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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
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THE MONK'S DREAM.
“Si secundum carnem vixeritis, moriemini: si autem spiritu facta
carnis mortificaveritis, vivetis.”—Beati Pauli Epist. ad Romanos.
Once as I lay upon a winter night,
And chid the laggard coming of the day,
Before my eyes there came a dismal sight,
That settled there, and would not pass away:
All on a bier a clay-cold Body lay;
A Knight's it was, who, in the o'erblown pride
Of youth and lustihed, not cared to pay
God's service, but his gracious hests defied;
And now the parting Ghost stood by the Body's side.
And chid the laggard coming of the day,
Before my eyes there came a dismal sight,
That settled there, and would not pass away:
All on a bier a clay-cold Body lay;
A Knight's it was, who, in the o'erblown pride
Of youth and lustihed, not cared to pay
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And now the parting Ghost stood by the Body's side.
But, ere it parted on its flight, it turn'd
Back to the Body, as 'twere loth to leave
The home wherein it whilom had sojourn'd,
But to its haunt familiar fain would cleave;
And, looking sadly on it, seemed to grieve,
And thus it said—“Alas, and well-a-wo!
What could thee now of all thy sense bereave,
Thou fickle flesh—why liest thou rotting so,
That erst so high of heart and bearing wont to go?
Back to the Body, as 'twere loth to leave
The home wherein it whilom had sojourn'd,
But to its haunt familiar fain would cleave;
And, looking sadly on it, seemed to grieve,
And thus it said—“Alas, and well-a-wo!
What could thee now of all thy sense bereave,
Thou fickle flesh—why liest thou rotting so,
That erst so high of heart and bearing wont to go?
“Thou, that wert ever wont on prancing steed
To ride abroad, by country or by town;
Thou, that wert known for many a shining deed
Of high emprise a knight of fair renown:
How are thy swelling honours stricken down,
Thy heart of lion-daring lowly bowed!
Where now is thy imperious voice, thy frown
Of withering hate? Thou, that wert once so proud,
What dost thou lying here, wrapt in a vulgar shroud?
To ride abroad, by country or by town;
Thou, that wert known for many a shining deed
Of high emprise a knight of fair renown:
How are thy swelling honours stricken down,
Thy heart of lion-daring lowly bowed!
Where now is thy imperious voice, thy frown
Of withering hate? Thou, that wert once so proud,
What dost thou lying here, wrapt in a vulgar shroud?
“Where is thy arras stiffening with gold,
Thy couches all with gorgeous hangings strew'd,
Thy ambling jennets, and thy destrier bold,
Thy hawks and hounds, that came to thee for food?
Where now the troops of friends that round thee stood?
Where thy swollen treasure-heaps, thy jewels worn
About the proud brows of thine altitude?
Ah! thou, whose banner once, in field upborne,
Shook terror, now liest low, of all thy lustre shorn!
Thy couches all with gorgeous hangings strew'd,
Thy ambling jennets, and thy destrier bold,
Thy hawks and hounds, that came to thee for food?
Where now the troops of friends that round thee stood?
Where thy swollen treasure-heaps, thy jewels worn
About the proud brows of thine altitude?
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Shook terror, now liest low, of all thy lustre shorn!
“Where are thy cooks, whose curious skill did whet
Thy glutton lust, made thy lewd flesh to swell,
That now with worms in rottenness must fret,
While I must bide the bitter pangs of hell?
Thy towers that look so fair o'er wood and dell,
Thy chambers with sweet flowers all garlanded,
Thy vestments rare of pall and purple—tell,
What shall they all thy wretched corse bestead,
That in the dull dark grave to-morrow shall be laid?
Thy glutton lust, made thy lewd flesh to swell,
That now with worms in rottenness must fret,
While I must bide the bitter pangs of hell?
Thy towers that look so fair o'er wood and dell,
Thy chambers with sweet flowers all garlanded,
Thy vestments rare of pall and purple—tell,
What shall they all thy wretched corse bestead,
That in the dull dark grave to-morrow shall be laid?
“Where be thy gleemen, that did crown thy cheer
With minstrel song and merry jargoning
Of viol, tabor, and the trumpet clear,
Whilst to them aye rich largess thou wouldst fling
Of robes or the red gold, and bid them sing
Thy praises wide by cottage, bower, or hall?
Thou, who brought'st ever wail and sorrowing
On poor men's hearths, that cursed thy tyrant thrall,
Who is there at this hour to sorrow o'er thy fall?
With minstrel song and merry jargoning
Of viol, tabor, and the trumpet clear,
Whilst to them aye rich largess thou wouldst fling
Of robes or the red gold, and bid them sing
Thy praises wide by cottage, bower, or hall?
