Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE SACRILEGIOUS CAROLLERS, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE SACRILEGIOUS CAROLLERS, by                    
First Line: Full ill shall it be in churchyard to dance
Last Line: "of the priest, if he bid ye cease, be still!"
Subject(s): Christmas; "nativity, The;


FULL ill shall it be in churchyard to dance,
This same will I show ye by sore mischance --
And this tale, so I swear to thee, is truth,
Yea, as Gospel lore, so shall it be sooth --
And it happened here, in this very land,
Yea, here in this England, I understand;
In the days of a king men called Edward
It befell, this chance that was wondrous hard.

For so it fell out, on a Christmas Night,
That twelve foolish folk would a carol dight,
Yea, in fashion mad, as in strife it were,
To the town of Colbek they needs must fare;
Therein was a church which was fair and great,
To St. Magnus the Martyr 't was dedicate,
With St. Buckcestre joined, for she, I ween,
Had sister unto St. Magnus been.
The dancers' names, they be written all,
Of some shall ye learn how men did them call --
Gerlew, was he hight, the leader, 't was he
Set the time of their dance, and made the glee;
And maidens twain were that band within,
Merswynde were they called, and Wybessyn.
Thus to Colbek the dancers their way had ta'en
To seek the priest's daughter they there were fain;
The priest was hight Robert -- he had a son,
And as I have read, he was named Ayone,
And his sister, she whom the band did crave
To join in the Carol, was known as Ave.
Then counsel the dancers held withal
Who that maiden forth from the house should call,
The council, I trow, they were of one mind
They would send Wybessyne, and maid Merswynde.
Straightway went the women, and brought her out,
To carol with them the churchyard about.
Bevis was the dancer who led the ring,
While Gerlew, he wrote what they all should sing,
And this was the carol the dancers sung
As men found it writ in the Latin tongue --
"Equitabat Bevo per silvam frondosam,
Ducebat secum Merswyndam formosam --
Quid stamus, cur non imus?"
"Bevis he rode thro' the leafy glade,
He led with him Merswynde, the lovely maid --
Why stand we here? Why go we not?"
This the carol that Gerlew wrote, I wot.

So sang they in the churchyard there,
Nor fear for their folly in heart they bare,
But they sang till the Mattins all were done,
And 't was time for the Mass to be begun;
The priest, he vested him for the Mass,
But never a whit they danced the less,
As they began, so they danced alway,
Nor e'en for the Mass did they think to stay.
The priest at the altar, he needs must hear
The noise, and the dance, that were all too near;
From the altar down stepped the priest so good,
And without the door, 'neath the porch, he stood,
And he quoth: "In God's Name, now take ye heed,
I forbid ye all, longer to do such deed,
But in fashion seemly now draw anear,
And come into the church, the Mass to hear.
Of Christian folk shall ye keep the law,
Nor longer carol -- have Christ in awe,
And worship Him now with all your might
Who once of a Virgin was born this night."
But for all his bidding they stayed them naught,
But danced on ever, as was their thought.
The priest for that was full sorely grieved,
And he prayed to God, on Whom he believed,
That, for Magnus the Martyr, since in his name
The church was founded, to guard His fame,
And such vengeance upon the dancers send
Ere yet they might forth from the churchyard wend,
That their song, and their carol, should ever last
Until that the twelvemonth be overpast --
(But I trow, in Latin the writing bore
Not "a twelvemonth" only, but "evermore.")
Thus on each one singly the curse he laid
The while that, dancing, they merry made.
And soon as the words from his lips had passed
The hands of the dancers were locked full fast,
That never a man, for spell, or wonder,
For a twelvemonth might part their clasp asunder.

The priest went home when the Mass was done,
And straightway hath bidden Ayone, his son,
His sister Ave, without more delay,
Forthwith from the Carol to bring that day.
But all too late he the words had said,
For the curse on them all was straitly laid!
Ayone, he did after his father's rede,
And unto that Carol he went with speed,
His sister he fast by the arm did take
When lo! the arm from the body brake!
All wondered that marvel to behold,
But a greater marvel shall now be told,
For altho' the arm in his hand he bore,
The body, it danced on ever more,
And neither the body, nor e'en the arm,
Shed a drop of blood, were it cold, or warm,
But muscle and bone were as dry to see
As a stick that is broken from a tree.
Ayone, he would back to his father fare,
And a sorry present he brought him there:
"Look, Father," he quoth, "see I bring thee here
Her arm who was once thy daughter dear,
Who was, of aforetime, my sister Ave --
I went thither intent the maid to save,
But thy curse hath fallen, as may be seen,
On thy very flesh and blood, I ween!
All too bitter thy curse, and all too soon --
Thou didst pray for vengeance, thou hast thy boon!"
Small need to ask me if sorrow sore
Fell on the priest, and on many more!

