 | St. Augustine at Ostia |  |
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St. Augustine at Ostia:
Oxford Sacred Poem.
5
MATRI MEÆ
DILECTISSIMÆ
ET CARNIS ET CORDIS GENETRICI
APVD OSTIA SVA JAM COMMORANTI
HOS VERSICVLOS
6
“It came to pass that she [Monnica] and I stood alone,
leaning in a certain window, which looked into the garden
of the house where we now lay at Ostia; where removed
from the din of men we were recruiting from the fatigues
of a long journey, for the voyage. We were discoursing
then together, alone, and enquiring between ourselves in
the presence of the Truth, which Thou art, of what sort
the eternal life of the saints was to be” etc.
Confessions, b, ix, Oxf. Tr.
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O after leagues of dust and sweltering air
Like heaven to tired souls this garden green.
How its soft balm all trouble doth repair,
Bathed in the shadowy stillness of the scene;
The shrunken mind grows to her wonted measure,
As all the senses find their fill of pleasure!
Like heaven to tired souls this garden green.
How its soft balm all trouble doth repair,
Bathed in the shadowy stillness of the scene;
The shrunken mind grows to her wonted measure,
As all the senses find their fill of pleasure!
In the beginning, for Creation's crown,
There was a garden Sabbath-wrought by God;
Trees, bird-enchanted, stretched their light leaves down,
Rose-petals diapered the grassy sod;
And there, a little while, a man and maid
Wandered in golden light and scented shade.
There was a garden Sabbath-wrought by God;
Trees, bird-enchanted, stretched their light leaves down,
Rose-petals diapered the grassy sod;
And there, a little while, a man and maid
Wandered in golden light and scented shade.
8
Red roses, and white lilies, and green grass,—
Some wind from Eden let your first seeds fall!
Or haply, chrisom'd in innocence, we pass
Within that warder'd garden's viewless wall,
For ye are far more glorious since that day!
And hark, God's footstep on its silent way!
Some wind from Eden let your first seeds fall!
Or haply, chrisom'd in innocence, we pass
Within that warder'd garden's viewless wall,
For ye are far more glorious since that day!
And hark, God's footstep on its silent way!
O happy Paradise of earthly bliss!
Take heart of joy, children of God, and shout;
Yet will that other garden better this
Which yonder singing planets ring about,—
Sweet harbingers, whose love-enflamed breath
Lights us across the dusky sea of death.
Take heart of joy, children of God, and shout;
Yet will that other garden better this
Which yonder singing planets ring about,—
Sweet harbingers, whose love-enflamed breath
Lights us across the dusky sea of death.
They beckon us to unimagin'd bowers,
Beauty beyond desire, beyond decay,
Where summer parches not, nor rain deflowers,
And all Eternity is one To-day;
No need of sun is there, or need of night,
For ‘all is full of God,’ and God is Light.
Beauty beyond desire, beyond decay,
Where summer parches not, nor rain deflowers,
And all Eternity is one To-day;
No need of sun is there, or need of night,
For ‘all is full of God,’ and God is Light.
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Light uncreated, insubstantial flame,
Who by our soul in soul, not sense, art found,
No more I do thee wrong, when LIGHT I name,
As though Thy waves beat through without a bound
The vast of space, its island worlds to thrill;—
Whose light is spirit, and Whose flame is will.
Who by our soul in soul, not sense, art found,
No more I do thee wrong, when LIGHT I name,
As though Thy waves beat through without a bound
The vast of space, its island worlds to thrill;—
Whose light is spirit, and Whose flame is will.
From Thee is every joy and loveliness:
When thou dost call, they wake to life and shine
As flowers, or sing as birds, and sweetly press
To their perfection, then as swift decline;
Yet oft untimely fate cuts short their days,
Or chance dislimns, dislustres, disarrays.
When thou dost call, they wake to life and shine
As flowers, or sing as birds, and sweetly press
To their perfection, then as swift decline;
Yet oft untimely fate cuts short their days,
Or chance dislimns, dislustres, disarrays.
But in our souls Thy spirit fashioneth
The perfect model of their beauty bright,
Which cannot suffer chance or change or death,
But lives eternal at its beauty's height;
What though this lily's stem Time's scythe will sever,—
In God and in our hearts it liveth ever.
