Читать книгу Legends of the Saxon Saints - Aubrey De Vere - Страница 8

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Ethelbert, King of Kent, converses first with his Pagan Thanes, and next with Saint Augustine, newly landed on the shores of Thanet Island. The Saint, coming in sight of Canterbury, rejoices greatly, and predicts the future greatness of that city.

Far through the forest depths of Thanet Isle,

That never yet had heard the woodman's axe,

Rang the glad clarion on the May-day morn,

Blent with the cry of hounds. The rising sun

Flamed on the forests' dewy jewelry,

While, under rising mists, a host with plumes

Rode down a broad oak alley t'wards the sea.

King Ethelbert rode first: he reigned in Kent,

Least kingdom of the Seven yet Head of all

Through his desert. That morn the royal train,

While sang the invisible lark her song in heaven,

Pursued the flying stag. At times the creature,

As though he too had pleasure in the sport,

Vaulted at ease through sunshine and through shade,

Then changed his mood, and left the best behind him.

Five hours they chased him; last, upon a rock

High up in scorn he held his antlered front,

Then took the wave and vanished.

Many a frown

Darkened that hour on many a heated brow;

And many a spur afflicted that poor flank

Which panted hard and smoked. The King alone

Laughed at mischance. 'The stag, with God to aid,

Has left our labour fruitless! Give him joy!

He lives to yield us sport some later morn:

So be it! Waits our feast, and not far off:

On to the left, 'twixt yonder ash and birch!'

He spake, and anger passed: they praised their sport;

And many an outblown nostril seemed to snuff

That promised feast. They rode through golden furze

So high the horsemen only were descried;

And glades whose centuried oaks their branches laid

O'er violet banks; and fruit trees, some snow-veiled

Like bridesmaid, others like the bride herself

Behind her white veil blushing. Glad, the thrush

Carolled; more glad, the wood-dove moaned; close by

A warbling runnel led them to the bay:

Two chestnuts stood beside it snowy-coned:

The banquet lay beneath them.

Feasting o'er,

The song succeeded. Boastful was the strain,

Each Thane his deeds extolling, or his sire's;

But one, an aged man, among them scoffed:

'When I was young; when Sigbert on my right

To battle rode, and Sefred on my left;

That time men stood not worsted by a stag!

Not then our horses swerved from azure strait

Scared by the ridged sea-wave!' Next spake a chief,

Pirate from Denmark late returned: 'Our skies,

Good friends, are all too soft to build the man!

We fight for fame: the Northman fights for sport;

Their annals boast they fled but once:—'twas thus:

In days of old, when Rome was in her pride,

Huge hosts of hers had fallen on theirs, surprised,

And way-worn: long they fought: a remnant spent,

Fled to their camp. Upon its walls their wives

Stood up, black-garbed, with axes heaved aloft,

And fell upon the fugitives, and slew them;

Slew next their little ones; slew last themselves,

Cheating the Roman Triumph. Never since then

Hath Northman fled the foemen.'

Egfrid rose:

'Who saith our kinsfolk of the frozen North

One stock with us, one faith, one ancient tongue, Pass us in valour? Three days since I saw Crossing the East Saxon's border and our own Two boys that strove. The Kentish wounded fell; The East Saxon on him knelt; then made demand: "My victim art thou by the laws of war! Yonder my dagger lies;—till I return Wilt thou abide?" The vanquished answered, "Yea!" A minute more, and o'er that dagger's edge His life-blood rushed.' The pirate chief demurred; 'A gallant boy! Not less I wager this, The glitter of that dagger ere it smote Made his eye blink. Attend! Three years gone by, Sailing with Hakon on Norwegian fiords We fought the Jomsburg Rovers, at their head Sidroc, oath-pledged to marry Hakon's child Despite her father's best. In mist we met: Instant each navy at the other dashed Like wild beast, instinct-taught, that knows its foe; Chained ship to ship, and clashed their clubs all day, Till sank the sun: then laughed the white peaks forth, And reeled, methought, above the reeling waves! The victory was with us. Hakon, next morn, Bade slay his prisoners. Thirty on one bench Waited their doom: their leader died the first; He winked not as the sword upon him closed! No, nor the second! Hakon asked the third, "What think'st thou, friend, of Death?" He tossed his head: "My Father perished; I fulfil my turn." The fourth, "Strike quickly, Chief! An hour this morn We held contention if, when heads are off, The hand can hold its dagger: I would learn." The dagger and the head together fell. The fifth, "One fear is mine—lest yonder slave Finger a Prince's hair! Command some chief, Thy best beloved, to lift it in his hands; Then strike and spare not!" Hakon struck. That youth, Sigurd by name, his forehead forward twitched, Laughing, so deftly that the downward sword Shore off those luckless hands that raised his hair. All laughed; and Hakon's son besought his sire To loosen Sigurd's bonds: but Sigurd cried, "Unless the rest be loosed I will not live!" Thus all escaped save four.' In graver mood That chief resumed: 'A Norland King dies well! His bier is raised upon his stateliest ship; Piled with his arms; his lovers and his friends Rush to their monarch's pyre, resolved with him To share in death, and with becoming pomp Attend his footsteps to Valhalla's Hall. The torch is lit: forth sails the ship, black-winged, Facing the midnight seas. From beach and cliff Men watch all night that slowly lessening flame: Yet no man sheds a tear.' Earconwald, An aged chief, made answer, 'Tears there be Of divers sorts: a wise and valiant king Deserves that tear which praises, not bewails, Greatness gone by.' The pirate shouted loud, 'A land it is of laughter, not of tears!' Know ye the tale of Harald? He had sailed Round southern coasts and eastern—sacked or burned A hundred Christian cities. One he found So girt with giant walls and brazen gates His sea-kings vainly dashed themselves thereon, And died beneath them, frustrate. Harald sent A herald to that city proffering terms: "Harald is dead: Christian was he in youth: He sends you spoils from many a city burnt, And craves interment in your chiefest church." Next day the masked procession wound in black Through streets defenceless. When the church was reached They laid their chief before the altar-lights: Anon to heaven rang out the priestly dirge, And incense-smoke upcurled. Forth from its cloud Sudden upleaped the dead man, club in hand, Spurning his coffin's gilded walls, and smote The hoary pontiff down, and brake his neck; And all those maskers doffed their weeds of woe And showed the mail beneath, and raised their swords, And drowned that pavement in a sea of blood, While raging rushed their mates through portals wide, And, since that city seemed but scant of spoil, Fired it and sailed. Ofttimes old Harald laughed That tale recounting,' Many a Kentish chief Re-echoed Harald's laugh;—not Ethelbert: The war-scar reddening on his brow he rose And spake: 'My Thanes, ye laugh at deeds accurst! An old King I, and make my prophecy One day that northern race which smites and laughs, Our kith and kin albeit, shall smite our coasts: That day ye will not laugh!' Earconwald, Not rising, likewise answer made, heart-grieved: 'Six sons had I: all these are slain in war; Yet I, an unrejoicing man forlorn, Find solace ofttimes thinking of their deeds: They laughed not when they smote. No God, be sure, Smiles on the jest red-handed.' Egfrid rose, And three times cried with lifted sword unsheathed, 'Behold my God! No God save him I serve!' While thus they held discourse, where blue waves danced Not far from land, behold, there hove in sight, Seen 'twixt a great beech silky yet with Spring And pine broad-crested, round whose head old storms Had wov'n a garland of his own green boughs, A bark both fair and large; and hymn was heard. Then laughed the King, 'The stag-hunt and our songs So drugged my memory, I had nigh forgotten Why for our feast I chose this heaven-roofed hall: Missives I late received from friends in France; They make report of strangers from the South Who, tarrying in their coasts have learned our tongue, And northward wend with tidings strange and new Of some celestial Kingdom by their God Founded for men of Faith. Nor churl am I To frown on kind intent, nor child to trust This sceptre of Seven Realms to magic snare That puissance hath—who knows not?—greater thrice In house than open field. I therefore chose For audience hall this precinct.' Muttered low Murdark, the scoffer with the cave-like mouth And sidelong eyes, 'Queen Bertha's voice was that! A woman's man! Since first from Gallic shores That dainty daughter of King Charibert Pressed her small foot on England's honest shore The whole land dwindles!' In seraphic hymns Ere long that serpent hiss was lost: for soon, In raiment white, circling a rocky point, O'er sands still glistening with a tide far-ebbed, On drew, preceded by a silver Cross, A long procession. Music, as it moved, Floated on sea-winds inland, deadened now By thickets, echoed now from cliff or cave: Ere long before them that procession stood. The King addressed them: 'Welcome, Heralds sage! And if from God I welcome you the more, Since great is God, and therefore great His gifts: God grant He send them daily, heaped and huge! Speak without fear, for him alone I hate Who brings ill news, or makes inept demand Unmeet for Kings. I know that Cross ye bear; And in my palace sits a Christian wife, Bertha, the sweetest lady in this land; Most gracious in her ways, in heart most leal. I knew her yet a child: she knelt whene'er The Queen, her mother, entered: then I said, A maid so reverent will be reverent wife, And wedded her betimes. Morning and eve She in her wood-girt chapel sings her prayer, Which wins us kindlier harvest, and, some think, Success in war. She strives not with our Gods: Confusion never wrought she in my house, Nor minished Hengist's glory. Had her voice, Clangorous or strident, drawn upon my throne Deserved opprobrium'—here the monarch's brows Flushed at the thought, and fire was in his eyes— 'The hand that clasps this sceptre had not spared To hunt her forth, an outcast in the woods, Thenceforth with beasts to herd! More lief were I To take the lioness to my bed and board Than house a rebel wife.' Remembering then The mildness of his Queen, King Ethelbert Resumed, appeased, for placable his heart; 'But she no rebel is, and this I deem Fair auspice for her Faith.' A little breeze Warm from the sea that moment softly waved The standard from its staff, and showed thereon The Child Divine. Upon His mother's knee Sublime He stood. His left hand clasped a globe Crowned with a golden Cross; and with His right, Two fingers heavenward raised, o'er all the earth He sent His Blessing. Of that band snow-stoled One taller by the head than all the rest Obeisance made; then, pointing to the Cross, And forward moving t'ward the monarch's seat, Opened the great commission of the Faith:— 'Behold the Eternal Maker of the worlds! That Hand which shaped the earth and blesses earth Must rule the race of man!' Majestic then As when, far winding from its mountain springs, City and palm-grove far behind it left, Some Indian river rolls, while mists dissolved Leave it in native brightness unobscured, And kingly navies share its sea-ward sweep, Forward on-flowed in Apostolic might Augustine's strong discourse. With God beginning, He showed the Almighty All-compassionate, Down drawn from distance infinite to man By the Infinite of Love. Lo, Bethlehem's crib! There lay the Illimitable in narrow bound: Thence rose that triumph of a world redeemed! Last, to the standard pointing, thus he spake: 'Yon Standard tells the tale! Six hundred years Westward it speeds from subject realm to realm: First from the bosom of God's Race Elect, His People, till they slew Him, mild it soared: Rejected, it returned. Above their walls While ruin rocked them, and the Roman fire, Dreadful it hung. When Rome had shared that guilt, Mocking that Saviour's Brethren, and His Bride, Above the conquered conqueror of all lands In turn this Standard flew. Who raised it high? A son of this your island, Constantine! In these, thine English oakwoods, Helena, 'Twas thine to nurse thy warrior. He had seen Star-writ in heaven the words this Standard bears, "Through Me is victory." Victory won, he raised High as his empire's queenly head, and higher, This Standard of the Eternal Dove thenceforth To fly where eagle standard never flew, God's glory in its track, goodwill to man. Advance for aye, great Emblem! Light as now Famed Asian headlands, and Hellenic isles! O'er snow-crowned Alp and citied Apennine Send forth a breeze of healing! Keep thy throne For ever on those western peaks that watch The setting sun descend the Hesperean wave, Atlas and Calpe! These, the old Roman bound, Build but the gateway of the Rome to be; Till Christ returns, thou Standard, hold them fast: But never till the North, that, age by age, Dashed back the Pagan Rome, with Christian Rome Partakes the spiritual crown of man restored, From thy strong flight above the world surcease, And fold thy wings in rest!' Upon the sod He knelt, and on that Standard gazed, and spake, Calm-voiced, with hand to heaven: 'I promise thee, Thou Sign, another victory, and thy best— This island shall be thine!' Augustine rose And took the right hand of King Ethelbert, And placed therein the Standard's staff, and laid His own above the monarch's, speaking thus: 'King of this land, I bid thee know from God That kings have higher privilege than they know, The standard-bearers of the King of kings.' Long time he clasped that royal hand; long time The King, that patriarch's hand at last withdrawn, His own withdrew not from that Standard's staff Committed to his charge. His hand he deemed Thenceforth its servant vowed. With large, meek eyes Fixed on that Maid and Babe, he stood as child That, gazing on some reverent stranger's face, Nor loosening from that stranger's hold his palm, Listens his words attent. The man of God Meantime as silent gazed on Thanet's shore Gold-tinged, with sunset spray to crimson turned In league-long crescent. Love was in his face, That love which rests on Faith. He spake: 'Fair land, I know thee what thou art, and what thou lack'st! The Master saith, "I give to him that hath:" Thy harvest shall be great.' Again he mused, And shadow o'er him crept. Again he spake: 'That harvest won, when centuries have gone by, What countenance wilt thou wear? How oft on brows Brightened by Baptism's splendour, sin more late Drags down its cloud! The time may come when thou This day, though darkling, yet so innocent, Barbaric, not depraved, on greater heights May'st sin in malice—sin the great offence, Changing thy light to darkness, knowing God, Yet honouring God no more; that time may come When, rich as Carthage, great in arms as Rome, Keen-eyed as Greece, this isle, to sensuous gaze A sun all gold, to angels may present Aspect no nobler than a desert waste, Some blind and blinding waste of sun-scorched sands, Trod by a race of pigmies not of men, Pigmies by passions ruled!' Once more he mused; Then o'er his countenance passed a second change; And from it flashed the light of one who sees, Some hill-top gained, beyond the incumbent night The instant foot of morn. With regal step, Martial yet measured, to the King he strode, And laid a strong hand on him, speaking thus: 'Rejoice, my son, for God hath sent thy land This day Good Tidings of exceeding joy, And planted in her breast a Tree divine Whose leaves shall heal far nations. Know besides, Should sickness blight that Tree, or tempest mar, The strong root shall survive: the winter past, Heavenward once more shall rush both branch and bough, And over-vault the stars.' He spake, and took The sacred Standard from that monarch's hand, And held it in his own, and fixed its point Deep in the earth, and by it stood. Then lo! Like one disburthened of some ponderous charge, King Ethelbert became himself again, And round him gazed well pleased. Throughout his train Sudden a movement thrilled: remembrance had Of those around, his warriors and his thanes, That ever on his wisdom waiting hung, Thus he replied discreet: 'Stranger and friend, Thou bear'st good tidings! That thou camest thus far To fool us, knave and witling may believe: I walk not with their sort; yet, guest revered, Kings are not as the common race of men; Counsel they take, lest honour heaped on one Dishonour others. Odin holds on us Prescriptive right, and special claims on me, The son of Hengist's grandson. Preach your Faith! The man who wills I suffer to believe: The man who wills not, let him moor his skiff Where anchorage likes him best. The day declines: This night with us you harbour, and our Queen Shall lovingly receive you.' Staid and slow The King rode homewards, while behind him paced Augustine and his Monks. The ebb had left 'Twixt Thanet and the mainland narrow space Marsh-land more late: beyond the ford there wound A path through flowery meads; and, as they passed, Not herdsmen only, but the broad-browed kine Fixed on them long their meditative gaze; And oft some blue-eyed boy with flaxen locks Ran, fearless, forth, and plucked them by the sleeve, Some boy clear-browed as those Saint Gregory marked, Poor slaves, new-landed on the quays of Rome, That drew from him that saying, '"Angli"—nay, Call them henceforward "Angels"!' From a wood Issuing, before them lustrous they beheld King Ethelbert's chief city, Canterbury, Strong-walled, with winding street, and airy roofs, And high o'er all the monarch's palace pile Thick-set with towers. Then fire from God there fell Upon Augustine's heart; and thus he sang Advancing; and the brethren sang 'Amen':

