England :: :: University of Virginia Library

Theirs was religion of the open sky,
And leafly trees, and sounds that never fade;
They had beheld no martyr'd Saviour die;
His holy look fill'd not the forest shade,
Whilst wondrously from Him this old man's heart was sway'd.

His was religion of a holier kind;
He had beheld a martyr'd God in pain—
Had heard the unfurl'd banners of the wind—
The thunder roaring o'er the affrighted plain—
The lightnings' terrible glare, the temples rent in twain.

And therefore was he cloth'd in heaven's own light;
A holy lustre shone where'er he went;
His speech was as the spheric tunes of night,
That with strange music fill the firmament:
Glad tidings of great joy he bore, this holy saint.

The Wandering Bard and other Poems.

And who is he who walks with shaven crown,
In humblest guise, his face subdued and mild?
The cross of Christ hangs reverently down,
And as he speaks—behold the desert child!—
His gestures quicken, and his eye grows wild!
Great creed! that such can mission to its aid,
Who leave their peaceful homes, their pastures mild—

Their friends—their kindred, and their native glade—
The house where they were born—the forest's pensive shade.

To cross the stormy deep, with all its fears—
Perils of tempests—perils of the night;
To suffer contumely, and withering cares;
Of want, and cold neglect, to bear the blight;
Of loneliness unheeded, and the might
Of hostile tongues. Oh, lofty was the creed,
That o'er so much of gloom could scatter light;
And in such fruitful places plac'd its seed,
That to the heaven of heavens did rear its fulgent head!

He tells the people that the Son of God
Was meek and good, without or pomp or pride:
How lowly were the pathways that he trod—
How much he bore—how much did men deride,
Even though for them Christ wept, and bled, and died!
And of the sweat of bloody agony—
And of the iron thrust into his side—
And of his piteous death. O, can it be!
Nail'd to the cruel cross with all indignity!

How thus, from out the mire, he did them raise,
Unto the only trust—the perfect day,
And fill'd the earth with a celestial blaze—
How purer feelings rose, and they did pray,
Who dwelt in pagan temples; how the ray
Divine had spread, and burst through blackest night;

And how, at last, the true and only way
Would ope its gates to all—and, glorious sight,
The Church of Christ should dwell o'er all the world in might.

Under the shadow of a stately oak
Ethelbert sate: whilst, in majestic train,
The missionaries stood, and silence broke,
With loud-voic'd anthems, and the choir'd strain
That shook, with rapturous glee, the astonish'd main.
Bright shone the silver cross of Christ on high:
Their white-robes, fluttering to the breezes' plain,
Seem'd seraph-like—as, newly from the sky,
The monarch heard their words, and shook with ecstacy;

And said—“tear down these hollow altars—who
“Will charge the mighty Woden, the great Thor?”
'Tis Coifa, clad in warrior mail; and lo!
Even like a man inspired, he seeks the shore,
With spear in hand, and on a white steed bore
On, on, and on—whilst thousands, muttering, stood,
And curses from their fathers' gods implore:
And now he hurls his spear along the wood—
Fell god and altar—red with death and human blood.

Fell Woden and red altar: on the sky
There shone no fiery hand; nor on the wall

Doth horror sit: no hideous mystery—
No angry shape stalk'd through the trembling hall,
Nor lightnings dart, nor furious thunders call:
And now they fire the groves; and far, and far,—
The curling flames, in hollow murmurs, roll;
They plant the cross—they rear the silver star—
The fires lie still at once, nor leave a spot or scar.

Thousands, and thousands, rush'd to hear the word;
Thousands, and thousands, gather'd anxious there,
To know the language of the living Lord:
From hill and vale resounded hymn and prayer—
From dens and hollow caves: youths, maidens fair,
Old men, and little children, crowded near,
And fill'd with gratulations all the air:
O, 'twas, indeed, a blessed thing to hear,
Amid those solemn woods, their voices swelling clear!

The mighty impulse shook the troubled sea,
And bound the storms in chains, and fill'd with awe
The tremulous mountains in their regions free:
And when these savage people heard and saw
Wonders and miracles, and learnt to draw
Fit inference, their souls were fill'd with light:
The fires of heaven were theirs; the precious law,
God-given, that erst on Sinai, blazing bright,
To Moses's eyes appear'd, and led his steps aright.

The Druids, who, amid the embowering woods,
Had outrag'd holy nature, and defied

The sovereign spirit of the solitudes—
Mocking religion with the front of pride,
And pouring savage passions far and wide,
Now mourn'd the bloody sacrifices gone;
Of beauteous virgins, murder'd side by side—
Of royal maidens, butcher'd to atone
Rude crimes, an offering fit, before their godhead's throne.

The Macedonian conqueror is dead;
And what hath Cæsar left but tear and groan?
The mightiest sons of men have bow'd the head;
And none, perchance, lament when they are gone.
But he by whom the blood of Christ was won,
On English ground, shall hold his fame for aye;
A nation's constant blessings greet him one
Of heaven's own breed; and infant tongues shall pray
For him—and aged men shall constant homage pay.

He came, in tribulation and deep fear;
He went, with joyous shouts and loud acclaim:
He found rude rites and impious, far and near:
He left the only God and Jesu's name,
And faithful hearts that did his praise proclaim.
The groves oracular were cleans'd of blood:
The unhallow'd temples sunk to earth in shame:
The priests were driven in hollow caves to brood,
And Antichrist gave way to Jesus, meek and good.

Yea, now the tree of Christ hath taken root;
The storms of ages have not dimm'd its might;

Fair were its blossoms—fairer are its fruit,
And wintry clouds have made it shine more bright:
Yea, in worst darkness was its greater light;
And now millions of voices shout in praise,
And holy bells make glad each Sabbath day:
The hymn and organ swell aloud, and raise
The soul toward God, to walk among the heavenly ways.