The Country Town and Other Poems By the late William John Courthope ... With a Memoir by A. O. Prickard |
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THE CHANCELLOR'S GARDEN
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 | The Country Town and Other Poems |  |
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THE CHANCELLOR'S GARDEN
[AT SALISBURY]
III
But now must I of that same Goddess sing,How through the wearie worlde her Empire sprad;
And wheresoever waved her shadowie wing
She turned the minds of men and drave them mad.
Not Venus' selfe so manie altars had,
Nor faithful worshippers that flocked thereto;
Where in her shrine, with rainbows all y-clad,
Her image rose in ever-varying hue,
Which they with vows and prayers by day and night did sue.
IV
Above the rest she had a chosen bower,A certain island sett in western wave,
Which whilome long withstood her fatall power,
And to ancestral laws unchanging clave:
There Freedom dwelt with reverend Order grave,
And holie Churche with hallowed State agreed,
And Mutabilitie did long outbrave,
While yet of Statesmen sprang a valiant breede,
Who in their Sovereign's eare delivered honest rede.
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V
But soon her minion, hight Democracie,With new-found arts the conquest did assay:
No land, she taught, with kings was ever free;
Change bringeth all good things: then, madly, they
The memory of past times put farre away,
And quite forgot their countrie's old renowne,
Living from hand to mouth, from daye to daye,
And from the throne did thrust Religion down,
And to foul swine would cast the jewels of the Crown.
VI
Yet though their madness many a man divined,No shepherd of the people them withstood,
Nor dared outright to speake his honest minde,
But glozed with sophis rie, and as he could
From public ill eche sought his private good,
And to the sovereign Crowde would lowlie crawl,
Cozening their soules with lyes and hardihood,
Nay many a time whyte black black whyte miscall:
So fast did knavish Greede his faith and honour thrall.
VII
But some there were that liked not that bad art,Nor to the Titanesse would bow the knee;
But from the shifting world dwelt farre apart
In quiet haunts to olde Religion free.
On these no power had Mutabilitie,
Nor with her planetary raye malign
Might them molest; but Faith and Charitie
Did guide their steps, and on their constant eyne
Full clere the changelesse Starre of Bethlehem did shine.
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VIII
Of whom a certain Chancellor there wasIn S--- known, a holie reverend wight;
Full oft was he in Minster seen, whenas
His office, at the change of moon, him plight
To preche, or doe his part in ordered rite;
What time at matins, in sweet chaunt and psalme,
The full-voyced quiristers men's soules delight,
Or sounds at even the deep organ calme,
And o'er the bruisèd spirit breathes celestiall balme.
IX
Ne yet did he, though loving quiet well,His cloystered dayes with Contemplation crown,
But wheresoe'er Disease and Hunger dwell
His steps were still on Mercy's message boune:
Most like that holie clerke whose fayre renowne
Is in Dan Geoffrey's page for ever clere,
Was any sick or sorrie in the towne,
To doe him good he ran with wordes of cheare;
To all men vexed by Change he was both friend and fere.
X
A house he had built to his hearte's desire,With many a rambling roofe, and gable old:
Hard by the Minster with an arrowie spire
Sprang from a verdant turfe y-tinct with gold;
Stone saints it had, and sculptures manifold;
Which often to admire the pilgrims' feete
Were stayde, whom never he with welcome cold
Would harbour, but did courtisely entreat,
And always them refreshed with foode and converse swete.
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XI
And when with joyous hearte they gan prepareRenewe their pilgrimage, then, one by one,
This clerke would have them to his garden fayre:
So swete a pleasaunce in that lande was none:
Secure it lay towards the setting sunne;
And right from ende to ende a narrow way
Of velvet swarde did to a river runne,
Whose chrystall face shot back the dazzling day,
And 'neath the gliding streame you saw the green reedes sway.
XII
Ah! how the pleasures of that path to sing?Whose close soft turfe might hide no uglie weede;
But on eche side through all the months of spring
He bade the race of passing flowers succeede,
Most rare of scent and sight, from bulb or seede;
The crocus coming at the March wind's call,
Jonquils that after hyacinths make speede,
The fayre Narcissus, whyte and sweet withal,
And tulips gay, and eke Saint Bruno's lily tall.
XIII
Beneath a northern walle in happie nooke,Warmed with the sun, and sheltered from the winde,
Where he might easie come from bed or booke,
He had of mountayn plantes all manner kinde;
Such as with paines the curious searchers finde,
Remote, on rugged crag, in deepe ravine,
Some once in Chimborazo's clifts entwined,
And some on heights of Himalaya greene,
Or Jura's birch-clad rocks, or valley Engadine.
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XIV
There noble Edelweiss was seene to drinkFrom alien ayres her hues of fadeless whyte,
With Saxifrage whose blossoms to the brink
Of perlous cliff oft tempt botanic wight;
Twin-flow'r, her head low hiding from the light;
The bearded Hare-bell; and the Alpine rose,
Adventurous climber of the rockie height;
And Soldanella, hardie nymphe, who shows
Her modest bosom first above the melting snows.
XV
And there was seene the bright Forget-me-not,Flashing through all her beads Lake Leman's blue;
Matched with her peere Androsace, who shot
From many-clustering blooms a rosie hue;
May-Lily, bashfull, peeped her mantle through;
And Dryas fair, with modest shining gem
In eight soft petals set, yet lowly grew;
And Gentian of the snow whose single stem
Gleams deeply through the grass with sapphire diadem.
XVI
To wean these plants the clerke with mickle careWould kindlie soile from moor and mountaine bring,
And mix with buried sherd and broken shaft
From antique niche whereto their rootes might cling,
Rock-like, and watered from the coldest spring:
Also, when winds blew soure or winters froze,
Boughs would he fetch to be their covering:
Well so he deemed his nurselings might suppose
Their heads were safe and warm beneath their native snows.
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XVII
Them too would he his tender children call,And in their fortunes many an emblem see
Of human life, and types angelicall:
‘For lo! as with a father's hand,’ quoth he,
‘I guard these flowers from Mutabilitie,
And rear them in strange soil and foreign ayre,—
Ev'n so than grasse of field what more are we,
Who must through mortall world full briefely fare?
Yet is each planted soule our Heavenly Father's care.’
XVIII
Thrice happie they, yea happie they alone,Who in Religion's breast fayre haven finde:
To whom the rural deities are known,
And Nature's hearte, and all the laws of Kinde!
They fear not Change, nor greedie Death behind;
No lust of Praise, nor perishable reign
To mad Ambition moves their quiet minde;
Though Customs die, Tongues vanish, Empires wane,
For them the Throne of God, the changelesse Heavens remayne!
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