The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker Edited from the original manuscripts and annotated copies together with a prefatory notice and bibliography by Alfred Wallis |
 |
THE LEGEND OF SAINT THEKLA. |
 |
 | The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker |  |
THE LEGEND OF SAINT THEKLA.
Sweet is the shrinking image of the rose
When her first blush is o'er the mossy ground:
Her brow is bent where many a blossom grows:
She gazes on the flowers that shine around
Till with the breath of spring her spirit glows,
And her young branch with lifted leaves is crowned
Then must her eyes be raised from that low sod,
She bares her breast to heaven and yields her hues to God.
When her first blush is o'er the mossy ground:
Her brow is bent where many a blossom grows:
She gazes on the flowers that shine around
Till with the breath of spring her spirit glows,
And her young branch with lifted leaves is crowned
Then must her eyes be raised from that low sod,
She bares her breast to heaven and yields her hues to God.
153
Such was the maiden of my lay. In youth
She hid her beauty in her father's halls:
He who had wooed her with the words of truth,
Like moonlight on the snow, his image falls
Upon her vestal spirit:—yet in sooth
No nobler knight in the high festivals
Of his own city sought a chosen bride:
He was her father's choice, her own dear mother's pride.
She hid her beauty in her father's halls:
He who had wooed her with the words of truth,
Like moonlight on the snow, his image falls
Upon her vestal spirit:—yet in sooth
No nobler knight in the high festivals
Of his own city sought a chosen bride:
He was her father's choice, her own dear mother's pride.
Then came Saint Paul the Apostle to those streets;
Castled Iconium was the city's name:
He came—he taught—how Thekla's bosom beats:
How his deep language shook her silent frame!
She stood—she listened—till her soul entreats
The birth of baptism, and its hallowing name:
The words are uttered and the waters poured,
She breathes the virgin-troth that binds her to the Lord.
Castled Iconium was the city's name:
He came—he taught—how Thekla's bosom beats:
How his deep language shook her silent frame!
She stood—she listened—till her soul entreats
The birth of baptism, and its hallowing name:
The words are uttered and the waters poured,
She breathes the virgin-troth that binds her to the Lord.
Unheard the bridegroom's voice, and vain his vow,
In the sweet bondage of the faith to share;
Her high resolves a father may not bow,
She will not soften at a mother's prayer;
Till, with revolted heart and quivering brow,
The youth will wreak on her his mad despair;
On, to the judgment-seat, with reckless breath,
And there reveals her creed whose doom is angry death.
In the sweet bondage of the faith to share;
Her high resolves a father may not bow,
She will not soften at a mother's prayer;
Till, with revolted heart and quivering brow,
The youth will wreak on her his mad despair;
On, to the judgment-seat, with reckless breath,
And there reveals her creed whose doom is angry death.
See! in her city-gate the maiden stands!
The threat—the promise—all are urged in vain;
She folds upon her breast her faithful hands—
That calmness in her eye is half-disdain!
She hears the mandate to the soldier-bands,
“To the wild beasts!” nor will she then complain,
Though Gentile hearts were moved, and many an eye
Wept to behold her led, all innocent, to die!
The threat—the promise—all are urged in vain;
154
That calmness in her eye is half-disdain!
She hears the mandate to the soldier-bands,
“To the wild beasts!” nor will she then complain,
Though Gentile hearts were moved, and many an eye
Wept to behold her led, all innocent, to die!
She stood, with gentle and uplifted look,
When they had loosed the lions on their prey:
But lo! the fierce and famished creatures shook,
And crouching at her feet in fondness lay;
There will they rest, though none beside may brook
Their furious fangs nor soothe their angry way:
“The fire! the flame!” Hark, what fierce accents rise!
“Yea! scorch her to the gods! there shall be sacrifice.”
When they had loosed the lions on their prey:
But lo! the fierce and famished creatures shook,
And crouching at her feet in fondness lay;
There will they rest, though none beside may brook
Their furious fangs nor soothe their angry way:
“The fire! the flame!” Hark, what fierce accents rise!
“Yea! scorch her to the gods! there shall be sacrifice.”
A miracle again! another sign!
The unseen Angel of the Lord was there;
They saw the flames, subdued, around her shine,
And mingle harmless with her waving hair:
And lo! a starry Cross, as on a shrine,
Beamed on the forehead of that maiden fair,
The first bright daughter of the Church, whose fame
Hath won in many a land the martyr's sainted name.
The unseen Angel of the Lord was there;
They saw the flames, subdued, around her shine,
And mingle harmless with her waving hair:
And lo! a starry Cross, as on a shrine,
Beamed on the forehead of that maiden fair,
The first bright daughter of the Church, whose fame
Hath won in many a land the martyr's sainted name.
| The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker | |