 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
213
KING ETHELBERT OF KENT AND SAINT AUGUSTINE.
Ethelbert, King of Kent, converses first with his Pagan Thanes, and next with Saint Augustine, newly landed on the shores of Thanet Island. The Saint, coming in sight of Canterbury, rejoices greatly, and predicts the future greatness of that city.
Far through the forest depths of Thanet Isle
That never yet had heard the woodman's axe,
Rang the glad clarion on the May-day morn
Blent with the cry of hounds. The rising sun
Flamed on the forest's dewy jewelry,
While, under rising mists, a host with plumes
Rode down a broad oak alley t'wards the sea.
That never yet had heard the woodman's axe,
Rang the glad clarion on the May-day morn
Blent with the cry of hounds. The rising sun
Flamed on the forest's dewy jewelry,
While, under rising mists, a host with plumes
Rode down a broad oak alley t'wards the sea.
King Ethelbert rode first: he reigned in Kent
Least kingdom of the Seven yet Head of all
Through his desert. That morn the royal train,
While sang the invisible lark her song in heaven,
Pursued the flying stag. At times the creature
As though he too had pleasure in the sport,
Vaulted at ease through sunshine and through shade,
Then changed his mood, and left the best behind him.
Five hours they chased him; last, upon a rock
High up in scorn he held his antlered front,
Then took the wave and vanished.
Least kingdom of the Seven yet Head of all
Through his desert. That morn the royal train,
While sang the invisible lark her song in heaven,
Pursued the flying stag. At times the creature
As though he too had pleasure in the sport,
Vaulted at ease through sunshine and through shade,
Then changed his mood, and left the best behind him.
Five hours they chased him; last, upon a rock
High up in scorn he held his antlered front,
Then took the wave and vanished.
Many a frown
Darkened that hour on many a heated brow;
And many a spur afflicted that poor flank
Which panted hard and smoked. The King alone
Laughed at mischance. ‘The stag, with God to aid,
Has left our labour fruitless! Give him joy!
He lives to yield us sport some later morn:
So be it! Waits our feast, and not far off:
On to the left 'twixt yonder ash and birch!’
Darkened that hour on many a heated brow;
And many a spur afflicted that poor flank
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Laughed at mischance. ‘The stag, with God to aid,
Has left our labour fruitless! Give him joy!
He lives to yield us sport some later morn:
So be it! Waits our feast, and not far off:
On to the left 'twixt yonder ash and birch!’
He spake, and anger passed: they praised their sport;
And many an outblown nostril seemed to snuff
That promised feast. They rode through golden furze
So high the horsemen only were descried;
And glades whose centuried oaks their branches laid
O'er violet banks; and fruit trees, some snow-veiled
Like bridesmaid, others like the bride herself
Behind her white veil blushing. Glad, the thrush
Carolled; more glad, the wood-dove moaned; close by
A warbling runnel led them to the bay:
Two chestnuts stood beside it snowy-coned:
The banquet lay beneath them.
And many an outblown nostril seemed to snuff
That promised feast. They rode through golden furze
So high the horsemen only were descried;
And glades whose centuried oaks their branches laid
O'er violet banks; and fruit trees, some snow-veiled
Like bridesmaid, others like the bride herself
Behind her white veil blushing. Glad, the thrush
Carolled; more glad, the wood-dove moaned; close by
A warbling runnel led them to the bay:
Two chestnuts stood beside it snowy-coned:
The banquet lay beneath them.
Feasting o'er
The song succeeded. Boastful was the strain
Each Thane his deeds extolling, or his sire's;
But one, an aged man, among them scoffed:
‘When I was young; when Sigbert on my right
To battle rode, and Sefred on my left;
That time men stood not worsted by a stag!
Not then our horses swerved from azure strait
Scared by the ridged sea-wave!’ Next spake a chief,
Pirate from Denmark late returned: ‘Our skies,
Good friends, are all too soft to build the man!
We fight for fame: the Northman fights for sport;
Their annals boast they fled but once:—'twas thus:
In days of old, when Rome was in her pride,
Huge hosts of hers had fallen on theirs, surprised,
And way-worn: long they fought: a remnant spent,
Fled to their camp. Upon its walls their wives
Stood up, black-garbed, with axes heaved aloft,
And fell upon the fugitives and slew them;
Slew next their little ones; slew last themselves,
Cheating the Roman Triumph. Never since then
Hath Northman fled the foemen.’
The song succeeded. Boastful was the strain
Each Thane his deeds extolling, or his sire's;
But one, an aged man, among them scoffed:
‘When I was young; when Sigbert on my right
To battle rode, and Sefred on my left;
That time men stood not worsted by a stag!
Not then our horses swerved from azure strait
Scared by the ridged sea-wave!’ Next spake a chief,
Pirate from Denmark late returned: ‘Our skies,
Good friends, are all too soft to build the man!