The priest who had cursed thus that evil dance,
On himself, and his folk there fell mischance;
He hath taken his daughter's arm, forlorn,
And hath buried it on the morrow's morn --
But the very next day, that arm of Ave,
He hath found it lying above the grave!
Once more was it buried, the self-same day,
On the morrow, without the grave it lay;
A third time the arm, it was buried low,
And again the ground it forth did throw.
The priest, he dare bury that arm no more,
For the dread of God's Vengeance oppressed him sore,
But into the church did he bear that arm
In dread, and in doubting of further harm,
Ordaining that it in such place should be
That all men with eye might the marvel see.
The dances who carolled there in that band,
Thro' the whole year round, hand fast in hand,
Forth from that place might they never go,
For no man might lead them the churchyard fro';
Where first in the curse's fetters bound,
In that self-same spot did they dance their round,
Nor pain nor weariness did they know,
Such as falls to folk who too far shall go.
They stayed them not, or for meat, or drink;
And never they slept, not a passing wink;
Were it day, were it night, they noted none,
For they knew not whether 't was come, or gone;
Neither frost nor snow, neither hail nor rain,
Neither cold nor heat it might bring them pain.

Their hair nor their nails, ne'er a whit they grew,
Nor faded their clothes, and changed in hue;
Thunder nor lightning, it vexed them not,
God's Mercy, it sheltered them well, I wot,
They sang aye the song that the woe had wrought --
"Why stand we? Why go we naught?"
I trow ne'er a man should living be
Who such marvel were not full fain to see.
The Emperor, Henry, he came from Rome,
He was fain to behold this dance of doom,
But when he had seen it, full bitterly
Did he weep, to behold such misery;
He bade his carpenters build full fast
A roof that should shelter them from the blast,
But all in vain was the work they wrought,
For unto an end might it ne'er be brought,
That which they builded within one day
At dawn of another, on ground it lay,
Once, twice, a third time, the roof they wrought,
But for all their making it came to naught,
From the cold they should never covered be
Till in Christ's own time they should Mercy see.
And that time of Grace came, by God's great Might,
At the twelvemonth end, on that same Yule night,
At the self-same hour that the dance was banned,
At that very hour they loosed their hand;
At the self-same hour that the curse he spake
At that very hour the ring it brake;
Then, e'en in the twinkling of an eye,
Straight to the church did the dancers fly,
And all, on the pavement they fell adown,
And lay as men dead, or in a swoon.
Three days did they lie, as still as stone,
And never they moved, nor in flesh nor bone,
And then when the three days' course was run
To life hath God brought them, every one,
Upright they sat them, and all men heard
How to Robert the priest they spake this word:
"'T is thou art the author and cause withal
Of the penance long which did on us fall,
The maker thou wert of our travail sore
That full many a man hath marvelled o'er,
And by travail too shalt thou find thine end,
For soon to thy long home shalt thou wend!"

Then rose they up, on the self-same day,
Save Ave, she, lifeless, beside them lay --
Her father and brother great mourning made,
And wonder and dread on all men were laid,
Her soul, they deemed it was safe that stead,
But they needs must mourn o'er the body dead.
I trow that the first by her side to lie
Was her father, the priest, in veritie.
The arm that had once belonged to Ave,
Since it ne'er might lie quiet in the grave,
The Emperor bade that a shrine be made
Therein, in the church, should it be displayed,
That all men might look thereupon, and see,
And think of the dance and its penaltie.

Those men that had carolled, a godless band,
Thro' the whole year long, hand fast locked in hand,
Tho' at last their ring, it asunder brake,
Yet the world it still of that wonder spake,
For e'en as they, springing, the carol led,
So, dancing, from land to land they sped;
As aforetime they never might be unbound
So together they never might now be found,
For never, I trow, an it were but twain,
To one place, at one time, they came again!

To the court of Rome four, methinks, did go,
Ever hopping and springing to and fro',
With leaps and bounds did they get them thither,
But never, I trow, did they come together;
Their clothes ware not out, and their nails ne'er grew;
Their hair waxed not long, nor hath changed in hue;
Nor cure might they find for their sore complaint
At the shrine, so 't is said, of any Saint,
Save but at S. Edith's, the virgin pure,
There they say that S. Theodrich found a cure,
On Our Lady's day, in a Lenten tide,
E'en as he slumbered, her tomb beside,
He found there the medicine he sore did crave
At S. Edith's, the holy virgin's, grave.
Now Bruno, the bishop of S. Toulous,
He hath written this tale so marvellous,
Sithen, did he win him a greater fame,
For as Leo, the Pope, all men know his name.
Even there, at the court of Rome, to wit,
In the chronicles shall ye find it writ.
And in many places beyond the sea
It is better known than in this countrie,
And therefore the saying, it goes abroad,
"The nearer the church, the further from God."
And in different wise the tale doth fare,
For some for a fiction that same declare,
While in other places they hold it dear,
And the marvel be ever fain to hear.
But the tale doth examples twain rehearse:
For first, 't is a warning against a curse;
And again, it should teach ye to fear this thing,
In church, or in churchyard, to dance and sing;
Still less shall ye do it against the will
Of the priest, if he bid ye cease, be still!





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