Thou, who brought'st ever wail and sorrowing
On poor men's hearths, that cursed thy tyrant thrall,
Who is there at this hour to sorrow o'er thy fall?
“The morsel won by the o'ertoilèd brow
Of poverty thou took'st to feed the state
Of revellers, that fatten'd were enow.
The rich were ever welcome at thy gate,
But blows and spurns did still the poor await.
Wretch, who now thanks or blesses thee? Ere morn
From the high palace where thou ruledst late,
From wealth, and rank, and kin, thou shalt be borne,
To make thy bed with worms, in loathsome pit forlorn.
Of poverty thou took'st to feed the state
Of revellers, that fatten'd were enow.
The rich were ever welcome at thy gate,
But blows and spurns did still the poor await.
Wretch, who now thanks or blesses thee? Ere morn
From the high palace where thou ruledst late,
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To make thy bed with worms, in loathsome pit forlorn.
“Thou, for whose wild ambition's sateless grasp
The world's dominion seemèd scarce too wide,
A few poor feet of earth shall soon enclasp
Thy wretched limbs, and to thee nought beside
Of all thou'st won so dearly shall abide.
There others now shall play the ruler's part.
All's lost to thee, that erewhile was thy pride;
Gone is all vaunting joyaunce from thy heart:
Oh! I could weep to see how fallen and poor thou art!
The world's dominion seemèd scarce too wide,
A few poor feet of earth shall soon enclasp
Thy wretched limbs, and to thee nought beside
Of all thou'st won so dearly shall abide.
There others now shall play the ruler's part.
All's lost to thee, that erewhile was thy pride;
Gone is all vaunting joyaunce from thy heart:
Oh! I could weep to see how fallen and poor thou art!
“A joyful day to thy false heir is this,
This day to us so woful-sad and drear;
He would not yield one rood of thine, I wis,
To bring us out of bale to blissful cheer.
No more shall weep for thee thy wedded fere,—
Her eye courts a new mate; nor may she sleep
This night for thinking him her side anear.
Soon shall that new lord to her bosom creep,
To revel there, when thou in clay art buried deep.
This day to us so woful-sad and drear;
He would not yield one rood of thine, I wis,
To bring us out of bale to blissful cheer.
No more shall weep for thee thy wedded fere,—
Her eye courts a new mate; nor may she sleep
This night for thinking him her side anear.
Soon shall that new lord to her bosom creep,
To revel there, when thou in clay art buried deep.
“Now may thy neighbours live secure from ill,
And all the wrongs thy vengeful malice wrought:
Hunted were those that stoop'd not to thy will,
Till they to meagre penury were brought.
The thousand curses on thy head besought
By day and night shall cling thee now!” With this
Down fell the Soul, and cried, as sore distraught,
“Woes me! that I, who ne'er did aught amiss,
Should be for thy foul deeds for aye thrust out from bliss!”
And all the wrongs thy vengeful malice wrought:
Hunted were those that stoop'd not to thy will,
Till they to meagre penury were brought.
The thousand curses on thy head besought
By day and night shall cling thee now!” With this
Down fell the Soul, and cried, as sore distraught,
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Should be for thy foul deeds for aye thrust out from bliss!”
When thus the Soul had spoke with rueful cheer,
The Body, ghastly thing! lift up anon
Its head, there as it lay upon the bier,
And heaving, as 'twere sick, a piteous groan,
“Art thou my ancient mate, that mak'st this moan?”
It cried. “Oh, why upbraid me thus, my Soul,
With this my sore mishap? Am I alone,
Of all men, doom'd to dree death's bitter dole?
No! e'en the haughtiest brows must veil to its control.
The Body, ghastly thing! lift up anon
Its head, there as it lay upon the bier,
And heaving, as 'twere sick, a piteous groan,
“Art thou my ancient mate, that mak'st this moan?”
It cried. “Oh, why upbraid me thus, my Soul,
With this my sore mishap? Am I alone,
Of all men, doom'd to dree death's bitter dole?
No! e'en the haughtiest brows must veil to its control.
“Full well I know that I must rot, for thus
Did Alexander and great Cæsar fare,
Ne was there left of wights so glorious
One jot to tell of that which once they were.
The very mother, too, which did them bear,
Worms fed upon her throat so marble white;
So shall they feed on mine, I know, for ne'er
Where once the biting shaft of death did smite,
Came cheer or pleasaunce more to heart of mortal wight.
Did Alexander and great Cæsar fare,
Ne was there left of wights so glorious
One jot to tell of that which once they were.
The very mother, too, which did them bear,
Worms fed upon her throat so marble white;
So shall they feed on mine, I know, for ne'er
Where once the biting shaft of death did smite,
Came cheer or pleasaunce more to heart of mortal wight.
“My youth was hot within me, and I sped
With mirth and revelry the flying hours,
Nor deem'd life's summer-time would e'er have fled,
And torn me from my halls and pleasant bowers.
Woods, waters, lands I bought, and stately towers,
And lived as life were all a holiday,
When death, that lays in dust the bravest powers,
Stole on my joys, and hurried me away
From all my fair domains, which others now shall sway.
With mirth and revelry the flying hours,
Nor deem'd life's summer-time would e'er have fled,
And torn me from my halls and pleasant bowers.
Woods, waters, lands I bought, and stately towers,
And lived as life were all a holiday,
When death, that lays in dust the bravest powers,
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From all my fair domains, which others now shall sway.
“Soul, chide not me, that thou art brought to shame,
And that in torments drear we both must bide,
Thou, and thou only, art for this to blame:
Wisdom and wit did God to thee confide,
And set thee up my keeper and my guide;
I was no more but bond-slave to thy will,
Working its bidding morn and eventide;
In all I did thou wert my tutor still,
Then blame thyself alone that thou art brought to ill.”
And that in torments drear we both must bide,
Thou, and thou only, art for this to blame:
Wisdom and wit did God to thee confide,
And set thee up my keeper and my guide;
I was no more but bond-slave to thy will,
Working its bidding morn and eventide;
In all I did thou wert my tutor still,
Then blame thyself alone that thou art brought to ill.”
“Peace, Body!” cried the Soul, “who hath thee taught
To heap on me reproaches most unfit?
What! think'st thou, wretch, though thou art come to naught,
And thy foul flesh must rot in noisome pit,
That therefore thou so lightly shalt go quit
Of thy misdeeds? No! Though aneath men's feet
Thy dust be trod, and wild winds scatter it,
Yet we again, as once we were, shall meet
To abide our woful doom, before God's judgment seat.
To heap on me reproaches most unfit?
What! think'st thou, wretch, though thou art come to naught,
And thy foul flesh must rot in noisome pit,
That therefore thou so lightly shalt go quit
Of thy misdeeds? No! Though aneath men's feet
Thy dust be trod, and wild winds scatter it,
Yet we again, as once we were, shall meet
To abide our woful doom, before God's judgment seat.
“For I was given thee, but to do thy hest:
Thou shook'st my counsel from thee with disdain,
Spurning the curb that would have tamed thy crest,
And in thy wicked track dash'd on amain
To shame and sorrow. When I've been full fain
To bid thee think of thy Soul's needs, at mass,
Matin, or even-song—‘Let fools go sain
Their souls, so go not I,’ thine answer was,
And forth with shout to field or greenwood thou wouldst pass.
Thou shook'st my counsel from thee with disdain,
Spurning the curb that would have tamed thy crest,
And in thy wicked track dash'd on amain
To shame and sorrow. When I've been full fain
To bid thee think of thy Soul's needs, at mass,
Matin, or even-song—‘Let fools go sain
Their souls, so go not I,’ thine answer was,
And forth with shout to field or greenwood thou wouldst pass.
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“The winding horn, that rang the struck stag's knell,
More pleased thine ear than chaunt of holy men;
More dear the dance, and music's gladsome swell,
And smiles to bright eyes that smiled back again.
Well dost thou know, my rede thou reck'dst not when
I told thee, 'twould not evermore be so:
I gave up all to do thee pleasure then,
Yet now thou'dst purchase thine own ease, although
I should be doom'd to pine in everlasting woe.
More pleased thine ear than chaunt of holy men;
More dear the dance, and music's gladsome swell,
And smiles to bright eyes that smiled back again.
Well dost thou know, my rede thou reck'dst not when
I told thee, 'twould not evermore be so:
I gave up all to do thee pleasure then,
Yet now thou'dst purchase thine own ease, although
I should be doom'd to pine in everlasting woe.
“No more or beast or bird shall fly thy mark,
No more thy horn through merry greenwood ring:
Thy heart is cleft in twain, thine eyes are dark,
And thou liest there, mute, moveless, festering.
What lady bright, of those that used to cling
To thee, would lay her by thy side to-night,
Or press her sweet lips to so foul a thing?
Go out into the street, and in affright
Thy friends will fly from thee, thou'rt so abhorr'd a sight.”
No more thy horn through merry greenwood ring:
Thy heart is cleft in twain, thine eyes are dark,
And thou liest there, mute, moveless, festering.
What lady bright, of those that used to cling
To thee, would lay her by thy side to-night,
Or press her sweet lips to so foul a thing?
Go out into the street, and in affright
Thy friends will fly from thee, thou'rt so abhorr'd a sight.”
“Soul! Soul! thou wrong'st me,” cried the Body, “so
To charge thy fall from heaven's delights on me!
