Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A VISION OF SAINTS: SS. ADRIAN AND NATALIA, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A VISION OF SAINTS: SS. ADRIAN AND NATALIA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: And then it was a youthful pair who came
Last Line: "or life-long suffering witness to the right?"
Subject(s): Saints


And then it was a youthful pair who came,
And noble both, who to each other clung
In tender love: he a young soldier tall,
With the proud mien and port of one who strode
From the far North to the extremest South
Before Rome's conquering legions, o'er the world,
Bearing the eagles forth; she a fond wife,
Who clasped and kissed his hand, and gazed on him
With youthful eyes, while with the unbraided gold
Of her fair hair, bright as the crowns they wore,
He with pure yearning played. I knew them not,
Nor doth the world as yet, when thus my guide:

"Adrian, Tribune of the Imperial Guard,
When the tenth wave of blood assailed the Faith
Served in Bithynia. There, a youth in years,
He lived in wedlock with his youthful love,
Natalia, fair, and virtuous as fair,
And secretly of Christ. When came command
That all should kneel before the heathen gods,
The brave S. George tore from the city walls
The shameful edict. Then, with coward rage,
The Pagan Caesars in one day haled forth
Two score to death with torture. In the hall
Of judgment Adrian, as beseemed his rank,
Stood with his soldiers. Fierce and fiercer still
The torturers plied their hellish arts; and he,
Seeing how firm the martyrs stood and bore
Fell malice and the black despite of men,
Wondered to see their pious constancy.
Last, his great heart grew sickened at the wrong,
And then the strong resistless tide of Faith
Took him, and he believed, because he knew,
That this thing was of God; and his brave soul,
Which scorned concealment and the hypocrite's wiles,
Burst into word and act, and from his breast
He tore the glittering emblems of his rank,
And, flinging from him the dishonoured sword
Which served the Pagan, being now of Christ,
While all his soldiers wondered, knowing not
What thing he would, amid the painful throng
Of prisoners standing, cried aloud and said,
'I too am with them, for I am of Christ;
Torture me, slay me, too.' Then, with amaze,
The guards advancing haled him with the rest
To prison and to death. But he gave thanks
For what had been, and, glorying in his faith,
Went with his suffering brethren to his doom.

Now, when these things were done, there fell deep awe
And pity on all who heard, and to the house
Of Adrian hastened breathless messengers
To tell of what had been, and how its lord,
Spurning the Pagan gods, had braved his doom.
'Adrian is Christian and holds fast the Faith,
And goes to torture for his Master's name.'
Thus said they; and his wife, who heard the tale,
Felt her young heart beat slow, then cease with pain,
And swooned; but when her life returned to her,
Gave thanks and wept for joy that he, her love,
Was worthy to bear witness to the Faith
And know a blessed death.
Quickly she rose
And hastened to the prison cell, and there
Fell prone on his beloved neck, and kissed
His heavy chains, giving God praise that he,
Like her, was of the Faith, and bade him keep
The Truth through death and torment to the end,
And comforted her love, and clasped him round,
And, on his dear lips showering kisses, went
Back to their lonely palace. Three long days
She spent in prayer for him, on whom the fell
Forces of evil worked their will, and doomed
His life to cruel death; but never again,
Loving with all her tender heart, would dare
To seek his prison cell, lest haply Love
Should conquer Duty; but her faithful prayer
Rose for him day and night, that he might live
Or die, if such God's will, true to the Faith.
But on the prisoner Adrian, longing came,
When now he was condemned and the new day
Should bring him death with pain, if only he
Might see his love once more, and when 'twas night,
Though firm and constant in the Faith and strong
To die for it, an innocent desire
To look once more in those beloved eyes,
And press once more tho estainless lips, and hear
Once more that tender voice, and seem again
A lover as of yore; and, offering gold
And giving surety for his safe return
Ere the dawn brought the day when he should die,
The prison doors flew open, and he stole --
Free once again, as if the fateful Past
Were but a dreadful nightmare of his sleep --
Forth from the dungeon's close and filthy air,
Through the cool night, by the familiar ways,
None in the darkness marking him, to where,
Within his palace halls, Natalia mused,
Sad, silent, lonely, half distrught in mind --
Sad she should see no more the well-loved face,
Glad that her love bare witness to the Faith --
Seeking to exorcise her painful thought
With spinning. Then one hastened in and cried,
'Be of good heart, dear mistress, for my lord,
'Scaping the dungeon, comes and will be here.
Prepare for flight; you shall li e happy yet.
Have all things ready. Lo! the night is dark;
Take horse and flee.'
Then through that faithful heart
A thousand warring tides of passion surged --
Hope, fear, love, duty, natural joy and pride
Because she was a wife and rapt in love;
But at the last, the passion of the Faith
Prevailing, prone to earth she fell, and cried,
'Ah, miserable me, who am too vile
To wed with one who wears the martyr's crown!
Shall not all men cry shame on me, whose love
Led Adrian astray, who else had dared
The fiercest torments which the devilish spite
Of Hell devised for him! Oh, my lost love,
'Twere better I should love thee thus, and bear
Part in thy glory, though it came with death,
Than live with thee dishonoured and, through me,
Sinking in coward fear the love of God.
Nay, my loved Adrian, not for me indeed
Shalt thou deny the Faith.'
Now Adrian heard,
Standing without, his wife's beloved voice,
And caught her words, and could not brook delay
An in tant, but burst swiftly in and clasped her
Close to his heart, and lifting up his voice --
'Noblest and best of women, I give praise
To God that thou art strong, and that thy soul
Is steadfast as my own. I do but come
To say to thee "Farewell," for with the day
I am condemned to die. Full well I knew
Thy love would never tempt me to be false;
For only utter faithfulness is love
But now thy loyal soul has smoothed my path
And left my duty easier, and I go
Back to my dungeon with a cheerful heart
That I have seen thy face.'
Then she arose
And kissed him, and upon his breast she laid
Her wifely head; and straight, without a word,
They twain went unattended through the night,
Who might have fled, and by the wellknown streets,
Hushed now and slumbering; guarded by no guard
Save their own honour, sought the prison gate.
And, much amazed, the warder marked them come,
Hand clasped in hand, and swung the sounding door;
And in his prison cell till dawn of day
They sate together, waiting for the end.
And Adrian, when the day was come, went forth
To judgment, and they scourged him sore and racked
His limbs with cruel tortures. But his wife
They drave forth from him, and he lay alone
On the cold ground, with none to comfort him,
Since well they knew what charity inspired
The womanly soft hearts which called on Christ;
And she, lamenting sore and half distraught
Because he suffered with no hand to soothe
His painful limbs, rose suddenly and took
A daring purpose. From her comely head
She sheared the golden treasure of her hair,
Donning man's garb, and gained the prison gate,
Disguised, nor known to any as she went,
A man with all a woman's pitying heart,
A woman with the courage of a man;
And, gaining entrance, sought her love, and bound
His piteous wounds, soothed him with loving words.
'Light of mine eyes, how blest art thou,' she cried,
'To suffer for the Faith!' and strengthened him,
And lulled his pain to sleep, and with him sate,
Sleepless herself, his head upon her breast,
Filled with deep grief and saintly ecstasy,
Until the slow dawn, glimmering, brought the day.

Then, when the sun had risen, there came command
That he should die; but first, with hateful art,
His good right hand they severed while he lived.
And she saw all, and watched without a word,
And all her tender woman's heart stood still
To see his pain, and fain had borne it all --
Filled with high pride, yet tortured with regret
That she had wrought this thing; and round him cast
Her wifely arms, prayed with him, and sustained
His ebbing life, till, ere the headsman came
To sever from the trunk the well-loved head,
With one deep sigh, he breathed his last and gave
His soul to God.
But she, when all was done,
Kissed him upon the painless brow, and stooped
And took his severed hand, the dear dead hand
Which oft had smoothed her hair; and in her bosom,
Upon her wifely breast, she hid it close,
The dear dead hand! and, hurrying to her home,
Safe in her palace chamber folded it
With linen kerchiefs fine, and wrapt it round
With precious spices sweet and perfumed oils,
And by her lonely bedside kept it long,
And often, ere the grey dawn broke, would rise
And kiss and clasp it, giving thanks to God
That her love kept the Faith.
But the saint's body
Some faithful Christians stealing from the jail
Bore to Byzantium; there with pious care
They buried it, and costly obsequies.

But she, the sainted woman, dwelt alone
Long time within her palace, cherishing
The memory of her love. Caesar at last,
Hating her constant soul, bade her prepare
For wedlock with some favourite of the Court,
A Tribune of the Guard. No word she breathed
Of disobedience, but one night she fled
Her widowed home, and, taking ship, sailed forth
To Argyropolis, across the sea;
And when they told her how her love was laid
Hard by, within a costly sepulchre,
Dwelt there long time, grown happier that she held
Her love's beloved dust. Oft in the night
She rose and took her to the tomb, and there
Knelt, and full often in her weary sleep,
Heavy with tears, the blessed Adrian
Visited her in dreams, and shone on her
Bright with the glory of beatitude,
Beckoning that she should follow, till her soul,
Straining its earthly fetters, longed to rise
And join her love in bliss. And so at length
Her fervent prayer was granted. Death set free
That faithful heart; and when at last, it loosed
Her prisoned spirit, lo! a glorious quire
Of Angels, and amid them Adrian,
To meet her as she rose; and sphere on sphere
They soared together heavenward into joy,
Where are the just of old, the seers, the saints
And witnesses, and there, no more to part,
Bathed in the full light of the Heavenly Sun,
They dwell together for ever and are blest."

And as I listened, rapt in tearful thought,
And musing on the mystery of Pain
That wings the saintly soul, I heard again:

"Not only through the dungeon or the rack
Is won the Martyr's crown. Blest souls indeed
Are those which suffer openly, and reap
Through bodily pain the rich reward of Love --
Dear souls and strong; but those who only bear
The suffering of the soul, when the racked spirit
Gives love for faith, and dooms a life to die,
Dearer than life, for duty, and lives on
And bears and does not die, but wears its load
For weary years, and hears no loud acclaim
Of heavenly quires, and bears no victor's palm,
But lives self-doomed to solitude and doubt,
And finds the closed heavens deaf, the past a dream,
And all the future dumb -- for these, too, Heaven
Keeps its own crown, as precious as the pearl
Of sacrifice which shining lights the brow
Of agony, -- its own triumphant crown.
For what is martyrdom but witness borne
To God and Truth, in body as in soul,
Through life and death, through sudden stress of pain
Or life-long suffering witness to the Right?"





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