Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A VISION OF SAINTS: S. MARINA, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A VISION OF SAINTS: S. MARINA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: And then it was a girl who seemed a youth
Last Line: "obedient and in great humility."
Subject(s): Saints


And then it was a girl who seemed a youth,
With pure sweet eyes, wearing a monkish garb,
Within whose arms a young child nestled close,
While she along the fields of Paradise
Plucked lilies for it. Spotless innocence
Shone from her, and around her comely head
A finer motherhood. And thus the voice:

"In Egypt long ago a humble hind
Lived happy. One fair daughter of his love
Was his, a modest flower, that came to bless
The evening of his days. But time and change
Assiled his well-loved home, and took from him
The partner of his life; and when the blow
Had fallen, loathing of the weary world
Seized him, and, leaving his young girl behind
With some who tended her, he went his way
Across the desert sands, and in a cave
Long time he lived, a pious eremite
Withdrawn from men. But when the rapid years
Hurried his child to budding maidenhood,
Knowing the perils of the world, his soul
Grew troubled, and he could not bear the dread
That day and night beset him for her sake;
So that his vigils and his prayers seemed vain,
Nor bore their grateful suffrage to the skies,
Since over all his mind would brood a doubt
For her and her soul's health, revolving long
How she should 'scape the world and be with him,
Because no woman might draw near the cell
Of any pious hermit. At the last
He counselled her, taking the garb of man,
To come to him, leaving the world behind;
And the fair girl, loving her sire, obeyed,
And lived with him in duty to the end.

And when he died, leaving the girl alone,
The brethren of a cloistered convent near,
Seeing the friendless youth, and pitying
His loneliness, and holding high his love
For his dead sire, offered him food and home
Within the holy house; and there he served,
A young man in the blossom of his age,
Sweet natured, pious, humble, drawing to him
The friendship of the youths, the love of maids

But all his soul was rapt with thoughts of Heaven,
Taking no thought for earth, and so it came
The youthful Brother grew in every grace
And great humility, and was to all
Example of good life and saintly thought,
And was Marinus to the monks, who loved
Their blameless serving-lad, nor knew at all
That 'twas a maid indeed who lived with them.

Now, as in all humility he served,
The Abbot, trusting him beyond the rest,
Would send him far across the desert sands,
With wagons and with oxen, to the sea,
As steward for the House; and oftentimes
The young man stayed far from his convent home,
With some rude merchant who purveyed their food;
And oft amid the wild seafaring folk
His days were passed, and coarse disordered lives;
And oftentimes the beauty of the youth
Drew many a woman's heart who deemed him man.
But still the saintly tenour of her way
The maiden kept, serene, with innocent eyes,
So that before her face the ribald rout
Grew sober, and among the styes of sense
Unstained she walked in spotless purity,
A youth in grace, keeping a virgin heart.

But one, the daughter of his host, would cast
A loving eye upon him -- all in vain;
For careless still he went his way, nor took
Heed of her love nor her, and oftentimes
He would reprove her of his maiden soul,
Knowing a woman's weakness, and would say,
'Sister, I prithee think of whom thou art,
And set a watch upon thy feet.' But she,
Hating the faithful candour of the youth,
Fell into utter wretchlessness of sin;
And when her sire, discovering her disgrace,
Threatened her for her fault, a shameless thought
Seized her, and she, with feigned reluctancy,
Sware he deserted her, and with her child
Came to the saintly Abbot, where he sate
Judging the brethren. Then great anger seized
The reverend man that at his heart he nursed
A viper which thus stung him, and he cried,
'Vile wretch, who dost disgrace our holy house!
Thou hypocrite, soiling the spotless robe
Of saintly purity! I do denounce
Thy wickedness. No longer canst thou be
A brother to thy brethren here, who live
Pure lives unstained. My sentence on thee is
That thou be scourged, and from this reverend house
Go forth in shame, and work what viler work
The brethren find for thee; and this poor child
Take thou with thee, and look that thou maintain
Its growing life, since thus thy duty bids thee.
Or if my mercy spare thee from the stripes
Thou hast deserved, 'tis for its sake, not thine.
Go, get thee gone, and never dare again
Pollute my presence.'
Long she strove to speak,
But her lips formed no word. And then she rose
Meekly, and, answering no word, went forth,
Bowed down with shame, and yet not ill content,
Deeming it but the penance which her sins
Had merited. And when the little one
Stretched forth its hands, she clasped it to her breast,
Her virgin breast, and all the sacred glow
Of motherhood, which lurks within the hearts
Of innocent maidens, rising soothed her pain;
And, wandering forth, she found some humble hut
For shelter. There by alms and servile tasks,
'Mid great despite of all who knew her once
In days of honour; hungry, lonely, poor,
And ofttimes begging bread, she pined long time,
Till the young life Heaven gave her, throve and grew
In happy innocence, and all who passed
Might hear twin voices mingling in the hymns --
The father's, who was mother, and the child's --
And wondering went their way.
So that pure soul
Grew tranquil, even on earth. Yet in her heart
Deep down the rankling sorrow dwelt, and burned
The sources of her being, and sometimes
Her penance grew too hard, and almost broke
The bonds of silence; then again her soul
Took courage, persevering to the end,
Knowing her sins, and how the pain she bore,
Though undeserved, was nothing to the sum
Of her offence, dear heart! and hoping from it
The fair reward of utter faithfulness.

But not the less the insults and the shame
Consumed her life and strength, and day by day,
When now the innocent she loved had grown
To happy childhood, weaker and more weak,
Her failing forces waned, till on her bed
Stretched helpless lay the maid. And when she knew
Her hour was come, she summoned to her side
An aged woman whom she knew of yore,
What time she seemed a frank and eager youth,
Ere her shame took her; and when she was come,
Quickly with trembling hand she beckoned her,
Giving her charge, when she was dead, to take
Her child to the good brethren, with her prayer
That they should keep it safe.
Then with weak hand
She bared her innocent virgin breast and smiled,
A sad wan smile, and, looking up to Heaven,
Breathed her last breath.
And she who saw, amazed,
With mingled joy and tears, composed with care
The virgin limbs, and wrapped her in her shroud,
And hasting to the convent with the child
Left orphan, told the tale. And when he heard,
The holy Abbot knelt with bitter grief
All night before the altar, asking grace
Of Heaven, that he had wronged that saintly soul
By base suspicion; and the brotherhood
Bewailed the pure girl-saint, who bore so long
In blessed silence taunts and spite and shame,
Obedient and in great humility."





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