CXLVII.THE LAST PALATINE.
I
How dark and dull is all the vaporous air,
Loaded with sadness as though earth would grieve
Whene'er the skirts of ancient grandeur leave
A place they once enriched forlorn and bare!
Man and the earth in mutual bonds have dwelt
So long together, that it were not strange
Old lights eclipsed and barren-hearted change,
Should be by sentient nature deeply felt.
II
And with the motions of her outward shows,
Prophetic leadings, I would almost say,
Guiding the observant spirit on its way,
Doth she men's minds harmoniously dispose.
The woods and streams are sympathetic powers,
Fountains of meek suggestion, to the man
Who with submissive energy would plan
His way of life in close and heated hours.
III
How the dense morning compasses the town,
As though there were no other place beyond,
And with its sweeping mist bids us despond
For the old forms which one by one sink down!
How patiently the Minster stands, a vain
And beautiful monition, from the hill
Rising or rather growing, mute and still
Within a cavern of dark mist and rain!
IV
O venerable Pile! whose awful gloom
From my first boyish days hath been the sign
And symbol to me of the Faith divine
Of which thou art a birth! from out the womb
Thou springest of the old majestic past,
Colossal times, which daily from the heart
Of this dear land with lingering steps depart,
Furling the mighty shadows that they cast.
V
Past greatness is the shelter and the screen,
Beneath whose shade high hearts serenely lurk,
Catching true inspiration for the work
Which shall in other days be known and seen.
But greatness, which men do not understand,
Is felt a pressure not to be endured,
Where barren minds are painfully immured,
Like dwarfs within the grasp of giant hand.
VI
How patiently the Minster stands! So well
Hath it time's mute indignities sustained,
It might for its own beauty have detained
The grandeur now withdrawing. Hark! the knell!
Durham, the uncrowned city, in meet grief
Prepares to celebrate within the shrine
The obsequies of her last Palatine;
And nature's gloom is felt as a relief.
VII
And hark—the knell again! Within the town
Through the old narrow streets the sinuous crowds,
Meeting and parting, like the trailing clouds
Of a spent storm, are on the Abbey thrown.
How patiently it stands! Once more—the knell!
The crowd with silent agitation stirred
And a contagious awe, like some shy herd,
Shrinks at the ponderous voice of that deep bell.
VIII
The blameless prelate in the antique gloom
Of the low western Galilee is laid,
In the dark pageantry of death arrayed,
Nigh to the Venerable Beda's tomb:
And in the distant east beside the shrine
There is a grave, a little earth up-cast,
Wherein to-day a rich and solemn Past
Must be entombed with this old Palatine.
IX
See how with drooping pall and nodding plume
In many a line along the misty nave
The sombre garments of the clergy wave,
Bearing the last prince-bishop to his tomb!
And, as the burden swayeth to and fro,
I see a glorious relic, most sublime,
A dread bequest from out the olden time,
Borne from the earth with ceremonial show.
X
To one old priest were Keys and Sceptre given,
Two rights combined, the human and divine,
Blended in one high office as a shrine
Where earth might into contact come with Heaven.
This homage of great times unto the Cross,
All this magnificent conception, here
Outstretched upon the Palatine's frail bier,
Is borne away; and will men feel no loss?
XI
Hath not a sacred lamp gone out to-day
With ominous extinction? Can ye fill,
Wild men! the hallowed vases that ye spill,
And light our darkened shrines with purer ray?
O where shall trust and love have fitting scope?
Our children will cry out for very dearth
Of grandeur, fortified upon the earth
As refuges for faith and holy hope.
XII
The cloud of music hushed still loads the air;
The herald breaks the wand, while he proclaims
The gentle Palatine's puissant names:
Yon kingless throne is now for ever bare!
This is a gesture, whereby we may solve
The temper of the age; upon this day,
And in St. Cuthbert's shrine, the times display
The secret hinge on which they now revolve.
XIII
Cities, where ancient sacrilege was bold,
Nature with tenderest rites doth consecrate
Anew, and their remains incorporate
With her own placid mounds and forests old:
But an unholy action at its birth
Doth visibly uncrown a place, laid low
In all the rawness of dishonor: now
There is a glory less upon the earth.
XIV
At night upon the Minster I looked down;
In all the streets through dismal mist and rain
The lights were twinkling; and the mighty fane
Seemed o'er its sevenfold subject hills to frown.
Now then let ages pass, o'er this gray shrine,
Of uncrowned faith and formal prayer forlorn,
Magnificent traditions all forsworn,
And throne unpressed by lawful Palatine.
XV
Fortress of God! colossal Abbey! thou
In thy stern grandeur shalt outlive the forms
That thus unqueen thee, and above the storms
Of coming change shalt lift thy reverend brow.
Once more shall Host and Sacrifice be thine,
When Cuthbert's bones, concealed from curious scorn,
Down the grand aisles in triumph shall be borne,
With jubilant psalms, by some new Palatine!
