assuaging, kind to man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dream-like speed cleaving the starry sphere:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hrimfaxi is her horse: his round complete<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foam from his silver bit bespangles earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mortals call it 'Morn.' Day follows fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her brother white: Skinfaxi is his horse:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When forth he flings the splendours from his mane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both Gods and men rejoice.<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Thus legends old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Northman sang, till, fleeting from men's eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The present lived no longer. In its place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He fixed that vision of the world new formed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which on the childhood of the Northern mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like endless twilight lay;—spaces immense;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unmeasured energies of fire and flood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great Nature's forces, terrible yet blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ceaseless strife alternately supreme,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span><span class="i0">Or breast to breast with dreadful equipoise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In conflict pressed. Once more o'er those that heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hung that old world's low, funereal sky:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before their eyes he caused its cloud to stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadowing infinitude. He spake no word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Heida of that war 'twixt Good and Ill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That peace which crowns the just; that God unknown:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough to him his Faith without its soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With glorying eye he marked that panting throng;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, sudden, changed his note. Again of war<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sang, but war no more of Gods on Gods;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sang the honest wars of man on man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Odin, king of men, ere yet, death past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He flamed abroad in godhead. Field on field<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sang his battles; traced from realm to realm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His conquering pilgrimage: then ended, fierce:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'What God was this—that God ye honoured once?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What man was this—your half-forgotten king?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your law-giver he was! he framed your laws!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your poet he: he shaped your earliest song!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your teacher he: he taught you first your runes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your warrior—yours! His warfare consummate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For you he died! Old age at last, sole foe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unvanquished, found him throned in Gylfi's land:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summoning his race around him thus he spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"My sons, I scorn that age should cumber youth!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span><span class="i0">Ye have your lesson—see ye keep it well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I taught you how to conquer; how to live;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now learn to die!" His dagger high he raised;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nine times he plunged it through his bleeding breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then sheathed it in his heart. Ere from his lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kingly smile had vanished, he was dead!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So sang the bard and ceased; his work was done:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abroad the tempest burst. 'Twas not his songs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone that raised it! Memories which they waked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Memories of childhood, fainter year by year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tripled his might. Meantime a Saxon priest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Potential there, bent low, with eye-brow arched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Eardulf's ear, Eardulf old warrior famed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whispered long, and as he whispered glanced<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft at Birinus. Keen of eye the King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The action noting well, the aim divined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus to Offa near him spake, low-toned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The full-fed priest of Odin sends a sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To slay that naked babe he hates so sore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Faith of Christ!'<br /></span> +<span class="i22">Rising with fiery face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thundering hand that shook the banquet board<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eardulf began: '"Ye are not what ye were!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So saith our stranger kinsman from the north,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man plain-tongued; I would that all were such!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span><span class="i0">Lords, and my King, this stranger speaks the truth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I tell you too, we are not what we were:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor lengthened trail he hunts who seeks the cause.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, there the cause among us! Man from Rome!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ask who sent thee hither? From the first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rome and our native races stand at war;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hope was this, to make our sons like hers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Liars and slaves, our daughters false and vile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, thus subverted, rule our land and us.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frustrate in war, now sends she forth her priests<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In peaceful gown to sap the manly hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her sword but manlier made. Ho, Wessex men!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye see your foe! My counsel, Lords, is this:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The worm that stings us tread we to the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then spurn it from our coasts!'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Ere ceased the acclaim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Subdued and soft the Pagan pontiff rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And three times half retired, as one who yields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His betters place; and thrice, answering the call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advanced, and leaning stood: at last he spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet-voiced, not loud; 'Ye Wessex Earls and Thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stand here but as witness, not as judge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye are the judges. Late ye heard—yea, twice—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Words strange and new; "Ye are not what ye were!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I witness this; things are not what they were;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For round me as I roll these sorrowing eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span><span class="i0">Now old and dim—perchance the fault is theirs—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They find no longer, ranged along your walls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the deep-dyed trophies of old time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That chiefest of your Standards, lost, men say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that ill-omened battle lost which wrecked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But late our Wessex kingdom. Odin's wrath—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I spare to task your time and patience, Lords,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enforcing truth which every urchin knows—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas Odin shamed his foe! Ah Cynegils!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What made thee Odin's foe? Our friend was he!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Base tolerance first, connivance next, then worse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Favoured that Faith perfidious! Stood and stands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bow-shot hence that church the strangers built;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their church, their font! The strangers, who are they?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snake-like and supple, winding on and on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through courtly chambers darkling still they creep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor dare to face a people front to front;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let them stand up in light, and all is well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who their converts? Late, to please a king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They donned his novel worship like a robe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When dead he lay they doffed it! Earls and Thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A nobler day is come; a sager king;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In him I trust; in you; in Odin most,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our nation's strength, the bulwark of our throne.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I proffer nought of counsel. Ye have eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The opprobrium sits among you!'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span><span class="i36">From the floor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storm of iron feet rang loud, and swords<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaped flashing from their sheaths. In silence some<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waited the event: the larger part by far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clamoured for vengeance on the outlandish Faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loudest they, the apostates of past time.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then stately from his seat Birinus rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stood in calm marmorean. Long he stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not eager, though expectant. By degrees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tumult lessening, with a quiet smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hand extended, noticing for peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus he addressed that concourse.<br /></span> +<span class="i34">'Earls and Thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among so many here I stand alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why peaceful? why untroubled? In your hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see a hundred swords against me bent:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sirs, should they slay me, Truth remains unpierced.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand wheat ears swayed by summer gust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Affront one oak; it slights the mimic threat:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So slight I, strong in faith, those swords that err—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your ignorance, not your sin. The truth of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart of man against you fight this day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with his heart, his hope. In every land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all the unnumbered centuries yet to come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cry of women wailing for their babes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Restored through Christ alone, the cry of men<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span><span class="i0">Who know that all is lost if earth is all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cry of children still unstained by sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sinner's cry redeemed from yoke of sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thunder against you. Pass to lesser themes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Eardulf, that raged against me, told you, Lords,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Rome was still the hater of your race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warred thereon. She warred much more on mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roman but Christian likewise! Ye were foes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warring on you she warred on hostile tribes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In us she tore her proper flesh and blood:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mailed men were you that gave her blow for blow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We were her tender children; on her hearths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We dwelt, or delved her fields and dressed her vines.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What moved her hatred? that we loved a God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All love to man. With every God beside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rome made her traffic: fellowship with such<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unclean we deemed: thenceforth Rome saw in us<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her destined foe.<br /></span> +<span class="i18">Three centuries, Earls and Thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hand was red against us. Vengeance came:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who wrought it? Who avenged our martyred Saints<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, resting 'neath God's altar, cried, "How long?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alaric, and his, the Goths! And who were they?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your blood, your bone, your spirit, and your soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They with your fathers roamed four hundred years<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span><span class="i0">The Teuton waste; they swam the Teuton floods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They pointed with the self-same hand of scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Rome, their common foe! In Odin's loins<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Together came ye from the shining East:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True man was he: ye changed him to false god!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Odin, when the destined hour had pealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beckoned to Alaric, marched by Alaric's side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invisibly to Rome!<br /></span> +<span class="i20">Ye know the tale:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her senate-kings their portals barred; they deemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That awe of Rome would drive him back amazed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sat secure at feast. But he that slew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remus, his brother, on the unfinished wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bitter expiation paid that night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wail went up: the Goths were lords of Rome!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alaric alone in that dread hour was just,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with his mercy tempered justice. Why?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alaric that day was Christian: of his host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The best and bravest Christian. Senators<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In purple nursed lived on, 'tis true, in rags;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Asian galleys and Egyptian marts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rich were driven; the mighty. Gold in streams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ran molten from the Capitolian roofs:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The idol statues choked old Tyber's wave:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But life and household honour Alaric spared;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And round the fanes of Peter and of Paul<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span><span class="i0">His soldiers stood on guard. Upon the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that bad Empire sentenced, nay of all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Empires of this world absorbed in one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In one condemned, they throned the Church of Christ;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Kingdom's seat established.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Since that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Kingdom spreads o'er earth. In Eastern Gaul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long since your brave Burgundians kneel to Christ;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pannonia gave Him to the Ostro-Goths,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Barbaric named; and to the Suevi Spain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Vandals o'er the Mauritanian shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exalt His Cross with joy. Your pardon, sirs:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These lands to you are names; but Odin knew them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A living man he trod them in his youth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hated their vices; bound his race to spurn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their bait, their bond! That day he saw hath dawned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er half a world the vivifying airs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Launched from your northern forests chaste and cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have blown, and blow this hour! The Saxon race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone its destiny knows not. Ye have won<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here in this Isle the old Roman heritage:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perfect your victory o'er that Pagan Rome<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Christian Rome partaking!<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Earls and Thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But one word more. Your pontiff late averred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That kings to us are gods; through them we conquer:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span><span class="i0">I answer thus: That Kingdom God hath raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is sovereign and is one; kingdoms of earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How great soe'er, to it are provinces<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In spiritual things. If princes turn to God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They save their souls. If kingdoms war on God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their choice is narrow, and their choice is this:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To break, like that which falleth on a stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or else, like that whereon that stone doth fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To crumble into dust.'<br /></span> +<span class="i24">The Pagan priest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whispered again to Eardulf, 'Praise to Thor!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He flouts our king! The boaster's chance is gone!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then rose that king and spake in careless sort:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Earls and my Thanes, I came from exile late:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may be that to exile I return:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not less my arm is long; my sword is sharp:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let him that hates me fear me!<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Earls and Thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I passed that exile in a Christian realm:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There of the Christian greatness, Christian right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I somewhat heard, and hearing, disbelieved;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw likewise somewhat, and believed in part:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw more, till nigh that part had grown to whole:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw that war itself might be a thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though stern, yet stern in mercy; saw that peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might wear a shape dearest to manliest heart,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span><span class="i0">Peace based on fearless justice militant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Gainst wrong alone and riot. Earls and Thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returned, this day and in this regal hall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spectacle I saw, if grateful less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not therefore less note-worthy—countless swords<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In judgment drawn against a man unarmed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, and a man unarmed with brow unmoved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confronting countless swords. These things I saw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair sight that tells me how to act, and when;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I was minded to protract the time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which strangles oft best purpose. At the font<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Christ—it stands a bow-shot from this spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As late we learned—at daybreak I and mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Become henceforth Christ's lieges.<br /></span> +<span class="i36">Earls and Thanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard but late a railer who affirmed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That kings were tyrants o'er the faiths of men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flexile to please them: thus I make reply;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The meanest of my subjects, like his king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall serve his God in freedom: if the chief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Questions the equal freedom of his king<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That man shall die the death! Through Christian Faith—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hide not this—one danger threats the land:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It threats as much, nay more, my royal House:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That danger must be dared since truth is truth:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span><span class="i0">That danger ye shall learn tomorrow noon:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till comes that hour, farewell!'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">The matin beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's wingèd messenger from loftier worlds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the deep window of the baptistery<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glittered on eddies of the bath-like font<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not yet quiescent since its latest guest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had thence arisen; beside its marge the king<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In snowy raiment stood; upon his right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alfred, his first-born, boy of seven years old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, close beside, in wonder not in dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mildrede, his sister, younger by one year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holding her brother's hand. From either waist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowed a white kirtle to the small snow feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With roses tinged. Above it all was bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with the fontal dew-drops sparkling still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While from each head with sacred unction sealed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floated the chrismal veil. That eye is blind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which sees not beauty save on female brows:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On either face that hour the lustre lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But hers was lustre passive, lustre pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boy's was active, daring, penetrating—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lily she; but he the Morning Star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beaming thereon from heaven! With dewy eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strong king on them gazed, and inly mused,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span><span class="i0">'To God I gave them up: yet ne'er till now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed they so wholly mine!'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">Birinus spake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ye have been washed in baptism, though no sin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath yet been yours save Adam's, and confirmed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And houselled ye shall be at Mass seven days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since Christ in infant bosoms loves to dwell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray, day by day, that Christ would keep you pure:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray for your Father: likewise pray for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old sinner soon to die.' Then raised those babes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their baptism tapers high, and fixing eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That moved not on their backward-fluttering flames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Led the procession to their palace home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their father pacing last.<br /></span> +<span class="i26">That day at noon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monarch sat upon his royal throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Birinus near him standing: at his feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His children played; while round him silent thronged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warriors and chiefs. The king addressed them thus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Birinus, and the rest, I hold it meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A king should hide his secret from his foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But with his friends be open. Yestereve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, Christian now, unfalteringly avouched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in the victory of the Christian Faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True though it be, one danger I discerned:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span><span class="i0">That danger, and its root, I now divulge.