We fight for fame: the Northman fights for sport;
Their annals boast they fled but once:—'twas thus:
In days of old, when Rome was in her pride,
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And way-worn: long they fought: a remnant spent,
Fled to their camp. Upon its walls their wives
Stood up, black-garbed, with axes heaved aloft,
And fell upon the fugitives and slew them;
Slew next their little ones; slew last themselves,
Cheating the Roman Triumph. Never since then
Hath Northman fled the foemen.’
Egfrid rose:
‘Who saith our kinsfolk of the frozen North
One stock with us, one faith, one ancient tongue
Pass us in valour? Three days since I saw
Crossing the East Saxon's border and our own
Two boys that strove. The Kentish wounded fell;
The East Saxon on him knelt; then made demand;
“My victim art thou by the laws of war!
Yonder my dagger lies;—till I return
Wilt thou abide?” The vanquished answered, “Yea!”
A minute more, and o'er that dagger's edge
His life-blood rushed.’ The pirate chief demurred;
‘A gallant boy! Not less I wager this,
The glitter of that dagger ere it smote
Made his eye blink. Attend! Three years gone by,
Sailing with Hakon on Norwegian fiords
We fought the Jomsburg Rovers, at their head
Sidroc, oath-pledged to marry Hakon's child
Despite her father's best. In mist we met:
Instant each navy at the other dashed
Like wild beast, instinct-taught, that knows its foe;
Chained ship to ship, and clashed their clubs all day,
Till sank the sun: then laughed the white peaks forth,
And reeled, methought, above the reeling waves!
The victory was with us. Hakon, next morn,
Bade slay his prisoners. Thirty on one bench
Waited their doom: their leader died the first;
He winked not as the sword upon him closed!
No, nor the second! Hakon asked the third
“What think'st thou, friend, of Death?” He tossed his head:
“My Father perished; I fulfil my turn.”
The fourth, “Strike quickly, Chief! An hour this morn
We held contention if, when heads are off
The hand can hold its dagger: I would learn.”
The dagger and the head together fell.
The fifth, “One fear is mine—lest yonder slave
Finger a Prince's hair! Command some chief
Thy best beloved, to lift it in his hands;
Then strike and spare not!” Hakon struck. That youth,
Sigurd by name, his forehead forward twitched,
Laughing, so deftly that the downward sword
Shore off those luckless hands that raised his hair.
All laughed; and Hakon's son besought his sire
To loosen Sigurd's bonds: but Sigurd cried,
“Unless the rest be loosed I will not live!”
Thus all escaped save four.’
‘Who saith our kinsfolk of the frozen North
One stock with us, one faith, one ancient tongue
Pass us in valour? Three days since I saw
Crossing the East Saxon's border and our own
Two boys that strove. The Kentish wounded fell;
The East Saxon on him knelt; then made demand;
“My victim art thou by the laws of war!
Yonder my dagger lies;—till I return
Wilt thou abide?” The vanquished answered, “Yea!”
A minute more, and o'er that dagger's edge
His life-blood rushed.’ The pirate chief demurred;
‘A gallant boy! Not less I wager this,
The glitter of that dagger ere it smote
Made his eye blink. Attend! Three years gone by,
Sailing with Hakon on Norwegian fiords
We fought the Jomsburg Rovers, at their head
Sidroc, oath-pledged to marry Hakon's child
Despite her father's best. In mist we met:
Instant each navy at the other dashed
Like wild beast, instinct-taught, that knows its foe;
Chained ship to ship, and clashed their clubs all day,
Till sank the sun: then laughed the white peaks forth,
And reeled, methought, above the reeling waves!
The victory was with us. Hakon, next morn,
Bade slay his prisoners. Thirty on one bench
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He winked not as the sword upon him closed!
No, nor the second! Hakon asked the third
“What think'st thou, friend, of Death?” He tossed his head:
“My Father perished; I fulfil my turn.”
The fourth, “Strike quickly, Chief! An hour this morn
We held contention if, when heads are off
The hand can hold its dagger: I would learn.”
The dagger and the head together fell.
The fifth, “One fear is mine—lest yonder slave
Finger a Prince's hair! Command some chief
Thy best beloved, to lift it in his hands;
Then strike and spare not!” Hakon struck. That youth,
Sigurd by name, his forehead forward twitched,
Laughing, so deftly that the downward sword
Shore off those luckless hands that raised his hair.
All laughed; and Hakon's son besought his sire
To loosen Sigurd's bonds: but Sigurd cried,
“Unless the rest be loosed I will not live!”
Thus all escaped save four.’
In graver mood
That chief resumed: ‘A Norland King dies well!
His bier is raised upon his stateliest ship;
Piled with his arms; his lovers and his friends
Rush to their monarch's pyre, resolved with him
To share in death, and with becoming pomp
Attend his footsteps to Valhalla's Hall.
The torch is lit: forth sails the ship, black-winged,
Facing the midnight seas. From beach and cliff
Men watch all night that slowly lessening flame:
Yet no man sheds a tear.’
That chief resumed: ‘A Norland King dies well!
