 | Sequences, Hymns, and Other Ecclesiastical Verses |  |
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IV.
So was the battle concluded, and so the Victor was guerdon'd.
Then with a rush like the sea, from the deep Vomitoria rolling,
Eastward and Westward the crowd poured forth, half sated with anguish:
Some to the bath or Palæstra, and some to prepare for the banquet.
Lightly they spake of the Victor, and wondered how long she had held them;
Lightly they counted her wounds. Locarii reckoned their earnings;
They in the theatre furled their awning, and opened the sluices,
Sprinkling the saw-dust afresh for the terrible work of the morrow.
Drawn was the body, God's temple of old, now doubly His temple,
Out by the ass and the hook, a prey to the dogs and to foul birds.
There let the angels attend it; 'tis safe in their guardian keeping.
Then with a rush like the sea, from the deep Vomitoria rolling,
Eastward and Westward the crowd poured forth, half sated with anguish:
Some to the bath or Palæstra, and some to prepare for the banquet.
Lightly they spake of the Victor, and wondered how long she had held them;
Lightly they counted her wounds. Locarii reckoned their earnings;
They in the theatre furled their awning, and opened the sluices,
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Drawn was the body, God's temple of old, now doubly His temple,
Out by the ass and the hook, a prey to the dogs and to foul birds.
There let the angels attend it; 'tis safe in their guardian keeping.
Still, not wholly forsaken of God, O Lady of Nations,
Rul'st thou in this thy pride! though Artemis lord it around thee,
Hundreds there are that have not bowed down at the throne of an idol,
Hundreds amidst thee now. There were those in the theatre lately
Busily writing each word of the Martyr, and noting each action;
Actions and Words that shall soon be set down in Ephesian annals.
These pass slow, 'mid the rest, with expression half sorrow, half triumph.
Rul'st thou in this thy pride! though Artemis lord it around thee,
Hundreds there are that have not bowed down at the throne of an idol,
Hundreds amidst thee now. There were those in the theatre lately
Busily writing each word of the Martyr, and noting each action;
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These pass slow, 'mid the rest, with expression half sorrow, half triumph.
Moving along with the crowd, there were Seven, a mystical number,
Tried and expert in toil, and proved in the heat of the battle,
Known right well to the flock of the Lord as leaders and patterns.
Three persecutions ere this they had seen; and in this, and in those too,
Martyrdom sought for themselves, in so far as a Christian may seek it.
Now when they came to the limes that bloomed by the gate of Caÿster,
Seemed as with one consent they passed right under the portal:
Taking the path to the East that winds by the rivulet, nameless
Now, but it then was termed (though far unworthy) Orontes.
Little they reck'd as they went how the birds were singing their Vespers,
How, from the grey field-wall, the lizard expanded his beauty,
Beryl bedropped with gold; how the dragonfly, soaring to heaven,
Sent back a flash of its light (like a Saint) to the Sun that bestowed it.
No! far away were their thoughts; no beauty of earth could enchain them;
Far, far away in the gardens of Paradise where She had entered.
Thus the ascending path led them up to a beautiful teal-tree:
Turf-surrounded it was; no lovelier spot in the evening
Whence to behold each sail as it skimmed the face of the ocean;
Coast-line and head-land and rock and Mediterranean glory.
Tried and expert in toil, and proved in the heat of the battle,
Known right well to the flock of the Lord as leaders and patterns.
Three persecutions ere this they had seen; and in this, and in those too,
Martyrdom sought for themselves, in so far as a Christian may seek it.
Now when they came to the limes that bloomed by the gate of Caÿster,
Seemed as with one consent they passed right under the portal:
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Now, but it then was termed (though far unworthy) Orontes.
Little they reck'd as they went how the birds were singing their Vespers,
How, from the grey field-wall, the lizard expanded his beauty,
Beryl bedropped with gold; how the dragonfly, soaring to heaven,
Sent back a flash of its light (like a Saint) to the Sun that bestowed it.
No! far away were their thoughts; no beauty of earth could enchain them;
Far, far away in the gardens of Paradise where She had entered.
Thus the ascending path led them up to a beautiful teal-tree:
Turf-surrounded it was; no lovelier spot in the evening
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Coast-line and head-land and rock and Mediterranean glory.
Here by consent they sat down and pondered the past and the future:
Till to the rest spake out Maximian, mighty in Scripture:
“Brethren, ye see how the Lord pours forth His fullest of vials
Over His Church for her trial; from Parthia to uttermost Britain.
Not one City escapes: not one refuses the Edict.
Surely, if ever, 'tis now, that the Lord in His mercy predicted,
How the elect themselves, should, if it were possible, perish.
This, too, ye know; we have borne long years of patient endurance,
Standing by many a Martyr, nor sought for the meed of the Martyrs.
Still not as yet have we dared to rush uncalled to the conflict,
Dwelling in toil with the poor, and surrounded with jeopardy alway.
What say ye then? Forestalling our call, shall we back to the City,
Stand by the Asiarch's chair, and boldly say, We are Christians?
Thus we escape these visions of evil; apostasies, whelming
Them that were strong in the faith, and that chiefly seemed to be pillars:
Visions of anguish, too, such as to-day's, and the long, long story
How, to the last, man bore, and the bearer went up in a whirlwind.
Were it not well, our conflict endured, our victory certain,
Thus to sit down in His rest, where sin and where sorrow are ended?”
Till to the rest spake out Maximian, mighty in Scripture:
“Brethren, ye see how the Lord pours forth His fullest of vials
Over His Church for her trial; from Parthia to uttermost Britain.
Not one City escapes: not one refuses the Edict.
Surely, if ever, 'tis now, that the Lord in His mercy predicted,
How the elect themselves, should, if it were possible, perish.
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Standing by many a Martyr, nor sought for the meed of the Martyrs.
Still not as yet have we dared to rush uncalled to the conflict,
Dwelling in toil with the poor, and surrounded with jeopardy alway.
What say ye then? Forestalling our call, shall we back to the City,
Stand by the Asiarch's chair, and boldly say, We are Christians?
Thus we escape these visions of evil; apostasies, whelming
Them that were strong in the faith, and that chiefly seemed to be pillars:
Visions of anguish, too, such as to-day's, and the long, long story
How, to the last, man bore, and the bearer went up in a whirlwind.
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Thus to sit down in His rest, where sin and where sorrow are ended?”
Answered and spake to his brethren, Iamblichus, equal of angels;
“True it is, all that thou sayest; but yet remember, my brother,
How it is writ of the Lord by the Seer that we tarry His leisure.
What if we fall ourselves, as our betters have fallen before us;
What, with the goal in view, if we never inherit the “Well done?”
Call He us soon or late, as He saith, let us tarry His leisure,
Serving Him, while we can, here; for we know we shall serve Him hereafter.”
Constantine spake the third; and his words were as gentle as snow-flakes.
“Whether to rush on the rack at once, or to tarry till summoned,
This is the thing that demands best prayer, O brethren, and fasting.
List to the rede I propose; and accept it, or give me a better.
There is a cave in a rock, half up the side of Mount Latmos,
Promising shelter and rest; nor ever dare heathen approach it,
Fearing the great god Pan, and the fauns and the satyrs and dryads;
Two hours hence—not more—does it lie to a well-girt pilgrim.
Thither let us to-night: sufficient of day is before us.
I will go down and bring such stock as we need from the city;
Ye shall remain till I come. That done, we will hie us to Latmos,
Giving this night to repose, and the week to prayer and to fasting;
Then, on the eighth day hence, we may see what the Lord shall ordain us.”
“True it is, all that thou sayest; but yet remember, my brother,
How it is writ of the Lord by the Seer that we tarry His leisure.
What if we fall ourselves, as our betters have fallen before us;
What, with the goal in view, if we never inherit the “Well done?”
Call He us soon or late, as He saith, let us tarry His leisure,
Serving Him, while we can, here; for we know we shall serve Him hereafter.”
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“Whether to rush on the rack at once, or to tarry till summoned,
This is the thing that demands best prayer, O brethren, and fasting.
List to the rede I propose; and accept it, or give me a better.
There is a cave in a rock, half up the side of Mount Latmos,
Promising shelter and rest; nor ever dare heathen approach it,
Fearing the great god Pan, and the fauns and the satyrs and dryads;
Two hours hence—not more—does it lie to a well-girt pilgrim.
Thither let us to-night: sufficient of day is before us.
I will go down and bring such stock as we need from the city;
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Giving this night to repose, and the week to prayer and to fasting;
Then, on the eighth day hence, we may see what the Lord shall ordain us.”
Constantine spake and was silent, and all accepted his saying:
Full of the Holy Ghost was he, and they hung on his wisdom.
Back to the city he went; they, under the beautiful teal-tree,
Chanted their Vesper prayer, and abode till they saw him returning.
Then he led on o'er the mountain; they cheerfully followed his footsteps.
Eastward and upward the goat-path ran; to the right was the ocean,
Whither the turf sloped down to the black rocks, beetling above it;
While to the left the hill, still turf-clad, towered and towered
Up to the heights of the Syrian range, and the summit of Latmos.
Sweet, beyond measure, to heaven rose the evening incense of Cistus,
Incense that cheers the heart of the pilgrim, though lonely his footsteps:
Joined to the Chorus of earth, its great Magnificat sharing.
