Читать книгу The lost chimes, and other poems - Gustav Melby - Страница 15

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Sordino came to London just in time

To view a drama, not unseldom seen

By Englishmen in Mary Tudor’s reign,

Who left upon her country’s page a stain

So dark and bloody that scarce any queen

Has ever steeped her rule in fouler crime.

From Newgate prison, in the early morn,

An old decrepit man was rudely led,

Amid the gibes and scoffings of a mob,

Which drowned the words of pity and the sob;

Abuses fell upon his hoary head;

But for his Master they were gladly borne.

They brought him to an open square, where stood

An upright stake with iron rings and chains,

Awaiting his frail body to entwine,

And round about were twigs of birch and pine,

Piled up in bundles, groaning with the pains,

They should inflict on one whose life was good.

The rising sun cast on the earth a soft,

Warm, trembling light, God’s Cherubim who told

To all whose soul had vision: “He is Love;”

At least one marked it, smiled and looked above,

Into infinity of blue and gold,

And as his eyes were lifted thus aloft,

He said: “What profit hath a man, if he

Should gain the entire world and lose his soul?

What can he give for it in true exchange?

This is the truth which saves or doth avenge,

And now as I am here to give my all,

I thank thee Father for the Victory.”

A pray’r which followed was by clamor drowned,

The torch applied set loose the crackling flame,

Which leaped about his limbs and to his face,

Extinguishing the glory of his gaze,

And silencing the lisping of His name

Who hath with immortality him crowned.