 | Cuckoo songs |  |
26
The Story of Blessed Columba and the Horse
Columba was kept back
Four years from his reward,
The brethren's prayers, alack,
Prevailing with the Lord.
‘O Children, let me go!’
'Twas oft and oft he prayed,
Yet still with prayer aglow
They held him from the dead.
Four years from his reward,
The brethren's prayers, alack,
Prevailing with the Lord.
‘O Children, let me go!’
'Twas oft and oft he prayed,
Yet still with prayer aglow
They held him from the dead.
They held him back with might,
Kissing his habit's hem,
His soul's wings set for flight
Were prisoned long by them.
His soul was sick for death;
Yea, anguished long and dumb
To take the lonely path
Should lead the exile home.
Kissing his habit's hem,
His soul's wings set for flight
Were prisoned long by them.
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Yea, anguished long and dumb
To take the lonely path
Should lead the exile home.
At last one Autumn day
When woods were red and gold,
And the sea moaned alway
For summers dead and cold,
Columba, weary foot,
Went out and saw the sheaves,
And flames of yellow fruit
Trembling among the leaves.
When woods were red and gold,
And the sea moaned alway
For summers dead and cold,
Columba, weary foot,
Went out and saw the sheaves,
And flames of yellow fruit
Trembling among the leaves.
He saw the sheep and swine,
The oxen and the ass,
The drying swathes in line
Of rich and honeyed grass:
Opened the granary door,
And saw the brethren had
Of fruit and grain great store
To last through winter sad.
The oxen and the ass,
The drying swathes in line
Of rich and honeyed grass:
Opened the granary door,
And saw the brethren had
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To last through winter sad.
Upon a brother's arm
The great Columba leant;
Bowed was that stately form,
The holy head down-bent.
Yet peace was in his eyes,
Happy and satisfied:
He blessed the granaries,
The beasts and pastures wide.
The great Columba leant;
Bowed was that stately form,
The holy head down-bent.
Yet peace was in his eyes,
Happy and satisfied:
He blessed the granaries,
The beasts and pastures wide.
As slowly home they came,
There limped along the road,
The old horse tired and lame,
That long had borne his load.
The horse that night and morn
Drew home the abbey milk,
Drew home the loads of corn,
And swathes of grass like silk.
There limped along the road,
The old horse tired and lame,
That long had borne his load.
The horse that night and morn
Drew home the abbey milk,
Drew home the loads of corn,
And swathes of grass like silk.
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With a low whinnying neigh,
He ran full wild and fast,
And hid his forehead grey
Against Columba's breast,
And wept against his neck,
Till any heart of stone
Were very like to ache,
Hearing the creature moan.
He ran full wild and fast,
And hid his forehead grey
Against Columba's breast,
And wept against his neck,
Till any heart of stone
Were very like to ache,
Hearing the creature moan.
‘O little horse, so kind,’
The dear Columba said;
‘How hast thou well divined
I should so soon be dead?
Thou wouldst not keep me, thou,
From glory and from grace
And from Queen Mary's brow,
And from the Lord God's face!’
The dear Columba said;
‘How hast thou well divined
I should so soon be dead?
Thou wouldst not keep me, thou,
From glory and from grace
And from Queen Mary's brow,
And from the Lord God's face!’
But while the horse sobbed on,
Columba stroked his mane.
O any heart of stone
Had ached to see that pain!
And still as home they went,
The horse came following yet;
His head deject and bent,
His eyes still strained and wet.
Columba stroked his mane.
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Had ached to see that pain!
And still as home they went,
The horse came following yet;
His head deject and bent,
His eyes still strained and wet.
The brethren they ran out,
Columba, speaking then,
His tender arm about
His patient friend's grey mane.
‘O kinder is the beast
That grieves, but lets me go,
Than ye who keep from rest
An old man, sad and slow!
Columba, speaking then,
His tender arm about
His patient friend's grey mane.
‘O kinder is the beast
That grieves, but lets me go,
Than ye who keep from rest
An old man, sad and slow!
‘Far kinder is the horse:
He knows how pastures dim,
With many a water-course,
Beckon so sweet to him.
He too is tired and old,
And knows how sweetly call
The harps and hymns of gold
To me this evenfall.
He knows how pastures dim,
With many a water-course,
Beckon so sweet to him.
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And knows how sweetly call
The harps and hymns of gold
To me this evenfall.
‘Long they have called to me,
My soul is hungeréd
The dear Lord God to see,
With glories round His head.
Sweet is the thought of rest,
While all the ages roll,
In that eternal Breast:
Yea, lovely to my soul!’
My soul is hungeréd
The dear Lord God to see,
With glories round His head.
Sweet is the thought of rest,
While all the ages roll,
In that eternal Breast:
Yea, lovely to my soul!’
They cried then with one voice:
‘No more we will retard,
Go, elect soul, rejoice,
Receive thy great reward!
And yet forget not there
Thy little ones who go
Like some sad wayfarer
When heaven lets out the snow!’
‘No more we will retard,
Go, elect soul, rejoice,
Receive thy great reward!
And yet forget not there
Thy little ones who go
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When heaven lets out the snow!’
They led the horse away
Unto his manger brown.
Three days the sorrel-grey
Let the big tears fall down.
Three days the horse did mourn;
The fourth day-dawn came faint:
Iona woke forlorn,
But Heaven received its saint.
Unto his manger brown.
Three days the sorrel-grey
Let the big tears fall down.
Three days the horse did mourn;
The fourth day-dawn came faint:
Iona woke forlorn,
But Heaven received its saint.
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