Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SAINT FRIDESWIDE (AN ANGLO-SAXON NUN), by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE Poet's Biography First Line: One love I; one: withing his bridal bower Subject(s): Nuns | ||||||||
'One love I; One: within His bridal bower My feet shall tread: One love I, One alone: His Mother is a Virgin, and His Sire The unfathomed fount of pureness undefiled: Him love I Whom to love is to be chaste: Him love I touched by Whom my forehead shines: Whom she that clasps grows spotless more and more: Behold, to mine His spirit He hath joined: And His the blood that mantles in my cheek: His ring is on my finger.' Thus she sang; Then walked and plucked a flower: she sang again: 'That which I longed for, lo, the same I see: That which I hoped for, lo, my hand doth hold: At last in heaven I walk with Him conjoined Whom, yet on earth, I loved with heart entire.' Thus carolled Frideswida all alone, Treading the opens of a wood far spread Around the upper waters of the Thames. Christian almost by instinct, earth to her Was shaped but to sustain the Cross of Christ. Her mother lived a saint: she taught her child, From reason's dawn, to note in all things fair Their sacred undermeanings. 'Mark, my child, In lamb and dove, not fleshly shapes,' she said, 'But heavenly types: upon the robin's breast Revere that red which bathed her from the Cross With slender bill striving to loose those Nails!' Dying, that mother placed within her hand A book of saintly legends. Thus the maid Grew up with mysteries clothed, with marvels fed, A fearless creature swift as wind or fire: But fires of hers were spirit-fires alone, All else like winter moon. The Wessex King Had gazed upon the glory of her face, And deemed that face a spirit's. He had heard Her voice; it sounded like an angel's song; But wonder by degrees declined to love, Such love as Pagans know. The unworthy suit, She scorned, from childhood spoused in heart to Christ: She fled: upon the river lay a boat: She rowed it on through forests many a mile; A month had passed since then. Midsummer blazed On all things round: the vast, unmoving groves Stretched silent forth their immemorial arms Arching a sultry gloom. Within it buzzed Feebly the insect swarm: the dragon-fly Stayed soon his flight: the streamlet scarce made way: In shrunken pools, panting, the cattle stood, Languidly browsing on the dried-up sprays: No bird-song shook the bower. Alone that maid Glided light-limbed, as though some Eden breeze, Hers only, charioted the songstress on, Like those that serve the May. Beneath a tree Low-roofed at last she sank, with eyes up-raised On boughs that, ivy-twined and creeper-trailed, Darkened the shining splendour of the sky:- Between their interspaces, here and there, It flashed in purple stars. Enraptured long, For admiration was to her as love, The maiden raised at last her mother's book, And lit upon her childhood's favourite tale, Catherine in vision wed to Bethlehem's Babe Who from His Virgin-Mother leaning, dropped His ring adown her finger. Princely pride, And pride not less of soaring intellect, At once in her were changed to pride of love: In vain her country's princes sued her grace; Kingdoms of earth she spurned. Around her seat The far-famed Alexandrian Sages thronged, Branding her Faith as novel. Slight and tall, 'Mid them, keen-eyed the wingless creature stood Like daughter of the sun on earth new-lit:- That Faith she shewed of all things first and last; All lesser truths its prophets. Swift as beams Forth flashed such shafts of high intelligence That straight their lore sophistic shrivelled up, And Christians they arose. The martyr's wheel Was pictured in the margin, dyed with red, And likewise, azure-tinct on golden ground, Her queenly throne in heaven. 