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


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A VISION OF SAINTS: S. DOROTHEA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: And then there passed a beautiful fair maid
Last Line: "to soar through suffering to a higher life."
Subject(s): Saints


And then there passed a beautiful fair maid,
A virgin martyr, from whose comely head
Shone brighter than her crown, a ray serene
Of stainless purity. Her spotless robe
Gleamed with strange light, and at her breast she bore
Celestial lilies and a fragrant spoil
Of roses red and white, red as the blood
Of Martyrdom, white as the innocent life
Of maidenhood; and straight I knew the name
Of Dorothea, whose fair story fires
Poet and painter still; and as I gazed
I heard, with eager ears, my guide recount
The half-remembered tale, and thus he spake:

"In Caesarea dwelt a noble maid,
A Christian, serving God with prayer and alms
And fasting. None more beautiful or pure
In all the city, and her fitting name
Was Dorothea. And the fame of her,
Her beauty, and her saintly life went forth
Through all the country.
When the governor,
Who hated Christ, holding the older creed,
Heard of her name and deeds, he gave command
That they should bring her to him. On a day
He sate on high in judgment, when they brought
The maid; and she, with mantle folded close
Around her, and chaste downcast eyes, drew near,
When he with threatening voice would ask of her,
'Who art thou?' And the maiden: 'Sir, my name
Is Dorothea, and I serve the Lord.
Then he, with fury: 'Thou shalt serve our gods
Or die the death.' But she, with accents mild:
'If I shall die, the sooner shall my eyes
Behold His Presence whom they long to see.'
And he: 'Whom namest thou?' Then she: 'The Lord,
In whom I live, who is my Heavenly Spouse,
Who dwells in Paradise, with whom I long
To be, leaving this dead poor earth, and know
The fruits that mellow in His garden-ground,
The roses that shall never fade, but bear
Such amaranthine blooms as heat nor cold
Withers, nor time, but blush for ever sweet.
Work thou thy will. For me to die is gain,
And to live, loss; but for thy Pagan gods,
I will have none of them, nor sacrifice
To wood or stone, the figments of men's hands.'

Then he, who could not bend that steadfast soul,
Commanded they should take her to her cell.
Thither he summoned an apostate pair,
Christita and Calista, once of Christ,
On whom the fear of swift and painful death,
The terror of the torments which the spite
Of men prepared for them, worked in such sort
That they renounced the Faith and knelt again
Before the old false gods. To these he gave
Great promise of reward if they should make
This noble virgin partner in their sin,
And to her prison cell, day after day,
Despatched them, and they strove to do his will,
Using the coward's weapons, -- fear of death,
Hope of some baser happiness, and doubts
If 'twere indeed of God the Faith she held,
Or if 'twere haply best to live and serve
The elder gods to whom their fathers knelt;
And how 'twas sweeter far to know the love
Of spouse and children, and the joys of home,
Than to fling life away upon a dream,
And feel the ravening tigers' jaws, the bite
Of the keen flames, withering the flesh, the keen
Thin knives, the crushing rack, and all the arts
Of the tormentors' hands. But as they spake
She with such faith reproved their perfidy
That in despair they ceased.
At last, in turn,
With lucid thought and Heaven-sent utterance
She bore on them; dressed with such precious robes
The beauty of the Truth; spurned with such power
The Pagan lie; showing with pitying love
The misery of unfaith, the joys they lost
Who did deny the Faith, knowing it true
And having once believed; that suddenly,
As self-convicted by the accusing voice
Of their own selves, those weak apostate souls
Shrank from her as from a consuming fire,
And, grown repentant of their wrong, confessed
Their fault, and, falling down before her feet,
Besought her she would pray for them, and seek
Remission of their sins; and she, indeed,
With great joy kneeling with them, sought in prayer
Forgiveness for their fault, and when they rose,
She kissed them, and they went, with steadfast voice
And joyful, openly confessing Christ.

