A Mirror of Faith :: :: University of Virginia Library

There came four knights into the hall,
and Knights unarmed were they:
“Hear, Lord Archbishop, what the King
commands by us to-day:
Unloose the Prelates thou hast bound
in Holy Church's band;
Give up thy hoards of gems and gold,
and good broad hides of land;
Lay down the Mitre at his feet,
and fly beyond the sea;
So will his royal anger cease,
and 'twill be well with thee.”

Then out and spake that Holy Man,
“Right well the King I love;
Yet, judge ye, him should I obey,
or One That is above?
How can the wealth of Holy Church
be meet for monarch's use?
The Prelates have been bound by God,
and how can mortals loose?
This is mine own Cathedral church,
and here will I remain:
God judge its wrong, if aught but death
part it and me again!”

The four ill knights have left the hall;
they close the doors with speed:
The good Archbishop prayeth now
for strength in time of need;
They muster in the court below;
their face is dark with hate;
They don their arms—they grasp their swords—
they thunder at the gate;
And from within the wail of grief
and terror riseth high;
The monks are bending on the knee:
“Fly, Lord Archbishop, fly!”

“What mean ye by this outcry strange?
who listeth may depart;
What mean ye thus,” the Prelate said,
“to weep and break mine heart?
For Holy Church, Her rights and lands,
and treasures, whoso dies,
Is offered up to God on high
a glorious sacrifice:
Let be, let be, these vain laments;
or, since ye thither call,
On to the Altar! Where more fit
the sacrifice should fall?”

By good S. Denys' Altar, straight
the Bishop takes his place;
A gleam of twilight softly falls
upon his reverend face:
And from the far-off Choir that now
wears evening's solemn vest,
The Vesper strains trill sweet and faint,
like hymnings of the Blest;

He standeth there with claspèd hands;
each chapel groweth dim;
Night cometh fast o'er all the earth;
but never more on him!

The four ill knights are entering in,
the holy Vespers cease;
“Strike, if ye will, this hoary head,
but let these go in peace!
The Shepherd's flock, in time of need,
may scatter and may fly:
The Shepherd it beseemeth best
for that same flock to die.
To God in Heav'n my Church, my soul,
my body I commend;
Do as ye list! and by His Grace
I shall endure the end!”

The Prelate fell as Prelate should:
his glory cannot die;
And for his meed he hath a House
not made with hands, on high:

And here on earth they rais'd him up
a shrine right fair to see,
And great resort was at his tomb
that died so valiantly.
And thither pilgrims, year by year,
in long procession came;
Till Christendom could tell the tale
of good S. Thomas' fame!

S. Thomas probably chose this position,—at the north-east end of the north transept, and since called the Martyrdom,—as wishing to fall at the shrine of one, who, like himself, was an Bishop and Martyr.

The remains of the Martyr were translated with great pomp into Becket's Crown, July 7, 1207: and that day was celebrated by the English Church to his memory with greater solemnity than that of his death, probably as falling at a more convenient period of the year.