'Ah shining Saint!' Half weeping, smiling half, the virgin cried; 'Yet dear not less thy sister of the West; For never gaze I on that lifted face, Or mark that sailing angel near her stayed, But straight her solemn organs round me swell; All discords cease.' Then with low voice she read Of Rome's Cecilia, her who won to Christ, (That earlier troth inviolably preserved) Her Roman bridegroom, wondering at that crown Invisible itself, that round her breathed Rose-breath celestial; her that to the Church Gave her ancestral house; and, happier gift, Devotion's heavenliest instrument of praise; Her that, unfearing, dared that Roman sword; And when its work was done, for centuries lay Like marble, 'mid the catacombs, unchanged, In sleep-resembling death. From earliest dawn That maiden's eyes had watched: wearied at noon Their silver curtains closed. Huge mossy roots Pillowed her head, that slender book wide-leaved In stillness, like some brooding, white-winged dove, Spread on her bosom: 'gainst its golden edge Rested, gold-tinged, the dimpled ivory chin- Loud thunders broke that sleep; the tempest blast Came up against the woods, while bolt on bolt Ran through them sheer. She started up: she saw That Pagan prince and many a sworded serf Rushing towards her. Fleeter still she fled; But, as some mountain beast tender and slight, That, pasturing spring-fed lilies of Cashmere, Or slumbering where its rock-nursed torrents fall, Sudden not distant hears the hunter's cry And mocks pursuit at first, but slackens soon Breathless and spent, so failed her limbs ere long; A horror of great faintness o'er her crept; More near she heard their shout. She staggered on: To threat'ning phantoms all things round were changed; About her towered in ruin hollow trunks Of spiked and branchless trees, survivors sole Of woods that, summer-scorched, then lightning-struck A century past, for one short week had blazed And blackened ever since. She knelt: she raised Her hands to God: she sued for holier prayer Saint Catherine, Saint Cecilia. At that word Behind her close a cry of anguish rang: Silence succeeded. As by angels' help She reached a river's bank: sun-hardened clay Retained the hoof-prints of the drinking herd; And, shallower for long heats, the oxen's ford Challenged her bleeding feet. She crossed unharmed, And soon in green-gold pastures girt by woods Stood up secure. Then forth she stretched her hands, Like Agnes praising God amid the flame: 'Omnipotent, Eternal, Worshipful, One God, Immense, and All-compassionate, Thou from the sinner's snare hast snatched the feet Of her that loved Thee. Glory to Thy name.' Thenceforth secure she roamed those woods and meads; The dwellers in that region brought her bread, Upon that countenance gazing, some with awe But all with love. To her the maidens came: 'Tell us,' they said, 'what mystery hast thou learned So sweet and good;-thy Teacher, who was he; Grey-haired, or warrior young?' To them in turn Ceaseless she sang the praises of her Christ, His Virgin Mother and His heavenly court, Warriors on earth for justice. They for her Renounced all else, the banquet and the dance, And nuptial rites revered. A low-roofed house Inwoven of branches 'mid the woods they raised; There dwelt, and sang her hymn, and prayed her prayer, And loved her Saviour-Sovereign. Year by year More high her bright feet scaled the heavenly mount Of lore divine and knowledge of her God, And with sublimer chant she hymned His praise; While oft some bishop, tracking those great woods In progress to his charge, beneath their roof Baptizing or confirming made abode, And all which lacked supplied, nor discipline Withheld, nor doctrine high. The outward world To them a nothing, made of them its boast: A Saint, it said, within that forest dwelt, A Saint that helped their people. Saint she was, And therefore wrought for heaven her holy deeds; Immortal stand they on the heavenly roll; Yet fewest acts suffice for heavenly crown; And two of hers had consequence on earth, Like water circles widening limitless, For man still helpful. Hourly acts of hers, Interior acts invisible to men, Perchance were worthier. Humblest faith and prayer Are oft than miracle miraculous more:- To us the exterior marks the interior might: These two alone record we. Years had passed: One day when all the streams were dried by heat And rainless fields had changed from green to brown, T'wards her there drew, by others led, a man Old, worn, and blind. He knelt, and wept his prayer: 'Help, Saint of God! That impious King am I, That King abhorred, his people's curse and