But when the tyrant learnt what thing had been,
He gave command that those poor penitents
Should die by fire before the virgin's eyes,
That she might share their pain. The fierce flames leapt,
The hapless sisters suffered, giving praise.
And Dorothea watched their pangs, and cried,
'Fear not, dear sisters; suffer to the end,
And take for price of those brief fleeting pains
Eternal bliss in Heaven.' So they died firm.
And she, in turn before the tyrant brought,
Was doomed to instant death. But ere she died
They racked her tender limbs, while she gave thanks
And bore their worst unmoved; and then they led her
To where the headsman with his gleaming axe
Awaited her, and with him welcome Death.

But as she passed, there rose the mocking voice
Of one, a lawyer, who, when first the maid
Was brought to judgment, mocked the words she spake
Of the sweet flowers and fruits of Paradise,
Which ever in the garden of the Lord
Spring in perpetual beauty; nor doth there
Snow come, nor frost, but evermore the heavens
Smile on them, and they ripen, till they breathe
Celestial odours fine, celestial hues
Brighten them, and whoso shall take of them
Shall taste eternal bliss. Seeing her pass,
And mindful of her words, inflamed with scorn,
His shallow witless mirth and Pagan spite
Brake forth. 'Fair maiden hastening to thy Spouse,
Send me, I pray thee, of the fruits, the flowers
Of His celestial garden; for with us
'Tis winter, and no flowers nor fruits are here,
But only clouds and snows and bitter winds,
Scourging the naked fields. Send me of them,
For fain am I to take them.' As he spake
The maiden, bending, with a gentle smile,
Answered, 'I will.' And he, with scoffs and jeers,
Turned with his graceless fellows, mocking her;
But she went calm and cheerful to her death.

Now, when she reached the place where she should die,
She knelt awhile, bowing her head in prayer;
And when she rose prepared for death, there came
A precious portent. For beside her stood,
To comfort her, a youthful Angel fair,
With locks of gold, and eyes like autumn skies;
And in his hands he bore, so runs the tale,
A basket, and, within, three golden fruits
Of Paradise, of scent and hue divine,
And with them three fair roses, sweeter far
Than the twice-bearing Paestine gardens bare,
Summer and autumn. Then, with a sweet smile
Of Faith triumphant: 'Pray you, good my lord,
Carry these fruits and flowers to him who spake
While I was passing to my death, and say,
"'Tis Dorothea sends them, and she goes
Before thee to the garden whence they came,
And doth await thee there."'
Then with the word
She bent her gentle neck upon the block,
And took the blow which sped her soul to Heaven.

Now, as she died, the scoffing lawyer stood
Among his comrades, jesting at the gift
The maiden promised. But when now they sate
Feasting, around them gilded images
Of the false gods, taking no care nor thought
For what had been, the torture and the pain,
Lo! suddenly a heavenly presence showed,
From whence he knew not, fair, with shining face,
And locks of gold, and eyes as blue as Heaven,
And in his hand a basket with the fruits
And flowers of Paradise, who spake no word
But, 'Dorothea sends them, and she goes
Before thee to the garden whence they came,
And doth await thee there,' and having said,
Vanished as he had come.
And the youth's heart
Was touched with awe and pity, and he rose,
And his heart melted, and he seemed to take
Of the celestial fruit, as one who takes
The Eucharistic bread; and straight his soul
Rose to new life, and held the Faith, and owned
The Holy Name, and bore like her his pain,
And passed from pain to life, and gained the crown
Of martyrdom, and is like her in joy."

And when he ceased, my soul within me cried,
"Oh, sweet celestial flowers and fruits divine,
Which are good words and faithful deeds that spring
From flower to fruit in Heaven! Shall any hear
This precious legend with a heart unmoved
By the ineffable gifts whose sign ye are --
The flower of loving words, which can disarm
The brute within our hearts; the precious fruit
Of faithful deeds, which he who tastes and makes
His own shall find indeed a heavenly food --
Strengthen his strength, make clean his soul, and breed
New thoughts within him, till his lower self,
Sunk deep in sense, dull, gross, denying Heaven,
Falls down from him, and, a new creature, comes
To soar through suffering to a higher life."





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