'Hail, City loved of God, for on thy brow

Great Fates are writ. Thou cumberest not His earth

For petty traffic reared, or petty sway;

I see a heavenly choir descend, thy crown

Henceforth to bind thy brow. Forever hail!

'I see the basis of a kingly throne

In thee ascending! High it soars and higher,

Like some great pyramid o'er Nilus kenned

When vapours melt—the Apostolic Chair!

Doctrine and Discipline thence shall hold their course,

Like Tigris and Euphrates, through all lands

That face the Northern Star. Forever hail!

'Where stands yon royal keep, a church shall rise

Like Incorruption clothing the Corrupt

On the resurrection morn! Strong House of God,

To Him exalt thy walls, and nothing doubt,

For lo! from thee like lions from their lair

Abroad shall pace the Primates of this land:—

They shall not lick the hand that gives and smites,

Doglike, nor snakelike on their bellies creep

In indirectness base. They shall not fear

The people's madness, nor the rage of kings

Reddening the temple's pavement. They shall lift

The strong brow mitred, and the crosiered hand

Before their presence sending Love and Fear

To pave their steps with greatness. From their fronts

Stubborned with marble from Saint Peter's Rock

The sunrise of far centuries forth shall flame:

He that hath eyes shall see it, and shall say,

"Blessed who cometh in the name of God!"'

Thus sang the Saint, advancing; and, behold,

At every pause the brethren sang 'Amen!'

While down from window and from roof the throng

Eyed them in silence. As their anthem ceased,

Before them stood the palace clustered round

By many a stalwart form. Midway the gate

On the first step, like angel newly lit,

Queen Bertha stood. Back from her forehead meek,

The meeker for its crown, a veil descended,

While streamed the red robe to the foot snow-white

Sandalled in gold. The morn was on her face,

The star of morn within those eyes upraised

That flashed all dewy with the grateful light

Of many a granted prayer. O'er that sweet shape

Augustine signed the Venerable Sign;

The lovely vision sinking, hand to breast,

Received it; while, by sympathy surprised,

Or taught of God, the monarch and his thanes

Knelt as she knelt, and bent like her their heads,

Sharing her blessing. Like a palm the Faith

Thenceforth o'er England rose, those saintly men

Preaching by life severe, not words alone,

The doctrine of the Cross. Some Power divine,

Stronger than patriot love, more sweet than Spring,

Made way from heart to heart, and daily God

Joined to His Church the souls that should be saved,

Thousands, where Medway mingles with the Thames,

Rushing to Baptism. In his palace cell

High-nested on that Vaticanian Hill

Which o'er the Martyr-gardens kens the world,

Gregory, that news receiving, or from men,

Or haply from that God with whom he walked,

The Spirit's whisper ever in his ear,

Rejoiced that hour, and cried aloud, 'Rejoice,

Thou Earth! that North which from its cloud but flung

The wild beasts' cry of anger or of pain,

Redeemed from wrath, its Hallelujahs sings;

Its waves by Roman galleys feared, this day

Kiss the bare feet of Christ's Evangelists;

That race whose oak-clubs brake our Roman swords

Glories now first in bonds—the bond of Truth:

At last it fears;—but fears alone to sin,

Striving through faith for Virtue's heavenly crown.