bane, Who chased thee through these woods with fell resolve, Worst vengeance seeking for insulted pride:- Rememberest thou that, near thee as I closed, Kneeling thou mad'st thy prayer? Instant from God Blindness fell on me. Forward still I rushed, Ere long amid those spiked and branded trunks To lie as lie the dead. If hope remains, For me if any hope survives on earth, It rests with thee; thee only!' On her knees She sank in prayer; her fingers in the fount She dipped; then o'er him signed the Saviour's cross, And thrice invoked that Saviour. At her word Behold, that sightless King arose, and saw, And rendered thanks to God. The legend saith Saint Catherine by her stood that night, and spake: 'Once more I greet thee on thy dying day.' Again the years went by. That sylvan lodge Had changed to convent. Beautiful it stood Not far from Isis, though on loftier ground: Sad outcasts knew it well: whate'er their need There found they solace. One day toward it moved, Dread apparition and till then unknown, Like one constrained, with self-abhorrent steps, A leper, long in forest caverns hid. Back to their cells the nuns had shrunk, o'erawed: Remained but Frideswida. Thus that wretch With scarce organic voice, and aiding sign, Wailed out the supplication of despair: 'Fly not, O saintly virgin! Yet, ah me! What help though thou remainest? Warned from heaven, I know that not thy fountain's healing wave Could heal my sorrow: not those spotless hands: Not even thy prayer. To me the one sole aid Were aid impossible-a kiss of thine.' A moment stood she: not in doubt she stood: First slowly, swiftly then to where he knelt She moved: with steadfast hand she raised that cloth Which veiled what once had been a human face: O'er it she signed in faith the cross of Christ: She wept aloud, 'My brother!' Folding then Stainless to stained, with arms about him wound, In sacred silence mouth to mouth she pressed, A long, long sister's kiss. Like infant's flesh The blighted and the blasted back returned: That leper rose restored. The legend saith That Saint Cecilia by her stood that night: 'Once more I greet thee on thy dying day.' It came at last, that day. Her convent grew In grace with God and man: the pilgrim old Sought it from far; the gifts of kings enlarged:- It came at last, that day. There are who vouch The splendour of that countenance never waned: Thus much is sure; it waxed to angels' eyes:- Welcomed it came, that day desired, not feared. By humbleness like hers those two fair deeds Were long forgotten: each day had its task: Not hardest that of dying. Why should sobs Trouble the quiet of a holy house Because its holiest passes? Others wept; The sufferer smiled: 'Ah, little novices, How little of the everlasting lore Your foolish mother taught you if ye shrink From trial light as this!' She spake; then sank In what to those around her seemed but sleep, The midnoon August sunshine on her hair In ampler radiance lying than that hour When, danger near her yet to her unknown, Beneath that forest tree her eyelids closed- Her book upon her bosom. Near her bed Not danger now but heralds ever young, Saint Catherine, Saint Cecilia, stood once more, Linked hand in hand, with aureoles interwreathed: One gazing stood as though on radiance far With widening eyes: a listener's look intent The other's, soft with pathos more profound. The Roman sister spake: 'Rejoice, my child, Rejoice, thus near the immeasurable embrace And breast expectant of the unnumbered Blest That swells to meet thee! Yea, and on the earth For thee reward remaineth. Happy thou Through prayer his sight restoring to thy foe, Sole foe that e'er thou knew'st though more his own! Child! darkness is there worse than blindness far, Wherein erroneous wanders human Pride; That prayer of thine from age to age shall guard A realm against such darkness. Where yon kine Stand in mid ford, quenching their noontide thirst, Thy footsteps crossed of old the waters. God In the unerasing current sees them still! Close by, a nation from a purer flood Shall quench a thirst more holy, quaffing streams Of Knowledge loved as Truth. Majestic piles Shall rise by yonder Isis, honouring, each, My clear-eyed sister of the sacred East That won to Christ the Alexandrian seers, Winning, herself, from chastity her lore: Upon their fronts, aloft in glory ranged With face to East, and cincture never loosed, All Sciences shall stand, daughters divine Of Him that Truth eterne and boon to man, Holding in spotless hand, not lamp alone, But lamp and censer both, and both alike From God's great Altar lighted.' Spake in turn That Alexandrian with the sunlike eyes: 'Beside those Sciences shall stand a choir As fair as they; as tall; those sister Arts, High daughters of celestial Harmony, Diverse yet one, that bind the hearts of men To steadfast Truth by Beauty's sinuous cords; She that to marble changes mortal thought; She that with rainbow girds the cloud of life; She that above the streaming mist exalts Rock-rooted domes of prayer; and she that rears With words auguster temples. Happy thou Healing that leper with thy virgin kiss! A leprosy there is more direful, child!- Therein the nations rot when flesh is lord And spirit dies. Such ruin Arts debased Gender, or, gendered long, exasperate more. But thou, rejoice! From this pure centre Arts Unfallen shall breathe their freshness through the land, With kiss like thine healing a nation's wound Year after year successive; listening, each, My sister's organ music in the skies, Prime Art that, challenging not eye but ear, To Faith is nearest, and of Arts on earth For that cause, living soul.' That prophecy Found its accomplishment. In later years, There where of old the Oxen had their Ford, The goodliest city England boasts arose, Mirrored in sacred Isis; like that flood Its youth for aye renewing. Convents first Through stately groves levelled their placid gleam, With cloisters opening dim on garden gay Or moonlit lawn dappled by shadowing deer: Above them soared the chapel's reverent bulk With storied window whence, in hues of heaven, Martyrs looked down, or Confessor, or Saint On tomb of Founder with its legend meek 'Pro anim· orate.' Night and day Mounted the Church's ever-varying song Sustained on organ harmonies that well Might draw once more to earth, with wings outspread And heavenly face made heavenlier by that strain, Cecilia's Angel. Of those convents first Was Frideswida's, ruled in later years By Canons Regular, later yet rebuilt By him of York, that dying wept, alas, 'Had I but served my Maker as my king!' To colleges those convents turned; yet still The earlier inspiration knew not change: The great tradition died not: near the bridge From Magdalen's tower still rang the lark-like hymn On May-day morn: high ranged in airy cells, Facing the East, all Sciences, all Arts, Yea, and with these all Virtues, imaged stood, Best imaged stood in no ideal forms, Craft unhistoric of some dreamer's brain, But life-like shapes of plain heroic men Who in their day had fought the fight of Faith, Warriors and sages, poets, saints, and kings, And earned their rest: the long procession paced, Up winding slow the college-girded street To where in high cathedral slept the Saint, Singing its 'Alma Redemptoris Mater,' On August noons, what time the Assumption Feast From purple zenith of the Christian heaven Brightened the earth. That hour not bells alone Chiming from countless steeples made reply: Laughed out that hour high-gabled roof and spire; Kindling shone out those Sciences, those Arts Pagan one time, now confessors white-robed; And all the holy City gave response, 'Deus illuminatio mea est. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAR MEMORY: 2. SOMEONE INSIDE ME REMEMBERS by LUCILLE CLIFTON FAR MEMORY: 5. SINNERMAN by LUCILLE CLIFTON CLARE OF ASSISI by MADELINE DEFREES EXISTING LIGHT; FOR LEE NYE by MADELINE DEFREES GILBERT OF SEMPRINGHAM by MADELINE DEFREES GRANDMOTHER GRANT by MADELINE DEFREES HANGING THE BLUE NUNS; FOR WARREN CARRIER by MADELINE DEFREES IN THE MIDDLE OF PRIEST LAKE by MADELINE DEFREES PSALM FOR A NEW NUN by MADELINE DEFREES A BALLAD OF ATHLONE; OR, HOW THEY BROKE DOWN THE BRIDGE by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE A BALLAD OF SARSFIELD; OR, THE BURSTING OF THE GUNS by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE |
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