University of Virginia Library


105

THE LEGEND OF SAINT ALEXIS.

A ROMAN LEGEND.

(DIED A.D. 398.)

I. PART I.

ARGUMENT.

Euphemian, the descendant of a great Roman stock, is a Christian, as is Aglaë, his wife; and each day they have three tables set forth—one for orphans, one for widows, and one for pilgrims. After many years a son is granted to their prayers. While yet a child, he is esteemed by all Christian Rome to be a Saint. In time, his parents contract the youth to a Greek maiden. On the day of his marriage, there is sent to Alexis one of those wondrous mandates from on high, whereof men read in the sacred Scriptures; and he at once leaves all, and abides at Edessa, among the pilgrims who kneel in the porches of its chief church. After many years, a second divine mandate requires him to return to his father's house, and abide there unknown till death. There he lies ever in a little cell under a marble staircase, being unable to rise through great pains. After many years, when death draws nigh, he commands that paper and ink should be brought; and he writes down his history and dies alone. As soon as that scroll is read there is great lamentation in the house; but God turns that sorrow into joy, and Alexis is followed to his grave by all the great ones of Rome; and the house of his fathers is changed into a church, which remains to this day.

In Rome long since upon Mount Aventine
There stood a marble palace vast and fair
'Mid gardens rich in mulberry and vine,
With columned atrium and Parian stair,
Statued by godlike forms at either side,
Ancestral chiefs, a Roman noble's pride.

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That stock was ancient when great Cæsar fell;
Ancient when Hannibal with gloomy brow
From Zama rode, till then invincible;
Ancient when Cincinnatus left his plough;
Ancient when Liberty in crimson dyed
Leaped forth, re-virgined, from a virgin's side—
Virginia's bleeding 'neath her father's knife;
Ancient when Rome in civil conflict reeled
By rapine torn or fratricidal strife
Ill fruit of that Licinian Law repealed,
And free-born peasants, famed in peace and war,
Gave place to slaves, base scum from realms afar.
Then too the Euphemian race held high its head
Above the custom new and mist of error;
The native husbandmen with freedom's tread
Walked still its fields; in gladness not in terror
Their young, fair daughters, rising from the board,
Greeted the entrance of an unfeared lord.
He came not only when the flocks were shorn
To claim his half; when corn-clad slopes grew fat;
When russet sheaves to golden barns were borne;
When olives bled, or grapes made red the vat:
He stood among them when the son was wed;
He followed to his grave the grandsire dead.
Centuries went by; they brought a dread reward:
That Senate-Order of a later day,
Fooled by their flatterers, by their slaves abhorred,
Reaped as they sowed, each upstart anarch's prey
Successively proscribed. 'Mid seas of blood
The Empire by the dead Republic stood.

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The Christian Truth, held truly, had sufficed
Even then to save that Empire: nought availed
The name invoked but not the Faith of Christ,
Or Faith that made its boast in words, but failed
To rear on Pagan wrecks of sense and pride
The Christian throne of greatness sanctified.
The imperial sceptre to the East transferred
Left prouder still the West. More high each day
The pomp up-swelled of Rome's great Houses, stirred
By legendary lore and servile lay,
And hungry crowds contented long to wait
The bread-piled basket at the palace-gate.
‘My Lord receives his clients.’ In they throng,
Freedman and slave, Greek cook and Syrian priest,
Wizard and mime, adepts in dance or song;
The perfumed patron, recent from the feast
Or drunken slumbers reddening still his eyes,
Enters; and plausive shouts insult the skies,
Startling a score of scriveners, forms grotesque
That bend lean foreheads, seamed by fevered veins,
Across the ledger broad or mouldering desk;
For then each Roman noble held domains
By Rhenus, Rhodanus, and every shore
That hears or viol's sigh or panther's roar.
Those nobles seldom rode to battle-fields;
They steered to distant ports no ships broad-sailed;
But well they knew that gain which usury yields;
Or, borrowing oft, when tricksome fortune failed
Pawned their best plate and many a gem beside,
Knee-crooked to soothe some upstart lender's pride.

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The gilded barge is launched: a score of slaves
Drag back the flashing oars; a second score
With incense charge each wind that curls the waves,
Or harmonize blue Baiæ's watery floor
With strains that charmed Calypso's halls erewhile,
Or lured Ulysses t'ward the Siren's isle.
They trod the marbles of the Thermæ vast
Their skirts aflame with legend-broideries;
Bull-born, Europa here the Bosphorus passed,
The Idean shepherd there adjudged the prize;
Or Venus, fisher turned, with bending rod
Down dropped a wet-winged Cupid on the sod.
Their litters borne by sweating slaves, they clomb
On August noons Soracte's steepest ridge;
Or, pinnace-cradled, pushed the creamy foam
Onward through dusk Avernus' waving sedge;
They turned not there great Maro's page, yet oft
Alike the Poet and his Sibyl scoffed.
Temples and shrines adorned their palaces;
Syrian the rite once Roman, later Greek:
Old libraries remained: they sought them less
For song heroic than for tale lubrique;
Here sophists warred in turn on body and soul;
There dust lay thick on Plato's godlike scroll.
Travelling, a troop Numidian cleared their way;
Their carrucæ were silver, gold-émbossed;
In festal barge they coasted Cumæ's bay:
If there a keener gust the ripple crossed
They shook like some sick child that sees in dream
Ixion's doom or rage of Polypheme.

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Harp, lyre, and lute for ever dinned their bowers;
But witless, loud, or shrill was every strain:
They feared the incense-breath of innocent flowers
Yet quaffed their wine-cups near the uncovered drain;
Feared omens more than wrath divine, and fled
The fevered child, the parent's dying bed.
The poison root of those base ways was this:
Self-love had slain or fouled each household tie:
The wedded seldom loved, or loved amiss:
Child-birth was tribute paid to ancestry;
Rottenness reigned: the World, grown old, stripped bare,
More ruled than when the Witch was young and fair.
Need was there that the Lord of Love should burst
Once more on man as in man's prime estate,
And, teaching that the ‘First Command’ is first
The ‘Second’ second only, vindicate
For human loves that greatness theirs alone
When Love's far source and heavenly end are known.
Ages of Sin had heaped on high a debt
Heroic Virtue could alone defray:
The limb ill-joined could never be re-set
Till broken; Love, till cleansed, resume its sway.
Conventual cells that seemed to spurn the earth
And hermit caves, built up the Christian Hearth.
Fire-scorched Thebais, lion-tenanted!
'Twas in thy lion's abdicated lair
Ascetic Virtue laid its infant head:
The heart, dried up, found waters only there:

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That Faith burnt in upon it from above
By pain, sent up at last Faith's offspring—Love.
Rome caught the sacred flame. Brave men, and those
Infected least by wealth and popular praise
Could walk in strength, in dignity repose,
In part were faithful to the old Roman ways:
Matrons there were on whom Cornelia's eye
Might rest; and youths well pleased like Regulus to die.
Pagan were these ofttimes, but less revered
Venus than Pallas, Plutus less than Pan:
The gods ‘Pandemian’ they nor loved nor feared:
In nobler gods the noblest thoughts of man
Looked down, so deemed they, from the Olympian throne,
Or types or delegates of that ‘God Unknown.’
Others, incensed at priestly conjuring trick,
Reluctant bade the fane profaned adieu,
But with the Sophist's godless rhetoric
Their own hearts wronged not. Far as truth they knew
They lived it; wrought for man, and peace ensued
Branding the Bad, and cleaving to the Good.
An exhalation of celestial grace
Moved o'er the Empire from the Martyrs' tombs:
Christians, oft slaves, were found in every place;
Their words, their looks, brightened the heathen gloom:
Such gleams still hallow Antoninus' page,
The saintly Pagan and Imperial Sage.

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Prescient of fate the old worship lay in swoon,
Helpless though huge, dying and all but dead;
The young Faith clasped it as the keen new moon
A silver crescent risen o'er ocean's bed
Clasps that sad orb whose light from earth is won:—
Its youthful conqueror parleys with the sun.
The Poor came first, and reaped the chief reward;
Old Houses next: Truth loves Humility:
Humility is humblest when most hard
To reach—the lowliness of high degree:
Such bowed to Christ: in turn He gave to them
The stars of Truth's whole heaven for diadem.
The thought of greatness in them long had dwelt:
The difference 'twixt the greatness counterfeit
And genuine greatness plainly now they felt:
Eyes had they; and they saw it. Henceforth sweet
Was every sacrifice that Vision brought:
No wish had these to purchase heaven for naught.
They knew 'twas sense and valour, not the hand
In unguents drenched, that won the world for Rome:
Sublimer ends sublimer pains demand:
A spiritual kingship, country, hope, and home
Shone out and hailed them from the far-off shore—
‘To sea, though tempests rage and breakers roar!’
Piercing remorse was theirs whene'er they mused
On all which God to Rome in trust had given;
The majesties profaned, the rights abused:
What help to earth, what reverence to heaven,
Had these bequeathed? What meant her realm world-wide?
Injustice throned, and Falsehood deified!

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Through all that boundless realm from East to West
Had Virtue flowered? Had Wisdom come to fruit?
Had Freedom raised to heaven her lordlier crest?
Had household Peace pushed down a deeper root?
More true were wives, were maids more pure that day
Than Portia, Clelia, or Nausicaa?
Behold, the flowering was of vices new;
The fruitage fruits of hate and self-disgust;
Knowledge had bathed her roots in lethal dew:
If higher now her branching head she thrust
The Upas shade spread wider than of old;
And wealth had bound man's heart in chains of gold.
The Christian noble spurned the old Roman pride;
Whate'er the Christian prized the Pagan hated,
And clasped, his zeal by wrath intensified,
Rome's meanest boasts with passion unabated:
Their homes stood near: for that cause further still
The inmates were estranged in thought and will.
The Christian ofttimes sold his all, and gave
The poor its price; another kept his lands
But spent their increase freeing serf and slave,
Himself sustained by labour of his hands:
Thus each renounced himself, for others wrought
Yet found that personal good he had not sought.
Wedded were some, and reverently to Christ
Upreared a race to Him obedient. Some
For His sake hearth and household sacrificed;
Others, in that fresh dawn of Christendom,
Though spoused lived on in vestal singleness,
Young chastity's severe yet sweet excess.

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Of Christian homes the noblest and the first
Was that huge palace on Mount Aventine:
Fortune and Pagan spite had done their worst:
They maimed it, yet not marred. The time's decline
Made it but holier seem. The Christian Truth
Shone, starlike, from its breast in endless youth.
Three hundred freemen served there as of yore,
Bondsmen whilom. The clients of old time
Walked there as children, parasites no more;
Mastery and service, like recurrent rhyme,
Kissed with pure lip; for one great reverence swayed
Alike their hearts who ruled and who obeyed.
The beast that drew the water from the well
In nearer stream had earlier quenched his thirst,
Nor laboured over-burdened: placable
Was each man: vengeance there was held accursed:
Before one altar knelt the high, the low;
Heard the same prayer: it rose for friend and foe.
Euphemian was the name far-known of him
The lord of all those columned porticoes
Those gardens vast with ilex alleys dim
Those courts enriched with orange and with rose:
Happy in youth; thrice happier since his bride,
Aglae, paced those halls her lord beside.
She was a being beautiful as day,
Tender and pliant to her husband's will
As to the wind that flower each breath can sway
While branch and blade hang near it hushed and still,
And therefore ‘wind-flower’ named. On her Christ's Poor
Looked ever with moist eyes and trust secure.

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One thing alone was wanting to this pair—
The sound of children's feet patting the floor,
The ring of children's laughter on the air,
Their clamorous joy at opening of a door
To see, to clasp their parents newly come
From watery Tibur or green Tusculum.
The Poor pray well: at last the prayer was heard
From countless hearths ascending eve and morn;
From countless hearts. The joy so long deferred
Was sent at last; the longed-for boy was born.
That day all Rome kept festival; that night
Each casement shone, and every face was bright.
The months went swiftly by: the Seven-Hilled City
Well loved that Babe; the poor man's boast was he,
The theme of neighbour's tale and minstrel's ditty:
Maiden and matron clasped him on her knee:
And many a saintly mother said—and smiled—
‘Christ died a Man: but came to earth a Child!’
Once as he slept his mother near him knelt:
She prayed as never she had prayed before,
And, praying, such an inspiration felt
As though some breeze from God o'er ocean's floor
Missioned from Bethlehem's star-loved crib, came flying
O'er her and him in that small cradle lying.
One night within her memory rose that word
Simeon to Blessed Mary spake erewhile,
‘Also through thine own soul shall pierce the sword;’
She mused, like those who weep at once and smile,
‘The Mother of a Saint, how great soe'er
Her joy, in Mary's sacred grief must share!’

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Years passed: a Monk, that child at vespers singing
‘Salve Regina,’ while a tear down stole,
Spake thus, that anthem through the rafters ringing,
‘That voice is music of a singing Soul!
Yon child shall live on earth as lives a Spirit;
When dead, some crown seraphic shall inherit!’
The child became the boy, but never lost
That charm which beautified his childhood's ways:
Skilful the most of those the quoit who tossed
Or chased the boar, he nothing did for praise,
Nor e'er in feast or revel sought a part;
Rome was to him pure as a forest's heart.
Raptured he read her legends of old time—
The Father-Judge who doomed his sons to die;
The Wife that, sentencing another's crime,
Pierced her own heart, then sank without a sigh.
Great Acts to him were all: not then he knew
That oft Endurance wins a crown more true.
Later, for him the Meditative wore
Greatness more great than Action's, and more dear:
The weight of Thought with neck unbowed he bore
As Saints their aureole crowns. All objects near
Were lost in lights of sunset or sunrise:
His one sole passion was Self-Sacrifice.
His guides in Christian as in Classic lore
Boasted untired the youth's intelligence:
Ere long he marked these twain were still at war,
The prophets one of Spirit, one of Sense:
‘I will not serve two masters;’ thus he cried,
And pushed the flower-decked pagan scroll aside.

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Was it that sacred moment shaped his life,
Keeping it flawless? Thousands safeliest pace
Faith's lower road, dusty and dinned with strife;
Not so the man elect to loftier place,
For sins in others small are great in him
Whose grace is large—such grace least stains bedim.
Thenceforth his ‘eye was single.’ Loss was gain
To him, since Suffering had the world redeemed;
For that cause still he sought the haunts of pain;
Still on the sufferer's couch like morn he beamed,
And in his father's house with wine and bread
Served still God's Poor, or with them sat and fed.
He lived a life all musical, for still
Discords of earth by faith grew harmonized;
He lived in a great silence, spirit and will
Hushed in his God. Because naught else he prized
Loud as that first, great world-creating word,
God's ‘small, still voice’ within him, still he heard.
Nothing in him was sad, nothing morose;
The serious face still tended to a smile;
In him sorrow and joy still harboured close,
Like eve and dawn met in some boreal isle.
Bad actions named, sad looked he and surprised;
But seldom strove, rebuked, or criticised.
There were who marvelled at his piercing thought;
There were who marvelled at his simpleness:
High Truths, and Inspirations rapture-fraught
Came to his mind like angels: not the less
Where fools walk well at times his footstep erred:
He heard the singing spheres, or nothing heard.

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Father and mother both with tender pride
Loved him: there only, pride regained a part;
They who had spurned the world, its scorn defied,
Now gladdened that their son had won its heart.
They smiled when kinsmen said: ‘This boy shall raise
Waste places of thy House in later days!’
‘All that is mine Alexis must inherit,’
He answered. Then the mother, ‘Who is she
Worthy by race, by beauty, and by merit
To be to him true wife as I to thee?’
Such maid they sought long time; when hope was o'er
They found her—found on earth's most famous shore.
Her race had dwelt in Athens ere it wrestled
With Sparta for the foremost place in Greece;
Earlier, in Colchian vales, less known had nestled
Ere Jason thence had filched the Golden Fleece.
Thus to his mates on wintry nights her sire
Boasted—true Greek—beside the fir-cone fire.
Euphemian and that sire were ancient friends
So far as Greek and Roman friends might be,
Friends in their youth; but though unlikeness blends
Natures cognate with finer sympathy,
So diverse these, men said 'twas memory's tie,
Not love's, that held them still, through severance, nigh.
Few months ere died the Greek, that friend of old
Had sought him out, and standing by his bed,
Had vowed to nurture in his own fair fold
That orphan lonely left. Her father dead,
And sacred mourning days expired, the twain
Spread sail for Rome across the wine-dark main.

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At sea, to please the maid, her guardian took
The sweet and venerable name of Sire;
Her winsome grace, her wit, her every look—
But few could witness such and not admire;
Gravely Euphemian marked them, sadly smiled;
Yet loved her as a father loves his child.
Likewise, as up and down his musings swayed,
A thought recurred: ‘The girl is light of wing!
What then? Alexis is too grave and staid:
Christian she is; to each the years must bring
Fit aid by friendly difference best supplied:
Ere three months more Zoe shall be his bride.’
Zoe, the loveliest of Athenian girls,
Was prouder thrice to bear the Athenian name
Than if the East had rained its gems and pearls
Knee-deep about her path. To Rome she came
Curious, yet spleenful too. The world's chief site
To her meant sceptred dulness, brainless might.
The ship that bore her thither smiled to waft
Creature so bright; smooth seas revered their charge:
Cythera's uplands, as she neared them, laughed:
The Ætnean heights, Trinacria's wave-washed marge,
Gladdened; they sang, ‘Our Proserpine again
Is come to gather flowers on Enna's plain!’
When Zoe entered Rome, she turned, heart-sick,
From arch and column flattering regal pride,
From cliff-like walls up-piled of sun-burned brick
Beneath whose shade men lion-torn had died,
From alien obelisks hieroglyph-o'ergraven,
For centuries glassed in Egypt's stillest haven.

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That mood went by: sudden the cloud she spurned
And, shaking from lashed lids an angry tear,
To that mute man beside her, laughing, turned
And spake: ‘The trophies of all lands are here!
Rome conquered earth: but why? Too dull her brain
For better tasks, the victories which remain!
‘They boast their Heroes: but they love them not!
Lo, there! An Emperor stands yon column's crown!
What Greek would strain his eyes to scan a spot
Jet-black in sun-bright skies? No Attic clown!
There Trajan towers, and, eastward, Antonine:
O brains Beotian, fatter than your kine!’
Lightly thus spake that beaming creature hard,
Nor noted that, as one in still disdain,
Her comrade silent rode. A fixed regard
He bent upon a cross-surmounted fane:
A Grecian temple near it stood: his eye
Saw but that small, low church, that sunset sky.
He answered late: ‘Your Grecian pride of Art,
Daughter, and Rome's old pagan pride of arms,
Alike stand sentenced here. For Christian heart
No greatness save of heavenly birth hath charms.
In Rome the Faith found martyrs three long ages:
She won but audience from the Athenian sages!’
The beauteous one looked up; her sensitive lip
And tender cheek asked leave, it seemed, to smile;
Then, as a bud that frosts of April nip,
That smile, discouraged, died. Pensive awhile
She rode; her palfrey nearer drew to his:
She raised his hand, and pressed thereon a kiss.

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‘Forgive,’ she said, ‘the petulance of youth!
Wisdom serene, and Virtue proved by years,
Note not—’ She wept; but soon her cheek in sooth
Like leaves rain-washed beamed brighter for her tears,
And livelier than before her critic tongue
This way and that its shafts of satire flung.
At times the unbending Roman smiled perforce;
At times the patriot stern essayed to frown:
She noted either mood; and her discourse
Accordant winged its light way up or down
Like those white-pinioned birds that sink then soar
O'er high-necked waves breasting a sandy shore.
The sun had set; they clomb Mount Aventine,
That Augur-haunted height. They paused: she saw
Old Tiber, lately bright, in sanguine line
Wind darkening t'wards the sea. A sudden awe
Chilled her. She felt once more that evening breeze
Which waves that yew-grove of the Eumenides
Where Athens fronts Colonos. There of old
Sat Destiny's blind mark, King Œdipus;
And, oft as she had passed it, shudderings cold
Ran through her fibred frame, made tremulous
As the jarred sounding-board of lyre or harp:
So thrilled the girl that hour with shiverings sharp.
‘I know it! This is Rome's Oracular Hill!
Dreadful it looks; a western Calvary!
A sacrificial aspect dark and still
It wears, that saith, “Prepare, O man, to die!”
Father! you house not on this mount of Fate?’
Thus as she spake they reached his palace gate.

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There stood, still fair—tenderer than when more young—
She who had made her husband's youth so bright:
Long to her neck the Athenian Exile clung
Wearied and sad. Not less that festal night
The gladsomest of the radiant throng was she,
Centre and soul of Roman revelry.

PART II.