Lovely, too, lone in her bush, the song of the nightingale; lovely
Down to the right on the beach, the wavelets' monotonous murmur.
Lovelier far the pathway of gold unbroken, unruffled,
Stretching from shoreward right out, and paving the sea with its brightness.
This he beheld with a glance, Dionysius, full of the Spirit;
Stood for a moment of time,—then briefly expressed him in this wise:
“Blest, who has trodden that path, and has gained its mystic Horizon!”
Full of the Holy Ghost was he, and they hung on his wisdom.
Back to the city he went; they, under the beautiful teal-tree,
Chanted their Vesper prayer, and abode till they saw him returning.
Then he led on o'er the mountain; they cheerfully followed his footsteps.
Eastward and upward the goat-path ran; to the right was the ocean,
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While to the left the hill, still turf-clad, towered and towered
Up to the heights of the Syrian range, and the summit of Latmos.
Sweet, beyond measure, to heaven rose the evening incense of Cistus,
Incense that cheers the heart of the pilgrim, though lonely his footsteps:
Joined to the Chorus of earth, its great Magnificat sharing.
Lovely, too, lone in her bush, the song of the nightingale; lovely
Down to the right on the beach, the wavelets' monotonous murmur.
Lovelier far the pathway of gold unbroken, unruffled,
Stretching from shoreward right out, and paving the sea with its brightness.
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Stood for a moment of time,—then briefly expressed him in this wise:
“Blest, who has trodden that path, and has gained its mystic Horizon!”
Now had they reached the cavern. 'Twas where the trend of the sea-cliffs
Southward and eastward, exposed another bay of the Ocean;
Bounded itself, in its turn, by a scarred and stormbeaten headland.
—Turn and look back for awhile by the way that the brethren have trodden;
Right then across that bay, and beneath the opposite foreland
Ephesus lies in part (for the chief of her domes are beyond it),
Visible yet in the eve, but mistily, hazily, darkly.
Look again forward; and there, the opposite precipice crowning,
Standeth a temple of Zeus, who mightily reigneth in Ida;
Raised by an artist of fame, and wrought in Pentelican marble.
Pinkly and faintly the sun (now almost touching the waters)
Fell upon cornice and frieze, colonnaded with seventy columns:
Lighting them up with that tint of ravishing beauty, which only
Praises the Lord from the snow-capped height at Matins and Vespers.
Southward and eastward, exposed another bay of the Ocean;
Bounded itself, in its turn, by a scarred and stormbeaten headland.
—Turn and look back for awhile by the way that the brethren have trodden;
Right then across that bay, and beneath the opposite foreland
Ephesus lies in part (for the chief of her domes are beyond it),
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Look again forward; and there, the opposite precipice crowning,
Standeth a temple of Zeus, who mightily reigneth in Ida;
Raised by an artist of fame, and wrought in Pentelican marble.
Pinkly and faintly the sun (now almost touching the waters)
Fell upon cornice and frieze, colonnaded with seventy columns:
Lighting them up with that tint of ravishing beauty, which only
Praises the Lord from the snow-capped height at Matins and Vespers.
As for the cavern itself. A rock-arch served for its entrance,
Gray with the lichens of years: and thence descending a little
Into the brethren's abode, a path gave easiest access.
Pure from all damp and dust, the fine white sand was its pavement,
While on the sand-rock walls no symbol nor figure was graven,
Save one sign of the Cross; the work it may be of a Hermit,
Who in the days that were past had here found shelter and home-stead.
Joyfully enter they in: they bring the six collybi with them,
Those which the provident care of Constantine bought in the city;
Brought too their vessel of lattin. No need to be anxious for water:—
Since from the foot of the rock a rivulet, bounding and bounding,
Dashed down the hill in its course till lost in the sand of the ocean.
Over the source hung a platane, in prime of its age and its beauty,
Singing the faint sweet song of its leaves to the breezes' caressing.
Forth came the brethren again, and stood in the mouth of the cavern.
Gray with the lichens of years: and thence descending a little
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Pure from all damp and dust, the fine white sand was its pavement,
While on the sand-rock walls no symbol nor figure was graven,
Save one sign of the Cross; the work it may be of a Hermit,
Who in the days that were past had here found shelter and home-stead.
Joyfully enter they in: they bring the six collybi with them,
Those which the provident care of Constantine bought in the city;
Brought too their vessel of lattin. No need to be anxious for water:—
Since from the foot of the rock a rivulet, bounding and bounding,
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Over the source hung a platane, in prime of its age and its beauty,
Singing the faint sweet song of its leaves to the breezes' caressing.
Forth came the brethren again, and stood in the mouth of the cavern.
