The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere

Worst days
At night were gladdened oft by dreams divine.
The first was sent that day I reached this land:
In dream I roamed our Wessex shores; the sun
Reddened, late risen, the broad trunks of the oaks,
Or fired their mossy roots. The fair green lawns
Swelled up 'mid bosky knolls of beech o'er-dewed
And orchards whence sea-scented breezes rapt
White bloom o'er azure waves. Onward I passed
To where a river, widening, joined the sea.
There on a promontory stood a house;
The ripple lapp'd its basement; gladsomer sounds
Allured my footsteps; 'twas our garden old!
Brightening the borders of our English sea,
My brothers and my sisters trod its grass!
No gesture, face, or voice 'scaped my remembrance:
Like mist the happy years had passed. There stood
That maiden child, with hair half brown half gold;
A spirit of love she stood with yearning eyes
All light; close by, that vestal pale, her sister,
Statelier though younger, and with look severe.
I leaned upon the gate; a sweet voice said,
‘Yon aged man is wayworn: bid him rest:’
They drew a bench beside me; kissed my hand
Honouring white hairs, and then resumed their game.
There midmost sat my Father and my Mother:
Delight of health and strength within them glowed;
Around them all was fortunate; joyous all;
Misgiving lived not. Half my present years;

223

Seemed theirs, or less. Sixty o'er me had passed:
Thirty seemed theirs. The strangest of emotions
Is his, methinks, who from the heights of age
Looks back upon his parents in their youth,
Sees them once more in some remembered scene
Their day of youth—the old man's day of childhood.
'Tis still with childhood's Reverence he regards them;
But Reverence which, commingled with a love
Foreboding, half parental, prompts that prayer,
‘Help them, great God! Their inexperience shield!’
The heavenliest of those dreams was mine last night.
The moon had set. Alone I paced a cliff:
That Wessex height it seemed whereon, a boy,
Nightly I walked—its name the cliff of Torre—
Not distant from a blue south-facing bay.
I saw the Hyads and the Pleiads rise
And the dim seas star-gemmed. A sudden glory
Drank up those lesser lights. Aloft I gazed:
And lo! from western heavens a marvel shone;
Downward and onward both, lapsing it moved,
With exquisitest cadence nearing earth:
At last it stood, a mystic fabric fair,
Self-radiant and serene. High-towered it stood
Like minster's portal triple-arched. Within
I saw a wondrous company, and knew
Each one by name. These were the Saxon Saints,
My country's, and—one family with them—
(For kindreds in the skies are spirit-linked)
More closely than by bonds of flesh and blood,
Erin's and Rome's that drew our race to Christ:
High Kings of Peace they stood, yet wearing, each,
God's armour, and the Truth's, the Spirit's sword
Breast-plate of Faith, and helmet of Salvation.
There stood our great Augustine; by his side

224

King Ethelbert, Queen Bertha, hand in hand;
Saint Laurence glorying in God's rights restored;
King Sebert gazing t'ward Saint Peter's Church
New-risen on Thamis' bank; Northumbrian Oswald
Beckoning Columba's sons to bless his realm;
Those three great Bishops, Aidan, Finan, Colman,
Iona's lights shining from Lindisfarne;
Bernician Oswy by his consort's tears
To penance won and peace. Apart I saw
Heida, the prophetess of dark woods, who found
In Odin's faith our Christ. With beaming brow
Stood Hilda as she stood on Whitby's rock
Listening from Cædmon's lips the immortal song;
Cædmon stood near her—silent; for his ear
Had heard the song of angels. Frideswida
Mused on her destined Oxford. Cuthbert smiled
As when beside that flood near Carleol
I fixed on him mine eyes, and heard him say,
‘Of men the greatest is that man who draws
To God, God's creatures.’ Venerable Bede
Sat central there in stillness of great love
Brow-bent above his scroll. From these remote
And taller far a monarch stood, with front
Monastic but the sceptre-wielding hand:
Foretold long since in Wessex Banquet Hall,
When spake God's Prophet, ‘Alfred is his name.’

Then raised those Saints their hymn, and with that hymn,
For what hath Heavenly birth returns to Heaven,
Onward and up that glory slowly rose,
And as it rose they stretched to me their hands:
Therefore 'tis certain I shall die ere long,
Perhaps to them be joined.

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