The perfect model of their beauty bright,
Which cannot suffer chance or change or death,
But lives eternal at its beauty's height;
What though this lily's stem Time's scythe will sever,—
In God and in our hearts it liveth ever.
10
So when at last Thy great ‘Let be’ is said,
And mortal stars crumble from mortal skies,
And mortal graves from their immortal dead,—
The memory of our love shall with us rise,
And Thou shalt to our love Thy heaven display
The perfect form of what hath passed away.
And mortal stars crumble from mortal skies,
And mortal graves from their immortal dead,—
The memory of our love shall with us rise,
And Thou shalt to our love Thy heaven display
The perfect form of what hath passed away.
Then shall the soul's clear eye be satisfied
With seeing, nor its charmed ear be dull:
For every colour from One light is dyed,
And every cadence of One voice is full;
And who in aught discerns that Light, that Voice,
Is lapped in deep content of heavenly joys.
With seeing, nor its charmed ear be dull:
For every colour from One light is dyed,
And every cadence of One voice is full;
And who in aught discerns that Light, that Voice,
Is lapped in deep content of heavenly joys.
But in Thy heaven, O Light, Thou dost not keep,
Though in Thine iris-splendour heaven be clad;
And more than music is that Silence deep
Whose scattered melodies Thy saints make glad;
Shall we that Silence hear, that Light descry
Singly—Thyself? ah God, for Thee we sigh.
Though in Thine iris-splendour heaven be clad;
And more than music is that Silence deep
Whose scattered melodies Thy saints make glad;
Shall we that Silence hear, that Light descry
Singly—Thyself? ah God, for Thee we sigh.
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To which high bliss He of His mercy bring,
My mother, thee; and me, his new-born son;
And one much-wronged; and him whom, pitying
Our piteous lust, He gave to win us on
From lust to love;—to each vouchsafe a part
In the blest vision of the pure in heart.
My mother, thee; and me, his new-born son;
And one much-wronged; and him whom, pitying
Our piteous lust, He gave to win us on
From lust to love;—to each vouchsafe a part
In the blest vision of the pure in heart.
O name of mother, more than wife or friend
For whose dear love our hearts are drench'd in fire,
While thine we pierce with sorrows without end,
Returning disappointment for desire;
I know at last the school where thou hast learn'd
‘More profiteth love given than love return'd.’
For whose dear love our hearts are drench'd in fire,
While thine we pierce with sorrows without end,
Returning disappointment for desire;
I know at last the school where thou hast learn'd
‘More profiteth love given than love return'd.’
Eternal love of God which lives in loving,
And still th' unthankful thanks, th' unjust rewards;
Our selfish love no less than hate reproving,
Our pruning-hooks of peace that bite like swords;
Where can we find Thine image so exprest
In mortal clay, as in a mother's breast!
And still th' unthankful thanks, th' unjust rewards;
Our selfish love no less than hate reproving,
Our pruning-hooks of peace that bite like swords;
Where can we find Thine image so exprest
In mortal clay, as in a mother's breast!
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My mother, it is now the thirtieth year,
And thou hast laboured all the woful while
With my sad soul, as with my flesh whilere,
Still hoping for a day when thou shouldst smile;
The day fore-told in dreams, the coming morrow
When she should reap in joy, that sowed in sorrow.
And thou hast laboured all the woful while
With my sad soul, as with my flesh whilere,
Still hoping for a day when thou shouldst smile;
The day fore-told in dreams, the coming morrow
When she should reap in joy, that sowed in sorrow.
A son of sorrow I, who must have perish'd,
In such a parched ground so frail a stock,
But that God's grace in thy free tears had cherished
And thy large faith had shadowed like a rock;
Expecting till thy wilful son should stand,
How late soever, at the Father's hand.
In such a parched ground so frail a stock,
But that God's grace in thy free tears had cherished
And thy large faith had shadowed like a rock;
Expecting till thy wilful son should stand,
How late soever, at the Father's hand.
How shall I tell by what mysterious stairs
I rose from deeps of darkness into light?
