Poems By William Bell Scott. Ballads, Studies from Nature, Sonnets, etc. Illustrated by Seventeen Etchings by the Author and L. Alma Tadema |
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FIRST.
SAINT CUTHBERT'S TRIAL OF FAITH.
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FIRST. SAINT CUTHBERT'S TRIAL OF FAITH.
A fair-faced man our Cuthbert was,
The fairest ever seen,
His hair was fair and his eyebrow dark,
And bonny blue his eyen.
The fairest ever seen,
His hair was fair and his eyebrow dark,
And bonny blue his eyen.
His kin were lewd and he was meek,
So he left them in God's fear,
And at morn he sat at his shealing's yett;
The sun shone warm and clear.
So he left them in God's fear,
And at morn he sat at his shealing's yett;
The sun shone warm and clear.
The sun was high, it was so still
On hill and stream and wood,
That forth with he broke into songs
Of praise to God so good.
On hill and stream and wood,
That forth with he broke into songs
Of praise to God so good.
The Saints above the firmament
Said one to another then:
‘Hear ye that song from a land so dark
Of wicked and violent men?’
Said one to another then:
‘Hear ye that song from a land so dark
Of wicked and violent men?’
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But Christ Himself above the Saints
Heard what was said and sung;
‘The heart of man is dark,’ quoth He,
‘This Cuthbert is but young.’
Heard what was said and sung;
‘The heart of man is dark,’ quoth He,
‘This Cuthbert is but young.’
Therewith a cloud passed o'er the sun
And a shadow o'er Cuthbert's face;
At once his limbs waxed lax and shrank,
And blisters rose apace.
And a shadow o'er Cuthbert's face;
At once his limbs waxed lax and shrank,
And blisters rose apace.
The gold hair of his head grew gray,
His beard grew gray also,
He laid his breviary aside,
For his hand shook to and fro.
His beard grew gray also,
He laid his breviary aside,
For his hand shook to and fro.
The husbond crossed the stubble-field
Bringing his daily bread,
But when that leprous face he saw,
The evil man was glad.
Bringing his daily bread,
But when that leprous face he saw,
The evil man was glad.
‘Ha, Cuthbert, but yestreen a boy,
So old how canst thou be—
Now know I that thou art no Saint,
But God doth punish thee.’
So old how canst thou be—
Now know I that thou art no Saint,
But God doth punish thee.’
The husbond throws his cakes of rye
Upon the bench and goes,
But as he turned the meekest words
Of thanks from Cuthbert rose.
Upon the bench and goes,
But as he turned the meekest words
Of thanks from Cuthbert rose.
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The maiden from the hill came next
With a bunch of flowers so kind;
Her bowl of milk each second night
Well knew he where to find.
With a bunch of flowers so kind;
Her bowl of milk each second night
Well knew he where to find.
A mountain maid, she was abashed
A clerk to look upon,
And she would wait at eve till he
Into his cell was gone,
Then steal within the yett, and lay
The can upon a stone.
A clerk to look upon,
And she would wait at eve till he
Into his cell was gone,
Then steal within the yett, and lay
The can upon a stone.
That day she sat upon the knoll,
And saw him kneeling there;
She deemed it could not Cuthbert be,
So gray was his brown hair.
And saw him kneeling there;
She deemed it could not Cuthbert be,
So gray was his brown hair.
Then down with silent feet she came
And hid behind the trees,
That by his shealing's end grew straight,
The howf of summer bees.
And hid behind the trees,
That by his shealing's end grew straight,
The howf of summer bees.
She looked from out this covert good,
She saw the change so grim;
But more than ever beautiful
She thought his evening hymn.
She saw the change so grim;
But more than ever beautiful
She thought his evening hymn.
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The tears then from her sweet eyes fell,
To think of his beautië,
More swiftly gone than sorrel flowers,
More changed than autumn tree.
To think of his beautië,
More swiftly gone than sorrel flowers,
More changed than autumn tree.
Now Cuthbert as he rose from prayer,
He saw the shaking leaves,
And heard the sobs, then asked he,
‘Who is it thus that grieves—
Is it the maiden from the hill
The alms of milk that leaves?’
He saw the shaking leaves,
And heard the sobs, then asked he,
‘Who is it thus that grieves—
Is it the maiden from the hill
The alms of milk that leaves?’
With that he passed the shealing's end,
Among the trees and bent,
But the maiden rose right hastily,
And away in fear she went.
Among the trees and bent,
But the maiden rose right hastily,
And away in fear she went.
The good man smiled to see her run,
Nor murmured he at all,
But read within the holy book
Until the night 'gan fall;
Then cheerfully for sleep turned round,
And shut his wicket small.
Nor murmured he at all,
But read within the holy book
Until the night 'gan fall;
Then cheerfully for sleep turned round,
And shut his wicket small.
Thereafter hunger in him rose,
But none brought cakes of rye,
And sore thirst made him very faint,
But no herd-maid came nigh:
Upon his knees he stumbled down
That praying he might die.
But none brought cakes of rye,
And sore thirst made him very faint,
But no herd-maid came nigh:
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That praying he might die.
‘As is his prayer shall be his meed,’
Said Christ upon his throne;
When lo, he askèd not for strength
And beauty once his own.
Said Christ upon his throne;
When lo, he askèd not for strength
And beauty once his own.
He askèd not the bread and milk
The neighbours wont to give,
But he gave thanks to God who had
Measured his time to live.
The neighbours wont to give,
But he gave thanks to God who had
Measured his time to live.
The brown cloud passed from off the sun
Now hidden five days and more,
And from his face—he rose therefrom
More beautiful than before!
Now hidden five days and more,
And from his face—he rose therefrom
More beautiful than before!
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