Whate'er I did or said, for weal or woe,
Thou know'st full well was ever seen by thee.
Where'er I went, I bore thee with me; we
Were loving co-mates then, blythe was my cheer,
I lack'd for nought, and time went merrily.
O woeful time! since thou hast left me here,
A dull unmoving clod, upon my joyless bier.”
To charge thy fall from heaven's delights on me!
Whate'er I did or said, for weal or woe,
Thou know'st full well was ever seen by thee.
Where'er I went, I bore thee with me; we
Were loving co-mates then, blythe was my cheer,
I lack'd for nought, and time went merrily.
O woeful time! since thou hast left me here,
A dull unmoving clod, upon my joyless bier.”
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“'Tis true, that thou didst bear me,” said the Soul,
“With thee at all times, as thou wert my steed.
So was I helpless bound in your control,—
I could not else but stoop to thee, as need
Must he whose fate is to his hand decreed.
I loved thee! We had grown from infancy
Together, and I durst not cross thy rede,
Afear'd of losing thee, for where by me
Might a new home be found, if once thrown off by thee?
“With thee at all times, as thou wert my steed.
So was I helpless bound in your control,—
I could not else but stoop to thee, as need
Must he whose fate is to his hand decreed.
I loved thee! We had grown from infancy
Together, and I durst not cross thy rede,
Afear'd of losing thee, for where by me
Might a new home be found, if once thrown off by thee?
“I saw thee fair and goodly to the view,
And on thee all my love I cast. Methought
Thou couldst not err; and so thy passions grew
Headstrong and fierce, nor would not e'er be taught.
It had been vain, that with thee I had fought.
Greed, envy, hatred, pride, that did defy
E'en God, possess'd thy heart; thou didst besot
Thyself in lust and gluttony: and I,
Must fast in fires for this. Well may I wail and cry!
And on thee all my love I cast. Methought
Thou couldst not err; and so thy passions grew
Headstrong and fierce, nor would not e'er be taught.
It had been vain, that with thee I had fought.
Greed, envy, hatred, pride, that did defy
E'en God, possess'd thy heart; thou didst besot
Thyself in lust and gluttony: and I,
Must fast in fires for this. Well may I wail and cry!
“Oft were we threaten'd with the coming doom,
Yet little heed took'st thou of that, when thou
Saw'st dead men laid to moulder in the tomb.
The world and its temptations held thee now,
And to thy lusts I servilely must bow.
Thou say'st I made thee bond-slave to my will,—
Thee, the untamed, the imperious! Well I trow,
Of all thy wasteful crimes the thought was still
Thine own. Betide what may, I ne'er did aught of ill.
Yet little heed took'st thou of that, when thou
Saw'st dead men laid to moulder in the tomb.
The world and its temptations held thee now,
And to thy lusts I servilely must bow.
Thou say'st I made thee bond-slave to my will,—
Thee, the untamed, the imperious! Well I trow,
Of all thy wasteful crimes the thought was still
Thine own. Betide what may, I ne'er did aught of ill.
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“Oh! hadst thou, Jesu, on me timely thrown
The griping fangs of hunger, frost, and cold,
Purged me, and brought my vaulting spirit down!
But what I learn'd when young I did when old,
Chain'd to a will impure and overbold.
Thou knew'st me prone to sin, as men are all,
And shouldst my erring wishes have controll'd—
Have bound me fast, nor left me to their thrall;
But when blind lead the blind, both in the ditch must fall.”
The griping fangs of hunger, frost, and cold,
Purged me, and brought my vaulting spirit down!
But what I learn'd when young I did when old,
Chain'd to a will impure and overbold.
Thou knew'st me prone to sin, as men are all,
And shouldst my erring wishes have controll'd—
Have bound me fast, nor left me to their thrall;
But when blind lead the blind, both in the ditch must fall.”
Then 'gan the Soul to weep, and cried, “Alas!
Alas! that ever, Body, I did see
Thee, who hast brought me to this woeful pass,
That wrought in love thy pleasure cheerfully.
But thou wert ever a false churl to me:
When I bade shrive thee, and in dust and tears
Turn from thy sins, the foul Fiend whisper'd thee,
‘So young, to quit thy joys for gloom and fears!
Be merry, take thine ease—thou'rt sure of many years.’
Alas! that ever, Body, I did see
Thee, who hast brought me to this woeful pass,
That wrought in love thy pleasure cheerfully.
But thou wert ever a false churl to me:
When I bade shrive thee, and in dust and tears
Turn from thy sins, the foul Fiend whisper'd thee,
‘So young, to quit thy joys for gloom and fears!
Be merry, take thine ease—thou'rt sure of many years.’
“And when I bade thee with the dawn arise,
And care for thy Soul's health, then thou wouldst say,
Leave me to dream, with half unclosèd eyes,
Of joys to be upon the morrow-day.
And when I bade thee fling thy pride away,
‘Bear,’ said the Fiend, ‘a fierce and haughty mien,
Robe thee in purple and all rich array,
Not, beggar-like, in russet gaberdine,
And on fair-harness'd steed of fire abroad be seen.’
And care for thy Soul's health, then thou wouldst say,
Leave me to dream, with half unclosèd eyes,
Of joys to be upon the morrow-day.
And when I bade thee fling thy pride away,
‘Bear,’ said the Fiend, ‘a fierce and haughty mien,
Robe thee in purple and all rich array,
Not, beggar-like, in russet gaberdine,
And on fair-harness'd steed of fire abroad be seen.’
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“Oh! had I been a beast, that ranged at will,
Ate, drank, and utterly was slain at last,
Then had I never known or good or ill,
Or for the sins which thou, thou only, hast
Wrought in thy body, into hell been cast.
And though all men beneath the moon should try
To ease the pains that on us shall be pass'd,
Nor power nor wile our least release shall buy;—
Hell's hounds will soon be here, nor may I from them fly.”
Ate, drank, and utterly was slain at last,
Then had I never known or good or ill,
Or for the sins which thou, thou only, hast
Wrought in thy body, into hell been cast.
And though all men beneath the moon should try
To ease the pains that on us shall be pass'd,
Nor power nor wile our least release shall buy;—
Hell's hounds will soon be here, nor may I from them fly.”
And when it saw the Soul thus wail its doom,
The Body cried, “Oh, that my heart had burst,
When I was taken from my mother's womb,
And I been cast to snakes in pit accursed!
Then had I ne'er in worldly sins been nursed,
Nor now been borne away to torments dire.
Is there no saint, to call on Him who erst
Did for our sakes on bloody cross expire,
To free us by His grace from hell's consuming fire?”
The Body cried, “Oh, that my heart had burst,
When I was taken from my mother's womb,
And I been cast to snakes in pit accursed!
Then had I ne'er in worldly sins been nursed,
Nor now been borne away to torments dire.
Is there no saint, to call on Him who erst
Did for our sakes on bloody cross expire,
To free us by His grace from hell's consuming fire?”
“Nay, Body, nay, to pray is now too late,
Thy tongue is mute, reft utterly of speech;
And even now the wain is at the gate.
Our pains are past remede of mortal leech;
That woeful pit of doom we both must reach.
Oh! hadst thou, whilst life yet remain'd, but lent
Thine ear to Heaven, and turn'd thee to beseech
Kind Jesu's grace, and so the Fiend yshent,
Though thou wert dyed in guilt, he would us help have sent.
Thy tongue is mute, reft utterly of speech;
And even now the wain is at the gate.
Our pains are past remede of mortal leech;
That woeful pit of doom we both must reach.
Oh! hadst thou, whilst life yet remain'd, but lent
Thine ear to Heaven, and turn'd thee to beseech
Kind Jesu's grace, and so the Fiend yshent,
Though thou wert dyed in guilt, he would us help have sent.
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“But though all living men were priests to sing
Masses for thee, and wives and widows all
Their hands for thee in agony should wring,
They could not our lost happiness recall.
But I must leave thee in thy dusky pall:
I hear the hell-hounds bark, and through the gloom
Come countless fiends, prepared on me to fall,
And bear me off to hell. But thou shalt come
To speak again with me upon the day of doom.”
Masses for thee, and wives and widows all
Their hands for thee in agony should wring,
They could not our lost happiness recall.
But I must leave thee in thy dusky pall:
I hear the hell-hounds bark, and through the gloom
Come countless fiends, prepared on me to fall,
And bear me off to hell. But thou shalt come
To speak again with me upon the day of doom.”
Scarce had it spoken, and in wild dismay
Turn'd as 't would flee, but knew not where to go,
When on it sprung a thousand fiends, and they
Grasp'd it with hooks and tugg'd it to and fro.
O Heaven! their eyes shot out a fiery glow.
Rough were their limbs, plague-spotted, and long-nail'd
Their talons were; and, till it howl'd with woe,
Their quivering prey they limb by limb assail'd.
“Oh mercy, God!” it cried, but nought its cry avail'd.
Turn'd as 't would flee, but knew not where to go,
When on it sprung a thousand fiends, and they
Grasp'd it with hooks and tugg'd it to and fro.
O Heaven! their eyes shot out a fiery glow.
Rough were their limbs, plague-spotted, and long-nail'd
Their talons were; and, till it howl'd with woe,
Their quivering prey they limb by limb assail'd.
“Oh mercy, God!” it cried, but nought its cry avail'd.
Some thrust its jaws apart, and cried, “Drink, drink!”