O but I know they were the unwavering prayers
(Whatever guise they bore to outward sight,)
That rose from thee, my mother, to God's throne;
Faith blessed by grace makes a sure stepping-stone.
I rose from deeps of darkness into light?
O but I know they were the unwavering prayers
(Whatever guise they bore to outward sight,)
That rose from thee, my mother, to God's throne;
Faith blessed by grace makes a sure stepping-stone.
13
First I rejoice that Christ's most holy Cross
Was signed in faith upon my infant brow,
With salt to season me from carnal loss;
For though too late I love Thee, Saviour, now,
And loved too long the wanton dreams of youth,
Thy name I ever loved, and knew Thee truth.
Was signed in faith upon my infant brow,
With salt to season me from carnal loss;
For though too late I love Thee, Saviour, now,
And loved too long the wanton dreams of youth,
Thy name I ever loved, and knew Thee truth.
So when my mind her feathers 'gan to preen,
And Tully bade her boldly weigh her wings
To soar aloft where in the light serene
Sat Wisdom, prouder than the state of kings,
She cried:—‘The greater light the less will dim;
Who worships Christ can worship none but Him.’
And Tully bade her boldly weigh her wings
To soar aloft where in the light serene
Sat Wisdom, prouder than the state of kings,
She cried:—‘The greater light the less will dim;
Who worships Christ can worship none but Him.’
Then questing for Thy shrine, I sought to Paul,
But found him, ah! ‘contemptible of speech’
As saith himself; and for the porch was small
I judged the temple mean and poor of reach;
Nor knew I, Lord, the meekness of Thy ways,
Who from the lips of babes perfectest praise.
But found him, ah! ‘contemptible of speech’
As saith himself; and for the porch was small
I judged the temple mean and poor of reach;
Nor knew I, Lord, the meekness of Thy ways,
Who from the lips of babes perfectest praise.
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Fain to be free, and yet a slave to Pride
Nine years I spurned the franchise of Thy yoke;
For while the Church to all the nations cried
‘Believe and know,’ and Mani counter-spoke
‘Know and believe,’
I bowed to Mani's rule
And willing to be wise became a fool.
Nine years I spurned the franchise of Thy yoke;
For while the Church to all the nations cried
‘Believe and know,’ and Mani counter-spoke
‘Know and believe,’
‘For what else led me, for nearly nine years, to follow and be a diligent hearer of these men, but their saying that we were the sport of superstitious fears, and that faith was incumbent on us before reason, whereas they urged no one to believe, until the truth had been first elicited.’ (On the Benefit of Believing, pref.)
And willing to be wise became a fool.
For who can see, though it be highest day,
Till faith unbar the windows of the soul
And all the clotted dust be puiged away
That thwarts the sunbeams' passage to their goal?
The faithless heart takes pride to grope and peer
And misconstrue—and nought discovers clear.
Till faith unbar the windows of the soul
And all the clotted dust be puiged away
That thwarts the sunbeams' passage to their goal?
The faithless heart takes pride to grope and peer
And misconstrue—and nought discovers clear.
How then I thought of God and thought of death,
Let this vain cry confess which once I wept
When my first manhood's friend gave up his breath;
And Christ have pardon'd it, in Whom he slept—
Christ's lamb—whom I was hindering from the fold
And when he entered, mock'd, profanely bold:
Let this vain cry confess which once I wept
When my first manhood's friend gave up his breath;
And Christ have pardon'd it, in Whom he slept—
Christ's lamb—whom I was hindering from the fold
And when he entered, mock'd, profanely bold:
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‘Soul of the world, in matter crucified,
We must not mourn when thou escapest free
From one nail more with which thy spirit is wried,
Impaled upon the earth's accursed tree;
Who hail with joy the happy omen given
In every drop of dew exhaled to heaven.
We must not mourn when thou escapest free
From one nail more with which thy spirit is wried,
Impaled upon the earth's accursed tree;
Who hail with joy the happy omen given
In every drop of dew exhaled to heaven.
‘But was thy anguish fierce in this my friend?
Was not thy lodging, Lord, a pleasant place?
His thoughts were pure, and such as aye imtend
Thy glory and thy woe; so that thy face
Look'd stainless from his face, than flesh more fine,
As through its veil of glass the sacred wine.