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw ye the scorn within that Northman's eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Last eve, when, praising Thor, in balance stern<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He weighed what now we are with what we were<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When first he trod our shores! He spake the truth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His race and ours are kin; but his retain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stronglier their manly virtue, frost and snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like whetstones sharpening still that virtue's edge.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We soften with the years. Beggars this day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sue us for bread! Sirs, in a famine once<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw, then young, a hundred at a time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, linking hand in hand, loud singing rushed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like hunters chasing hart, to sea-beat cliffs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er them plunged! Now comes this Faith of Christ;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Faith to which, because that Faith is true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pledged this morn my word, my seal, my soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fate and fortunes of our native land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all my royal House, well knowing this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The king who loves his kingdom more than God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Better than both loves self—no king at heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now comes this Christian Faith! That Faith, be sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is not a hardening faith: gentle it makes:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I told you, Lords, we soften day by day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I might have added that with growing years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hardness we doubly need. When Rome was great<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span><span class="i0">Our race, however far diffused, was one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blended by hate of Rome. When Rome declined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bond dissolved. A second bond remained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Odin's Faith:—Northmen alone retain it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In them a new Rome rises! Earls and Thanes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The truth be ours though for that truth we die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hold fast that truth; yet hide not what it costs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through fog and sea-mist of the days to come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see huge navies with the raven flag<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steering to milder borders Christian half,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brother 'gainst brother ranging. Kingdoms Seven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this still fair and once heroic land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I say, beware that hour! If come it must,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then fall the thunder while I walk this earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not when I skulk in crypts!'<br /></span> +<span class="i30">The others mute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From joy malicious some, some vexed with doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Birinus made reply: 'My Lord and King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inly this day I gladden, certain now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That neither fancy-drawn, nor anger-spurred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor seeking crowns, for others or thyself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shunning woes, the worst that earth can know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For others or thyself, but urged by faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's greatest gift to man, thou mad'st this day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Submission true to Christ. So be it, King!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So rest content! God with a finger's touch<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span><span class="i0">Could melt that cloud which threats thy realm well-loved;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(That threat I deem nor trivial nor obscure)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not thus He wills. Danger, distress, reverse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are heralds sent from God, like peace and joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To nations as to men. Happy that land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which worketh darkling; worketh without wage;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And worketh still for God! If God desired<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A people for His sacrificial lamb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Happiest of nations should that nation be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which died His willing victim!'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">'King, and Son,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With voice a moment troubled he resumed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Thy future rests with God! Yet shake, Oh shake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One boding grief—'tis causeless—from thy breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deeming thy race less valiant than the North:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faithfuller they stand and nearer to their sires!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remorseless less to others and to self<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I grant them; that implies not valiant less:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brave are still in spirit the merciful;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far down within their being stirs a sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of more than race or realm. Some claim world-wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereof the prophet is the wailing babe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smites on their hearts—a cradle decks therein<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Him they know not yet, the Bethlehem Babe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That claim thy fathers felt! Through Teuton woods<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span><span class="i0">(Dead Rome's historian saw what he records<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a>),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moved forth of old in cyclic pilgrimage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thick-veiled, the sacred image of the Earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All reverend Mother, crowned Humanity!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not war-steeds haled her car, but oxen meek;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as it passed oppugnant bounds, the trump<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceased from its blare; the lance, the war-axe fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grey foes shook hands; their children played together:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the limit line of dateless wars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked forth the vision thus of endless peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think'st thou that here was lack of manly heart?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King, this was manhood's self!'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">While thus he spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alfred, and Mildrede, children of the King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That long time, by that voice majestic charmed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had turned from distant sports, upon their knees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Softly and slowly to Birinus crept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their wide eyes from his countenance moving not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so knelt on; Alfred, the star-eyed boy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Supported by his father's sceptre-staff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His plaything late, now clasped in hands high-held.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him with a casual eye Birinus marked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At first; then stood, with upward brow, in trance—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden, as though with Pentecostal flame,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span><span class="i0">His whole face brightened; on him fell from God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spirit Divine; and thus the prophet cried:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Who speaks of danger when the Lord of all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Decrees high triumph? Victory's chariot winged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up-climbs the frowning mountains of Dismay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when above the sea's nocturnal verge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twin beams, divergent horns of orient light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Announce the ascending sun. Whatever cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Protracts the conflict, victory comes at last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'What ho! ye sons of Odin and the north!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far off your galleys tarry! English air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reafen, your raven standard, darkened long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woven of enchantments in the moon's eclipse:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It rains its plague no more! The Kingdoms Seven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye came to set a ravening each on each:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, ye have pressed and soldered them in one!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Behold, a Sceptre rises—not o'er Kent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first-born of the Faith; nor o'er those vales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Northumbrian, trod so long by crownèd saints;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor Mercia's plains invincible in war:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Wessex, barbarous late, and waste, and small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Hand that made the worlds that Sceptre lifts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hail tribe elect, the Judah of the Seven!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Piercing the darkness of an age unborn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see a King that hides his royal robe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Assumes the minstrel's garb. Where meet the floods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That King abides his time. I see him sweep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disguised, his harp within the Northmen's camp;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fifty fights I see him victory-crowned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see the mighty and the proud laid low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The humble lifted. God is over all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'The ruined cities 'mid their embers thrill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A voice went forth: they heard it. They shall rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their penance done, and cities worthier far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Roman vices ne'er contaminate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These shall not boast mosaic floor gem-wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trod by sinners. In the face of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their minster turrets these shall lift on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inviting God's great angels to descend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chaunt with them God's City here on earth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Who through the lethal forest cleaves a road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Healthful and fresh? Who bridges stream high-swollen?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who spreads the harvest round the poor man's cot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sets free the slave? On justice realms are built:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who makes his kingdom great through equal laws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not based on Pagan right, but rights in Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First just, then free? Who from her starry gates<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span><span class="i0">Beckons to Heavenly Wisdom—her who played<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere worlds were shaped, before the eyes of God?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who bids her walk the peopled fields of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reverend street with college graced and church?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who sings the latest of the Saxon songs?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who tunes to Saxon speech the Tome Divine?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Sing, happy land! The Isle that, prescient long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long waiting, hid her monarch in her heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall look on him and cry, "My flesh, my bone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My son, my king!" To him shall Cambria bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Alba's self. His strength is in his God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The third part of his time he gives to prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And God shall hear his vows! Hail, mighty King!