While molten lead was pour'd adown its throat.
Then came there one, the master fiend, I think,
And with a burning spear its heart he smote.
Then through sides, back, and breast, they plunged redhot
Faulchions of steel, till all their points did meet
In the heart's core; and they did cry, and gloat
Upon its pangs—“This heart, that once did beat
So hot with pride, ho! feels it now another heat?”
While molten lead was pour'd adown its throat.
Then came there one, the master fiend, I think,
And with a burning spear its heart he smote.
Then through sides, back, and breast, they plunged redhot
Faulchions of steel, till all their points did meet
In the heart's core; and they did cry, and gloat
Upon its pangs—“This heart, that once did beat
So hot with pride, ho! feels it now another heat?”
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“Oh, thou wert fain in robes of costly woof
To vaunt thyself,” they said, and straightway flung
A shirt of mail upon it, massy proof,
And all aglow, with clasps that firmly clung
To back and breast. Then forth a charger sprung,
Breathing out flames from throat and nostrils wide,
And loud and fearfully its neighings rung.
Its back a saddle bore, for him to ride,
With spikes of burning steel stuck o'er on every side.
To vaunt thyself,” they said, and straightway flung
A shirt of mail upon it, massy proof,
And all aglow, with clasps that firmly clung
To back and breast. Then forth a charger sprung,
Breathing out flames from throat and nostrils wide,
And loud and fearfully its neighings rung.
Its back a saddle bore, for him to ride,
With spikes of burning steel stuck o'er on every side.
Into it he was flung, the fiendish rout
Pursuing close behind with blow and yell;
As from a blazing brand the sparks flew out,
Whilst on him blow on blow redoubling fell.
Then they let slip the baying hounds of hell;
On, on they hunted him, nor did not slack,
And, as they flew, they tore him flesh and fell.
Behind them ran a long bloodstainèd track,
Till to hell's throat they came, grim, sulphurous, and black.
Pursuing close behind with blow and yell;
As from a blazing brand the sparks flew out,
Whilst on him blow on blow redoubling fell.
Then they let slip the baying hounds of hell;
On, on they hunted him, nor did not slack,
And, as they flew, they tore him flesh and fell.
Behind them ran a long bloodstainèd track,
Till to hell's throat they came, grim, sulphurous, and black.
The earth did split, and there came roaring out
Fierce sulphurous flames in many a whirling wreath,
That blasted all the air for miles about.
Oh! woe is them, that toss in fires beneath!
And when the Soul saw the wild flashes seethe,
“O Jesu Lord!” it cried, “look from on high,
And mercy on Thy wretched creature breathe;
Thine own hand's work, like other men, am I,
Whom thou hast ta'en to bliss, and set Thyself anigh.
Fierce sulphurous flames in many a whirling wreath,
That blasted all the air for miles about.
Oh! woe is them, that toss in fires beneath!
And when the Soul saw the wild flashes seethe,
“O Jesu Lord!” it cried, “look from on high,
And mercy on Thy wretched creature breathe;
Thine own hand's work, like other men, am I,
Whom thou hast ta'en to bliss, and set Thyself anigh.
343
“Thou God, that knewest all things from the first,
Why madest Thou me for wrath, and to be torn
By bloody fiends, a creature all accursed?
Well may I wail that ever I was born,
For I am here unfriended and forlorn,
Left without hope in sore distressful case!”
Then cried the fiends, and laugh'd loud laughs of scorn,
“It boots not thee to call on Jesu's grace,
Thou art for ever shut out from before His face.
Why madest Thou me for wrath, and to be torn
By bloody fiends, a creature all accursed?
Well may I wail that ever I was born,
For I am here unfriended and forlorn,
Left without hope in sore distressful case!”
Then cried the fiends, and laugh'd loud laughs of scorn,
“It boots not thee to call on Jesu's grace,
Thou art for ever shut out from before His face.
“For thou our servant wert in times of yore,
And of thy labour thou shalt reap the fruit,
As others do that love our master's lore!”
Ended was now the demons' mad pursuit,
And catching up their victim head and foot
They hurl'd him headlong down that murky pit,
Where never sun its blessed rays can shoot.
And downwards straight they all sank after it;
The earth closed up again, as though it ne'er had split.
And of thy labour thou shalt reap the fruit,
As others do that love our master's lore!”
Ended was now the demons' mad pursuit,
And catching up their victim head and foot
They hurl'd him headlong down that murky pit,
Where never sun its blessed rays can shoot.
And downwards straight they all sank after it;
The earth closed up again, as though it ne'er had split.
And now drew on apace the welcome day—
Cold drops of sweat stood on each several hair,
And nigh distraught with agony I lay.
Then did I call on Jesu blest in prayer,
And thank'd His grace that our afflictions bare,
And saved me from the fiend and fires of bale.
Now sinners quit your sins, and shrive you ere
Too late, and your past guilt with tears bewail!
No sin so great, but Christ's dear love shall more prevail.
Cold drops of sweat stood on each several hair,
And nigh distraught with agony I lay.
Then did I call on Jesu blest in prayer,
And thank'd His grace that our afflictions bare,
And saved me from the fiend and fires of bale.
Now sinners quit your sins, and shrive you ere
Too late, and your past guilt with tears bewail!
No sin so great, but Christ's dear love shall more prevail.
Among the poems preserved in the Auchinleck MS. in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, is one called “The Desputisoun bituen the Bodi and the Soule,” supposed to have been written about the commencement of the fourteenth century. The following poem is founded upon this singular and very powerful conception of the Ancient Muse. The subject was a favourite one among the monkish writers; and poems, more or less resembling that in question, exist both in Latin and in the vernacular language of various parts of Europe. See the poem Dialogus inter Corpus et Animam, printed in The Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter de Mapes; published by the Camden Society, 1841, p. 95, and Note E in the same volume, pp. 34 et seq.
344
TO MISS HELEN FAUCIT, AS ROSALIND.
Blessings on the glorious spirit, lies in poesy divine!
Blessings, lady, on the magic of that wondrous power of thine!
I have had a dream of summer, summer in the golden time,
When the heart had all its freshness, and the world was in its prime;
I have been away in Arden, and I still am ranging there;
Still I feel the forest breezes fan my cheek, and lift my hair;
Still I hear the stir and whisper which the arching branches make,
And the leafy stillness broken by the deer amid the brake!
Where along the wood the brooklet runs, upon its mossy brink,
Myself a stricken deer I've laid me, where the stricken came to drink.
There be Amiens and his co-mates, up, yon giant stems between,
Yonder, where the sun is shining 'neath the oak upon the green.
Hark! the throstle-cock is singing! And he turns his merry note,
Carolling in emulation of the sweet bird's joyous throat.
Lightly let them troll their wood notes, fleet the careless time away!
What know they of love's emotion? No sweet Rosalind have they!
I will down by yonder dingle—none shall steal upon us there—
Heavenly, heavenly Rosalinda! Thou art with me everywhere!
Ever is thy voice beside me, ever on thy brow I gaze,
One such glorious dream about thee all the world beside outweighs.
See, young Ganymede awaits me. Blessings on that roguish boy,
How he lightens my love's sadness with a sweet and pensive joy!
Yet the charms, the playful graces, that show bright in him, I find,
Only cluster round the image of my heavenly Rosalind.
So would Rosalind have won me,—so have look'd and so have smiled,
With such blithe and open spirit me of all my heart beguiled.
Ever deeper grows my passion, restless more my eager heart—
“I can live no more by thinking, from my Rosalind apart!”
“Then to-morrow thou shalt see her, see her, wed her, if you will!”
Oh, ye gods, let that to-morrow shine in golden numbers still!
For it gave her to my bosom, and, at length, when there reclined,
By the proudest name I claim'd her as my own, “my Rosalind!”
Blessings, lady, on the magic of that wondrous power of thine!
I have had a dream of summer, summer in the golden time,
When the heart had all its freshness, and the world was in its prime;
I have been away in Arden, and I still am ranging there;
Still I feel the forest breezes fan my cheek, and lift my hair;
Still I hear the stir and whisper which the arching branches make,
And the leafy stillness broken by the deer amid the brake!
Where along the wood the brooklet runs, upon its mossy brink,
Myself a stricken deer I've laid me, where the stricken came to drink.
There be Amiens and his co-mates, up, yon giant stems between,
Yonder, where the sun is shining 'neath the oak upon the green.
Hark! the throstle-cock is singing! And he turns his merry note,
Carolling in emulation of the sweet bird's joyous throat.
345
What know they of love's emotion? No sweet Rosalind have they!
I will down by yonder dingle—none shall steal upon us there—
Heavenly, heavenly Rosalinda! Thou art with me everywhere!
Ever is thy voice beside me, ever on thy brow I gaze,
One such glorious dream about thee all the world beside outweighs.
See, young Ganymede awaits me. Blessings on that roguish boy,
How he lightens my love's sadness with a sweet and pensive joy!
Yet the charms, the playful graces, that show bright in him, I find,
Only cluster round the image of my heavenly Rosalind.
So would Rosalind have won me,—so have look'd and so have smiled,
With such blithe and open spirit me of all my heart beguiled.
Ever deeper grows my passion, restless more my eager heart—
“I can live no more by thinking, from my Rosalind apart!”
“Then to-morrow thou shalt see her, see her, wed her, if you will!”
Oh, ye gods, let that to-morrow shine in golden numbers still!
346
By the proudest name I claim'd her as my own, “my Rosalind!”
Such, dear lady, was the vision, such the passion strong and deep,
Which thy magic wrought within me, laying meaner thoughts to sleep.
I have been the young Orlando, and though but a dream it were,
Never from my heart shall vanish what hath struck so deeply there!
Which thy magic wrought within me, laying meaner thoughts to sleep.
I have been the young Orlando, and though but a dream it were,
Never from my heart shall vanish what hath struck so deeply there!
Orlando.
Rosalind.
—As You Like It, act v. sc. 2.
I can live no longer by thinking.
Rosalind.
I will weary you, then, no longer by talking ------. If you do love Rosalind so near your heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her.
—As You Like It, act v. sc. 2.
347
THE DYING GIRL'S SONG.
Toll no sullen bell for me,
None, when I am dying,
Let my spirit's requiem be
But the zephyr's sighing,
And the woodbirds' melody,
When the day is dying.
None, when I am dying,
Let my spirit's requiem be
But the zephyr's sighing,
And the woodbirds' melody,
When the day is dying.
Rear no solemn marble, where
Low my head reposes,
Let earth's sweet flowers blossom there,
Lilies pure and roses,
And beside it children fair
Sport and gather posies.
Low my head reposes,
Let earth's sweet flowers blossom there,
Lilies pure and roses,
And beside it children fair
Sport and gather posies.
I have loved, and life was dear
All its pulses thorough,
He is dead, and life is drear,
Why, then, should ye sorrow?
Strew no cypress on my bier,
We shall meet to-morrow.
All its pulses thorough,
He is dead, and life is drear,
Why, then, should ye sorrow?
Strew no cypress on my bier,
We shall meet to-morrow.
348
THE INTERMENT OF THOMAS CAMPBELL.
July, 1844.
See, what eager throngs are pouring inwards from the busy street!
Lo, the Abbey's hush is broken with the stir of many feet!
Hark! St. Margaret's bell is tolling, but it is no common clay,
To that dull and rueful anthem, shall be laid in dust to-day!
In yon Minster's hallow'd corner, where the bards and sages rest,
Is a silent chamber waiting to receive another guest.
There is sadness in the heavens, and a veil against the sun;
Who shall mourn so well as Nature, when a poet's course is run?
Let us in and join the gazers, meek of heart and bare of brow,
For the shadows of the mighty dead are hovering o'er us now!
Souls that kept their trust immortal, dwelling from the herd apart,
Souls that wrote their noble being deep into a nation's heart;
Names, that on great England's forehead are the jewels of her pride,
Brother Scot, be proud, a brother soon shall slumber by their side!
349
And thy heart, like mine, is rushing back where Scotland's mountains rise;
Thou, like me, hast seen another grave would suit our poet well,
Greenly braided by the breckan, in a lonely Highland dell,
Looking on the solemn waters of a mighty inland sea,
In the shadow of a mountain, where the lonely eagles be;
Thou hast seen the kindly heather blown around his simple bed;
Heard the loch and torrent mingle dirges for the poet dead;
Brother, thou hast seen him lying, as it is thy hope to lie,
Looking from the soil of Scotland up into a Scottish sky;
It may be such grave were better, better rain and dew should fall,
Tears of hopeful love to freshen Nature's ever verdant pall,
Better that the sun should kindle on his grave in golden smiles,
Better, than in palsied glimmer stray along these sculptured aisles;
Better aftertimes should find him,—to his rest in homage bound,
Lying in the land that bore him, with its glories piled around!
Such, at least, must be the fancy that in such a time must start,
For we love our country dearly,—in each burning Scottish heart;
Yet a rest so great, so noble, as awaits the minstrel here,
'Mong the best of England's children, can be no unworthy bier.
350
Yonder what of him is mortal rests beneath yon sable plume.
Tears along mine eyes are rushing, but the proudest tears they be,
Which on manly eyes may gather,—tears 'twere never shame to see;
Tears that water lofty purpose; tears of welcome to the fame
Of the bard that hath ennobled Scotland's dear and noble name.
Sadder, sadder let the anthem yearn aloft in wailing strain,
Not for him, for he is happy, but for us and all our pain!
Louder, louder let the organ like a seraph anthem roll,
Hymning to its home of glory our departed brother's soul!
He has laid him down to slumber, to awake to nobler trust,
Give his frame to kindred ashes, earth to earth, and dust to dust!
Louder yet, and yet more loudly, let the organ's thunder rise!
Hark! A louder thunder answers, deepening inwards to the skies!
Heaven's majestic diapason, pealing on from east to west,
Never grander music anthem'd poet to his home of rest!
THE END.
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