Set was the Sun indeed, and the semi-tropical twilight
Stole in its beauty along and covered the earth as a vestment;
Only the great stars yet dared to peep on the darkening landscape:
Cassiopeia was there and the Cynosure; minute by minute
Hundreds of heavenly worlds flashed forth into brilliance around them.
Nightingales hurried their lay in its sweetness, and doubled their gladness,
While from the mossy old stone the glow-worm lighted her pale lamp,
Leaving the fire-fly to dance through the fields of the sweetest of æther.
Out spake, noting the beauty, Iamblichus, equal of angels;
“God, Who hast hitherto kept, Who hast hitherto guarded our footsteps,
Guard us, we pray Thee, to-night in the cave as Thou hast in the City!
Grant, as Elijah of old, we too may know Thee and hear Thee;
Give us the sleep and repose that we need; that to-morrow may find us
Brisklier girding our loins for a week of prayer and of fasting.
Father, Thy Love be on us, and Thy Love be on those in the City;
Strengthening the called of to-morrow for Martyrdom; showing to all men
There, where weakness aboundeth, Thy Grace shall be much more abundant.
Hear Thou the groans of Thy flock; in due time smite down the oppressor,
So that in all sweet peace from the world's one end to the other
Thou may'st be worshipped in earth as Thou also art worshipped in Heaven.”
Stole in its beauty along and covered the earth as a vestment;
Only the great stars yet dared to peep on the darkening landscape:
Cassiopeia was there and the Cynosure; minute by minute
Hundreds of heavenly worlds flashed forth into brilliance around them.
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While from the mossy old stone the glow-worm lighted her pale lamp,
Leaving the fire-fly to dance through the fields of the sweetest of æther.
Out spake, noting the beauty, Iamblichus, equal of angels;
“God, Who hast hitherto kept, Who hast hitherto guarded our footsteps,
Guard us, we pray Thee, to-night in the cave as Thou hast in the City!
Grant, as Elijah of old, we too may know Thee and hear Thee;
Give us the sleep and repose that we need; that to-morrow may find us
Brisklier girding our loins for a week of prayer and of fasting.
Father, Thy Love be on us, and Thy Love be on those in the City;
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There, where weakness aboundeth, Thy Grace shall be much more abundant.
Hear Thou the groans of Thy flock; in due time smite down the oppressor,
So that in all sweet peace from the world's one end to the other
Thou may'st be worshipped in earth as Thou also art worshipped in Heaven.”
Scarce had he finished his prayer, when at once from the opposite headland,
Rose up the loud harsh hymn from the shrine of Pentelican marble;
Words were all lost in the distance; 'twas only the sound of the anthem
Floated across the waves, thus soiled with the praise of an idol.
“Zeus father,” thee they sang, “most glorious, compeller of tempests,
Thee, the subduer of giants,—serene in the heights of Olympus,
Great in thine own great strength—”
Rose up the loud harsh hymn from the shrine of Pentelican marble;
Words were all lost in the distance; 'twas only the sound of the anthem
Floated across the waves, thus soiled with the praise of an idol.
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Thee, the subduer of giants,—serene in the heights of Olympus,
Great in thine own great strength—”
The brethren gave audience no longer;
Crossing themselves as they turned they entered the cavern together.
First did they sing the Holiest Light and the Creed of Apostles;
Then they addressed them to rest. Ah me! what a rest fell upon them!
Sweeter than mariner's is whose long tired watch is completed:
Sweeter than sick man's sleep, when his pain for the moment is over,
Blessedly dropping away into dear forgetfulness, feeling
Just as if Angels' wings were hushing and soothing and rocking;
Heavenlier still was the sleep that they took, for in verity Angels
Filled them with deep consolation and rest, like the rest of the happy.
All through the long, long night, the platane tree sang them its anthem;
Anthem,—wherewith the responses of ministering spirits are mingled.
All through the long long night they lay in that calmness of slumber,
Stillness and beauty around, and their Guardians watching about them.
Crossing themselves as they turned they entered the cavern together.
First did they sing the Holiest Light and the Creed of Apostles;
Then they addressed them to rest. Ah me! what a rest fell upon them!
Sweeter than mariner's is whose long tired watch is completed:
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Blessedly dropping away into dear forgetfulness, feeling
Just as if Angels' wings were hushing and soothing and rocking;
Heavenlier still was the sleep that they took, for in verity Angels
Filled them with deep consolation and rest, like the rest of the happy.
All through the long, long night, the platane tree sang them its anthem;
Anthem,—wherewith the responses of ministering spirits are mingled.
All through the long long night they lay in that calmness of slumber,
Stillness and beauty around, and their Guardians watching about them.
| Sequences, Hymns, and Other Ecclesiastical Verses | |