PART V. At length, after long travel past, Strong as the ocean-flood. A strong, deep sound of many sounds, And through the city gate a throng A busy mingling human tide Of those who came and went. "T was a proud city and a rich; A city fair and old; Filled with the world's most costly things, — Of precious stones and gold; There found her a poor carpenter "Come!" said he, "thou unto my house, Shalt go: and of my bread, Unto an humble place that stood 'Mong dwellings of the poor He brought her; bade her welcome thrice Unto his lowly door. The good-wife met her with like cheer, Was blessed exceedingly; their store "T was she that blessed the bread they ate, With simple hearts that had no guile With love that would not be repressed, How Mary washed his feet with tears, And how the sinful woman stood Unjudged before his face; How to the thief upon the cross He said, thou art forgiven, So preached the carpenter; and men And Christian prayer was heard around, Strange seemed these things; and to the rich, And to the proud, 't was told, How many of the meaner sort Lived like the saints of old. How holy, blameless, were their lives; The gospel preached the while. "T was told of Marien; how she came As thus 't was told, some blessed God, "Bishops have taught a thousand years, And learned men are they; These are mad doctrines, false, unfit, Therefore the simple people were And for the faith they taught. They answered, “let alone All pride of rank; Christ chose the poor, To make his gospel known. "And what are we ?- Immortal souls, For whom Christ's blood was shed; As God shall judge the dead!" Then were they questioned of old creeds; So that their artless lore might fail, But they were steadfast in the faith And thence it was adjudged a crime And the grave synod rose in wrath, PART VI. So perished for their faith in Christ, This righteous couple; for their foes Beseeching pardon; blessing God 1 That they were reckoned among those Worthy to die for Christ, whose place Is with the Holiest face to face. Beside the pile stood Marien Weeping sad human tears, Yet strengthening, comforting the while, And as she spoke, her countenance Celestial beauty streamed. Men looked on her with wondering awe, As on an angel's face, And pity, and love, and sweet remorse, In every heart had place. Throughout the city rang the tale As Christ among the doctors stood, Yet with sweet words and argument, All were amazed who heard her words; Then threatening words anon grew soft, And thou with us shalt go," They said, "and with the poor and vile, No longer suffer woe. "Thou shalt be clothed in purple robes, In gold and linen fine; Shalt eat the daintiest food; shalt drink The spirit-gladdening wine. “And with us in proud palaces A crowned queen shalt be; Are these the men to make thee rich. "Nay," said sweet Marien, “as a queen It is not I may bide; I am not won with power nor gold, "Who clothes the lilies of the field, But still the tempters kept with her; They showed her all that palace proud; They showed her store of gold; They told her of a hundred realms, And wealth a hundred-fold. "And all this shall be thine," they said, All this be thine, and more, So thou wilt bind thyself to us, And leave the weak and poor! As now ye offer me!" Those rugged brows grew dark. “Come now With us," they fiercely said, "And see what never daylight saw, The halls of dool and dread!" Then unto chambers hidden, vast, They led her; there was set the rack, The knotted cord, the screw, And many a horrid instrument, "These," said they, "Look well; could'st thou endure these things? Then Marien meekly answered, “What Will strengthen me to bear!" "Come onward yet," they said; and down Through vapours pestilent. And then with sullen iron keys Old, white-haired men; men middle-aged, Ne'er lifted up the head;- Demanded liberty. With bleeding heart went Marien on ; And her conductors spake, "These are our victims; these await The rack, the cord, the stake. "And as these are, so shalt thou be, If thou our will gainsay; Accept our service, pride, and power; Or, on this very day, Racked, prisoned, poor, and miserable, And, "Oh, dear Lord," she cried, Like him who bowed, and died!” They took her:- of that prison house, PART VII. THEN forth they brought her; gave her wine And pleasant food to eat; And "rest thee, Marien, in our arms," Sung syren voices sweet. "Rest thee within our arms; refresh Thy fainting soul with wine; Eat and be glad; forget the past, And make all pleasure thine!" "Tempt me not!" said the feeble child, "Take hence your spiced bowl; Is 't not enough to rack my limbs, But you must vex my soul? "Look at my flesh, which ye have torn; Look at your bloody rack; – To my own people back. "To my own people let me go, A bruised and broken reed; I for your purpose am unmeet; So, in her weakness, prayed the child; Into a noisome prison-house, As if God had forsaken her, For many a weary day. She thought of her sweet forest life, Weak, woodland creatures, tamed by love, She thought of him, the forest-lord, And of the forest-grange; Of the delicious life she led, With liberty to range. And as she thought, even as a child's, The ceaseless tears did flow, For torturing pain and misery Had brought her spirit low. When one from out the felon-band Came softly to her side, And "do not weep, thou little child!" With pitying voice, he cried. Like unto days of heaven; "Blessed be God!" said Marien, Who out of darkness brought forth light!" And thus she wept no more. But ever of the Saviour taught; How, not to kings and mighty men And how, throughout the host of heaven O'er one poor sinner who doth turn Thus with the felons she abode, Turned into means of good. Now all this while sweet Marien's friends, Of her took painful thought, resolved And at the last they compassed it, With labour long and great; And through the night they hurried her There many a mother stood, and child, Thus, thus to meet, as 'twere from death, To bid her go, whom so they loved, Thus, amid blessings, prayers, and tears PART VIII. A BOW-SHOT from the city-gate With bounding step she onward went, O'er fragrant tracks of purple thyme, Joyful in her release she went, Still onward yet, and higher; Up many a mossy, stony steep, Through many a flock of mountain sheep, Onward and upward still she went The days of her captivity, The days of fear and pain, Were past, and now through shade and shine, She wandered free again. Free, like the breezes of the hill, Free, like the waters wild; And ever when she needed food, For He who fed by Cherith-brook And ever when she needed rest, Then forth she journeyed. Soon the hills Toward the great sea for many days; And now she heard its roar; Had sunlit glimpses of it now, And now she trod the shore. A rugged shore of broken cliffs, And barren wave-washed sand, A weary way walked Marien A weary, solitary way; And as the day declined Over the dark and troubled sea Arose a stormy wind. The heavy waves came roaring in With the strong coming tide; The rain poured down, aud deep dark night Closed in on every side. There stood the homeless Marien With bare, unsandaled feet; And on her form, with pitiless force, The raging tempest beat. Clasping her hands, she stood forlorn, "In tempest, and in night:" She cried, "Oh Lord, I trust in thee, Of a poor fisher good, Whose loving wife but yesternight Since that day's noon, alone had been At noon he kissed his little ones, And would be back, he said, Long ere night closed; but with the night It was an old and crazy boat, "Oh sorrow, sorrow!" groaned he forth, And on his children small. "Oh sorrow, sorrow!" loud he cried, Now all this while the children small Of their dead mother's face. And when, to while the time, they played They found they had not hearts for mirth, But when, hour after hour went on, It would have touched a heart of stone So young and so forlorn;-their words And now they shouted through the storm; As they had seen their mother do, A fire of wood they lit, And steer his boat by it. Unto this light came Marien; And ere her weary feet Had reached the floor, the children ran And give him welcome sweet. Had run his mortal race; But God had sent his Comforter PART IX. WOE's me, what secret tears are shed, He goeth on his daily course, Made fat with oil and wine, And pitieth not the children small, That all day long, lean, pale, and faint, To him they are but as the stones It entereth not his thoughts that they |