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For aye thine England's glory! As I gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methinks I see a likeness on thy brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Likeness to one who kneels beside my feet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sceptre comes to him who sceptre spurned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through him it comes who sceptre clasped in sport;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Wessex' soil shall England's hope be born<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two centuries hence; and Alfred is his name!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2>EPILOGUE.</h2> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="BEDES_LAST_MAY" id="BEDES_LAST_MAY"></a><i>BEDE'S LAST MAY.</i></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Bede issues forth from Jarrow, and visiting certain villagers in a +wood, expounds to them the Beatitudes of Our Lord. Wherever he goes +he seeks records of past times, and promises in return that he will +bequeath to his fellow-countrymen translations from divers Sacred +Scriptures, and likewise a history of God's Church in their land. +Having returned to his monastery, he dies a most happy death on the +feast of the Ascension, while finishing his translation of St. +John's gospel. </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The ending of the Book of Saxon Saints.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With one lay-brother only blessed Bede,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In after times 'The Venerable' named,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed from his convent, Jarrow. Where the Tyne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blends with the sea, all beautiful it stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bathed in the sunrise. At the mouth of Wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A second convent, Wearmouth, rose. That hour<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span><span class="i0">The self-same matin splendour gilt them both;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in some speech of mingling lights, not words,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both sisters praised their God.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">'Apart, yet joined'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So mused the old man gazing on the twain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then onward paced, with head above his book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Murmuring his office. Algar walked behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A youth of twenty years, with tonsured head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And face, though young, forlorn. An hour had passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They reached a craggy height; and looking back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beheld once more beyond the forest roof<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those two fair convents glittering—at their feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those two clear rivers winding! Bound by rule,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again the monk addressed him to his book;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lection and psalm recited, thus he spake:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Why placed our holy Founder thus so near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His convents? Why, albeit a single rule,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last a single hand, had sway o'er both,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Placed them at distance? Hard it were to guess:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know but this, that severance here on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is strangely linked with union of the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Union with severance. Thou hast lost, young friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lately lost thy boyhood's dearest mate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine earliest friend, a brother of thy heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True Christian soul though dwelling in the world;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span><span class="i0">Fear not such severance can extinguish love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, or hereafter! He whom most I loved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was severed from me by the tract of years:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A child of nine years old was I, when first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jarrow received me: pestilence ere long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swept from that house her monks, save one alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceolfrid, then its abbot. Man and child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We two the lonely cloisters paced; we two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Together chaunted in the desolate church:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could not guess his thoughts; to him my ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were doubtless as the ways of some sick bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watched by a child. Not less I loved him well:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me too he somewhat loved. Beneath one roof<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We dwelt—and yet how severed! Save in God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What know men, one of other? Here on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps 'tis wiser to be kind to all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In large goodwill of helpful love, yet free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than link to one our heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor youth! that love which walks in narrow ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is tragic love, be sure.'<br /></span> +<span class="i26">With gentle face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The novice spake his gratitude. Once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hand upon the shoulder of the youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For now they mounted slow a bosky dell)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man spake—yet not to him—in voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce louder than the murmuring pines close by;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span><span class="i0">For, by his being's law he seemed, like them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times when pensive memories in him stirred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vocal not less than visible: 'How great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was he, our Founder! In that ample brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What brooding weight of genius! In his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How strangely was the pathos edged with light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How oft, his churches roaming, flashed its beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From pillar on to pillar, resting long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On carven imagery of flower or fruit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or deep-dyed window whence the heavenly choirs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave joy to men below! With what a zeal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He drew the cunningest craftsmen from all climes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To express his thoughts in form; while yet his hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like meanest hand among us, patient toiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In garden and in bakehouse, threshed the corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or drave the calves to milk-pail! Earthly rule<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had proved to him a weight intolerable;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In spiritual beauty, there and there alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Bennett Biscop found his native haunt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lucent planet of his soul's repose:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet—O wondrous might of human love—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One was there, one, to whom his heart was knit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Siegfried, in all unlike him save in worth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His was plain purpose, rectitude unwarped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Industry, foresight. On his friend's behalf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He ruled long years those beauteous convents twain,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span><span class="i0">Yet knew not they were beauteous! An abyss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Severed in spirit those in heart so near:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More late exterior severance came: three years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In cells remote they dwelt, by sickness chained:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But once they met—to die. I see them still:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monks had laid them on a single bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weeping, they turned them later each to each:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw the snowy tresses softly mix;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw the faded lips draw near and meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus gently interwreathed I saw them die—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange strength of human love!'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Still walked they on:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As high the sun ascended, woodlands green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shivered all golden; and the old man's heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brightened like them. His ever active mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inquisitive took note of all it saw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as some youth enamoured lifts a tress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her he loves, and wonders, so the monk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well loving Nature, loved her in detail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now pleased with nestling bird, anon with flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now noting how the beech from dewy sheath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pushed forth its silken leaflets fringed with down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exulting next because from sprays of lime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little fledgeling leaves, like creatures winged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brake from their ruddy shells. Jesting, he cried:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Algar! but hear those birds! Men say they sing<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span><span class="i0">To fire their young, night-bound, with gladsome news,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid them seek the sun!' Sadly the youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With downward front, replied: 'My friend is dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For me to gladden were to break a troth.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the brow of Bede a shadow fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent he paced, then stopped: 'Forgive me, Algar!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old men grow hard. Yet boys and girls salute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The May: like them the old must have their maying;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is perchance my last.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">As thus he spake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They reached the summit of a grassy hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath there wound a stream, upon its marge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hamlet nestling lonely in the woods:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its inmates saw the Saint, and t'wards him sped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eager as birds that, when the grain is flung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fountained cloister-court of Eastern church,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From all sides flock, with sudden rush of wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkening the pavement. Youths and maids came first;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their elders followed: some his garments kissed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some his hands. The venerable man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched forth his arms, as though to clasp them all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above them next he signed his Master's cross;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, while the tears ran down his aged face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brake forth in grateful joy; 'To God the praise!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, forty years ago, I roamed this vale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A haunt it was of rapine and of wars;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span><span class="i0">Now see I pleasant pastures, peaceful homes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faces peacefuller yet. That God Who walked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With His disciples 'mid the sabbath fields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While they the wheat-ears bruised, His sabbath keeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within your hearts this day! His harvest ye!