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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
Nigh forty years
I roamed from realm to realm that German land,
Pannonia, and Thuringia, Dacia, Rhetia,
Bavaria, and Burgundia. Oft, how oft
I longed for that high grace, the ‘gift of tongues,’
Then when the natives crowding round me came,
Each with his woes—and sins—and none to help him!
I looked at them and wept; yet thus I mused
Forward! great Love suffices, Love can teach:
And thus I spake: ‘Demand thou light from God:’
Those words I knew in all their languages;
And still I pointed to the heavens; and still
Taking the hand of each, three times I drew
From brow to breast the Venerable Sign:
That gave them help. They knew my heart: they said
‘This man brings tidings good and cannot speak them!’
God spake them in their hearts. In later days
I learned their tongues. To frivolous questioners
I answered thus: ‘No theologian I!
I bear a message; I divulge the Tidings:’
The unanswered question was forgotten soon;
The Tidings welcomed. Marvellous was their Faith:
How oft I cried, ‘the single eye is theirs:
Venturous are they to seek for Truth, then use it:
That fineness which prevaricates with God
Is none of theirs. Like storms, passions may rend them;
Then comes that counter-passion of Remorse
And burns away the stain.’
I roamed from realm to realm that German land,
Pannonia, and Thuringia, Dacia, Rhetia,
Bavaria, and Burgundia. Oft, how oft
I longed for that high grace, the ‘gift of tongues,’
Then when the natives crowding round me came,
Each with his woes—and sins—and none to help him!
I looked at them and wept; yet thus I mused
Forward! great Love suffices, Love can teach:
And thus I spake: ‘Demand thou light from God:’
Those words I knew in all their languages;
And still I pointed to the heavens; and still
Taking the hand of each, three times I drew
From brow to breast the Venerable Sign:
That gave them help. They knew my heart: they said
‘This man brings tidings good and cannot speak them!’
God spake them in their hearts. In later days
I learned their tongues. To frivolous questioners
I answered thus: ‘No theologian I!
I bear a message; I divulge the Tidings:’
The unanswered question was forgotten soon;
The Tidings welcomed. Marvellous was their Faith:
How oft I cried, ‘the single eye is theirs:
Venturous are they to seek for Truth, then use it:
220
Is none of theirs. Like storms, passions may rend them;
Then comes that counter-passion of Remorse
And burns away the stain.’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |