Legends of the Saxon Saints Part 10

What man was this--your half-forgotten king?

Your law-giver he was! he framed your laws!

Your poet he: he shaped your earliest song!

Your teacher he: he taught you first your runes!

Your warrior--yours! His warfare consummate, For you he died! Old age at last, sole foe Unvanquished, found him throned in Gylfi's land: Summoning his race around him thus he spake: "My sons, I scorn that age should c.u.mber youth!

Ye have your lesson--see ye keep it well!

I taught you how to conquer; how to live; Now learn to die!" His dagger high he raised; Nine times he plunged it through his bleeding breast, Then sheathed it in his heart. Ere from his lips The kingly smile had vanished, he was dead!'

So sang the bard and ceased; his work was done: Abroad the tempest burst. 'Twas not his songs Alone that raised it! Memories which they waked, Memories of childhood, fainter year by year, Tripled his might. Meantime a Saxon priest Potential there, bent low, with eye-brow arched, O'er Eardulf's ear, Eardulf old warrior famed, And whispered long, and as he whispered glanced Oft at Birinus. Keen of eye the King, The action noting well, the aim divined, And thus to Offa near him spake, low-toned: 'The full-fed priest of Odin sends a sword To slay that naked babe he hates so sore, The Faith of Christ!'

Rising with fiery face And thundering hand that shook the banquet board Eardulf began: '"Ye are not what ye were!"

So saith our stranger kinsman from the north, A man plain-tongued; I would that all were such!

Lords, and my King, this stranger speaks the truth!

I tell you too, we are not what we were: Nor lengthened trail he hunts who seeks the cause.

Lo, there the cause among us! Man from Rome!

I ask who sent thee hither? From the first Rome and our native races stand at war; Her hope was this, to make our sons like hers Liars and slaves, our daughters false and vile, And, thus subverted, rule our land and us.

Frustrate in war, now sends she forth her priests In peaceful gown to sap the manly hearts Her sword but manlier made. Ho, Wess.e.x men!

Ye see your foe! My counsel, Lords, is this: The worm that stings us tread we to the earth, Then spurn it from our coasts!'

Ere ceased the acclaim Subdued and soft the Pagan pontiff rose, And three times half retired, as one who yields His betters place; and thrice, answering the call, Advanced, and leaning stood: at last he spake, Sweet-voiced, not loud; 'Ye Wess.e.x Earls and Thanes, I stand here but as witness, not as judge; Ye are the judges. Late ye heard--yea, twice-- Words strange and new; "Ye are not what ye were!"

I witness this; things are not what they were; For round me as I roll these sorrowing eyes, Now old and dim--perchance the fault is theirs-- They find no longer, ranged along your walls Amid the deep-dyed trophies of old time, That chiefest of your Standards, lost, men say, In that ill-omened battle lost which wrecked But late our Wess.e.x kingdom. Odin's wrath-- I spare to task your time and patience, Lords, Enforcing truth which every urchin knows-- 'Twas Odin shamed his foe! Ah Cynegils!

What made thee Odin's foe? Our friend was he!

Base tolerance first, connivance next, then worse, Favoured that Faith perfidious! Stood and stands A bow-shot hence that church the strangers built; Their church, their font! The strangers, who are they?

Snake-like and supple, winding on and on Through courtly chambers darkling still they creep, Nor dare to face a people front to front; Let them stand up in light, and all is well!

And who their converts? Late, to please a king, They donned his novel worship like a robe; When dead he lay they doffed it! Earls and Thanes, A n.o.bler day is come; a sager king; In him I trust; in you; in Odin most, Our nation's strength, the bulwark of our throne.

I proffer nought of counsel. Ye have eyes: The opprobrium sits among you!'

From the floor The storm of iron feet rang loud, and swords Leaped flashing from their sheaths. In silence some Waited the event: the larger part by far Clamoured for vengeance on the outlandish Faith, The loudest they, the apostates of past time.

Then stately from his seat Birinus rose, And stood in calm marmorean. Long he stood, Not eager, though expectant. By degrees That tumult lessening, with a quiet smile And hand extended, noticing for peace, Thus he addressed that concourse.

'Earls and Thanes, Among so many here I stand alone, Why peaceful? why untroubled? In your hands I see a hundred swords against me bent: Sirs, should they slay me, Truth remains unpierced.

A thousand wheat ears swayed by summer gust Affront one oak; it slights the mimic threat: So slight I, strong in faith, those swords that err-- Your ignorance, not your sin. The truth of G.o.d, The heart of man against you fight this day, And, with his heart, his hope. In every land, Through all the unnumbered centuries yet to come, The cry of women wailing for their babes Restored through Christ alone, the cry of men Who know that all is lost if earth is all, The cry of children still unstained by sin, The sinner's cry redeemed from yoke of sin, Thunder against you. Pa.s.s to lesser themes.

'Eardulf, that raged against me, told you, Lords, That Rome was still the hater of your race, And warred thereon. She warred much more on mine, Roman but Christian likewise! Ye were foes; Warring on you she warred on hostile tribes: In us she tore her proper flesh and blood: Mailed men were you that gave her blow for blow; We were her tender children; on her hearths We dwelt, or delved her fields and dressed her vines.

What moved her hatred? that we loved a G.o.d All love to man. With every G.o.d beside Rome made her traffic: fellowship with such Unclean we deemed: thenceforth Rome saw in us Her destined foe.

Three centuries, Earls and Thanes, Her hand was red against us. Vengeance came: Who wrought it? Who avenged our martyred Saints That, resting 'neath G.o.d's altar, cried, "How long?"

Alaric, and his, the Goths! And who were they?

Your blood, your bone, your spirit, and your soul!

They with your fathers roamed four hundred years The Teuton waste; they swam the Teuton floods, They pointed with the self-same hand of scorn At Rome, their common foe! In Odin's loins Together came ye from the shining East:-- True man was he: ye changed him to false G.o.d!

That Odin, when the destined hour had pealed, Beckoned to Alaric, marched by Alaric's side Invisibly to Rome!

Ye know the tale: Her senate-kings their portals barred; they deemed That awe of Rome would drive him back amazed; And sat secure at feast. But he that slew Remus, his brother, on the unfinished wall, A bitter expiation paid that night!

The wail went up: the Goths were lords of Rome!-- Alaric alone in that dread hour was just, And with his mercy tempered justice. Why?

Alaric that day was Christian: of his host The best and bravest Christian. Senators In purple nursed lived on, 'tis true, in rags; To Asian galleys and Egyptian marts The rich were driven; the mighty. Gold in streams Ran molten from the Capitolian roofs: The idol statues choked old Tyber's wave: But life and household honour Alaric spared; And round the fanes of Peter and of Paul His soldiers stood on guard. Upon the grave Of that bad Empire sentenced, nay of all The Empires of this world absorbed in one, In one condemned, they throned the Church of Christ; His Kingdom's seat established.

Since that hour That Kingdom spreads o'er earth. In Eastern Gaul Long since your brave Burgundians kneel to Christ; Pannonia gave Him to the Ostro-Goths, Barbaric named; and to the Suevi Spain: The Vandals o'er the Mauritanian sh.o.r.es Exalt His Cross with joy. Your pardon, sirs: These lands to you are names; but Odin knew them; A living man he trod them in his youth; Hated their vices; bound his race to spurn Their bait, their bond! That day he saw hath dawned; O'er half a world the vivifying airs Launched from your northern forests chaste and cold Have blown, and blow this hour! The Saxon race Alone its destiny knows not. Ye have won Here in this Isle the old Roman heritage: Perfect your victory o'er that Pagan Rome With Christian Rome partaking!

Earls and Thanes, But one word more. Your pontiff late averred That kings to us are G.o.ds; through them we conquer: I answer thus: That Kingdom G.o.d hath raised Is sovereign and is one; kingdoms of earth, How great soe'er, to it are provinces In spiritual things. If princes turn to G.o.d They save their souls. If kingdoms war on G.o.d Their choice is narrow, and their choice is this: To break, like that which falleth on a stone; Or else, like that whereon that stone doth fall, To crumble into dust.'

The Pagan priest Whispered again to Eardulf, 'Praise to Thor!

He flouts our king! The boaster's chance is gone!'

Then rose that king and spake in careless sort: 'Earls and my Thanes, I came from exile late: It may be that to exile I return: Not less my arm is long; my sword is sharp: Let him that hates me fear me!

Earls and Thanes, I pa.s.sed that exile in a Christian realm: There of the Christian greatness, Christian right, I somewhat heard, and hearing, disbelieved; Saw likewise somewhat, and believed in part: Saw more, till nigh that part had grown to whole: I saw that war itself might be a thing Though stern, yet stern in mercy; saw that peace Might wear a shape dearest to manliest heart, Peace based on fearless justice militant 'Gainst wrong alone and riot. Earls and Thanes, Returned, this day and in this regal hall A spectacle I saw, if grateful less, Not therefore less note-worthy--countless swords In judgment drawn against a man unarmed; Yea, and a man unarmed with brow unmoved Confronting countless swords. These things I saw; Fair sight that tells me how to act, and when; For I was minded to protract the time, Which strangles oft best purpose. At the font Of Christ--it stands a bow-shot from this spot, As late we learned--at daybreak I and mine Become henceforth Christ's lieges.

Earls and Thanes, I heard but late a railer who affirmed That kings were tyrants o'er the faiths of men Flexile to please them: thus I make reply; The meanest of my subjects, like his king, Shall serve his G.o.d in freedom: if the chief Questions the equal freedom of his king That man shall die the death! Through Christian Faith-- I hide not this--one danger threats the land: It threats as much, nay more, my royal House: That danger must be dared since truth is truth: That danger ye shall learn tomorrow noon: Till comes that hour, farewell!'

The matin beam, G.o.d's winged messenger from loftier worlds, Through the deep window of the baptistery Glittered on eddies of the bath-like font Not yet quiescent since its latest guest Had thence arisen; beside its marge the king In snowy raiment stood; upon his right, Alfred, his first-born, boy of seven years old, And, close beside, in wonder not in dread, Mildrede, his sister, younger by one year, Holding her brother's hand. From either waist Flowed a white kirtle to the small snow feet With roses tinged. Above it all was bare, And with the fontal dew-drops sparkling still; While from each head with sacred unction sealed Floated the chrismal veil. That eye is blind Which sees not beauty save on female brows: On either face that hour the l.u.s.tre lay; But hers was l.u.s.tre pa.s.sive, l.u.s.tre pale; The boy's was active, daring, penetrating-- The lily she; but he the Morning Star, Beaming thereon from heaven! With dewy eyes The strong king on them gazed, and inly mused, 'To G.o.d I gave them up: yet ne'er till now Seemed they so wholly mine!'

Birinus spake: 'Ye have been washed in baptism, though no sin Hath yet been yours save Adam's, and confirmed; And houselled ye shall be at Ma.s.s seven days, Since Christ in infant bosoms loves to dwell.

Pray, day by day, that Christ would keep you pure: Pray for your Father: likewise pray for me, Old sinner soon to die.' Then raised those babes Their baptism tapers high, and fixing eyes That moved not on their backward-fluttering flames, Led the procession to their palace home, Their father pacing last.

That day at noon The monarch sat upon his royal throne, Birinus near him standing: at his feet His children played; while round him silent thronged Warriors and chiefs. The king addressed them thus: 'Birinus, and the rest, I hold it meet A king should hide his secret from his foes, But with his friends be open. Yestereve I, Christian now, unfalteringly avouched That in the victory of the Christian Faith, True though it be, one danger I discerned: That danger, and its root, I now divulge.

Saw ye the scorn within that Northman's eye Last eve, when, praising Thor, in balance stern He weighed what now we are with what we were When first he trod our sh.o.r.es! He spake the truth: His race and ours are kin; but his retain Stronglier their manly virtue, frost and snow Like whetstones sharpening still that virtue's edge.

We soften with the years. Beggars this day Sue us for bread! Sirs, in a famine once I saw, then young, a hundred at a time That, linking hand in hand, loud singing rushed, Like hunters chasing hart, to sea-beat cliffs, And o'er them plunged! Now comes this Faith of Christ; That Faith to which, because that Faith is true, I pledged this morn my word, my seal, my soul, The fate and fortunes of our native land And all my royal House, well knowing this, The king who loves his kingdom more than G.o.d, Better than both loves self--no king at heart.

Now comes this Christian Faith! That Faith, be sure, Is not a hardening faith: gentle it makes:-- I told you, Lords, we soften day by day; I might have added that with growing years Hardness we doubly need. When Rome was great Our race, however far diffused, was one, Blended by hate of Rome. When Rome declined That bond dissolved. A second bond remained In Odin's Faith:--Northmen alone retain it In them a new Rome rises! Earls and Thanes!

The truth be ours though for that truth we die!

Hold fast that truth; yet hide not what it costs.

Through fog and sea-mist of the days to come I see huge navies with the raven flag Steering to milder borders Christian half, Brother 'gainst brother ranging. Kingdoms Seven Of this still fair and once heroic land, I say, beware that hour! If come it must, Then fall the thunder while I walk this earth, Not when I skulk in crypts!'

The others mute, From joy malicious some, some vexed with doubt, Birinus made reply: 'My Lord and King, Inly this day I gladden, certain now That neither fancy-drawn, nor anger-spurred, Nor seeking crowns, for others or thyself, Nor shunning woes, the worst that earth can know, For others or thyself, but urged by faith, G.o.d's greatest gift to man, thou mad'st this day Submission true to Christ. So be it, King!

So rest content! G.o.d with a finger's touch Could melt that cloud which threats thy realm well-loved; (That threat I deem nor trivial nor obscure) Not thus He wills. Danger, distress, reverse, Are heralds sent from G.o.d, like peace and joy, To nations as to men. Happy that land Which worketh darkling; worketh without wage; And worketh still for G.o.d! If G.o.d desired A people for His sacrificial lamb, Happiest of nations should that nation be Which died His willing victim!'

'King, and Son,'

With voice a moment troubled he resumed, 'Thy future rests with G.o.d! Yet shake, Oh shake One boding grief--'tis causeless--from thy breast, Deeming thy race less valiant than the North: Faithfuller they stand and nearer to their sires!

Remorseless less to others and to self I grant them; that implies not valiant less: The brave are still in spirit the merciful; Far down within their being stirs a sense Of more than race or realm. Some claim world-wide, Whereof the prophet is the wailing babe, Smites on their hearts--a cradle decks therein For Him they know not yet, the Bethlehem Babe.

That claim thy fathers felt! Through Teuton woods (Dead Rome's historian saw what he records[25]), Moved forth of old in cyclic pilgrimage Thick-veiled, the sacred image of the Earth, All reverend Mother, crowned Humanity!

Not war-steeds haled her car, but oxen meek; And, as it pa.s.sed oppugnant bounds, the trump Ceased from its blare; the lance, the war-axe fell; Grey foes shook hands; their children played together: Beyond the limit line of dateless wars Looked forth the vision thus of endless peace.

Think'st thou that here was lack of manly heart?

King, this was manhood's self!'

While thus he spake, Alfred, and Mildrede, children of the King, That long time, by that voice majestic charmed, Had turned from distant sports, upon their knees Softly and slowly to Birinus crept, Their wide eyes from his countenance moving not, And so knelt on; Alfred, the star-eyed boy Supported by his father's sceptre-staff, His plaything late, now clasped in hands high-held.

Him with a casual eye Birinus marked At first; then stood, with upward brow, in trance-- Sudden, as though with Pentecostal flame, His whole face brightened; on him fell from G.o.d Spirit Divine; and thus the prophet cried:

'Who speaks of danger when the Lord of all Decrees high triumph? Victory's chariot winged Up-climbs the frowning mountains of Dismay, As when above the sea's nocturnal verge Twin beams, divergent horns of orient light, Announce the ascending sun. Whatever cloud Protracts the conflict, victory comes at last.

'What ho! ye sons of Odin and the north!

Far off your galleys tarry! English air Reafen, your raven standard, darkened long, Woven of enchantments in the moon's eclipse: It rains its plague no more! The Kingdoms Seven Ye came to set a ravening each on each: Lo, ye have pressed and soldered them in one!

'Behold, a Sceptre rises--not o'er Kent The first-born of the Faith; nor o'er those vales Northumbrian, trod so long by crowned saints; Nor Mercia's plains invincible in war: O'er Wess.e.x, barbarous late, and waste, and small, The Hand that made the worlds that Sceptre lifts; Hail tribe elect, the Judah of the Seven!

'Piercing the darkness of an age unborn, I see a King that hides his royal robe; a.s.sumes the minstrel's garb. Where meet the floods That King abides his time. I see him sweep, Disguised, his harp within the Northmen's camp; In fifty fights I see him victory-crowned; I see the mighty and the proud laid low, The humble lifted. G.o.d is over all.

'The ruined cities 'mid their embers thrill: A voice went forth: they heard it. They shall rise, Their penance done, and cities worthier far With Roman vices ne'er contaminate.

These shall not boast mosaic floor gem-wrought, And trod by sinners. In the face of heaven Their minster turrets these shall lift on high, Inviting G.o.d's great angels to descend And chaunt with them G.o.d's City here on earth.

'Who through the lethal forest cleaves a road Healthful and fresh? Who bridges stream high-swollen?

Who spreads the harvest round the poor man's cot; Sets free the slave? On justice realms are built: Who makes his kingdom great through equal laws Not based on Pagan right, but rights in Christ, First just, then free? Who from her starry gates Beckons to Heavenly Wisdom--her who played Ere worlds were shaped, before the eyes of G.o.d?

Who bids her walk the peopled fields of men, The reverend street with college graced and church?

Who sings the latest of the Saxon songs?

Who tunes to Saxon speech the Tome Divine?

'Sing, happy land! The Isle that, prescient long, Long waiting, hid her monarch in her heart, Shall look on him and cry, "My flesh, my bone, My son, my king!" To him shall Cambria bow, And Alba's self. His strength is in his G.o.d; The third part of his time he gives to prayer, And G.o.d shall hear his vows! Hail, mighty King!

For aye thine England's glory! As I gaze, Methinks I see a likeness on thy brow, Likeness to one who kneels beside my feet!

The sceptre comes to him who sceptre spurned; Through him it comes who sceptre clasped in sport; From Wess.e.x' soil shall England's hope be born Two centuries hence; and Alfred is his name!'

EPILOGUE.

_BEDE'S LAST MAY._