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more a-hungered are His holy priests;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hunger for your souls; with reverent palms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daily the chaff they separate from the grain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daily His Church within her heart receives you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, with her heavenly substance makes you one;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye grow to be her eyes that see His truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her ears that hear His voice; her hands that pluck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His tree of life; her feet that walk His ways.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honouring God's priests ye err not, O my friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since thus ye honour God. In Him rejoice!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">So spake he, and his gladness kindled theirs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With it their courage. One her infant brought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sued for him a blessing. One, bereaved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cried out: 'Your promised peace has come at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more I wish him back to earth!' Again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old foes shook hands; while now, their fears forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Children that lately nestled at his feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clomb to his knees. Then called from out that crowd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A blind man; 'Read once more that Book of God!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, after you had left us, many a month<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span><span class="i0">I, who can neither see the sun nor moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw oft the God-Man walking farms and fields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that fair Eastern land!' He spake, and lo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All those around that heard him clamoured, 'Read!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Then Bede, the Sacred Scriptures opening, lit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the 'Sermon on the Mount,' and read:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The Saviour lifted up His holy eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On His disciples, saying, Blessed they;'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Expounding next the sense. 'Why fixed the Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eyes on them that listened? Friends, His eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go down through all things, searching out the heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sees if heart be sound to hold His Word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bring forth fruit in season, or as rock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Naked to bird that plucks the random seed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friends, with the heart alone we understand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who doth His will shall of the doctrine know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If His it be indeed. When Jesus speaks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fix first your eyes upon His eyes divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There reading what He sees within your heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If sin He sees, repent!'<br /></span> +<span class="i26">With hands upheld<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A woman raised her voice, and cried aloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Could we but look into the eyes of Christ<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nought should we see but love!' And Bede replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'From babe and suckling God shall perfect praise!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span><span class="i0">Yea, from His eyes looks forth the Eternal Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though oft, through sin of ours, in sadness veiled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when He rests them on disciples true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not on the stranger, love is love alone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O great, true hearts that love so well your Lord!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That heard so trustingly His tidings good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So long, by trial proved, have kept His Faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To you He cometh—cometh with reward<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In heaven, and here on earth.'<br /></span> +<span class="i32">With brightening face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As one who flingeth largess far abroad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more he raised the sacred tome, and read,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Read loud the Eight Beatitudes of Christ;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then ceased, but later spake: 'In ampler phrase<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those Blessings ye shall hear once more rehearsed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deeplier understand them. Blessed they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poor in spirit; for to humble hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Belongs the kingdom of their God in heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed the meek—nor gold they boast, nor power;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet theirs alone the sweetness of this earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed are they who mourn, for on their hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The consolation of their God shall fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed are they who hunger and who thirst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For righteousness; they shall be satisfied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed the merciful, for unto them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The God of mercy mercy shall accord;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span><span class="i0">Blessed are they, the pure in heart; their eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall see their God: Blessed the peacemakers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This title man shall give them—Sons of God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed are they who suffer for the cause<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Righteous and just: a throne is theirs on high:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed are ye when sinners cast you forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brand your name with falsehood for my sake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoice, for great is your reward in heaven.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Once more the venerable man made pause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Giving his Master's Blessings time to sink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through hearts of those who heard. Anon with speech<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though fervent, grave, he shewed the glory and grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those majestic Virtues crowned by Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While virtues praised by worldlings passed unnamed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How wondrously consentient each with each,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like flowers well sorted, or like notes well joined:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then changed the man to deeper theme; he shewed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How these high virtues, ere to man consigned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were warmed and moulded in the God-Man's heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thence born, and in its sacred blood baptized.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'What are these virtues but the life of Christ?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poor in spirit; must not they be lowly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose God is One that stooped to wear our flesh?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The meek; was He not meek Whom sinners mocked?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mourners; sent not He the Comforter?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span><span class="i0">Zeal for the good; was He not militant?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The merciful; He came to bring us mercy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pure in heart; was He not virgin-born?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peacemakers; is not He the Prince of Peace?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sufferers for God; He suffered first for man.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Virtues blest by Christ, high doctrines ye!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dread mysteries; royal records; standards red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrapped by the warrior King, His warfare past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around His soldiers' bosoms! Recognise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O man, that majesty in lowness hid!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Put on Christ's garments. Fools shall call them rags—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heed not their scoff! A prince's child is man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Born in the purple; but his royal robes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None other are than those the Saviour dyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Treading His Passion's wine-press all alone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of such alone be proud!'<br /></span> +<span class="i27">The old man paused;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then stretched his arms abroad, and said: 'This day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like eight great angels making way from Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each following each, those Eight Beatitudes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Missioned to earth by Him who made the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have sought you out! What welcome shall be theirs?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence long he stood; in silence watched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With faded cheek now flushed and widening eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The advance of those high tidings. As a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, when the sluice is cut, with beaming gaze<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span><span class="i0">Pursues the on-rolling flood from fall to fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green branch adown it swept, and showery spray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silvering the berried copse, so followed Bede<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The progress of those high Beatitudes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brightening, with visible beams of faith and love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That host in ampler circles, speechless some<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some in passionate converse. Saddest brows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most quickly caught, that hour, the glory-touch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reflected it the best.<br /></span> +<span class="i24">In such discourse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peaceful and glad the hours went by, though Bede<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had sought that valley less to preach the Word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than see once more his children. Evening nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shared their feast; and heard with joy like theirs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their village harp; and smote that harp himself.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In turn become their scholar, hour by hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth dragged he records of their chiefs and kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Untangling ravelled evidence, and still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tracking traditions upward to their source,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like him, that Halicarnassean sage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of antique history sire. 'I trust, my friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To leave your sons, for lore by you bestowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair recompense, large measure well pressed down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recording still God's kingdom in this land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">History which all may read, and gentle hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loving, may grow in grace. Long centuries passed,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span><span class="i0">If wealth should make this nation's heart too fat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And things of earth obscure the things of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haply such chronicle may prompt high hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wearied with shining nothings, back to cast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remorseful gaze through mists of time, and note<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rock whence they were hewn. From youth to age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inmate of yonder convent on the Tyne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I question every pilgrim, priest, or prince,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or peasant grey, and glean from each his sheaf:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Likewise the Bishops here and Abbots there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still send me deed of gift, or chronicle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or missive from the Apostolic See:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Praise be to God Who fitteth for his place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not only high but mean! With wisdom's strength<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He filled our mitred Wilfred, born to rule;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To saintly Cuthbert gave the spirit of prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On me, as one late born, He lays a charge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slender, yet helpful still.'