All hail to Rome! She lords it o'er the world
From Ganges' flood to Atlas' snowy crown:
Heavenward from cape and coast her praise is hurled:
She lifts the nations up and casts them down:
Like some great mountain city-thronged she stands
Her shade far cast eclipsing seas and lands.
‘She flings that shade across the tracts of Time
Not less than o'er the unmeasured fields of space;
Processional the Empires paced sublime;
Her heralds these; they walked before her face:
Assyrian, Persian, Grecian—what were they?
Poor matin streaks, yet preludes of the day!
‘The Pyramids that vault Egyptian kings
When near her legions drew bowed low their heads;
Indus and Oxus from their mountain springs
Whispered, “She cometh.” Dried-up river-beds
From Dacian plains to British cried aghast,
“This way but now the Roman eagles passed!”
‘She fells the forest, and the valley spans
With arch o'er arch; the mountain-crests she carves

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With roads, till Nature's portents yield to Man's:
Wolf-like the race that mocks her bleeds or starves;
Alike they lived their lives, they had their day:
Her laws abide; men hear them and obey.
‘All hail to Rome! Her mighty heart serene
Houses at will all nations and their gods
Content to know herself of all the Queen.
Who spake that word: “The old Religion nods?”
Ah fools! at times, but gathering heat, the levin
Sleeps in Jove's hand. Yet Jove reigns on in heaven.’
Such was the song that from beyond that wall
Girdling the palace pleasaunce swelled what time
Zoe awoke, till then sleep's lovely thrall,
And marked the splendours of the dewy prime
Brightening the arras nymphs beyond her bed;
Upright she sat, and propped a listening head.
She listened as the choral echo rang
Lessening from stem to stem, from stone to stone;
Then rose, and, tossing wide the casement, sang
In briefer note a challenge of her own:
‘Ye prized the old Faith—dying or dead condole it—
That Faith was Greek, my masters! Rome but stole it!’
That faith was hers in childhood; threads thereof
Still gleamed 'mid all those golden tissues woven
Which decked her fancy's world of thought and love;
Her conscience clung to Truths revealed, heartproven:
Her fancy struck no root into the true,
A rock-flower fed on ether and on dew.

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She had a pagan nurse and Christian mother:
That mother taught her girl the Christian Creed;
She learned it, she believed: yet scarce could smother
Memories first hers of heathen race and breed
Which, claiming to be legend only, won
Perchance more credence as exacting none.
When girt by pagans, she their rites derided:
The Christian Faith, that only, she revered;
Yet oft at Christian hearths with sceptics sided:
Sacred Religion less she loved than feared,
Still muttering sadly; ‘Easy 'tis, I wean,
To dread the Unknown, but hard to love the Unseen.’
Stronger she was in intellect than spirit;
In intellect's self less strong than keen and swift:
Immeasurable in beauty, interest, merit
To her was Nature's sphere; but hers no gift
To roam through boundless empires of the Soul:
She craved the definite path—not distant goal.
Seldom the girl's unlovelier moods looked forth
When first she housed in that Euphemian home
So rich in loftiest reverence, lowliest worth:
There the great ways of Apostolic Rome
Confronted her, and steadied and upraised:
A part of heaven she saw where'er she gazed.
And deeplier yet her better spirit was moved
When, by Aglae led, she trod those spots
Where bled the martyrs. Oft, torch-lit, they roved
Those dusky ways like sea-wrought caves and grots
Rome's subterranean city of the tombs,
This hour her noblest boast—the Catacombs.

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The soundless floors with blood-stains still were red:
Still lay the martyr in sepulchral cell
The ensanguined vial close beside his head,
‘In pacé’ at his feet. Ineffable
That peace around: the pictured walls confessed
Its source divine in symbols ever blessed.
Here the ‘Good Shepherd’ on His shoulder bare
The sheep long lost. The all-wondrous Eucharist
Was emblemed near. Close-bound in grave-clothes, there
Lazarus stood still, fixed by the eye of Christ:
Below his gourd the Prophet bowed his head,
Prophet unweeting of the Three-days-Dead.
Among the Roman martyrs two there were
Whom most the Greek in wonder venerated,
Cecilia and her spouse, that wedded pair
Who lived their short, glad life like Spirits mated
And hand in hand passed to the Crucified:
‘Oh, how unlike Aspasia!’—Zoe cried.
One morn, from these returned, Aglae spake;
‘Husband, bestow this maiden on thy son!
She loves our martyrs: that high love will make
Their marriage blest and holy!’ It was done:
By parents at that time were bridals made
In Rome. Alexis heard them and obeyed.
Zoe at first felt angry: thus she mused:
‘Unsued, and scarce consulted, to be wed!’
She mused again; this marriage, wisely used,
May lift once more my country's fallen head:
That was my dream since childhood: till I die
That stands my purpose: now the means are nigh.’

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Such was the leaning of her deeper nature;
To some she seemed a Muse: to sterner eyes
A Siren to be dreaded: but the creature
Beneath her sallies gay and bright disguise
Was inly brave and serious, strong and proud;
A child of Greece, to that sad mother vowed.
Betrothed they were what time the earlier snows
Whitening Soracte's scalp were caked with frost:
The marriage was postponed till April's close,
Then later till the Feast of Pentecost.
Meantime they met not oft. The youth had still
High tasks—he loved all duties—to fulfil.
Zoe thenceforth was welcomed more and more
In all the Roman houses of old fame,
Welcomed by pagans most: they set great store
Upon her thoughtful wit and Attic name,
And learned with help from her to read with ease
The songs of Sappho and Simonides.
Among them ranged a dame right eloquent
On all the classic myths of ancient days:
In each she found unrecognized intent
Occult, and oft her jetty brows would raise
Much wondering how a child of Academe
Could slight Greek wisdom for a Hebrew dream.
With her the Athenian strove that perilous season,
Most confident belike when certain least.
A perilous staff, for such, is boastful reason;
On that whene'er she leaned her doubts increased;
The Catacombs propped best a faith unstable:
She said, ‘Those dear ones died not for a fable.’

126

A help beside 'gainst unbelieving sin
Illumed her pathway. 'Twas the heaven-lit face
Of him, her destined husband. None therein
Might gaze ungladdened by a healing grace;
Round him he breathed Faith's sweet yet strengthening clime,
Like sea-winds sent o'er hills of rock and thyme.
He spake: the Grecian girl with instinct keen
Felt oft he told of things to him well known,
And for an hour through God's high worlds unseen
Advanced as one who sees. But when alone
Faith lacked what Love Divine alone could lend her:
Her nature, was impassioned, yet not tender.
Her mental powers were wide and far of gaze;
Ardent her heart, but yet to earth confined:
Her sympathies trod firm on solid ways
But cast no heavenward pinions on the wind,
Felt not the gravitation from above:
The depths they knew, but not the heights of love.
Large powers of human love in her had dwelt
Unknown, long checked like tarns on hillside stayed
By bars of virgin ice not quick to melt:
In vain her country's sons their court had paid:
She spurned them: Greece lay bound, a spoil, a jest;
They in her degradation acquiesced!
Her Roman suitors she had spurned yet more
Save one: she saw in each her country's foe:
That one, strange nurseling of a mystic lore,
Was brave as wise, and just to high and low:

127

The ice had burst: the torrent took its way:
‘How slowly comes,’ she thought, ‘this marriageday!’
She loved Alexis well: he loved her better;
Better, not more. She loved with all her heart;
He with a portion, for he brooked no fetter
That bound his spirit to earth. To her a part
He gave in his large being—not the whole;
'Tis thus they love whose love is of the soul.
Ofttimes when most she loved she scorned to show it,
Deeming her love repaid by his but half:
Ofttimes she wept; but, fearing he should know it,
Drank down her tears, or praised with petulant laugh
What least he loved; or curtsied in her spleen
Passing the fane, still thronged, of Beauty's Queen.
Sometimes, approaching Constantine's huge piles
That lifted o'er vast courts their shadowing span
As o'er dusk waters frown Egean isles,
St. Paul's, the Lateran, or the Vatican,
She seemed to see them not; but stooped and raised
A violet from the grass, and kissed and praised.
He judged her not, yet mused in boding thought:
‘This marriage—will it help yon orphan maid?’
The answer followed plain: ‘I never sought
The tie. My parents willed it: I obeyed:
If they have erred, ere long a hand more high
Will point my way. Till then no choice have I.’
More seldom still they met: but when they met
Airs as from heaven played on her spirit's chords;

128

And seldom if he spake, with eyes tear-wet
She sighed; ‘A man is he of deeds not words!’
Poor child! She guessed not 'twas her wayward will
Slighting the themes he loved that held him silent still.
She knew him not; his parents but in part:
They wist not this, that, though to seats divine
Great Love at times can lift the earthly heart,
On hearts enskied as oft it works decline.
Their course was well-nigh run, their heaven nigh gained;
One sole temptation—and its cure—remained.
The marriage morn had come. At faith's high call
Ere sunrise yet the dewy groves had dried
The youth was praying in a chapel small
That stood retired by Tiber's streaming tide;
Though dull the morn, the boats with flags were gay:
A pagan Feast they kept—Rome's natal day.
Returning from that church, the youth observed
That 'mid these boats white-winged, and by the bank
A bark lay moored where Tiber seaward curved;
It bore no flag; its sails were black and dank—
A stern sea-stranger seemed it, sad, alone;
A raven 'mid bright birds of dulcet tone.
Down from that sable bark there moved a man
With sunburnt brow, worn cheek, and mournful eyes:
He to the youth made way, and straight began:
‘A sailor I, and live by merchandise:

129

I seek Laodicea: from her shore
Edessa we shall reach in three days more.
‘There, in her church who bore the Lord of all
Abides for aye that “Venerable Face”
Which, like those shadows Apostolical
That healed the sick, fill all that land with grace.
Thou know'st not of that mystery. Give ear!
Elect are they who hold that picture dear.
‘When Christ, Who died for Man, by slow degrees
Bearing His Cross ascended Calvary,
O'er-spent at last He sank upon His knees:
Then of the Holy Women clustering nigh
One forward stept. Above that Face, bedewed
With blood, she pressed her veil, and weeping stood.
‘Since then abides upon that Veil all-blest
Edessa's Boast, that imaged Face Divine
Thereon that hour by miracle impressed:
Some see it not. Who see it never pine
Thenceforth for earthly goods. True merchant he
Who all things sells for one. This night embark with me!’
‘This is my wedding-day,’ the youth replied:
Then round them closed sea-farers loud of cheer
And severed was that Stranger from his side:
Through all their din thenceforth he seemed to hear
Sad memory's iteration wearisome,
‘Wedded am I: therefore I cannot come.’

130

Entering his ancient home in troubled thought
Once more he heard, ‘He who great wealth hath won
Let that man live as pilgrims who have naught;
The wedded man as he who wife hath none’—
Words heard at Mass the morning of that Feast
Whereon his bride had landed from the East.
He raised his eyes: changed was his Father's house:
Euphemian thus had sworn: ‘For one day more
Return old times! The poor man's glad carouse;
The harps and dances of our Rome of yore.
Rome reverenced marriage once: this marriage long
Shall boast its place in Roman tale and song.’
Where was it now, that rust which long had covered
The mail of Consuls famed in days that were?
Banners as old as Cannæ swung and hovered
Shifting with gusts of laughter-shaken air;
And on the walls hung faded tapestries old
The Pagan mostly dimmed by moth and mould.
Here shone the Huntress Maid the crescent gleam
Brightening her brow: that Radiance disarrayed
Whitened with imaged shape the forest stream:
There Galatea with sea-monsters played;
The self-same breeze that landward o'er the rocks
Waved the dark pine blew back her refluent locks.
Not far stood Pallas wrought in stone. That eye
Levelled beneath strong brows and helmèd crest
Though stern looked forth in wisdom clear and high:
The Gorgon Mask lay moveless on a breast
That ne'er had heaved with love or shook with fear;
High up her hand sustained that steadying spear.

131

The Christian Art was tenderest. There that Boy
Blessed Sebastian, pierced by arrows, stood
In maid-like and immaculate beauty. Joy
Illumed his front, though dying, unsubdued:
And well those lifted eyes discerned in heaven
That Face Divine His Martyr hailed—Saint Stephen.
Tables there were of sandal-wood carved quaintly
By fingers lean of cedar-shaded Ind,
Embossed with emblems, shapes grotesque yet saintly;
And gods Egyptian, taloned, winged or finned;
And ivory cabinets with ebon barred,
Musk-scented, pale with pearl, and opal-starred.
Here glittered caskets, gifts of Afric kings;
Gold goblets, pledge from satraps of the East;
Huge incense-burning lamps on demon wings
Suspense, for rites of funeral or feast;
And shells for music strung and bows for war,
Fantastic toys, tribute from regions far.
Mosaic pavements glistened, deftly studded
With Sphinx, or Zodiac-Beast, or Hieroglyph,
As oft with Lotos blossom. Leaned, new-budded
The April Almond from his shaggy cliff,
Or rained red flakes on Ocean's blameless daughters
Oaring their placid way o'er purple waters.
The nuptial rite was brief, the banquet long
For many a grey-haired noble told his tale
And many a youthful minstrel sang his song;
Some marked a trembling in the bride's white veil,
But on her long-lashed lids there hung no tear;
Flushed was her cheek; her voice was firm and clear.

132

Within a tent upon that bowery level
Whose tallest palm-grove crowned Mount Aventine,
Hour after hour rang out that ardent revel,
While flashed above it many a starry sign;
Untired that Bride danced on; beneath the shade
The night-bird sang to listening youth and maid.
Alexis moved amid the throng, heart-sore,
Yet welcoming friend or guest. Pastimes like these
His eyes had never looked upon before;
Now seeing, he misliked them. Ill at ease,
One voice he heard 'mid all that buzz and hum;
‘I have a Wife; therefore I cannot come.’
Far down, where Tiber caught the white moonshine,
He heard, though faint, that hymn at morning sung,
More near, then first, those verses Fescennine
Trolled by boy pagans as their nuts they flung:
He sought the house, passed to its farthest room,
Lit by one lamp that scarcely pierced the gloom.
Within that room was one sole occupant;
He stood beneath that lamp; its downward shade
Clasped the slight form, and on him seemed to plant
A dusky cowl. Sudden with heart dismayed
The youth that morning's stranger saw, and nigh
The Saviour on His Cross, and Calvary.
That Saviour looked on him and spake. In heart
That Bridegroom heard: ‘Edessa—meet Me there;
There bide with Me alone; and thence depart
When I that sow, homeward My sheaves shall bear.
Those three thou lov'dst so well in days of old
Shall then be thine—and Mine—in love tenfold.’

133

The Vision faded; lightest steps he heard,
And wreathed with rose the Bride before him stood
Warm from the dance, and blithesome as a bird.
He spake: ‘Fear naught! What God decrees is good.’
Within her hand he placed a ring, and said:
‘Farewell! Wear this till many years are fled.
‘Farewell! Live on in Faith and Innocence:
Farewell! God calls me to a far-off land;
But He will lead me back Who bids me hence,
And draw us near; and yet between us stand.
Farewell, poor child!’ He passed into the night
And soon was hidden wholly from her sight.
When the next morn had changed dark skies to grey
They found her with wide eyes and lips apart
Standing, a statue wreathed, in white array;
One wedded hand was pressed against her heart;
One clasped a ring. ‘Tis time to sleep,’ she said;
‘Lay the poor Bride—'tis late—upon her bed.’

PART III.

Not far from where Euphrates, that great river,
From heights of Taurus seaward winds in flood
Its mighty youth replenishing for ever,
In days of yore a royal city stood:
Two lesser streams embraced it like two arms
That clasp some bright one in her bridal charms.

134

Around it gleamed Plane-tree and Poplar shivering
In Syrian gales tempered by mountain snows,
And gardens green traversed by runnels quivering
And Palms at each side set in columned rows:
High in the midst a church of ancient fame
There rose. Edessa was that city's name.
Before that church there stood five porches fair
Wherein the maimed and crippled sued for alms;
Likewise God's penitents, admitted there
As men beloved, might hear the hymns and psalms
Until, their penance past, once more the shrine
Received them, and they fed on food divine.
Within that fivefold narthex one there knelt
Of race unknown, and humbler than the rest,
His garment hair-cloth 'neath a leathern belt;
He deemed himself unmeet to stand a guest
Within that hallowed precinct whose embrace
Cherished the Veil all-blest and ‘Sacred Face.’
For that cause year by year he dwelt without
Although in spirit kneeling still within;
And neither civic pomp nor popular shout
Made way to him. Propping a haggard chin
On haggard hand he sat with low-bent brows
Absorbed in heavenly thoughts, unearthly vows.
Meantime o'er all the world's circumference
Euphemian sent wise men to seek his son:
Some to Laodicea sailed, and thence
Their way like others to Edessa won;
Near him they drew; upon him turned their eye;
They knew him not; yet passed him with a sigh.

135

There were who turned again, and, instinct-taught,
Lodged on those fingers worn a piece of bread;
And he with gladness ate it, for his thought
Grew humbler daily; breaking it, he said
‘Thank God that I have eaten of their hand
Whom once I fed and held at my command!’
So thus by patience and long-suffering first,
And next through heart self-emptied to its core,
The inmost of Christ's Teaching on him burst;
And ‘Blessed they who mourn,’ ‘Blessed the poor,’
Lived on his lips, as he in them with awe
The shrouded vision of God's greatness saw.
He saw the things men see not. In a glass
Nearer to God than Nature's best, in Man
He saw that God Who ever is and was:
In those whom this world lays beneath her ban
The halt, the stricken, saw their Maker most:
The saved he saw in those the fool deems lost.
Now when those years were past, within the church
One day, as vespers ceased, was heard a Voice,
‘Bring in My Son who kneeleth in the porch:
The same shall see My Countenance and rejoice.’
Then forth God's people rushed, both old and young,
And haled the man to where that picture hung.
Instant that Pilgrim fixed his eyes thereon,
And saw that Countenance through its mist of blood
Which some see not: and still, ere set of sun,
A change miraculous swifter than a flood
O'erswept it. Grief and shame far off were driven:
It shone as shines the Saviour's Face in heaven.

136

And still he said: ‘Behold, these Faces twain
Reveal the portions twain to man allowed;
For one of these is earth and Holy Pain,
And one is heavenly Glory, when the cloud
Of time dissolves.’ And still his prayer he made
For those far off: ‘Aid them, Thou Saviour, aid!’
'Twas needed sore. The day Alexis fled
His mother sat in ashes on the ground,
And thenceforth day by day; and still she said,
‘Lo, thus I sit until the Lost is found!’
And night by night murmured the one-day bride,
‘His wife I am: faithful I will abide.
‘I will not muse, as once, in groves of Greece,
Nor dance, as once, in palace halls of Rome;
Until this wedded widowhood shall cease,
Here with his parents I will make my home:
I must be patient now, though proud of yore:
He called me “Child!” He said, “We meet once more.”’
While sinks the sun nighing his watery bed
The shadow reacheth soon the valley's breast;
More late it climbeth to the mountain's head—
His loved one gone, Euphemian hoped the best:
Not yet the shade had reached him. Every morn
He said: ‘Ere night Alexis may return!
‘The day my Son was born—the self-same hour—
I shook the dust from many a treasured scroll
Precious with lore which time would fain devour,
The great deeds of our House. In one fair whole
To blend those annals was my task for years:
The pages bled: they cannot end in tears.’

137

But when his messengers from all the lands
Returning, early some, and others late,
From Gaul, Iberia, Thrace, from Syrian sands,
Red Libyan coasts, and Calpé's golden gate,
Brought back the self-same tidings as the first,
That grief which reached him last was grief the worst.
Silent he mused: ‘Were these our prayers of old?
Sent was our child, that late-conceded boy,
To be the lamb unblemished of our fold,
Then vanish, and to by-word change our joy?
Had he but won the martyr's crown and fame!
But now God's Church shall never hear his name.
‘O ancient House, revered in days of yore,
House blind yet just, I deemed that years to be
Fourfold to thee, now Christian, would restore
What time or heathen hate had reft from thee,
And of thy greatness make a boon for all—
That dream is over! Let the roof-tree fall!’
Thus as his father mourned Alexis knelt
One day before that picture-hallowed shrine,
When suddenly he heard at once and felt
A voice oracular, awful yet benign:
‘This day in prayer be mighty for those Three,
Since what to them I grant I grant through thee.’
Then prayed the Saint as Saints alone can pray;
And on that far-off Three, they knew not why,
There fell a calm undreamed of till that day,
As when some great storm ceases from the sky
Sudden, and into harbour sweeps the bark,
And green hills laugh, and singing mounts the lark.

138

Thenceforth for things gone by they hungered less,
And of the joy to come had oftener vision;
Thenceforth self-will inflamed not heart-distress,
Nor pride that draws from pain perverse fruition:
The parents saw their son once more a child;
The wife, as when he saw her first, and smiled.
Again a year passed by:—within his heart
That son received an answer from his God:
‘Go to the great sea down, and thence depart
To Tarsus, where My servant, Paul, abode;
For I will show thee there by tokens true
The things which thou must suffer and must do.’
The man of God arose, and gat him down
To where Laodicea's mast-thronged bay
Mirrored that queenly city's towery crown,
And found a ship for Tarsus bound that day,
And sailed till o'er the morn-touched deep arose
Her walls, and hills beyond her white with snows.
Then from those hills a storm rushed forth, as when
An eagle from high cliffs has kenned its quarry;
And the black ship before it raced like men
Who flee the uplifted sword they dare not parry
With necks low bent. So fled that ship: each sail
Split; and the masts low leaned like willows in the gale.
Amid the slanted rain of falling spars
And roar of winds and billows far and near
Astonished stood those sea-worn mariners
Yet mute, since none his neighbour's voice might hear:
Then heard God's Saint: ‘For all this company
Fear nought; for thine they are. They shall not die.

139

‘Fear not for thine own self: this storm is Mine;
The same shall lay thee by thy father's door:
There shall the last storm greet thee—storm benign,
For what I take, that fourfold I restore.’
Next morn they entered Tiber's mouth: at Rome
He stood ere noon, and saw his father's home,
Saw it far off whilst yet upon his way
To earth's cathedral metropolitan,
‘Mother and Head of Churches,’ there to pray
That what to him remained of life's brief span
Might, through God's help, accomplish God's decree,
And praise His name for all eternity.
Entering, he knelt before that crypt cross-crowned
Where in a subterranean chapel small
Reposed, awaiting God's Last Trumpet's sound,
The sacred bones of Peter and of Paul:
A child he oft had knelt its gates before;
There learned what God had yet for him in store.
Evening drew nigh: he left the Lateran:
Anon, as slow he paced Rome's stateliest street,
From Cæsar's palace issued forth a man
Though bent, majestic, with attendance meet.
That man Alexis knew. With steadfast eye
The sire drew near the son; and passed him by.
Then cried that son with anguished voice and face
‘Servant of God, revered and loved of all,
Within thy house yield me a little place
That I may daily eat the crumbs that fall
Down from thy table.’ And his sire replied:
‘So be it, Pilgrim: walk thou by my side.’

140

Through lonely ways dimmed by the day's decline
That sire and son made way, and neither spake
Till, step by step climbing Mount Aventine
They reached that well-known mansion. Flake by flake
The snows were falling. 'Twas not like the day
Of that fair bridal in that far-off May.
Alexis spake: ‘A stripling, sir, I saw
Ofttime thy house; memory thereof I keep:
Beneath the great stair—on a bed of straw—
Slept then a mastiff: there I fain would sleep.’
And answered thus Euphemian: ‘Let it be!
Long since he died: his place remains for thee.’
Once more the son: ‘Footsore and weak am I:
'Tis time to sleep: my pilgrimage is made:
The mastiff died: the Pilgrim soon will die.’
Then down upon the straw his limbs he laid,
And sank asleep. For hours, as there he slept
Two women by his couch their vigil kept.
Down from the head of one, silk-soft, snow-white,
Rolled waves of hair: the younger kept her bloom
Though worn. They sat beside him till twilight
At last was lost in evening's deepening gloom,
And longed that he might wake and eat; and spread
Their silks and velvets closelier on his bed.
At morn he woke. Anguish and crippling pain
Fixed from that hour their eyes on that sole man;
And like to dead men on the battle-plain
Silent he lay. In pain his day began,
In pain worked on till daylight's last had fled
As though great nails had fixed him to his bed.

141

And ever by his couch they ministered
Who loved that sufferer well yet knew him not:
For at the first note of the wakening bird
That mother came who o'er her infant's cot
Ere break of day so oft had peered; at noon
His sire drew nigh: and when the rising moon
Flung o'er the marble floor a beam as bright
As that long path wherewith it paves the sea
Softly she came upon whose bridal night
So black a shade had fallen so suddenly;
And on his bed sat in the white moonshine
Like one that inly says: ‘This place is mine.’
Some deem they knew him not because so long
Fierce Syrian suns that sweet face had imbrowned;
And some because at God's command there clung
A mist illusive still their eyes around;
While some are sure that mist, deepening with years,
Was unmiraculous, and a mist of tears.
Yet one avers that, gazing evermore,
Year after year upon that Sacred Face,
Its semblance spread that Pilgrim's countenance o'er,
Its anguish fixed, its gleams of heavenly grace,
So that who saw the living face, beneath
That veil saw, too, the Face of Christ in death.
But when his parents at high festivals
Serving the mighty Rite were absent long
A slave, late Pagan, reared in those great halls
Of him had charge. At times he did him wrong;
Then cried—that blow rebuked by no complaint—
‘The man's a fool! Not less the fool's a Saint!’

142

And oft an Elder to his couch there came
Old ere his time, with haught yet pleading eye,
Who spake: ‘My sires to me an ancient name
Bequeathed. When I am dead, that name shall die.’
The pilgrim answered: ‘Household none on earth
Can last, save Christ's. The rest are nothing worth.’
And oft a woman sat beside that bed
Meek-eyed, with soft white hair: ‘A child had I:
The twentieth winter now is past and fled:
That child returns not. O that I might die!’
And he replied: ‘Have courage, and endure;
Pray well; and find thy children in Christ's Poor.’
And many a time low-bent beneath the rod
One proud of old, still fair as fair may be,
Though bright no longer, spake: ‘Pray, man of God,
That, living yet, my husband I may see
A living man!’ Softly he made reply:
‘Yea, thou shalt see thy husband ere thou die!’
And ever when those Three were set at meat
Euphemian sent him viands, flesh and wine,
But he of barley crusts alone would eat:
And still, he spake to them of things divine;
And still, when back he sank and ceased from speech
Musing they sat, or staring each on each.
For others spake of great things through the ear
Divulged to faith: he spake of great things seen
That flash as stars descried through ether clear,
Clearer for frosty skies and north wind keen:
The Martyr means the Witness: such was he,
Martyr, not slain, of selfless charity.

143

At times the old passion in their bosoms burned;
At times the wound half-healed welled forth anew;
Then to that man of woes those strong ones turned,
Child-like; and thus he gave them solace true:
‘God yearns to grant you peace, yet waits until
Your wills are one with His all-loving Will.’
And when they said, ‘Weary we grow of prayer
Because God hath not given us that we sought,’
He answered: ‘Love in God, and work, and bear;
Let no man say, “Serve they their God for nought?”
Pray for great Rome; for him your Lost One pray,
That he be faithful till his dying day.’
Suns rose and set; the seasons circled slow;
Upon that House settled a gradual peace
Breathed from that spot obscure and pallet low;
Yea, as the dews of midnight drench a fleece
So drenched was every heart with that strange calm,
And wounds long festered felt the healing balm.
Now when the years decreed had all gone by
There came from God an answer to His Saint:
‘Rejoice! Thy work is worked, and thou shalt die:’
Then gave he thanks in happy tone though faint,
And, turning to that slave with quiet smile,
Demanded parchment scroll and writing-style.
Straightway he wrote the story of his life
And God's Command in love that spares not, given;
And ended thus: ‘O Parents, and O Wife!
We meet ere long: no partings are in heaven.
I loved you well. Strangely my faith God proved:
Yet know that few are loved as ye were loved.

144

‘Farewell! God sent you trials great below
Because for you He keeps great thrones on high:
Likewise by you God willeth to bestow
New gifts on man. Each dear domestic tie
Whereof so many a year ye stood amerced
Shall yet rule earth—but raised and hallowed first.
‘Because ye loved your God as few men love
He called you forth His witnesses to be
That Love there is all human loves above,
A Love all-gracious in its jealousy
That, all exacting, all suffices too;
The world must learn this lesson, and from you.’
When all was writ he crossed upon his breast
His arms, and in his right hand clasped that scroll:
And as the Roman monks arose from rest
Nocturns to chant, behold, that dauntless soul
Cleansed here on earth by fire expiatory
When none was near passed hence into the glory:
At noontide, in the Lateran basilic,
Blessed Pope Innocent who, throned that day
High in Saint Peter's world-wide bishopric
O'er all the churches of the world held sway
Had sung at Mass that text, though dread, benign,
‘Unless a man leave all he is not Mine.’
That moment from the Holy Place a Voice
Went forth: ‘All ye who labour, come to Me:’
And yet again: ‘All ye that weep, rejoice!’
At once that mighty concourse sank on knee
And each man laid his forehead near the ground:
Then, close to each, those pillared aisles around

145

Distinct and clear thus heard they, word by word:
‘Seek out My Saint, and bid him pray for Rome:
Yea, if he pray, his pleading shall be heard
That lighter thus My Judgments may become,
For now the things concerning Rome have end.
Seek in Euphemian's house My Servant and My Friend.’
That hour uprising in procession went
The Roman People. With them paced that day
The Emperors twain, and holy Innocent
Between them, higher by the head than they.
Their crowns Arcadius and Honorius wore,
His mitre Blessed Peter's successor.
Arrived, they questioned if beneath that roof
There dwelt a Saint. The Christians said: ‘Not here;’
Then rose that whilome slave that sat aloof,
He who had watched the sick man all that year:
He spake: ‘A Saint is here; I did him wrong,
Yet never heard from him upbraiding tongue.’
Straight to that marble stair Euphemian ran
And passed beneath its central arch; and lo!
Dead on his small straw pallet lay the man;
And on that face, so long a face of woe,
Strange joy there lived and mystical content;
And o'er him with wide wings an Angel bent.
Aloud Euphemian cried: they flocked around
And saw and knelt. But some that stood espied
That parchment in the dead hand clasped and wound,
And strove to loose it. To that pallet's side

146

The brother Emperors drew, and each was fain
To win it from his hold, but strove in vain.
Lastly Pope Innocent approached, and spread
Softly upon the dead man's hand his own;
And lo, that parchment dropped upon the bed:
Long, standing by that sacred head alone
The Pontiff eyed that scroll—at last he raised;
While each man, rising, nearer drew and gazed.
He spread it wide: he read: the listeners trembled;
Each heart beat slow, and every cheek grew pale
And strong men wept with passion undissembled;
For short, and plain, and simple was that tale:
No praise it sued; no censure seemed to shun:
Record austere of great things borne and done.
Now when Euphemian saw these things, and heard,
Motionless stood the man like shape of stone;
Ere long he fell a-shivering without word;
And lastly dropped upon the pavement prone:
But when kind arms had raised him, on the dead
He fixed unseeing eyes, and nothing said.
Next through that concourse rushed the Mother, wailing,
‘Let be! Shall I not see the babe I bore?’
And reached the dead; and then, her forces failing,
Sank to her knees, and eyed him, weeping sore;
And as a poplar sways in stormy air
So swayed she; and back streamed her long white hair.
A change—she stood. She who her whole life long
Had lived the soft and silent life of flowers

147

Pleased with the beam, patient of rain and wrong,
Had held, unconscious all those years and hours
A fire within hidden 'neath ashes frore:
It rose—to speak but once, and spake no more.
It spake reproach: ‘Ah me! thy Sire and I
Sought thee while near thou lay'st, but vainly sought,
Likewise a household slave right ruthlessly
Smote thee at seasons: thou didst answer nought:
Thou didst not stanch our tears! O Son, O Son!
Make answer from the dead, was this well done?’
Last, with firm foot drew near the one-day Wife,
And looked on him, and said: ‘I know that face!
Dead is the hope that cheered the widow's life:
'Tis time the Wife her Husband should embrace!’
She spake, and sank in swoon upon his breast,
And in that swoon her heart—then first—had rest.
But by the Dead still stood Pope Innocent;
His deacons placed the mitre on his head;
And on his pastoral staff the old man leant:
Upon that throng his eye he fixed, and said,
‘Henceforth I interdict all tears. A Saint
Lies here. Insult not such with grief or plaint.
‘This man was God's Elect; for from a child
He walked God's prophet in an age impure:
Ye knew him, sirs, harmless and undefiled
He nothing preached. To act and to endure,
To live in God's light hid, unknown to die—
This task was his. He wrought it faithfully.

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‘This man a great work wrought: its greatness fills
True measure since His Work Who still divides
To each man severally as He wills;
He common souls in common courses guides:
To some He points strange paths till then untrod:
This thing had been ill-done had it not come from God.
‘Behold! He spreads the smooth and level way
And blesses those that walk there pure and lowly:
Behold! He calls, “Ascend My hill, and pray,
And holy be ye for your God is holy:
Let each man hear My Voice and heed My Call:
For what I give to each I give for all.”’
He spake, and ceased. Then lo! an angel strain
At first breathed softly round that straw-laid bed
Swelled through those halls: and with it mingled plain
That voice so loved of him so lately dead
Then when, a child, he breathed that vesper hymn
‘Salve, Regina,’ through the twilight dim.
Again and yet again that strain ascended;
And in it, sweeter each time than before,
The child-voice with the angelic met and blended;
The courts, the garden bowers were flooded o'er,
Till sorrow seemed to all some time-worn fable,
As when, to lull sick babes, old nurses babble.
It ceased. The Emperors gave command and straight
Men stretched the Dead upon a golden bier
For kings ordained and passed the palace gate
And laid him in a church to all men dear;
And lo! that night blind men who near him prayed
Made whole, gave thanks, departing without aid.

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But in that palace where their Saint was born
Till death his parents, sad no more, abode;
And, yearly as recurred her marriage morn,
His wife put on her wedding-dress, and showed
A paler, tenderer reflex, many said,
Of what she looked the morning she was wed.
Serving their God—all lame half-service past—
Serving their God, and, in their God, His poor,
They lived; and God, Whose best gift is His last,
Suffered not these that anguish to endure
Worn patriots feel watching their land's decay:
Ere Rome had fall'n they died—on the same day.
Euphemian's latest act had given command
To raise where stood his Fathers' house in pride
A church to God. This day that church doth stand
Honouring the spot whereon his dearest died
Of that huge house remains that stony stair
Alone, which roofed the dying lion's lair.
The Romans bring their infants to that spot;
Young children peer therein, then shrink away
Between those columned ranges twain that blot
With evening shades the glistening pavements grey;
And oft the latest lingerer drops a tear
For those so sternly tried, and yet so dear.
But ever while the bells salute that morn
When from the darksome womb of mortal life
Their Saint into the heavenly realm was born,
Old Aventine with bannered throngs is rife;
They mount o'er ruins where the great courts stood:
They mark old Tiber, now a shipless flood.

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They reach the church. Star-bright the Altar stands
The Benediction Hymn ascends once more:
Nearer they gather: Apostolic hands
Uplift the Eternal Victim: all adore.
The world without is nought: within that fane
Abide the things that are and that remain.
There still thou livest, Alexis! livest for ever
There and in heaven, rooted in endless peace—
Thou, and those Three—like trees beside a river
That clothe each year their boughs with fresh increase
Of flower and fruit embalming airs divine:
In that high realm forget not me and mine!