Was not thy lodging, Lord, a pleasant place?
His thoughts were pure, and such as aye imtend
Thy glory and thy woe; so that thy face
Look'd stainless from his face, than flesh more fine,
As through its veil of glass the sacred wine.
‘Why didst thou long to be releas'd so soon
From him, and lingerest still in wretched me?
Our heart was one, our pulses beat one tune,
Mingling twin thoughts in sweeter melody
When thou didst breathe as through a double flute;
Now faints the other, because one is mute.
From him, and lingerest still in wretched me?
Our heart was one, our pulses beat one tune,
Mingling twin thoughts in sweeter melody
When thou didst breathe as through a double flute;
Now faints the other, because one is mute.
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‘Well fare thy soul, my brother, whereso bound!
Voyagest thou i' the pinnace of the sun
The unfurrowed blue of heaven's ethereal round
To make the port where separate souls are one,—
Motes in the Great All-brightness, lost in God?—
Would thou wert here, treading the path we trod!’
Voyagest thou i' the pinnace of the sun
The unfurrowed blue of heaven's ethereal round
To make the port where separate souls are one,—
Motes in the Great All-brightness, lost in God?—
Would thou wert here, treading the path we trod!’
Thus my sad heart through the thick mists would pore,
That brood above the irremeable wave,
And hide from longing eyes the further shore;
Faith knew not yet the Pilot's skill to save;
And though Love waved his torch to left and right
He scarce put back the re-encroaching night.
That brood above the irremeable wave,
And hide from longing eyes the further shore;
Faith knew not yet the Pilot's skill to save;
And though Love waved his torch to left and right
He scarce put back the re-encroaching night.
I loved Alcestis who sighed out her breath
To save her kingly husband from his doom,
I honoured Hercules who fought with Death
To bring the victim victor from the tomb,
I thought Christ phantom-born and phantom-slain,
And all that woe but pageantry and vain.
To save her kingly husband from his doom,
I honoured Hercules who fought with Death
To bring the victim victor from the tomb,
I thought Christ phantom-born and phantom-slain,
And all that woe but pageantry and vain.
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For still in Mani's house my soul would sit
Where all things made were pictur'd wondrously;
Yet sometimes from her chamber taper-lit
Looking abroad the starry heavens to see,
Her wit would doubt his painted orbs, and cry
‘Can then the Paraclete mistake, or lie!’
Where all things made were pictur'd wondrously;
Yet sometimes from her chamber taper-lit
Looking abroad the starry heavens to see,
Her wit would doubt his painted orbs, and cry
‘Can then the Paraclete mistake, or lie!’
Mani claimed to be the Paraclete foretold by Christ. Augustine's faith in this pretended revelation received its first blow from the impossibility of reconciling what Mani had written on the Universe with the ascertained principles of astronomical science. He was urged to suspend his judgment till Faustus the chief Manichean bishop should visit Carthage; but Faustus proved a mere rhetorician, ‘utterly ignorant of the liberal sciences,’ and candidly confessed as much. See Conf. v, 6-7.
And when thy wit too, Faustus, was at fault
So that for all thy grace and eloquence
Thou couldst not bid my thronging doubts to halt,
Nor wouldst—true heart ev'n in a lie's defence—
The ill-figur'd glories ceased to charm my mind;—
I journeyed forth another home to find.
So that for all thy grace and eloquence
Thou couldst not bid my thronging doubts to halt,
Nor wouldst—true heart ev'n in a lie's defence—
The ill-figur'd glories ceased to charm my mind;—
I journeyed forth another home to find.
Then Plato from his watch-tower pointed me
The Cause of Causes, only ‘THAT WHICH IS;’
Bidding me seek Him singly, for that He
Was very Truth, and very Fount of Bliss:—
And my heart wept for rapture and dismay
Seeing the goal far off, but not the way.
The Cause of Causes, only ‘THAT WHICH IS;’
Bidding me seek Him singly, for that He
Was very Truth, and very Fount of Bliss:—
And my heart wept for rapture and dismay
Seeing the goal far off, but not the way.
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But Thou, the Way, didst lead me by Thy saint,
Whose name is in the church ‘like ointment poured,’
Ambrose, whose songs ambrosial soar and faint
A sweeter incense round Thy throne, O Lord;
Where now with heavenly choirs earth's voices vie,
Hymning ‘the happy Light, the Trinity.’
Whose name is in the church ‘like ointment poured,’
Ambrose, whose songs ambrosial soar and faint
A sweeter incense round Thy throne, O Lord;
Where now with heavenly choirs earth's voices vie,
Hymning ‘the happy Light, the Trinity.’
From those firm lips I heard the holy Creed—
The truth of truth that is God's boundless heart
Turn'd to child's words;—though if a child give heed
The smallest vowel sings an angel's part;
As now to my still ear comes distantly
Beyond the river's voice the eternal sea.
The truth of truth that is God's boundless heart
Turn'd to child's words;—though if a child give heed
The smallest vowel sings an angel's part;
As now to my still ear comes distantly
Beyond the river's voice the eternal sea.
O strong and sweet command my heart that won
To ope at last its barricadoed door!
So speaks a mother to her dearest son;
O grief, that I mistook her voice before!
O grief and shame that all those rebel years
I filled her eyes (as thine, mother) with tears!
To ope at last its barricadoed door!
So speaks a mother to her dearest son;
O grief, that I mistook her voice before!
O grief and shame that all those rebel years
I filled her eyes (as thine, mother) with tears!
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Now when love urged and doubt no more restrained,
Why from Christ's kingdom did I longer stray?
O prodigal desires that still complained
Plucked at my robe of flesh, and said me nay;
Sighed ‘Pity us’—‘must we be left behind?’
‘We were thy darlings once’—‘nay, friend, be kind.’
Why from Christ's kingdom did I longer stray?
O prodigal desires that still complained
Plucked at my robe of flesh, and said me nay;
Sighed ‘Pity us’—‘must we be left behind?’
‘We were thy darlings once’—‘nay, friend, be kind.’
And still I scorned their suit; and still and still
Was bound; till one day desperate to be freed,
I heard a voice importunate and shrill,
Chant ‘Take and read’ and ever ‘take and read;’
And taking Paul I read (one word sufficed)
‘Thy flesh put off, put on the new man, Christ.’
Was bound; till one day desperate to be freed,
I heard a voice importunate and shrill,
Chant ‘Take and read’ and ever ‘take and read;’
And taking Paul I read (one word sufficed)
‘Thy flesh put off, put on the new man, Christ.’
Then knew I that it was God's oracle
Calling to cleanness by a clean-lipt child;
And I made answer ‘In thy hallowed well
Dip my soul's torch, whose flame is flesh-defiled
(As in that magic fount the Epirots praise )
To kindle the quench'd light to purer rays.
Calling to cleanness by a clean-lipt child;
And I made answer ‘In thy hallowed well
Dip my soul's torch, whose flame is flesh-defiled
(As in that magic fount the Epirots praise )
To kindle the quench'd light to purer rays.
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Mother, thou saw'st the end of all the strife:
The waters brooded over by the dove;
The sob of death, the cry of new-born life
Speechless with ecstacy of faith and love:
The over-shadowing hands of blessing, then
The thunder of the thousandfold Amen.
The waters brooded over by the dove;
The sob of death, the cry of new-born life
Speechless with ecstacy of faith and love:
The over-shadowing hands of blessing, then
The thunder of the thousandfold Amen.
Last the atoning Sacrifice,
that rose
So suppliant, so triumphal, to God's throne:
Bearing upon its buoyant wings the woes
Wherewith a thousand hearts did inly groan:
Until in highest heaven they faded quite:
And God's peace fell as falls the deepening night.
So suppliant, so triumphal, to God's throne:
Bearing upon its buoyant wings the woes
Wherewith a thousand hearts did inly groan:
Until in highest heaven they faded quite:
And God's peace fell as falls the deepening night.
What now remains? Heaven stoops to-night so near
Ev'n now it seems the starry gates must turn
Upon their hinges, and the King appear
To judge the quaking world, and bid it burn:
Or (dare I hope) to pluck one soul on high
Before its dew of baptism be dry.
Ev'n now it seems the starry gates must turn
Upon their hinges, and the King appear
To judge the quaking world, and bid it burn:
Or (dare I hope) to pluck one soul on high
Before its dew of baptism be dry.
21
But that were thankless cowardice to ask!
Rest before toil, nay, wage for working ill.
Rather let twice ten years bring each his task
Of sowing truth the ten years' weeds to kill
I sowed full-handed;—and weeds prosper well
In our quick soil, warmed by the fires of hell.
Rest before toil, nay, wage for working ill.
Rather let twice ten years bring each his task
Of sowing truth the ten years' weeds to kill
I sowed full-handed;—and weeds prosper well
In our quick soil, warmed by the fires of hell.
All that I have, I give; and oft in dreams
One stands upon a shore and beckons me
Whose mitred neck is ringed with blood, and seems
The holy Cyprian; and I vow to thee,
Martyr of God—who heard'st my mother's vows,
That day I left her, weeping in thy house—
One stands upon a shore and beckons me
Whose mitred neck is ringed with blood, and seems
The holy Cyprian; and I vow to thee,
Martyr of God—who heard'st my mother's vows,
That day I left her, weeping in thy house—
This was when Augustine left Carthage for Rome. See Conf. v, 8. ‘She refusing to return without me, I scarcely persuaded her to stay that night in a place hard by our ship, where was an oratory, in memory of the blessed Cyprian. That night I departed privily, but she was left behind in weeping and prayer.’
To heed thy law, and love our Mother Church
As Father God; and dry the tears that dim
Her virgin beauty, if by painful search
Her wanderers may be gathered; not like him
Wander, thy best loved Master, wilful-wild,
God's dear, devoted, disobedient child.
As Father God; and dry the tears that dim
Her virgin beauty, if by painful search
Her wanderers may be gathered; not like him
Wander, thy best loved Master, wilful-wild,
God's dear, devoted, disobedient child.
22
And thou, great monk,
who found'st the Happy Life
—Which all men seek with feverish desire—
Not in a home, or wealth, or friend, or wife,
But solely in the spirit's naked fire,
Teach me the same rich poverty to essay,
Though hard the lesson be for human clay.
—Which all men seek with feverish desire—
Not in a home, or wealth, or friend, or wife,
But solely in the spirit's naked fire,
Teach me the same rich poverty to essay,
Though hard the lesson be for human clay.
But chiefly Thou, whom my faint spirit pursu'th
(Ev'n while my faithful heart embraceth Thee)
Along the narrow, thorny, steep of Truth,
Be aiding; mind to mind, O speak to me!
Shew me Thyself, nor let the vision fade
As from the Trojan sad Creusa's shade.
(Ev'n while my faithful heart embraceth Thee)
Along the narrow, thorny, steep of Truth,
Be aiding; mind to mind, O speak to me!
Shew me Thyself, nor let the vision fade
As from the Trojan sad Creusa's shade.
Verg. Aen. ii, 772. How deeply Virgil's lines about Creusa had sunk into Augustine's mind is proved by his impatient reference to them in Conf. i, 13—a reference which with splendid rhetorical effect becomes a quotation. “Dulcissimum spectaculum vanitatis equus ligneus plenus armatis, et Trojæ incendium atque ipsius umbra Creusæ.”
And shew the model of Thy glorious city
As Thou hast graven it in heaven; for here
Tho' 'tis the middle age of time, 'tis pity
How lowly still the walls and towers appear;
The builders leave to build and ply their hate;
Some cry ‘Too vast the plan,’ and some ‘Too strait.’
As Thou hast graven it in heaven; for here
Tho' 'tis the middle age of time, 'tis pity
How lowly still the walls and towers appear;
The builders leave to build and ply their hate;
Some cry ‘Too vast the plan,’ and some ‘Too strait.’
23
‘Build THOU Jerusalem,’
Thy people sue;
'Tis for Thy praise, and Thou art architect;
Yea, if one seem a builder good and true,
Thy hands, O Lord, not his, the work effect;
Work through us in this transitory light,
Till we have built the city to its height.
'Tis for Thy praise, and Thou art architect;
Yea, if one seem a builder good and true,
Thy hands, O Lord, not his, the work effect;
Work through us in this transitory light,
Till we have built the city to its height.
Yattenden Rectory,
June, 1895.
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