<br /></span> +<span class="i28">Then spake a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burly and big, that last at banquet sat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Father, is history true?' and Bede replied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The man who seeks for Truth like hidden gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shrinks from falsehood as a leper's touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall write true history; not the truth unmixed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fancies, base or high; not truth entire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet truth beneficent to man below.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span><span class="i0">One Book there is that errs not: ye this day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have learned therefrom your Lord's Beatitudes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Book contains its histories—like them none,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since written none from standing point so high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With insight so inspired, such measure just<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of good and ill; high fruit of aid divine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slothful spurn that Book; the erroneous warp:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they who read its page, or hear it read,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their guide, God's Spirit, and the Church of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall hear the voice of Truth for ever nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall see the Truth, now sunlike, and anon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like dagger-point of light from dewy grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashed up, a word that yet confutes a life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pierces, perchance a nation's heart: shall see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far more—the Truth Himself in human form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walking not farms and fields of Eastern lands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone, but these our English fields and farms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall see Him on the dusky mount at prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall see Him in the street and by the bier;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall see Him at the feast, and at the grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now from the boat discoursing, and anon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Staying the storm, or walking on its waves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus shall our land become a holy land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And holy those who tread her!' Lifting then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavenward that tome, he said, 'The Book of God!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As stands God's Church, 'mid kingdoms of this world<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span><span class="i0">Holy alone, so stands, 'mid books, this Book!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the "Upper Chamber" once that Church<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lived in small space; to-day she fills the world:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This Book which seems so narrow is a world:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is an Eden of mankind restored;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is a heavenly city lit with God:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From it the Spirit and the Bride say "Come:"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed who reads this Book!'<br /></span> +<span class="i31">Above the woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime the stars shone forth; and came that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When to the wanderer and the toiling man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repose is sweet. Upon a leaf-strewn bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The venerable man slept well that night:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Next morning young and old pursued his steps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As southward he departed. From a hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er-looking far that sea-like forest tract<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a church far-kenned through smokeless air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He blessed that kneeling concourse, adding thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Pray still, O friends, for me, since spiritual foes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Threat most the priesthood:—pray that holy death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Due warning given, may close a life too blest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray well, since I for you have laboured well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, and will labour till my latest sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not only seeking you in wilds and woods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Year after year, but in my cell at night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Changing to accents of your native tongue<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span><span class="i0">God's Book Divine. Farewell, my friends, farewell!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He left them; in his heart this thought, 'How like<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great death-parting every parting seems!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But deathless hopes were with him; and the May;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His grief went by.<br /></span> +<span class="i19">So passed a day of Bede's;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a studious year were stored with such;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough but one for sample. Two glad weeks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He and his comrade onward roved. At eve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Convent or hamlet, known long since and loved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gladly received them. Bede with heart as glad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Renewed with them the memory of old times,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recounted benefits by him received,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then strong in youth, from just men passed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And preached his Master still with power so sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The listeners ne'er forgat him. Evermore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Parting, he planted in the ground a cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bade the neighbours till their church was built<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round it to pray. Meanwhile his youthful mate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Changed by degrees. The ever varying scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The biting breath and balmy breast of spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And most of all that old man's valiant heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Triumphed above his sadness, fancies gay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pushing beyond it like those sunnier shoots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gild the dark vest of the vernal pine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He took account of all things as they passed;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span><span class="i0">He laughed; he told his tale. With quiet joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His friend remarked that change. The second week<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They passed to Durham; next to Walsingham;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Gilling then; to stately Richmond soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High throned above her Ouse; to Ripon last:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Bede made pause, and spake; 'Not far is York;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Egbert who fills Paulinus' saintly seat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would see me gladly: such was mine intent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But something in my bosom whispers, "Nay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Return to that fair river crossed by night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Tees, the fairest in this Northern land:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside its restless wave thine eye shall rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On vision lovelier far and more benign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than all it yet hath seen."' Northward once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They faced, and, three days travelling, reached at eve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again those ivied cliffs that guard the Tees:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There as they stood a homeward dove, with flight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Softer for contrast with that turbulent stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sailed through the crimson eve. 'No sight like that!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus murmured Bede; 'ever to me it seems<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Christian soul returning to its rest.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shade came o'er his countenance as he mused;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Algar remarked that shade, though what it meant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew not yet. The old man from that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed mirthful less, less buoyant, beaming less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet not less glad.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +<span class="i20">At dead of night, while hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sacred stars upon their course half way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He left his couch, and thus to Egbert wrote,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meek man—too meek—the brother of the king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With brow low bent, and onward sweeping hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great words, world-famed: 'Remember thine account!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Lord's Apostles are the salt of earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let salt not lose its savour! Flail and fan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are given thee. Purge thou well thy threshing floor!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repel the tyrant; hurl the hireling forth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That so from thy true priests true hearts may learn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True faith, true love, and nothing but the truth!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Before the lark he rose the morrow morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stood by Algar's bed, and spake: 'Arise!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Playtime is past; the great, good work returns;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Jarrow speed we!' Homeward, day by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thenceforth they sped with foot that lagged no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That youth, at first so mournful, joyous now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That old man oft in thought. Next day, while eve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Descended dim, and clung to Hexham's groves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He passed its abbey, silent. Wonder-struck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Algar demanded, 'Father, pass you thus<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That church where holy John<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> ordained you priest?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass you its Bishop, Acca, long your friend?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span><span class="i0">Yearly he woos your visit; tells you tales<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Hexham's saintly Wilfred; shows you still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chalice or cross new-won from distant shores:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor these alone:—glancing from such last year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A page he read you of some Pagan bard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With smiles; yet ended with a sigh, and said:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Where is he now?"' The man of God replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Desire was mine to see mine ancient friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that cause came I hither:—time runs short':—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, Algar sighing, thus he added mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Let go that theme; thy mourning time is past:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy gladsome time is now.' As on they walked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Later he spake: 'It may be I was wrong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old friends should part in hope.'<br /></span> +<span class="i35">On Jarrow's towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright as that sunrise while that pair went forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunset glittered when, their wanderings past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bede and his comrade by the bank of Tyne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more approached the gates. Six hundred monks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flocked forth to meet them. 'They had grieved, I know,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus spake, low-voiced, the venerable man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'If I had died remote. To spare that grief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the time intended I returned.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sadly that comrade looked upon his face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet saw there nought of sadness. Silent each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advanced they till they met that cowlèd host:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span><span class="i0">But three weeks later on his bed the boy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembered well those words.<br /></span> +<span class="i32">Within a cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Algar's near that later night a youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrote thus to one far off, his earliest friend:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'O blessed man! was e'er a death so sweet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sang that verse, "A dreadful thing it is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fall into the hands of God, All-Just;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet awe in him seemed swallowed up by love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ofttimes with the Prophets and the Psalms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He mixed glad minstrelsies of English speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Songs to his childhood dear!<br /></span> +<span class="i30">'O blessed man!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Ascension Feast of Christ our Lord drew nigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He watched that splendour's advent; sang its hymn:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"All-glorious King, Who, triumphing this day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the heaven of heavens didst make ascent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forsake us not, poor orphans! Send Thy Spirit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Spirit of Truth, the Father's promised Gift,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To comfort us, His children: Hallelujah."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he reached that word, "Forsake us not,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wept—not tears of grief. With him we wept;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alternate wept; alternate read our rite;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, while we wept we read. So passed that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sufferer thanking God with labouring breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"God scourges still the son whom He receives."<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span><span class="i2">'Undaunted, unamazed, daily he wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His daily task; instruction daily gave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To us his scholars round him ranged, and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I will not have my pupils learn a lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor, fruitless, toil therein when I am gone."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full well he kept an earlier promise, made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ofttimes to humble folk, in English tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rendering the Gospels of the Lord. On these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last of these, the Gospel of Saint John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He laboured till the close. The days went by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still he toiled, and panted, and gave thanks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To God with hands uplifted; yea, in sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He made thanksgiving still. When Tuesday came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suffering increased; he said, "My time is short;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How short it is I know not." Yet we deemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew the time of his departure well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'On Wednesday morn once more he bade us write:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We wrote till the third hour, and left him then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pace, in reverence of that Feast all-blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our cloister court with hymns. Meantime a youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Algar by name, there was who left him never;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same that hour beside him sat and wrote:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More late he questioned: "Father well-beloved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One chapter yet remaineth; have you strength<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To dictate more?" He answered: "I have strength;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span><span class="i0">Make ready, son, thy pen, and swiftly write."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When noon had come he turned him round and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I have some little gifts for those I love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call in the Brethren;" adding with a smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The rich man makes bequests, and why not I?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then gifts he gave, incense or altar-cloth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To each, commanding, "Pray ye for my soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be strong in prayer and offering of the Mass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ye shall see my face no more on earth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed hath been my life; and time it is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That unto God God's creature should return;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, I desire to die, and be with Christ."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus speaking, he rejoiced till evening's shades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darkened around us. That disciple young<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more addressed him, "Still one verse remains;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The master answered, "Write, and write with speed;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dictated. The young man wrote; then said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis finished now." The man of God replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Well say'st thou, son, ''tis finished.' In thy hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Receive my head, and move it gently round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For comfort great it is, and joy in death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus, on this pavement of my little cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Facing that happy spot whereon so oft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In prayer I knelt, to sit once more in prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thanking my Father." "Glory," then he sang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"To God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost;"<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span><span class="i0">And with that latest Name upon his lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed to the Heavenly Kingdom.'<br /></span> +<span class="i34">Thus with joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Died holy Bede upon Ascension Day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Jarrow Convent. May he pray for us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all who read his annals of God's Church<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In England housed, his great bequest to man!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See Montalembert's 'Moines de l'Occident,' vol. iii. p. +343; and also Burke: 'On the Continent the Christian religion, after the +northern irruptions, not only remained but flourished.... In England it +was so entirely extinguished that when Augustine undertook his mission, +it does not appear that among all the Saxons there was a single person +professing Christianity.'</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Tacitus. The German's wife might well be called his +'helpmate.' His wedding gift to his bride consisted of a horse, a yoke +of oxen, a lance and a sword.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Mallet's <i>Northern Antiquities</i>, pp. 79, 80. (Bell and +Daldy, 1873.) Burke records this tradition with an entire credence. See +note in p. 288.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> <i>Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire</i>, chap. x.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Mallet's <i>Northern Antiquities</i>, pp. 88, 89.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> P. 89.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> P. 100.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Mallet's <i>Northern Antiquities</i>, p. 103.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> <i>The Prose Edda.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> <i>Northern Antiquities</i>: the Editor, T. A. Blackwell.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> P. 474.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> P. 475.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> T. A. Blackwell. See Mallet's <i>Northern Antiquities</i>, p. +476.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> 'This (Christianity), as it introduced great mildness into +the tempers of the people, made them less warlike, and consequently +prepared the way to their forming one body.'—Burke, <i>An Abridgment of +English History</i>, book ii. chap. iii.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> <i>Saxons in England</i>, vol. i. p. 330.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> <i>Saxons in England</i>, vol. i. p. 335.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> <i>History of the Anglo-Saxons</i>, vol. i. p. 241.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> 'In process of time, Britain, besides the Britons and +Picts, received a third nation, the Scots, who migrating from Ireland, +under their leader Reuda, either by fair means or by force of arms +secured to themselves those settlements among the Picts which they still +possess.'—Bede's <i>Ecclesiastical Hist.</i>, book i. cap. i.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> 'In the fifth century there appear in North Britain two +powerful and distinct tribes, who are not before named in history. These +are the Picts and the Scots.... The Scots, on the other hand, were of +Irish origin; for, to the great confusion of ancient history, the +inhabitants of Ireland, those at least of the conquering and +predominating caste, were called Scots. A colony of these Irish Scots, +distinguished by the name of Dalriads, or Dalreudini, natives of Ulster, +had early attempted a settlement on the coast of Argyleshire; they +finally established themselves there under Fergus, the son of Eric, +about the year 503, and, recruited by colonies from Ulster, continued to +multiply and increase until they formed a nation which occupied the +western side of Scotland.'—Sir Walter Scott's <i>History of Scotland</i>, +vol. i. p. 7. Scott proceeds to record the eventual triumph of the Irish +or Scotic race over the Pictish in the ninth century. 'So complete must +have been the revolution that the very language of the Picts is lost.... +The country united under his sway (that of Kenneth Mac Alpine) was then +called for the first time Scotland.' The same statement is made by +Burke: 'The principal of these were the Scots, a people of ancient +settlement in Ireland, and who had thence been transplanted into the +northern part of Britain, which afterwards derived its name from that +colony.'—Burke, <i>Abridgment of English History</i>, book i. cap. iv.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> <i>Moines d'Occident</i>, vol. iv. pp. 127-8. Par le Comte de +Montalembert.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Cardinal Newman's <i>Historical Sketches</i>, vol. i. p. 266: +<i>The Northmen and Normans in England and Ireland</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Sara Coleridge.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> As the illustration of an Age, Bede's <i>History</i> has been +well compared by Cardinal Manning with the <i>Fioretti di S. Francesco</i>, +that exquisite illustration of the thirteenth century.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> The motto of the University of Oxford.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> Tacitus.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> St. John of Beverley.</p></div> + +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><a name="NOTES" id="NOTES"></a>NOTES.</h2> + + +<p><a href="#Page_xxxvi">Page xxxvi</a>. <i>The Irish Mission in England during the seventh century was +one of the great things of history.</i></p> + +<p>The following expressions of Dr. von Döllinger respecting the Irish +Church are more ardent than any I have ventured to use:—</p> + +<p>'During the sixth and seventh centuries the Church of Ireland stood in +the full beauty of its bloom. The spirit of the Gospel operated amongst +the people with a vigorous and vivifying power: troops of holy men, from +the highest to the lowest ranks of society, obeyed the counsel of +Christ, and forsook all things that they might follow Him. There was not +a country in the world, during this period, which could boast of pious +foundations or of religious communities equal to those that adorned this +far distant island. Among the Irish the doctrines of the Christian +religion were preserved pure and entire; the names of heresy or of +schism were not known to them; and in the Bishop of Rome they +acknowledged and venerated the Supreme Head of the Church on earth, and +continued with him, and through him with the whole Church, in a never +interrupted communion. The schools in the Irish cloisters were at this +time the most celebrated in all the West.... The strangers who visited +the island, not only from the neighbouring shores of Britain, but also +from the most remote nations of the Continent, received from the Irish +people the most hospitable reception, a gratuitous entertainment, free +instruction, and even the books that were necessary for the studies.... +On the other hand, many holy and learned Irish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>men left their own +country to proclaim the Faith, to establish or to reform monasteries in +distant lands, and thus to become the benefactors of almost every +country in Europe.... The foundation of many of the English Sees is due +to Irishmen.... These holy men served God, and not the world; they +possessed neither gold nor silver, and all that they received from the +rich passed through their hands into the hands of the poor. Kings and +nobles visited them from time to time only to pray in their churches, or +to listen to their sermons; and as long as they remained in the +cloisters they were content with the humble food of the brethren. +Wherever one of these ecclesiastics or monks came, he was received by +all with joy; and whenever he was seen journeying across the country, +the people streamed around him to implore his benediction, and to +hearken to his words. The priests entered the villages only to preach or +to administer the Sacraments; and so free were they from avarice, that +it was only when compelled by the rich and noble that they would accept +lands for the erection of monasteries.'</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_xliii">Page xliii</a>. <i>For both countries that early time was a period of +wonderful spiritual greatness.</i></p> + +<p>I cannot deny myself the pleasure of quoting the following passage +illustrating the religious greatness both of the Irish and the English +at the period referred to:—</p> + +<p>'The seventh and eighth centuries are the glory of the Anglo-Saxon +Church, as the sixth and seventh are of the Irish. As the Irish +missionaries travelled down through England, France, and Switzerland, to +Lower Italy, and attempted Germany at the peril of their lives, +converting the barbarian, restoring the lapsed, encouraging the +desolate, collecting the scattered, and founding churches, schools, and +monasteries as they went along; so amid the deep pagan woods of Germany, +and round about, the English Benedictine plied his axe, and drove his +plough, planted his rude dwelling, and raised his rustic altar upon the +ruins of idolatry; and then, settling down as a colonist upon the soil, +began to sing his chants and to copy his old volumes, and thus to lay +the slow but <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>sure foundations of the new civilisation. Distinct, nay +antagonistic, in character and talents, the one nation and the other, +Irish and English—the one more resembling the Greek, the other the +Roman—open from the first perhaps to jealousies as well as rivalries, +they consecrated their respective gifts to the Almighty Giver, and, +labouring together for the same great end, they obliterated whatever +there was of human infirmity in their mutual intercourse by the merit of +their common achievements. Each by turn could claim pre-eminence in the +contest of sanctity and learning. In the schools of science England has +no name to rival Erigena in originality, or St. Virgil in freedom of +thought; nor (among its canonised women) any saintly virgin to compare +with St. Bridget; nor, although it has 150 saints in its calendar, can +it pretend to equal that Irish multitude which the Book of Life alone is +large enough to contain. Nor can Ireland, on the other hand, boast of a +doctor such as St. Bede, or of an apostle equal to St. Boniface, or of a +martyr like St. Thomas; or of so long a catalogue of royal devotees as +that of the thirty male or female Saxons who, in the course of two +centuries, resigned their crowns; or as the roll of twenty-three kings, +and sixty queens and princes, who, between the seventh and the eleventh +centuries, gained a place among the saints.'—Cardinal Newman, <i>Historic +Sketches</i>, 'The Isles of the North,' pp. 128-9.</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_16">Page 16</a>.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Instant each navy at the other dashed</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Like wild beast, instinct-taught.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>This image will be found in the description of a Scandinavian sea-fight +in a remarkable book less known than it deserves to be, <i>The Invasion</i>, +by Gerald Griffin, author of <i>The Collegians</i>.</p> + +<p>The Saxons were, however, in early times as much pirates as the Danes +were at a later.</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_18">Page 18</a>. The achievement of Hastings had been rehearsed at a much +earlier period by Harald.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_39">Page 39</a>. <i>At Ely, Elmham, and beside the Cam.</i></p> + +<p>In the reign of Sigebert, Felix, Bishop of East Anglia, founded schools +respecting which Montalembert remarks: 'Plusieurs ont fait remonter à +ces écoles monastiques l'origine de la célèbre université de Cambridge.'</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_44">Page 44</a>. <i>How beautiful, O Sion, are thy courts!</i></p> + +<p>The following hymns are from the Office for the Consecration of a +Church.</p> + + +<p>St. Fursey. <a href="#Page_67">Page 67</a>.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i17"><i>How one with brow</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Lordlier than man's, and visionary eyes.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>'Whilst Sigebert still governed the kingdom there came out of Ireland a +holy man named Fursey, renowned both for his words and actions, and +remarkable for singular virtues, being desirous to live a stranger for +Our Lord, wherever an opportunity should offer.... He built himself the +monastery (Burghcastle in Suffolk) wherein he might with more freedom +indulge his heavenly studies. There falling sick, as the book about his +life informs us, he fell into a trance, and, quitting his body from the +evening till the cockcrow, he was found worthy to behold the choirs of +angels, and hear the praises which are sung in heaven.... He not only +saw the greater joys of the Blessed, but also extraordinary combats of +Evil Spirits.'—Bede, <i>Hist.</i> book iii. cap. xix. 'C'était un moine +irlandais nommé Fursey, de très-noble naissance et célèbre depuis sa +jeunesse dans son pays par sa science et ses visions.... Dans la +principale de ses visions Ampère et Ozanam se sont accordés à +reconnaître une des sources poétiques de la <i>Divine +Comédie</i>.'—Montalembert, <i>Les Moines d'Occident</i>, tome iv. pp. 93-4.</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_116">Page 116</a>. <i>'None loveth Song that loves not Light and Truth.'</i></p> + +<p>This is one of the poetic aphorisms of Cadoc, a Cambrian <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>prince and +saint, educated in the Irish monastery of Lismore, and afterwards the +founder of the great Welsh monastery of Llancarvan, in which he gave +religious instruction to the sons of the neighbouring princes and +chiefs.</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_120">Page 120</a>.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i18"><i>True life of man</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Is life within.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>This thought is taken from one of St. Teresa's beautiful works.</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_141">Page 141</a>. <i>Ceadmon, the earliest bard of English song.</i></p> + +<p>'A part of one of Ceadmon's poems is preserved in King Alfred's Saxon +version of Bede's <i>History</i>.' (Note to Bede's <i>Ecclesiastical History</i>, +edited by Dr. Giles, p. 218.)</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_180">Page 180</a>. <i>Who told him tales of Leinster Kings, his sires.</i></p> + +<p>'L'origine irlandaise de Cuthbert est affirmé sans réserve par Reeves +dans ses <i>Notes sur Wattenbach</i>, p. 5. Lanigan (c. iii. p. 88) constate +qu'Usher, Ware, Colgan, en ont eu la même opinion.... Beaucoup d'autres +anciens auteurs irlandais et anglais en font un natif de +l'Irlande.'—Montalembert, <i>Les Moines d'Occident</i>, tome ii. pp. 391-2.</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_191">Page 191</a>. <i>The thrones are myriad, but the Enthroned is One.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i31">Oft as Spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Decks on thy sinuous banks her thousand thrones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seats of glad instinct, and love's carolling.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wordsworth (addressed to the river Greta).</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_208">Page 208</a>. <i>Saint Frideswida, or the Foundations of Oxford.</i></p> + +<p>Saint Frideswida died in the same year as the venerable Bede, viz. <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> +735. Her story is related by Montalembert, <i>Les Moines d'Occident</i>, vol. +v. pp. 298-302, with the following references, viz. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>Leland, +<i>Collectanea</i>, ap. Dugdale, t. I. p. 173; cf. Bolland, t. viii. October, +p. 535 à 568. I learn from a Catholic prayer book published in 1720 that +the Saint's Feast used to be kept on the 19th of October. Her remains, +as is commonly believed, still exist in the Cathedral of Oxford.</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_240">Page 240</a>. <i>Your teacher he: he taught you first your Runes.</i></p> + +<p>'The Icelandic chronicles point out Odin as the most persuasive of men. +They tell us that nothing could resist the force of his words; that he +sometimes enlivened his harangues with verses, which he composed +extempore; and that he was not only a great poet, but that it was he who +first taught the art of poesy to the Scandinavians. He was also the +inventor of the Runic characters.'—<i>Northern Antiquities</i>, p. 83. +Mallet asserts that it was to Christianity that the Scandinavians owed +the practical use of those Runes which they had possessed for +centuries:—'nor did they during so many years ever think of committing +to writing those verses with which their memories were loaded; and it is +probable that they only wrote down a small quantity of them at last.... +Among the innumerable advantages which accrued to the Northern nations +from the introduction of the Christian religion, that of teaching them +to apply the knowledge of letters to useful purposes is not the least +valuable. Nor could a motive less sacred have eradicated that habitual +and barbarous prejudice which caused them to neglect so admirable a +secret.'—P. 234. Mallet's statement respecting the Greek emigration of +the Northern 'Barbarians' from the East is thus confirmed by Burke. +'There is an unquestioned tradition among the Northern nations of Europe +importing that all that part of the world had suffered a great and +general revolution by a migration from Asiatic Tartary of a people whom +they call Asers. These everywhere expelled or subdued the ancient +inhabitants of the Celtick or Cimbrick original. The leader of this +Asiatic army was called Odin, or Wodin; first their general, afterwards +their tutelar deity.... The Saxon nation believed themselves the +descend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>ants of those conquerors.' Burke, <i>Abridgment of English +History</i>, book ii. cap. i.</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_252">Page 252</a>. <i>Like hunters chasing hart, to sea-beat cliffs.</i></p> + +<p>This is recorded by Lingard and Burke.</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_259">Page 259</a>. <i>Bede's Last May.</i></p> + +<p>This narrative of the death of Bede is closely taken from a letter +written by Cuthbert, a pupil of his, then residing in Jarrow, to a +fellow-pupil at a distance. An English version of that letter is +prefixed to Dr. Giles's translation of <i>Bede's Ecclesiastical History</i>. +(Henry G. Bohn.) The death of Bede took place on Wednesday, May 26, <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> +735, being Ascension Day.</p> + + +<p><a href="#Page_265">Page 265</a>. <i>They hunger for your souls; with reverent palms.</i></p> + +<p>'But in a mystical sense the disciples pass through the cornfields when +the holy Doctors look with the care of a pious solicitude upon those +whom they have initiated in the Faith, and who, it is implied, are +hungering for the best of all things—the salvation of men. But to pluck +the ears of corn means to snatch men away from the eager desire of +earthly things. And to rub with the hands is, by examples of virtue, to +put from the purity of their minds the concupiscence of the flesh, as +men do husks. To eat the grains is when a man, cleansed from the filth +of vice by the mouths of preachers, is incorporated amongst the members +of the Church.'—Bede, quoted in the <i>Catena Aurea</i>. <i>Commentary on St. +Mark</i>, cap. ii. v. 23.</p> + +<p class="center" style="margin-top:4em;"> +LONDON: PRINTED BY<br /> +SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE<br /> +AND PARLIAMENT STREET +</p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2><i>A LIST OF<br />C. KEGAN PAUL AND CO.'S<br />PUBLICATIONS.</i></h2> +<hr /> + +<p style="text-align:right;"><i>1, Paternoster Square, London.</i> +</p> + + + +<p class="center">A LIST OF<br />C. KEGAN PAUL AND CO.'S<br />PUBLICATIONS.</p> + +<dl> +<dt>ABBEY (Henry).</dt> + +<dd>Ballads of Good Deeds, and Other Verses. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth gilt, +price 5<i>s.</i></dd> + +<dt>ABDULLA (Hakayit).</dt> + +<dd>Autobiography of a Malay Munshi. Translated by J. T. Thomson, +F.R.G.S. With Photolithograph Page of Abdulla's MS. Post 8vo. +Cloth, price 12<i>s.</i></dd> + +<dt>ADAMS (A. 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Kegan Paul & Co., 1, Paternoster Square.</span></p> +</div> + + +<h2>Transcriber's Notes</h2> + + +<p>The following words or names are not consistent throughout, but are +retained as in the original text.</p> + +<ul> +<li> Voluspá</li> +<li> Völuspá</li> +<li> Voluspà</li> +</ul> + +<ul> +<li> Jötunheim</li> +<li> Jotünheim</li> +</ul> + +<ul> +<li> hill-side</li> +<li> hillside</li> +</ul> + +<ul> +<li> May-day</li> +<li> Mayday</li> +</ul> + +<ul> +<li> out-stretched</li> +<li> outstretched</li> +</ul> + +<ul> +<li> sea-ward</li> +<li> seaward</li> +</ul> + +<ul> +<li> Malmsbury</li> +<li> Malmesbury</li> +</ul> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Legends of the Saxon Saints, by Aubrey de Vere + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGENDS OF THE SAXON SAINTS *** + +***** This file should be named 29121-h.htm or 29121-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/2/29121/ + +Produced by David Clarke, Leonard Johnson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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