The poetical works of Leigh Hunt :: :: University of Virginia Library

Within a mile or twey of Bethlem toun,
As holy bookés maketh mencion,
Lyeth a feeld men clepe Feeld Floridus;
For al so sicker as in May with us
The feeldés ben daysies and cuppés alle,
Which n'are but brighté weedés, chepe and smalle,
This feeld, though it lye lone as anie plaine,
And tended is of nought save sunne and raine,
Bloometh with roses all, both redde and whyte,
That everych yere men runnen to the sighte;
Ne marvel is it, though a wondrous thing,
For it is Goddés owné gardening;

174

For these were the first roses ever made;
And why they were, sirs, now shall it be sayd.

In oldé dayés of King Gomerus,
Which was the first king after Noachus,
There bode in Bethlem a poore orphan mayd,
Gladsome by kind, by change of fortune staid,
Who wrongfully, by gealous frenesie,
Was brought to judgment for unchastitie,
And maugre all her true, beseechynge breth,
Was dampned to the dredful fiery deth,
The likest helle on erthe, even the stake.

Oh puré blood, swiche feendlich thirst to slake!
Alas for the soft flesche and gentil herte!
Alas, why colde she not fro life asterte
Softlie and sodenlie, with no moe care!
Alas, that strongé men, which wol not beare
The prycking of a thorne, but they must curse,
And rage, and ban, and shew themselven worse
Than manie a Pagan, yet, sirs, can desire
To put a poore young creature to the fire!
I n'ot how they colde beare the nights and dayes,
That wasted her with frights and with amaze
For constant thinking of that passe of helle.
Beare it I may not, I, nor you it telle;
And so I hasten th' executioun.

Come is the daye, and crowded by the toun
Is Felon's Feeld, all save the stakés place,
And there full soone is seen the simple face,
All redde at first, then whyte, and nothing stern,
That fro the spinning-wheele was tane to burn.

And “Oh, grete God!” thus dumbly prayeth she,
“That willest me to beare this miserie
For some just cause, though it I may not finde
In the remembraunce of my feeble minde,
I praye thee adde it not to mine offence
If speedilie I wolde be burnéd hence,
And ask the grace thereto at mannés hand.”

175

And, with the wordes, a littel from her stand
She yearnéd to the man that readie stood
To put the lighted torche unto the wood,
And said, “Hast thou a wife, or female child?”
And he said, “Both.” And she in a sort smiled
For comfort of the kindred of the man,
And said, “For their sakes I beseeche thee than,
That thou wilt put the wood a litel higher
About me, that the sooner by the fire
I may be reachéd in the throat and breth,
And so be ended.” And the man of deth,
The whiles he graunted her the dredfull grace,
For veray pity turnd away his face,
And swiftly as he colde the fagots lit.
But manie in the croud colde bearen it
No moe, mothers and wives in speciall,
But gat them holpen back unto the wall:
They felt the unborn babe stir at their hertes;
So piteous swete, and void of ill desertes,
She lookéd, somedele shrinking at the flame;
Then hid her face, not to behold the same,
And bow'd her hed, and shope her for to die.

But what is this, that maketh heavenlie
The aire, with smell of flowrés strange and new,
As if from veray Paradise it blew,
Or Heaven has opend, flowr-like, on the place?
And lo! the stake; and lo! the blissful face;
All blissful is the face, but now so lorne,
For, of the fagots, all just lit beforne
Are turnd to trees of roses, redde and brighte,
And all, not lit, are turnd to roses whyte!
Her foes are gone, feeble with dredfull feare;
And all the croud, whiles such as standen neare
Drawe back to make moe wyde the holy ring,
Fall downe to kneelynge and to worshippynge:
And there she standeth, shining all abrede,
Like to an angell, paradysd in dede.