His bier is raised upon his stateliest ship;
Piled with his arms; his lovers and his friends
Rush to their monarch's pyre, resolved with him
To share in death, and with becoming pomp
Attend his footsteps to Valhalla's Hall.
The torch is lit: forth sails the ship, black-winged,
Facing the midnight seas. From beach and cliff
Men watch all night that slowly lessening flame:
Yet no man sheds a tear.’
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Earconwald,
An aged chief, made answer, ‘Tears there be
Of divers sorts: a wise and valiant king
Deserves that tear which praises, not bewails
Greatness gone by.’ The pirate shouted loud
‘A land it is of laughter, not of tears!
Know ye the tale of Harald? He had sailed
Round southern coasts and eastern; sacked or burned
A hundred Christian cities. One he found
So girt with giant walls and brazen gates
His sea-kings vainly dashed their ships against them;
And died beneath them, frustrate. Harald sent
A herald to that city proffering terms:
“Harald is dead: Christian was he in youth:
He sends you spoils from many a city burnt
And craves interment in your chiefest church.”
Next day the masked procession wound in black
Through streets defenceless. When the church was reached
They laid their chief before the altar-lights:
Anon to heaven rang out the priestly dirge,
And incense-smoke upcurled. Forth from its cloud
Sudden upleaped the dead man, club in hand,
Spurning his coffin's gilded walls, and smote
The hoary pontiff down, and brake his neck;
And all those maskers doffed their weeds of woe
And showed the mail beneath, and raised their swords
And drowned that pavement in a sea of blood,
While raging rushed their mates through portals wide,
And, since that city seemed but scant of spoil
Fired it and sailed. Ofttimes old Harald laughed
That tale recounting.’
An aged chief, made answer, ‘Tears there be
Of divers sorts: a wise and valiant king
Deserves that tear which praises, not bewails
Greatness gone by.’ The pirate shouted loud
‘A land it is of laughter, not of tears!
Know ye the tale of Harald? He had sailed
Round southern coasts and eastern; sacked or burned
A hundred Christian cities. One he found
So girt with giant walls and brazen gates
His sea-kings vainly dashed their ships against them;
And died beneath them, frustrate. Harald sent
A herald to that city proffering terms:
“Harald is dead: Christian was he in youth:
He sends you spoils from many a city burnt
And craves interment in your chiefest church.”
Next day the masked procession wound in black
Through streets defenceless. When the church was reached
They laid their chief before the altar-lights:
Anon to heaven rang out the priestly dirge,
And incense-smoke upcurled. Forth from its cloud
Sudden upleaped the dead man, club in hand,
Spurning his coffin's gilded walls, and smote
The hoary pontiff down, and brake his neck;
And all those maskers doffed their weeds of woe
And showed the mail beneath, and raised their swords
And drowned that pavement in a sea of blood,
While raging rushed their mates through portals wide,
And, since that city seemed but scant of spoil
Fired it and sailed. Ofttimes old Harald laughed
That tale recounting.’
Many a Kentish chief
Re-echoed Harald's laugh;—not Ethelbert:
The war-scar reddening on his brow he rose
And spake: ‘My Thanes, ye laugh at deeds accurst!
An old King I, and make my prophecy
One day that northern race which smites and laughs,
Our kith and kin albeit, shall smite our coasts:
That day ye will not laugh!’ Earconwald
Not rising, likewise answer made, heart-grieved:
‘Six sons had I: all these are slain in war;
Yet I, an unrejoicing man forlorn,
Find solace ofttimes thinking of their deeds:
They laughed not when they smote. No God, be sure,
Smiles on the jest red-handed.’ Egfrid rose,
And three times cried with lifted sword unsheathed,
‘Behold my God! No God save him I serve!’
Re-echoed Harald's laugh;—not Ethelbert:
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And spake: ‘My Thanes, ye laugh at deeds accurst!
An old King I, and make my prophecy
One day that northern race which smites and laughs,
Our kith and kin albeit, shall smite our coasts:
That day ye will not laugh!’ Earconwald
Not rising, likewise answer made, heart-grieved:
‘Six sons had I: all these are slain in war;
Yet I, an unrejoicing man forlorn,
Find solace ofttimes thinking of their deeds:
They laughed not when they smote. No God, be sure,
Smiles on the jest red-handed.’ Egfrid rose,
And three times cried with lifted sword unsheathed,
‘Behold my God! No God save him I serve!’
While thus they held discourse, where blue waves danced
Not far from land, behold, there hove in sight
Seen 'twixt a great beech silky yet with Spring
And pine broad-crested, round whose head old storms
Had wov'n a garland of his own green boughs,
A bark both fair and large; and hymn was heard.
Then laughed the King, ‘The stag-hunt and our songs
So drugged my memory, I had nigh forgotten
Why for our feast I chose this heaven-roofed hall:
Missives I late received from friends in France;
They make report of strangers from the South
Who, tarrying in their coasts have learned our tongue
And northward wend with tidings strange and new
Of some celestial Kingdom by their God
Founded for men of Faith. Nor churl am I
To frown on kind intent, nor child to trust
This sceptre of Seven Realms to magic snare
That puissance hath—who knows not?—greater thrice
In house than open field. I therefore chose
For audience hall this precinct.’
Not far from land, behold, there hove in sight
Seen 'twixt a great beech silky yet with Spring
And pine broad-crested, round whose head old storms
Had wov'n a garland of his own green boughs,
A bark both fair and large; and hymn was heard.
Then laughed the King, ‘The stag-hunt and our songs
So drugged my memory, I had nigh forgotten
Why for our feast I chose this heaven-roofed hall:
Missives I late received from friends in France;
They make report of strangers from the South
Who, tarrying in their coasts have learned our tongue
And northward wend with tidings strange and new
Of some celestial Kingdom by their God
Founded for men of Faith. Nor churl am I
To frown on kind intent, nor child to trust
This sceptre of Seven Realms to magic snare
That puissance hath—who knows not?—greater thrice
In house than open field. I therefore chose
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Muttered low
Murdark, the scoffer with the cave-like mouth
And sidelong eyes, ‘Queen Bertha's voice was that!
A woman's man! Since first from Gallic shores
That dainty daughter of King Charibert
Pressed her small foot on England's honest shore
The whole land dwindles!’
Murdark, the scoffer with the cave-like mouth
And sidelong eyes, ‘Queen Bertha's voice was that!
A woman's man! Since first from Gallic shores
That dainty daughter of King Charibert
Pressed her small foot on England's honest shore
The whole land dwindles!’
Mid seraphic hymns
Ere long that serpent hiss was lost: for soon
In raiment white, circling a rocky point
O'er sands still glistening with a tide far-ebbed,
On drew, preceded by a silver Cross,
A long Procession. Music as it moved
Floated on sea-winds inland, deadened now
By thickets, echoed now from cliff or cave:
Ere long before them that Procession stood.
The King addressed them: ‘Welcome, Heralds sage!
If sent from God I welcome you the more,
Since great is God, and therefore great His gifts:
God grant He send them daily, heaped and huge!
Speak without fear, for him alone I hate
Who brings ill news, or makes inept demand
Unmeet for Kings. I know the Cross ye bear;
And in my palace sits a Christian wife,
Bertha, the sweetest lady in this land;
Most gracious in her ways, in heart most leal.
I knew her yet a child: she knelt whene'er
The Queen, her mother, entered: then I said,
A maid so reverent will be reverent wife,
And wedded her betimes. Morning and eve
She in her wood-girt chapel sings her prayer,
Which wins us kindlier harvest, and, some think,
Success in war. She strives not with our Gods:
Confusion never wrought she in my house,
Nor minished Hengist's glory. Had her voice,
Clangorous or strident, drawn upon my throne
Deserved opprobrium’—here the monarch's brows
Flushed at the thought, and fire was in his eyes—
‘The hand that clasps this sceptre had not spared
To hunt her forth an outcast in the woods,
Thenceforth with beasts to herd! More lief were I
To take the lioness to my bed and board
Than house a rebel wife.’ Remembering then
The mildness of his Queen, King Ethelbert
Resumed, appeased, for placable his heart;
‘But she no rebel is, and this I deem
Fair auspice for her Faith.’
Ere long that serpent hiss was lost: for soon
In raiment white, circling a rocky point
O'er sands still glistening with a tide far-ebbed,
On drew, preceded by a silver Cross,
A long Procession. Music as it moved
Floated on sea-winds inland, deadened now
By thickets, echoed now from cliff or cave:
Ere long before them that Procession stood.
The King addressed them: ‘Welcome, Heralds sage!
If sent from God I welcome you the more,
Since great is God, and therefore great His gifts:
God grant He send them daily, heaped and huge!
Speak without fear, for him alone I hate
Who brings ill news, or makes inept demand
Unmeet for Kings. I know the Cross ye bear;
And in my palace sits a Christian wife,
Bertha, the sweetest lady in this land;
Most gracious in her ways, in heart most leal.
I knew her yet a child: she knelt whene'er
The Queen, her mother, entered: then I said,
A maid so reverent will be reverent wife,
And wedded her betimes. Morning and eve
She in her wood-girt chapel sings her prayer,
Which wins us kindlier harvest, and, some think,
Success in war. She strives not with our Gods:
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Nor minished Hengist's glory. Had her voice,
Clangorous or strident, drawn upon my throne
Deserved opprobrium’—here the monarch's brows
Flushed at the thought, and fire was in his eyes—
‘The hand that clasps this sceptre had not spared
To hunt her forth an outcast in the woods,
Thenceforth with beasts to herd! More lief were I
To take the lioness to my bed and board
Than house a rebel wife.’ Remembering then
The mildness of his Queen, King Ethelbert
Resumed, appeased, for placable his heart;
‘But she no rebel is, and this I deem
Fair auspice for her Faith.’
A little breeze
Warm from the sea that moment softly waved
The standard from its staff, and showed thereon
The Child Divine. Upon His mother's knee
Sublime He stood. His left hand clasped a globe
Crowned with a golden Cross; and with His right
Two fingers heavenward raised, o'er all the earth
He sent His blessing.
Warm from the sea that moment softly waved
The standard from its staff, and showed thereon
The Child Divine. Upon His mother's knee
Sublime He stood. His left hand clasped a globe
Crowned with a golden Cross; and with His right
Two fingers heavenward raised, o'er all the earth
He sent His blessing.
Of that band snow-stoled
One taller by the head than all the rest
Obeisance made; then, pointing to the Cross,
And forward moving t'ward the monarch's seat,
Opened the great commission of the Faith:
‘Behold the Eternal Maker of the worlds!
That hand which shaped the earth and blesses earth
Must rule the race of man!’
One taller by the head than all the rest
Obeisance made; then, pointing to the Cross,
And forward moving t'ward the monarch's seat,
Opened the great commission of the Faith:
‘Behold the Eternal Maker of the worlds!
That hand which shaped the earth and blesses earth
Must rule the race of man!’
Majestic then
As when, far winding from its mountain springs,
City and palm-grove far behind it left,
Some Indian river rolls while mists dissolved
Leave it in native brightness unobscured,
And kingly navies share its sea-ward sweep,
Forward on-flowed in Apostolic might
Augustine's strong discourse. With God beginning
He showed the Almighty all-compassionate
Down drawn from distance infinite to man
By the Infinite of Love. Lo, Bethlehem's crib!
There lay the Illimitable in narrow bound:
Thence rose that triumph of a world redeemed!
Last, to the standard pointing, thus he spake:
‘Yon standard tells the tale! Six hundred years
Westward it speeds from subject realm to realm;
First from the bosom of God's Race Elect,
His people, till they slew Him, mild it soared:
Rejected, it returned. Above their walls
While ruin rocked them, and the Roman fire,
Dreadful it hung. When Rome had shared that guilt
Mocking that Saviour's Brethren and His Bride,
Above the conquered conqueror of all lands
In turn this Standard flew. Who raised it high?
A son of this your island, Constantine!
In these, thine English oakwoods, Helena,
'Twas thine to nurse thy warrior. He had seen
Star-writ in heaven the words this Standard bears,
“Through Me is victory.” Victory won, he raised
High as his empire's queenly head, and higher,
This Standard of the Eternal Dove thenceforth
To fly where eagle standard never flew,
God's glory in its track, goodwill to man.
Advance for aye, great Emblem! Light as now
Famed Asian headlands, and Hellenic isles!
O'er snow-crowned Alp and citied Apennine
Send forth a breeze of healing! Keep thy throne
For ever on those western peaks that watch
The setting sun descend the Hesperean wave,
Atlas and Calpe! These, the old Roman bound,
Build but the gateway of the Rome to be—
Till Christ returns thou Standard, hold them fast:
But never till the North, that, age by age,
Dashed back the Pagan Rome, with Christian Rome
Partakes the spiritual crown of man restored
From thy strong flight above the world surcease,
And fold thy wings in rest!’
As when, far winding from its mountain springs,
City and palm-grove far behind it left,
Some Indian river rolls while mists dissolved
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And kingly navies share its sea-ward sweep,
Forward on-flowed in Apostolic might
Augustine's strong discourse. With God beginning
He showed the Almighty all-compassionate
Down drawn from distance infinite to man
By the Infinite of Love. Lo, Bethlehem's crib!
There lay the Illimitable in narrow bound:
Thence rose that triumph of a world redeemed!
Last, to the standard pointing, thus he spake:
‘Yon standard tells the tale! Six hundred years
Westward it speeds from subject realm to realm;
First from the bosom of God's Race Elect,
His people, till they slew Him, mild it soared:
Rejected, it returned. Above their walls
While ruin rocked them, and the Roman fire,
Dreadful it hung. When Rome had shared that guilt
Mocking that Saviour's Brethren and His Bride,
Above the conquered conqueror of all lands
In turn this Standard flew. Who raised it high?
A son of this your island, Constantine!
In these, thine English oakwoods, Helena,
'Twas thine to nurse thy warrior. He had seen
Star-writ in heaven the words this Standard bears,
“Through Me is victory.” Victory won, he raised
High as his empire's queenly head, and higher,
This Standard of the Eternal Dove thenceforth
To fly where eagle standard never flew,
God's glory in its track, goodwill to man.
Advance for aye, great Emblem! Light as now
Famed Asian headlands, and Hellenic isles!
O'er snow-crowned Alp and citied Apennine
Send forth a breeze of healing! Keep thy throne
For ever on those western peaks that watch
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Atlas and Calpe! These, the old Roman bound,
Build but the gateway of the Rome to be—
Till Christ returns thou Standard, hold them fast:
But never till the North, that, age by age,
Dashed back the Pagan Rome, with Christian Rome
Partakes the spiritual crown of man restored
From thy strong flight above the world surcease,
And fold thy wings in rest!’
Upon the sod
He knelt, and on that standard gazed, and spake,
Calm-voiced, with hand to heaven: ‘I promise thee,
Thou Sign, another victory, and thy best—
This island shall be thine!’
He knelt, and on that standard gazed, and spake,
Calm-voiced, with hand to heaven: ‘I promise thee,
Thou Sign, another victory, and thy best—
This island shall be thine!’
Augustine rose
And took the right hand of King Ethelbert,
And placed therein the Standard's staff, and laid
His own above the monarch's, speaking thus:
‘King of this land, I bid thee know from God
That kings have higher privilege than they know,
The standard-bearers of the King of kings.’
And took the right hand of King Ethelbert,
And placed therein the Standard's staff, and laid
His own above the monarch's, speaking thus:
‘King of this land, I bid thee know from God
That kings have higher privilege than they know,
The standard-bearers of the King of kings.’
Long time he clasped that royal hand; long time
The King, that patriarch's hand at last withdrawn,
His own withdrew not from that Standard's staff
Committed to his charge. His hand he deemed
Thenceforth its servant vowed. With large, meek eyes
Fixed on that Maid and Babe, he stood as child
That, gazing on some reverent stranger's face
Nor loosening from that stranger's hold his palm,
Listens his words attent.
The King, that patriarch's hand at last withdrawn,
His own withdrew not from that Standard's staff
Committed to his charge. His hand he deemed
Thenceforth its servant vowed. With large, meek eyes
Fixed on that Maid and Babe, he stood as child
That, gazing on some reverent stranger's face
Nor loosening from that stranger's hold his palm,
Listens his words attent.
The Man of God
Meantime as silent gazed on Thanet's shore
Gold-tinged, with sunset spray to crimson turned
In league-long crescent. Love was in his face,
That love which rests on Faith. He spake: ‘Fair land,
I know thee what thou art, and what thou lack'st!
The Master saith, “I give to him that hath:”
Thy harvest shall be great.’ Again he mused,
And shadow o'er him crept. Again he spake:
‘That harvest won, when centuries have gone by,
What countenance wilt thou wear? How oft on brows
Brightened by Baptism's splendour, sin more late
Drags down its cloud! The time may come when thou
This day, though darkling, yet so innocent,
Barbaric, not depraved, on greater heights
May'st sin in malice—sin the great offence,
Changing thy light to darkness, knowing God,
Yet honouring God no more: that time may come
When, rich as Carthage, great in arms as Rome,
Keen-eyed as Greece, this isle, to sensuous gaze
A sun all gold, to angels may present
Aspect no nobler than a desert waste,
Some blind and blinding waste of sun-scorched sands,
Trod by a race of pigmies not of men,
Pigmies by passions ruled!’
Meantime as silent gazed on Thanet's shore
Gold-tinged, with sunset spray to crimson turned
In league-long crescent. Love was in his face,
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I know thee what thou art, and what thou lack'st!
The Master saith, “I give to him that hath:”
Thy harvest shall be great.’ Again he mused,
And shadow o'er him crept. Again he spake:
‘That harvest won, when centuries have gone by,
What countenance wilt thou wear? How oft on brows
Brightened by Baptism's splendour, sin more late
Drags down its cloud! The time may come when thou
This day, though darkling, yet so innocent,
Barbaric, not depraved, on greater heights
May'st sin in malice—sin the great offence,
Changing thy light to darkness, knowing God,
Yet honouring God no more: that time may come
When, rich as Carthage, great in arms as Rome,
Keen-eyed as Greece, this isle, to sensuous gaze
A sun all gold, to angels may present
Aspect no nobler than a desert waste,
Some blind and blinding waste of sun-scorched sands,
Trod by a race of pigmies not of men,
Pigmies by passions ruled!’
Once more he mused;
Then o'er his countenance passed a second change;
And from it flashed the light of one who sees,
Some hill-top gained, beyond the incumbent night
The instant foot of morn. With regal step,
Martial yet measured, to the King he strode,
And laid a strong hand on him, speaking thus:
‘Rejoice, my son, for God hath sent thy Land
This day Good Tidings of exceeding joy,
And planted in her Breast a Tree divine
Whose leaves shall heal far nations. Know besides
Should sickness blight that Tree, or tempest mar it,
The strong root shall survive: the winter past,
Heavenward once more shall rush both branch and bough,
And over-vault the stars.’
Then o'er his countenance passed a second change;
And from it flashed the light of one who sees,
Some hill-top gained, beyond the incumbent night
The instant foot of morn. With regal step,
Martial yet measured, to the King he strode,
And laid a strong hand on him, speaking thus:
‘Rejoice, my son, for God hath sent thy Land
This day Good Tidings of exceeding joy,
And planted in her Breast a Tree divine
Whose leaves shall heal far nations. Know besides
224
The strong root shall survive: the winter past,
Heavenward once more shall rush both branch and bough,
And over-vault the stars.’
He spake, and took
The sacred Standard from that monarch's hand,
And held it in his own, and fixed its point
Deep in the earth, and by it stood. Then lo!
Like one disburthened of some ponderous charge,
King Ethelbert became himself again,
And round him gazed well pleased. Throughout his train
Sudden a movement thrilled: remembrance had
Of those around, his warriors and his thanes,
That ever on his wisdom waiting hung,
Thus he replied discreet: ‘Stranger and friend,
Thou bear'st good tidings! That thou camest thus far
To fool us, knave and witling may believe:
I walk not with their sort; yet, guest revered,
Kings are not as the common race of men;
Counsel they take, lest honour heaped on one
Dishonour others. Odin holds on us
Prescriptive right, and special claims on me,
Of Hengist's race—thence Odin's. Preach your Faith!
The man who wills I suffer to believe:
The man who wills not, let him moor his skiff
Where anchorage likes him best. The day declines:
This night with us you harbour, and our Queen
Shall lovingly receive you.’
The sacred Standard from that monarch's hand,
And held it in his own, and fixed its point
Deep in the earth, and by it stood. Then lo!
Like one disburthened of some ponderous charge,
King Ethelbert became himself again,
And round him gazed well pleased. Throughout his train
Sudden a movement thrilled: remembrance had
Of those around, his warriors and his thanes,
That ever on his wisdom waiting hung,
Thus he replied discreet: ‘Stranger and friend,
Thou bear'st good tidings! That thou camest thus far
To fool us, knave and witling may believe:
I walk not with their sort; yet, guest revered,
Kings are not as the common race of men;
Counsel they take, lest honour heaped on one
Dishonour others. Odin holds on us
Prescriptive right, and special claims on me,
Of Hengist's race—thence Odin's. Preach your Faith!
The man who wills I suffer to believe:
The man who wills not, let him moor his skiff
Where anchorage likes him best. The day declines:
This night with us you harbour, and our Queen
Shall lovingly receive you.’
Staid and slow
The King rode homewards, while behind him paced
Augustine and his Monks. The ebb had left
'Twixt Thanet and the mainland narrow space
Marsh-land more late; beyond the ford there wound
A path through flowery meads; and, as they passed,
Not herdsmen only, but the broad-browed kine
Fixed on them long their meditative gaze;
And oft some blue-eyed boy with flaxen locks
Ran, fearless, forth, and plucked them by the sleeve,
Some boy clear-browed as those Saint Gregory marked,
Poor slaves, new-landed from the quays of Rome,
That drew from him that saying, ‘“Angli”!—nay,
Call them henceforward “Angels”!’
The King rode homewards, while behind him paced
Augustine and his Monks. The ebb had left
'Twixt Thanet and the mainland narrow space
225
A path through flowery meads; and, as they passed,
Not herdsmen only, but the broad-browed kine
Fixed on them long their meditative gaze;
And oft some blue-eyed boy with flaxen locks
Ran, fearless, forth, and plucked them by the sleeve,
Some boy clear-browed as those Saint Gregory marked,
Poor slaves, new-landed from the quays of Rome,
That drew from him that saying, ‘“Angli”!—nay,
Call them henceforward “Angels”!’
From a wood
Issuing, before them lustrous they beheld
King Ethelbert's chief city Canterbury,
Strong-walled, with winding street, and airy roofs,
And high o'er all the monarch's palace pile
Thick-set with towers. Then fire from God there fell
Upon Augustine's heart: and thus he sang
Advancing; and the brethren sang ‘Amen’:
Issuing, before them lustrous they beheld
King Ethelbert's chief city Canterbury,
Strong-walled, with winding street, and airy roofs,
And high o'er all the monarch's palace pile
Thick-set with towers. Then fire from God there fell
Upon Augustine's heart: and thus he sang
Advancing; and the brethren sang ‘Amen’:
‘Hail, City loved of God, for on thy brow
Great Fates are writ. Thou cumberest not His earth
For petty traffic reared, or petty sway;
I see a heavenly choir descend, thy crown
Henceforth to bind thy brow. Forever hail!
Great Fates are writ. Thou cumberest not His earth
For petty traffic reared, or petty sway;
I see a heavenly choir descend, thy crown
Henceforth to bind thy brow. Forever hail!
‘I see the basis of a kingly throne
In thee ascending! High it soars and higher,
Like some great pyramid o'er Nilus kenned
When vapours melt—the Apostolic Chair!
Doctrine and Discipline thence shall hold their course,
Like Tigris and Euphrates, through all lands
That face the Northern Star. Forever hail!
In thee ascending! High it soars and higher,
Like some great pyramid o'er Nilus kenned
When vapours melt—the Apostolic Chair!
Doctrine and Discipline thence shall hold their course,
Like Tigris and Euphrates, through all lands
That face the Northern Star. Forever hail!
‘Where stands yon royal keep, a church shall rise
Like Incorruption clothing the Corrupt
On the resurrection morn! Strong House of God,
To him exalt thy walls, and nothing doubt
For lo! from thee like lions from their lair
Abroad shall pace the Primates of this land:
They shall not lick the hand that gives and smites
Doglike, nor snakelike on their bellies creep
In indirectness base. They shall not fear
The people's madness nor the rage of kings
Reddening the temple's pavement. They shall lift
The strong brow mitred, and the crosiered hand
Before their presence sending Love and Fear
To pave their steps with greatness. From their fronts
Stubborned with marble from Saint Peter's Rock
The sunrise of far centuries forth shall flame:
He that hath eyes shall see it, and shall say,
“Blessed who cometh in the name of God!”’
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On the resurrection morn! Strong House of God,
To him exalt thy walls, and nothing doubt
For lo! from thee like lions from their lair
Abroad shall pace the Primates of this land:
They shall not lick the hand that gives and smites
Doglike, nor snakelike on their bellies creep
In indirectness base. They shall not fear
The people's madness nor the rage of kings
Reddening the temple's pavement. They shall lift
The strong brow mitred, and the crosiered hand
Before their presence sending Love and Fear
To pave their steps with greatness. From their fronts
Stubborned with marble from Saint Peter's Rock
The sunrise of far centuries forth shall flame:
He that hath eyes shall see it, and shall say,
“Blessed who cometh in the name of God!”’
Thus sang the Saint, advancing; and, behold,
At every pause the brethren sang ‘Amen!’
While down from window and from roof the throng
Eyed them in silence. As their anthem ceased
Before them stood the palace clustered round
By many a stalwart form. Midway the gate
On the first step, like angel newly lit
Queen Bertha stood. Back from her forehead meek
The meeker for its crown, a veil descended,
While streamed the red robe to the foot snow-white
Sandalled in gold. The morn was on her face,
The star of morn within those eyes upraised
That flashed all dewy with the grateful light
Of many a granted prayer. O'er that sweet shape
Augustine signed the Venerable sign;
The lovely vision sinking, hand to breast,
Received it; while, by sympathy surprised
Or taught of God, the monarch and his thanes
Knelt as she knelt, and bent like her their heads,
Sharing her blessing. Like a palm the Faith
Thenceforth o'er England rose, those saintly men
Preaching by life severe, not words alone,
The doctrine of the Cross. Some Power divine
Stronger than patriot love, more sweet than Spring,
Made way from heart to heart, and daily God
Joined to His Church the souls that should be saved,
Thousands, where Medway mingles with the Thames,
Rushing to Baptism. In his palace cell
High-nested on that Vaticanian Hill
Which o'er the Martyr-gardens kens the world
Gregory, that news receiving, or from men
Or haply from that God with whom he walked
The Spirit's whisper ever in his ear,
Rejoiced that hour, and cried aloud, ‘Rejoice,
Thou Earth! that North which from its cloud but flung
The wild beasts' cry of anger or of pain
Redeemed from wrath, its Hallelujahs sings;
Its waves by Roman galleys feared, this day
Kiss the bare feet of Christ's Evangelists;
That race whose oak-clubs brake our Roman swords
Glories now first in bonds—the bond of Truth:
At last it fears; but fears alone to sin,
Striving through Faith for Virtue's heavenly crown.’
At every pause the brethren sang ‘Amen!’
While down from window and from roof the throng
Eyed them in silence. As their anthem ceased
Before them stood the palace clustered round
By many a stalwart form. Midway the gate
On the first step, like angel newly lit
Queen Bertha stood. Back from her forehead meek
The meeker for its crown, a veil descended,
While streamed the red robe to the foot snow-white
Sandalled in gold. The morn was on her face,
The star of morn within those eyes upraised
That flashed all dewy with the grateful light
Of many a granted prayer. O'er that sweet shape
Augustine signed the Venerable sign;
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Received it; while, by sympathy surprised
Or taught of God, the monarch and his thanes
Knelt as she knelt, and bent like her their heads,
Sharing her blessing. Like a palm the Faith
Thenceforth o'er England rose, those saintly men
Preaching by life severe, not words alone,
The doctrine of the Cross. Some Power divine
Stronger than patriot love, more sweet than Spring,
Made way from heart to heart, and daily God
Joined to His Church the souls that should be saved,
Thousands, where Medway mingles with the Thames,
Rushing to Baptism. In his palace cell
High-nested on that Vaticanian Hill
Which o'er the Martyr-gardens kens the world
Gregory, that news receiving, or from men
Or haply from that God with whom he walked
The Spirit's whisper ever in his ear,
Rejoiced that hour, and cried aloud, ‘Rejoice,
Thou Earth! that North which from its cloud but flung
The wild beasts' cry of anger or of pain
Redeemed from wrath, its Hallelujahs sings;
Its waves by Roman galleys feared, this day
Kiss the bare feet of Christ's Evangelists;
That race whose oak-clubs brake our Roman swords
Glories now first in bonds—the bond of Truth:
At last it fears; but fears alone to sin,
Striving through Faith for Virtue's heavenly crown.’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |