Book XXIII

BEING Auleius, in whose heart hath entered Christ,
As heaven's light, among his clownish folk;
To Avalon now arrived, with peaceful heart;
He is again, there, three days, guest of Joseph.

When erst then stilled the tumult of his breast;
Leading the man of God, apart, he asks;
Touching Rosmerta, the beloved daughter;
To espouse her, as he is a Roman knight.
After short pause, the father answered thus;
My son, and thou mayest faithfully believe.
With us; and be baptized into Christ's death!

But heard this word, the Roman somewhile stood,
Silent; so, sadly musing, wandered forth.
He, found his steed, him bridles, in fresh mead;
And, (without purpose, whither,) mounts to ride;
Alone, and without any company.

Is Pudens ridden now forth, a mile or twain:
And thirsts his pensive soul, unto her good;
And yet, fantastic, dreams his gentile gods.

He thinks, of Alcestis, and Orpheus!

Was Plato's Word, which formed the heavenly maid;
And clothed her idea, with flesh of babe;
Which sith, in gardens of Adonis, nursed
The Graces three. Each gave her heavenly gift;
When they, in blissful well-spring, there amidst,
Had washed, from her pure clay, all mingled dross.

Bare Harmony, in her clear bosom, her to Earth.

Where daily her beauty the bright hours increased.

Her helm-clad Pallas gave then hew and voice.

Like descant of the Attic nightingale;
Lips dropping honey, as Hymettus' hive;
Whereas men's wandering thoughts, as bees, alight.

Is, in the lesser Elevsinian rites;
Wherein initiate was his father Verus,
Verse, which he, ofttime, heard, of him, rehearsed;
How, (children of the Sun,) should be our life
An harmony, as of music, in the earth.
Our soul age neither hath nor sex, though clothed,
(From heaven descended,) in an earthborn flesh.

Some, sign of washing, from our former guilts,
Wont be in all catharsla or mysteries.

Was in his mind, ride, by that timber path:
But, like one blind, this young knight round still goeth,
In his long musing, as in some dim wood.
Sudden then stooped, in moldwarp's rotten earth,
Auleius' tall steed; and he, well-skilled to ride,
(That never, erst, from warlike steed was cast,)
Pight, on his head; and, in a bramble-bush,
In trance, now lieth. And that sweet-smelling briar,
His pale brows guirlands, with her dainty flowers.

None, save Rosmerta, wist of this mishap;
But eagle-eyed is love. She viewed fare forth
The knight. From hill-brow, training, turns his steed;
His gold-bossed bridle empty, on green bent!
Generous, as longs, of kind, to noble blood,
She outruns fleet-foot then; runs-on, Briton maid.
Soon she hath caught that barded Roman steed,
Which cometh, soft hinnying, to her lily hands;
As joying vail, to her, his lofty crest,
And sue her gracious steps. Their lady run,
Saw Dylan's sons, and left the flocks: his sons
Saw the old man; who hieth-to, with his staff.
These, being to fair Rosmerta come, anon;
The young men follow back, hard on the trace,
Of the steed's hooves, appearing in soft grass.

But she, with love's divining eyes, doth erst
Discern the fallen knight; yet being far-off.

Look, where, come to himself, sate-up, he sighs;
The sun of Summer, o'er his open head,
Towering. He, that all sees dim and confused;
Yet hears Rosmerta's voice, (who now arrives,)
Like sound of waterbrooks, in his dumb mood.

Straight, having Dylan's sons lopped alder-boughs,
In river-grove, their hands do hastily tress
A shepherd's hurdle, of the golden rods;
Whereon, this Roman bear, to healing Joseph.
But soon Rosmerta, run down to Brue's stream;
In her knit hands, whence prayers proceed and alms,
Brings water; which she proffers him to drink.
Nor tarries she her foster-brethren, twain:
A woman's heart finds means more expedite;
Nor love is not too nice, but bold indeed,
In face of men; aye, and were of hostile gods!

Bowing, as he, a battle-steed, is taught,
Under her hand, behold, his comely crest;
The Roman courser kneels now, on green grass.
She, uplift, helps Dylan, then, this dazing knight.
He upstays him; she now leads forth, a soft pace!
Three men towards Alban, coming, in this path,
Eftsoon them meet. To Dylan; noble maid,
Then she, commits, convey this stranger forth.
(Auleius, astonished, smiles; nor can yet speak!)

Rosmerta heard soon, how the man of God,
One dying to anoint in the Cranog,
Was rowed; some elder women, which believe,
She sends; to watch, for Christ, and serve this sick;
Till that her father Joseph were come home.

Good Dylan, and his sons, have taken bruised Auleius,
Down from his steed; and softly they him laid;
On rushes now, on floor of Ithobal's hall;
Where, ill at ease, that Roman eftsoons sleeps:
Nor wakes from stupor, till now is murk night;
Hears then loud lifted voice! Opened his eyes,
Behold, stands, with spread hands, that Syrian Joseph;
(Who now returned, by dim light of the moon,
Over the mere, is wet with the night drops.)

Sate-up, well knows the Roman, that poor hall,
Wherein burns low a Briton lamp of earth.
To him the saint approached, with radious looks,
Now asketh of his health: then father lays
On him, those healing palms, of his: his lips
Murmur of gladness, mongst immortal spirits!
Twixt sleep and wake, lifts Auleius, in his trance,
His heart to heaven: him thinks he hears, he sees,
Intelligencies, more than Plato saw!

And yet was within night, when noise of feet.
Without. Is he who enters Felix Murcius;
Ridden from Caer Bran, and powdered all with dust.
(Had Dylan sent, by one of his own sons,
Word, hastily, of the young knight's mishap, to Mendip.)

Feeble and faint, relates to him then Auleius;
In vision of the night, he saw the CHRIST!

Joseph, towards day, returned; the father took
Him, by the hand; and he arose, in health.
Hark, Pudens asketh, in His name, that might
He be baptized! The saint, which buried Christ,
Took water; and in that he fervent prayed,
Pours, joying, on that bowed-down Roman's head.
And fell God's Spirit, on Pudens; who adores,
(Like debtor poor, what hour, from prison-pit,
Lifted, he sees the sun, and goeth free forth,
In raiment new and clean,) Christ's marvellous Light!

Mild springs this dawn; and blithe the lark up-mounts.

Come, fleeting, hither from all holms, in barks,
Of osier-work, Christ's little Alban church;
Singing hymns, as they row, over the lake.
Then men and women Britons, fresh and trim,
Up from the strand, to Ithobal's hall ascend.
Each, on their part, at door, then enter in:
And smiling, as the morrow, be their looks;
This first day of the week, come to Christ's feast.

They sitting then, of the Apostles' hands,
Eat bread, that dear remembrance of Christ's death;
And drink all of one cup. They joy and weep;
Yea and some, oft issuing, looketh from the porch;
To see, if come not yet, the risen Christ!
With company of bright angels, from the East,
And cloud of His dead saints. Apart, stands Auleius.
And marvel Britons, when that Roman knight
They marked among them, thus. But when they hear,
That he this morn was washt, unto New Life,
Confessing Christ; they all begin salute
Him, Brother, in the Lord, with holy kiss;
And take him all, in order, by the hand.
Were last him, on his manly front, to kiss,
Rosmerta's sweet twinned lips; that breathe the Christ!

Then Joseph, standing, spake, among the saints;
Touching the worthy suit of Brother Auleius,
For Rosmerta, dear daughter, in the Lord,
He it approves; and signifies Christ's Spirit,
The first fruits this should be, of Britain's peace!

Then gently, of maid Rosmerta, he enquires;
Whether, of her free-will, before Christ's Church,
She, brother Auleius, sealed to heavenly life,
Receive, in holy bond of happy marriage?

Forth-standing she; at erst, the bashful flame
Flushed meekly through the ingenuous virgin's cheeks;
That seemed then gentle flower of eglantine.
Sith Kowain's daughter stedfast answer makes;
In all things, she would do the will of Christ!

The holy women, and those shipwrecked saints;
That, mongst the Britons yet remained alive,
Joying, with these, rise up around them both;
Which plight, in Joseph father's hand, their troth:
And shall be knit their wedlock's spotless band,
What month her mother Salema shall appoint.

In this, as heaven's gladness, and new life;
Dwells Auleius forth, in Alban, other days;
Being also instructed of the man of Christ:
And teacheth him God's Spirit's inner voice.

He his spouse-sister sees, in Ithobal's house.
She, coming, daily asketh, why he sighs?
Co-heir, with Christ uprisen, of endless life!
She doubts some new grief of his former wound.

After her daylong almesdeed, ben they met,
At rushy border of the silent mere;
Where, lovely, linking hands, they walk in fere;
And each to other show their faithful hearts.
All joy, to look, which meet them in the path,
Upon that pair, (she Briton, he a Roman,)
Of noble spouses, both of heavenly feature,
And likely age, agreeing well together!
She loveth him, for Christ; he Christ, for her.
Rosmerta is the gate, the path, the stair;
Whence risen his heathen soul to life, from death.

Yet somewhiles is, of maiden Rosmerta,
The heart amazed: she musing trusted soon
Christ, with great power and glory, in the air,
To judge the world, have seen, descending down!
What profit then of earthling marriage?

And though be forged, in heaven, their wedlock's bond;
Yet aged Salema, willing to eschew
The appearance even of unseemly haste;
And till more fully established, in the truth,
Were Pudens; she their bridal day deferred,
Till season when, in spring-time, wont the saints,
Keep joyful feast, of the ascended Christ.

Long the dim Winter is and chill, in Britain;
Whence was his former wont return to Aquas,
New city of Roman baths and wine and feast:
But now he savours the new things of Christ.
Yet, come to misty Mendip, Auleius yearns,
More than the little fowl, to lenten tide;
To that dear happy eve, wherein made one,
For aye; they twain, from Avalon should wend home.

As who tossed of wild waves, that sails the deep,
Chides the long hours, and chafes, in long disease;
Till he do see, far-off, his haven at length;
So pass, for Auleius, those heart-weary days;
Pass, as dim clouds, that creep o'er Mendip field.
Yet, as to who, returning from long voyage,
Each step seems lighter, though more weary his feet;
So unto Pudens, this discourse of weeks;
Till come that feast of the ascended Christ,
Which blissful morn is of his marriage.

The churlish Winter-blasts, at length, be wasted;
That lately warped the field, with hoary frost;
Which, in those days' derne light, seemed shrouded corse.

Now, from that flinty bosom of the mould.
Utters the tender herb: the ewes, long pined,
Do yean; they come, at eve, with blowen bags,
Full-fed, back to their stalls. Glad of the time,
Hark warble soft the siskin and the wren.
Now pipes the merle, and jocund sings, all day,
The throstle cock, among the golden knops.

Sweet Spring, new-born is on the sun-wooed earth.
Each eve, in Mendip, watcheth Roman Auleius,
For the new moon. O joy, at length, when he
Sees, three days old, her sickle slender face!
Soon to go down. Then daily her increase,
He views, in heaven; and comfort takes his heart:
And yields that togate Roman laud, to Christ.

Nigh is the week; are few now more the days,
Unto that holy eve, when many in Alban,
For the Lord's coming, look, till morning light.
There Joseph's daughter-in-the-Lord, Rosmerta,
Rich in almesdeed, doth speed her daily tasks;
In showing mercy, to the poor and sick.

Now afternoon; and she, in wicker bark,
O'erfared to pray, beside her mother's grave:
Alone, there lowly kneels, adoring Christ!
And kindling her young heart, to God, she weeps:
That He remember this dear earth, what day
The righteous Lord, (as lightning, from the East,
To West, outshines,) shall appear, in a moment!
That, ah, He wake, to mercy, her dear dead.

Yet, in her heart, a little heaviness is
Left, that now the last morrow is so nigh;
When must, from this dear dust of Herfryd's grave,
She twin, with her loved spouse; and, will of Christ,
Depart, from all she held ere dear, in Alban:
But grace shall her suffice, of Christ, she trusts.

Come then last eve, bathed in aparted place,
Her body pure, and consecrate to Christ;
She wades, and budded lilies of the mere,
Crops, here and there. Gone forth, she takes to her,
Her raiment. Then her loving hands, once more,
The mother's grave o'erstrewed with loved lilies,
And seemly deckt. So, weeping, she her laid,
On sod, down that dear mounded earth beside;
Her head to the grave's head, her feet to feet.
And it embracing, dear, the noble maid,
Calls to her fantasy, the dead mother's face;
And thought on her, whom, oft, in dream, she meets.
So wept and prayed; she prayed again and wept.

The day is glooming now, Rosmerta rose;
And spake, with trembling lips, betwixt her sobs,
Mother, farewell! till that great day of Christ.

Sith, went she a little way, and kneeled down by
Her grandsire, good old Amathon's grave, and prayed;
And it, with white stones, she repaired around.

Then mound, likewise, of Dylan, newly dead,
In Winter days. And him, deceased in Christ,
Over the mere, men rowed, with mournful note,
Of shepherds' pipes; where the old herdman's grave,
As dying he had willed, at his lord's feet,
Men digged. They laid his crome, beside the dead,
(Whereof, some fable, thorn did spring; whose bough
Wont blossom, in Christ-tide, amidst the snow.)

O'er him the herdgrooms, (bound, with bitter yew,
Their rivelled brows,) did sing, in rustic sort;
Lig a lily corone, on his chest,
Who sleeps here fast, till God's great uprist,
When shepherds, kings, shall sitten, with her Christ!

Sith entered, in her little osier skiff,
Rosmerta much communing, with her heart,
Ferries back to the holm of Avalon.
So come in Salema's bower, she finds all there,
Prepared to morrow of her marriage!
How Salema, to her aged breast, takes her,
Her daughter dear! and they together weep.

Spent is the night; on Mendip hills, now daws
Thrice-happy morn. There little, ere the sun,
With devout heart, mounts Pudens, with good Murcius.

His household wait, in their best garments trim.
They bless him, who rides forth. Hark merry note,
Of trump; then shout, beyond, saluting Auleius!
(Soldiers, in Caer Bran camp, where he doth pass.)

Day also, of mirth, for the PaHlia, it is,
(Rome's lambing-feast,) even in this far-off Province;
Being birth-night of the city of Romulus:
When j olive herdgrooms, in all Latin field,
Sprinkled their ruckling folds; when erst, in heaven,
Is day-star seen, with well-spring water pure,
Dance on the green. Sith they, with sulphur smoke,
Do purge their stalls; and hang, on all the posts,
To Pales, god, wreathed rosemary and meadow herbs,
And laurer bough; and offer honey-cakes,
Baked on their rustic hearths. Kindled then fires,
Of the old stover heaped; when they, with milk,
Them quench, to sound of cymbals and shrill flutes;
Their flocks they chace, with merry dancing foot,
And shouts, through the thick reek. Last Rome's herdfolk,
At set of sun, when fallen the sacred light;
Beneath those flocks and herds now of shire stars,
Leaned on their elbows; drinking mulse and milk,
In yewen cups, keep New-year's joyous feast!

Come Pudens, on the path; him-seems the Christ,
Is risen indeed; even as this blissful sun,
That maketh all glad; and soars his soul to heaven.

Where morrow's mist yet vapours from the sod;
And gossamer, in smooth South wind, blows, they ride;
By brakes, by sloe-thorns, blossomed like a cloud;
In whose sweet boughs, chant blithe the early birds,
(Men feign, to-day, each chooseth for the year;
Her make:) by meadows then, where gaudy shines
Herb cuckoo, springing in new thicket grass;
And whiten daisies pied all the wide mead,
And gentle primrose blows, under wood-side.

Seem all these wakening flowers, to sing in the sun.
Like to a subtle music of the field,
Is in his ears! The old is waxen young:
Casts-oflfher Winter weariness the old year.

Yonder, leap young lambs, coursing one another;
And every ewe hath twins. Seems Roman Auleius,
Like to a new-deckt bride, this coast of Britain.
Sweet odour is abroad, high tide of love.
Warm amorous breath spires, from this flowery sod;
Which full of infinite tongues, that the All-good,
High-Father of the world hymn and still laud.
Praying, in spirit, like to yond faltering lark,
Which soars from herb, is lifted up his heart;
And joying, all the way, ascends to God.

Slow - streaming Brue they pass; whose rushy brinks,
To-day, new-guirlanded, lo, with springing grass.

Then through the lyn, they plash, by shallow ford.

And yet is early; when to Avalon holm,
They now ascend. Men mark his Roman face;
As angel, fair; for so hath purged God's Spirit,
Of base affections, riding in the blood,
His gentile soul, and winnowed from all dross;
And it restored to image, that, at erst,
The Lord in Adam formed; which was in Christ.
How is this morrow sheen! calm is the mere
Of Avalon, circling, lo, the fisher's oar.

Over the lake, shrill-sounding reeds, they hear;
Of them, that nigh in barks, hinds and herdgrooms.

Who first arrive, mount hastily now from shore;
And carol, joyous, on this pearled grass.

The Sun, in purple stole, like bridegroom crowned,
With lightsome rays, in chariot, mounts. The hours
Strew the wide heavens, before his steepy path,
With blos'ms; to his high bridal with the Earth:
Snowdrops, with crocus then, and primrose pale.
He gilds, with his broad streams, now misty Avalon.

Against the spouse, that nighs, o'er dewy grass;
Clad in fresh lawn, lo, maiden choirs tread forth.
Some have their clear brows, with sheen chapelets bound,
Of flowers; and wear them other in their hairs.
Of these poor Alban holms, all virgins ben;
And playferes of the thrice-beloved bride.
Their voices ben like bells, of silver sound,
Which, cometh from far sheep-cotes, unto men's ears.

Lo, where she stands, on threshold of her sire!
Who lily fair, in Christ, is beauty's queen.
In beauty's Isle, so fair, is seldom seen.
Her virgin fellows have, with guirlands, crowned
Her jacinth locks, and dight with golden fret,
Which Herfryd's was, emailled with budded lilies.
But she, herself, is like to lily wand.

Sweet flower of Christ, she risen, at morning red;
Yet once, her orphan poor and little ones.

Had visited; and to them partage made,
Of all her good; and, towards her mother's grave,
Once more, she had looked forth, and yearned to God!

Returned those virgin choirs; the bride, adorned,
Bring forth, with song; song which, to this day, made,
Cuan, sweet bard of Christ, and well attuned.
Her orphans, flowers strew of the springing mead,
Before her gracious steps, and smelling sedge;
Whilst they, with lips, like budded roses, sing.

All, on that other part, then, the young men;
Clad in their best array, with twinkling feet,
And singing Christ, do bring forth Roman Auleius.
Lead Dylan's sons this carol, with glad voice.

So go up those blithe bands, with hymns; and each
Now enter, from their parts, that hall of Joseph,
Which Ithobal builded, (who no more in Britain,
But sand of Cyprus covers his white bones;
Which wait that Pilot great, of his last voyage!)
Within this hall, stand praying, with stretched palms,
Behold the fathers, which remained alive;
Syrians, in their best Briton garments, clad.
Be those grown old, with Arimathean Joseph.
They, as the spouses enter, loud them bless!

The saints, with comfortable words, this morn,
Bear witness, unto all the assembled Church;
Of that beheld their eyes, the Master Christ,
To heaven, from holy hill, ascending up.
And as they pray and gaze, they cannot choose,
Old men, because his coming yet delays,
The Lord, and tarries so long time, but weep.

All sitting down at board, lo, now, they eat
That mystic bread; sith all drink of one cup;
The same wherein had Christ, Son of The Blessed,
Ordained that dear remembrance of His blood;
Which shed was, from foundation of the world;
That night, which Him betrayed to wicked death.

Before them all, then standing forth, taught Joseph;
How, from the world's beginning, the Lord gave
To man and woman, children of His breath,
Trust, helpmakeship, in fruitful holy estate
Of faithful wedlock, to increase of His
Eternal kingdom. Shalum sithence spake,
How Jesus blessed, with sweet looks, a bride-feast;
And, therein erst showed forth His mighty works.

And, lo, together laid their hands, in his,
The hand, with Pudens' hand, of her pure flesh!
And murmuring all lips, in the Lord, them bless.
And seemed a prayer, her guileless voice of love:
In that she, angel-faced Rosmerta, plights
Her maiden troth! And her two blameless eyes,
(Eyes, that seem windows of the morning light.
Of heaven, whence issuing angels of God's rest,)
Look benedictions. In their blissful streams,
Our cloddy cares decay, dies our unworth.

The Apostle - father stretched his hands, and named
The Highest aye-living Father, and His Christ!
He layeth them twain, on his two children's heads,
Blessing them; and o'er them pray all the Church:
Whereafter, joyous, loud, gan Britons sing
New hymn of Cuan: and so abroad they pass.

But the holy women, unto whom denied
The Lord an offspring, come to Rosmerta,
Loved child, with yearning bowels of motherhood;
Her, their fruit in the Spirit, long dearly embrace!
For she is child, in Christ, of childless saints.
And weep, (with them, weeps Keina, druidess,)
They longtime, all, o'er her, for dear constraint;
And feed on her their teeming eyes of love.
All dwellers in the watery holms of Alban,
Who yet of druids, and who be now of Christ;
Gather, of entire heart, to this spouse-feast,
Of loved Rosmerta, heir to Amathon's house.

And many have marked, this morn, is come the stork;
Foretokening happy fruit of marriage.

Behold, in their best raiment, thronging all
This people, with blithe hearts and cheerful speech;
Now, in fair meadow, bordering nigh the lake.
Under broad oaks, be, yonder, tappets dight,
Of the sere rush; where set, (which Joseph blessed,)
Is banket, on this new sweet-breathing grass;
Whereas, who list, may eat; and drink who thirst.

For there is bread in baskets white; bake flesh
Of sheep, and also sod, with corn and broth;
And butter savouring of the thymy mead;
Wild honeycombs, and waterfowls' wild eggs;
And fishes broiled, out of the rushy lake:
And flummery and junkets, clottered cream and curds;
Wood-strawberries ripe, nuts and, in Syrian wise,
Cherries and bullaces parched of the old year.

Be such poor cottage-messes of the poor;
Which yet might well suffice, to feed man's life,
Whose flesh is clay. And there be mazer cups,
And smooth milk-bowls; and wine, in yew-staved fats,
Of Avalon's apples; which prepared, to this
Day, Syrian Salema. Sit, in the rest-place,
Behold a little company of Syrian saints:
And of that sun-kissed fruitful soil of theirs,
They hold discourse, land, wherein walked the Christ.

Seemed bride Rosmerta, to their aged hearts,
Like blossomed almond bough. Fastened, on her,
Be women's eyes; where, like a dove, she wends;
And smiles, in taking each one, by the hand.
And every heart joys, looking on her face;
Whence floweth radious blissful influence,
To all, with parfume of high heavenly thoughts;
That heaven, whence spirit was to her body lent;
Passing, in fairness, daughters of the earth.

Then turned, they look, on that new brother Auleius;
Who walks with Felix Murcius, and with Pistos!
Men like of Pudens' stature, hew and countenance.
How spreads his heart, like daisy in the sun;
When he his bride beholds! None he so fair,
To-day; nor happy day, as this, hath seen!

Young men dance, yonder, to loud shrilling note,
Of married reeds, entuned sweet, which plays
A jolly herds wain, with so curious skill,
That all the laund did, with wild sweetness, ring:
Those beat, with nimble shifting feet, the green.

Yond, maidens, their ring-dances, trace apart;
Daughters of Alban holms, with virgin cheer.
With maiden fillet bound, hath every one;
As blos'm of waterflags, her broidered hair.
Their arms shine whiter than doth cruddled milk.
Smell of their garments is like Summer heath;
Where suck wild bees sweet thyme in the sunbeams.
Then glad-eyed children, lo, with gleeful voice,
Dancing in round; whose cheeks like apples rudded.
And when these sometime cease, waked Cuan chords,
Of silver sounding crowth, with happy hands.
Love is, he sings, the livery of Christ!
And, shaped like dove, seemed Cuan's instrument,
Fowl, which doth spread her trembling wings, to rise,
Towards the High God. And seemed his Briton chant,
An harmony, then, to flow, as morrow's milk;
To comfort and to nourishing of men's souls.

And aye some new-birth of his mind, he chants:
And still his numbers rise; that, were they writ,
Sweet bard, in Attic tongue; his Briton lays
Should pierce the ears of ages yet to come.
And men him give the guerdon of a bard,
Reaching him loaves, wild eggs, and honeycombs;
And maidens bring him posies of field flowers.

Sith the herdgrooms do, in masteries, contend;
(Come hinds, which neighbours dwell to fenny Alban,)
To leap, to wrestle and to run; with bow,
To prick, or smite, out of feat sling, with stone,
Amidst the garland. Like then butting rams,
Some wrestle. One runs forth, most fleet of foot,
Now like grey wolf; the rest, as yelling hounds,
Do hunt him on the mould! Each valiant youth
Covets a smiling praise, in the fair eyes
Of some beloved maid. Ceased those, hark strive
A young men's company, in loud herding lays,
Who best her beautifullest bride, can praise.

Some, for her fairness, call her Avalon fawn;
(And was she suckled of wild roe, is fame;)
Some swan, some cushot, some Spring's nightingale;
Some early murmuring bee, for soft sweet voice;
Some shepherds' star, some lily; and other pearl,
Of dew, hangs midst the leaves, sheen, in the sun.
Sith carol upland roundels, men and maids.

When last gins stoop, from his mid-afternoon,
The sun, seen timely hour; yoke Dylan's sons,
To that emailled white cart, of the dead sire,
Hath long in hall upleaned, veiled with a cloth,
Old Amathon's steeds. Called aged Salema forth,
Then loved Rosmerta, from the maidens' bower;
Where ready her her virgin feres have dight,
Towards her bride-journey, to the Roman villa.

Her upper weed is lawn of the cranog,
Fair as swan's wing, on Alban's sacred mere.

She thanketh them, they her; all their hearts bless
This spotless flower of Christ, which doth them kiss.

Behold now her, among them, coming forth!
Seems fade, a moment, her glad countenance,
To part, so soon; and leave them here, in Avalon.
All mark, how living ray shines on her looks!
Of heaven-born beauty and grace. In her sweet sight,
Did enemies behold their enemies,
With hearts' accord, each, other, should embrace.
And yet, midst many tears, Christ's handmaid joys,
That she, with the beloved spouse, should ride.

Now cometh that Roman, noble, joyous Pudens;
Bearing his bride-gift to her, in his hand;
Collar of virgin-pearls, in double lace:
Pearls which the Britain-shell, great Julius sought,
(Of some celestial dew conceived,) brings forth.
He, bridegroom, girds, with loving words, therewith,
Rosmerta's gentle neck; which antique fret,
(It Herfryd's was,) adorns, of Briton gold.

The chest, wherein her raiment of fine lawn,
(Which maiden daughters broidered of the holm;
That Salema hath prepared,) is bound in chariot.
Her orphan little ones, last, having kissed;
Rosmerta, noble Briton maid, upmounts.
And Githa, with her, Dylan's daughter, rides:
(Githa shall serve her in the Roman villa.')

Part sad, she smiles. Who say, with smiling lips,
Farewell! marks she, have heaviness, at their hearts.
Then all, which heard that cry! hie, towards her chariot,
Who in the field; to see her hastily part.

She shakes the reins! Run forth those aged steeds,
That whinny, at her dear voice, as they did voice,
Again, of Kowain hear. His steed mounts Auleius.
Murcius mounts; and they follow forth her chariot.
Cry all the people aloud, then; God her speed!
Felix before them rides, who shows their path.

But her two foster-brethren, Dylan's sons,
Do long continue, coursing on their feet,
Her steeds beside, still looking in her face;
They pray, they never mote from her remove!
A mile those run or twain: and sith, at voice
Of Pudens, who admires their antique faith,
She grants. And, for they might not stand in chariot,
Wherein no place; he caused two of his servants,
To take them up, backriders, on the croups
Of their tall steeds. Then were the fosters glad;
As who, from drenching waves, attains to land.

Of those poor island brethren, Dylan's sons,
The younger, Elathan, later was, in Rome,
Of Auleius' household: where he, in hoar age,
Being damned of Antichrist, to fight with beasts;
Before the heathen witnessed, with great voice,
That Christ is Lord! and joyous took his death.

With skill, that comes of kind, to gentle blood,
To handle steeds, Rosmerta guides her chariot;
In so rough ways, that marvels Roman Auleius,
With many a loving look and gentle speech.
The Sun, now drooping over Mendip coast,
The welken wide adorns; whose purple clouds,
Seem heavenly sheep-flocks, garded all with gold.

Twixt new-set trees, they pass, in comely rows;
Which planted Verus had for shade and fruit,
By Roman causeway; at whose head, beyond,
Lo, Pudens' villa. Soldiers stand, of Cæsar,
Longs the two hays, with daffodillies crowned;
And wreathed their spears and war-bruised shields, with flowers.

All salute Auleius, with loud merry throat;
And lo Hymen, Hymen! joyful shout.
Then heard was Latin voice, in some rude mouth,
Saying; Britain's Cynthia wedded Roman knight;
To-day,a Gaulish maid hath vanquished Rome!

Stand Pudens' household ready, in his hall-porch,
With guirlands crowned; (they strew, with leaves, her path;)
All, in their best array, with cierges clear;
To welcome in their lady. All her bless,
Beholding that mild bounty of her looks;
Who lights down, to her noble spouse, from chariot.
Her Murcius brings the keys, of her own house.
Trembling her heart, she enters there, with Christ!

Briton Rosmerta, Roman spouse, so bears,
These days, her meekly, in her new estate;
That all her love, which look upon her face.
And God, who made the kindly yoke of marriage,
Lightens her burden. And, in her chaste life,
She, peerless lady, of perfect womanhead;
Doth mightily commend the yoke of Christ.

Her spouse, she loves: and Pudens if her, maid,
He, erewhile, loved all earthly thing above,
Much more her now he loves; so far exceeds
Her heavenly, as her outward feature doth.
Sweet Britain pearl, beside thine innocent worth,
Like to a Grace, amidst their dark-eyed malice;
How tawny were, who fair esteemed, in Rome!

And joys Rosmerta, seeing then daily grow
The image of the Christ, informed in Auleius.
And kindly affectioned, in all lawful thing,
Is she to please him. And when Auleius asks,
That she might seem less stranger, in the rest;
(The rather, in that named is gentile goddess,
Rosmerta,) were her name now changed to Claudia,
After his mother; and, in days of Claudius,
That, also, came his father into Britain.
Then Britons call her Claudia Rufina;
Which sounds, The Roman Claudia, in their tongue.

Through that God-given power of faithful love;
Which miracles hath wrought, and doth yet work;
So gotten, in brief space, hath Briton Claudia,
On her sweet tongue, the use of Latin speech;
That Romans name her New Cornelia.
Then come Mid-winter, (when they dwell in Aquae,)
Is Claudia made a mirror of Christ's light.

Returned, when New-year springs, to Mendip villa,
Hark, in her cubicle, sings cradle-songs,
Claudia, Christ's handmaid! yet, from childbed, faint;
For, of her body, the Lord's temple pure.
This night, was born a Roman unto Christ.

Then longed she, towards her parentage in Alban;
And tidings sends; them praying, to come soon.
But aged Salema journey might no more;
So stiffened be her joints. Bedrid lies Sabra,
Full of old aches, sith longtime, in her bower.
Also, in this Winter's ending, Keina slept;
And, washed from sin, departed unto Christ.

But Joseph rose, and girded him; alwere
He infirm, the father would his children seek.
Him faithful Britons bear then gladly forth,
From mile to mile, in frame of wicker-work;
Being men, which looking for eternal life,
Do count them debtors to the saint. Discourseth
Much Joseph, in the way, of risen Christ;
And made this hope their burden seem more light.

Joseph come to Caer Bran and Roman villa;
His son-in-law saluting, Roman knight;
He Claudia blesseth, yet feeble, and her sweet babe;
Lifted from cradle, in his aged arms!

Have all, which of this hope, in Pudens' villa,
Comfort, in that they see the father's face;
Whose hands they reverent kiss, that handled Christ.

How blissful this now first day of the week;
Which come about, renews their souls' high feast;
Wherein breaks Joseph to them bread of Life,
And takes them cup of Blessing; and who looks,
Upon them all, with eyes which saw the Lord.
That seems Christ's flesh, indeed, done on the cross;
Which they, in their love-thrilled hands receive!
Next morn; and having blessed all those, and prayed,
Joseph returns, in Roman wain, to Alban.

The saints, and also Hyn, now Amathon's flocks,
In Alban, to Rosmerta, would send forth:
But Auleius, utterly, (tiding had thereof,)
It hath recused, and likewise noble Claudia;
Save half what fruit the ewes have eaned this year;
To stock the hills, about their Mendip villa.
Thus write they both; that heirs, in fenny Alban,
Were made together, of the Hope of Christ.

The Apostle father writes, at sundry times,
To his dear children in the Lord, in Mendip;
Touching that heavenly Hope, with his own hand:
Which Hope wakens, each day, the man of God;
Who, night-long, lies expecting, on his bed,
Hear triumph-shout, Christ cometh, with His saints!

Touching that company of the shipwrecked brethren,
From Canaan of the East, which dwelled in Alban,
Strong Alexander first received the CROWN;
And, last year, sailed good Ithobal, to his own.
Much yearned the mariner's soul, to land and house.
Yet most weighed in his breast, to yield account,
To his ship's owners, of their vessel's loss;
And to poor men, had trusted him their goods.

Journeyed, from Aquae, with some legion's-servants,
And come to Troynovant; he in Roman ship,
Of charge, passed over to the Main. Through Gaul
Wayfaring; Ithobal, after much land-voyage,
Found vessel, at Massilia, Cyprus-bound.
Being come to Paphos; Mnason lately, he hears,
Deceased, at Joppa, faithful in the Lord.

O joy of Ithobal, when he finds, Christ hath,
(Through preaching of the Apostle Barnabas,
His countryman,) entered also in his house!
Sith Ithobal each day sits, and speaks of Christ,
Unto all who idle sea-folk, on the quays;
Which the old shipmaster, in much reverence hath.

Came day, when should there chosen, in that town,
Be one of good report, a citizen,
To their Prytanelon. All that Paphos sea-folk,
For him; and not few citizens, gave their voices.

With songs the magistrates and with merry flutes
Brought home then Ithobal, to their city's hearth:
Where pilot of Christ's saints, that daily his thought
Casts, towards Isle Britain, might he not long dwell.
Christ called him, to the eternal Rest, in heaven!

As moths flit to the candle, come to Alban
In, men of Eryr's druids; which of those strangers,
From land far-off, and leading holy life.
Enquire; (in whose mouths message of God's peace!)
What thing they teach, touching that Heavenly One.
Old men have, mongst them, seen, from their hill-paths,
By night, new stedfast Light, to heaven, ascending;
Hence. (Is the evening prayer of those few saints!)
Like to that sheaf we see, from windowed cloud,
Of sunny beams; illumine all South Britain!
Other, which most discumbered of the world,
Heard voices, as from stars; and footsteps seen,
Were, in their steeps, of heaven-descended ones!

Souls, without guile, those works of healing Joseph,
Beholding, do believe, in their true hearts.
Those, of the saints, then, instantly, have besought
Them send some-one, which, with the Lord, conversed;
To teach them Way of Light, in their hill-coasts.
Then having prayed, the brethren did cast lots;
And taken is Aristobulus, in whom gift
Of tongues; and Barnaby maker of sweet lauds,
The Ebionite. The rest their hands then laid,
On these: sith devout Britons brought them forth.

The lady Claudia, full of faith and prayer,
Is fruitful in the Lord; and, year by year,
She beareth to her dear spouse, sons: and was,
That are they Christ's, in dream, revealed to her.
And that, in troublous age, was after seen;
When, for the faith, twain laid down their young lives;
The third Christ's faithful bishop was, in Rome.

The fourth year, of this heaven-knit marriage;
Being, Auleius Pudens, made new senator,
Received commandment, to repair to Rome;
Where Nero now restores that purpled Senate,
Which ere he slew. Makes, to depart, with Auleius,
Her ready Claudia! Should not, as Isle Britain,
Be to her, every soil, wherein is Christ?

Yet oft, embraced her little ones, she weeps;
For waits, in Belgic port, their white-winged ship;
And she hath other suckling babe, at breast:
Whence she might not, once more, descend to Avalon,
But come the morn, when from their villa gates,
(Where dwelled they happy days; that it, of Christ, i
Had seemed an inn, upon their way to heaven!)
They should begin this journey to sea-haven!
Lo, their poor servants wait, with cast-down looks,
Without. Claudia's white hands, which those all kiss,
With their salt tears, ben wet. She, daughter, weeps,
Of noble Kowain, mongst her Briton folk!

Claudia, towards Avalon's lowly strand, looked forth;
Where dwell her kin, and rest her dead, with Christ!
And weep her little ones, which see her weep.
Pudens to Murcius, hath committed trust,
Of all their good; bidding that faithful steward,
Be still a father of the poor in Mendip:
So o'er fair field of Duffreynt they ride forth.

The fourth day, nighing now that Beiges' port;
Servant o'ertakes them, from their Mendip villas
(Jacinth;) with Tegid, thither hastily sent:
Who cometh, with blessing to them both, from Joseph;
And roll, to Claudia bears, this Lyber Bret!
Whilst, with a trembling hand, the father sealed
Sith, passed by Tyrrhene coast, with prosperous voyage:
Their keel stands now, to enter Tiber mouth.

Day breaks, when Claudia risen first looks, lo, forth;
To see that sovereign City's gilded roofs;
Whose hundred legions vanquished have wide earth!

But as she holds her husband, by the hand;
Behold this rising sun, like a dim round,
Of blood, over Portumnus' temple-roof;
As seen through vast strange murkness of a cloud;
That, like as smoke, o'er all, now, heavy hangs.
Falls blown-out soot, from yond dark drift, where Rome.
Smell smites their sense then, as of fire, from land!

At Pudens' word, the master hails the shore;
Whose marble rampire full is of staithed ships,
(That tribute-fleet, Trinacia's l mystic goddess,
Now, each year, sends, with burden of bread-corn;
For the base multitude of great Sovereign Rome.)

Hark! answer comes, from loiterers on yond stairs;
Rome burns! nor any durst the City ap-proach!

Is Babylon made vast brazier of God's wrath!
Where most of all the subject world abhorred,
(Ire of the gods!) is Cæsar, impious Nero: i Sicily.

Who, by his crimes, so Rome confounded hath;
That all, in secret hearts, suspire his death:
Thirsting men's weary souls, they know not what,
For some refreshing breath! The master, anchor,
Now warps, furled main-sail, in Rome's tawny flood.

Soon barge to them, with even pulse of oars;
Of publicans, receivers of the dues,
Outrows. Mongst those, which board them, mur-mured word,
They hear; how seen were Nero's soldiers fire
Rome's streets; and beat men, from their burning wards!
Which sought, (quenching first flames,) their own, to save.

Pudens, and that uneath, in Portus, hires;
Where all is fear, none better might he find,
Two wains, with tardy oxen of the plough;
For large reward. So takes his way, towards Alban;
(That other Alban, mountain of great Rome;)
Where he was born, and lisped erst Latin tongue.

Hopes Pudens come, unto his mother, there;
Whose villa nigh to antique Tusculum.
Then, by much sand way, they and upland pass;
Wood sith, and vineyards, squalid now with smoke,
Of burning Rome! Is, day-long, thus their path.
They journey-on weary; and last draws to late eve:
And troubled, for God's judgments, are their hearts.

And, lo, the elder Claudia, mother, walks,
To view her vines; and thinks aye on her son,
Now soon, from Gaul and Britain, to turn home.
Some rumour then she heard, of wheels, approach;
And shrieking axe-trees! Leaps her aged heart,
Which aye misgives her, in these impious days;
And seizeth trembling on her, at each voice.
A cypress shrouds her; where she stands to watch.

She a vision sees, or else beholds her son!
He, in barbare isle, long absent in the wars,
Eigh! is come again, so like his father's face!
She, Verus' widow, sees, her son's true wife;
And children small sees sit, betwixt them both!
They, her child's children, droop, for weariness.

With cry of mother's heart, adown steep path,
She, to them, runs! but loseth eftsoons breath;
Such joy, though fail her feeble knees, she hath.
To ground leapt, Pudens' manly arms embrace
Her; fainting, they sustain; and Pudens kissed
His mother's front, beneath her silver locks:
Age hath her done this wrong! Then, hundred siths,
Her cheeks he kissed; he kissed her, lips to lips.

She come, soon, to herself; he his mother shows,
Bright Claudia, her daughter dear, and his loved spouse:
Whom the elder Claudia welcomes to her breast!
Then, their loved babes, her widow's hands, gan kiss.
But she, kneeled down, kisseth their infant faces,
Each her child's child, with infinite affect.
Howbeit, that Roman lady, a little glanced
Back, in the twilight, as who looks askance,
On Pudens' wife, this gentle Britoness.
For was it never custom of old Romans,
To wed with strangers. She, of Laelius, vaunts
Her noble blood, and of great Scipio's house.

But when she nigher viewed, her goodly feature,
Her carriage, nurture, virtuous countenance;
And wise mild speech, on silver-sounding tongue:
She received peerless Claudia, to heart's love.
Stranger religions, many, be in Rome;
And she to some affected, herself, is,
Of Asia; and other mysteries of wide East.
Whence seemed her tolerable, though believe her son,
On Christos, VOICE called of the blessed gods.

They dwell forth, many days, in Roman Alban:
And aye dread angry ferment is in Rome,
Beneath! and Rumor, with dread tongues so rife,
Tells and foretells, each day, new miseries.
Tester, sedition in praetorians' castra,
Largess, to-day, of Cæsar; Gauls revolt:
Germans have passed the Rhine; Gauls scale high
Alps.

No more be public ways safe, to great Rome;
Loosed, in the City, are men of wicked life;
Were pilled all taberns, in the merchants' streets;
Then burned; the fora are full of violence:
And ceased now seems, in Rome, all human faith;
And all authority. Sits, no more, the Senate;
Nor do their office Roman magistrates.
Sabine, who prefect of Rome's City is;
Was in his house assailed by murderers!

Then sick, of an old fever, Pudens lies,
In Alban villa. Briton Claudia, daughter
Of island kings, waits, spouse, on all his need:
For whom, each hour, she prays; and ofttime sighs!
For Joseph's healing hands. But the elder Claudia,
In whom the spirit survives of antique Roma,
Above all private griefs, sighs public harms!

Now Satan loosed, is the first death, in Rome;
Where followeth great destruction, of Christ's name.
As wolf the lamb, the imperial Antichrist,
Himself accused the innocent unto death.

Who sought then, fugitives, to her son, in Alban,
Hath harboured Claudia; and nourisheth still their lives,
In kilns, in cisterns, wine and olive-presses.
Even Nero's bloody sergeants have regarded
Her, Scipion's daughter; that her messuages,
Her precincts, nor her vineyards, fields, nor woods,
They searched not out; where poor of Christ lay hid.

Loud crying citizens, of great cindered Rome,
Those days, for vengeance; would all aliens slay!
Then falsely accusing Christ again, to death,
Have testified Syrian Jews, of certain Greeks,
(Jews also;) how being haters of mankind,
Who of Christ's execrable name; those fired
The City Sovereign! Poor then of Christ's fold,
(Christ lately done upon reproachful cross!)
That of day-travail of their harmless hands,
Of lowly estate, in faith, hope, love, eat bread,
Apparitors do hale forth to cruel deaths!

Concerning Simon, named the Canaanite,
(Which is to say Zelotes,) of the twelve,
Disciples: when Christ's flock was scattered forth,
He, in Lybia, preached Salvation far abroad.

Sith that disciple, after many years;
Zealous to sow seed of the Living Word,
Mongst all which use have of Phoenician speech,
To Hispania also, over seas, would pass.
And finding, at Cartenna, Roman ship,
To Gadara bound, the Apostle went aboard.

Favonius' bare that vessel forth, so rathe;
That the next eve, is Simon gone to land.
He brethren finds there, Jews and certain Greeks:
And heard, with marvel, of their lips, how Lazarus,
And Martha, and Mary, preach the risen Christ,
In heathen Gaul! For this cause, Simon sailed,
After few days, forth in Ligurian ship.

The saint is come, to land, from this new voyage,
Near Campus Lapideus, in the Province;
(Whereof Greeks fable; helping Herakles,
Zeus father rained, from heaven, out infinite stones.)

To Arelas, now arrived; by long paved path,
Went Simon forth, and having little or naught;
Nor shoes, nor bread, nor money, in his bare scrip;
But what might give him men, by the wayside.

Are sandals bound, on his wayfaring feet;
And in his hand, a staff! Nor Simon ceased;
Till he, beyond Cebenna mounts, hath passed;
Which stoop, to Rhone's swift-wheeling mighty flood:
Whereo'er great city, Allobriges' Vienne,
Lies, in his view! All weary, he sate down;
And slumbered, on his cloak, Rhone's streaming strand,
Beside. And came then marvellous thing to pass;
Rising, in his green brinks, the giddy wave;
Simon uplifting, wafted, as he was,
To further shore; nor wetted was the cloth.
Other report some herdsman, Rhodan named,
Pitying a stranger, ferried, in his bark.

Past is the sun his mid-height, when arose
The saint. He entered in great river-town,
Goeth forth; and stands now amidst their market place.

Then went one by; which, looked in Simon's face,
Perceiving him a Jew, quoth, Shalom, Peace!

After their traffic-hour, the same man, Simon
Now biddeth, to his house. There, washed his feet;
He set on meat, when timely hour to sup:
It Abda is, of the Syrian merchantmen;
Of Byblos, Justus also named; to parts
Of Gaul, from rich Massilia, wont to trade.

Journeying, with certain proselytes, he believed.

And glad was Justus, when he understood,
Simon is one of them which saw the Lord.

But when he heard, his guest was of the twelve;
Justus yet more exceedingly rejoiced!

And prayed, he tarry with him there, a season.

Because the saint came weary, he abode,
With Abda, seven days: and Simon hears,
The Family of Bethany, which had Jesus loved;
Whose orchard-house surviews God's holy hill;
With whom it pleased also the Lord to lodge,
Now, in Lugdunum, dwelleth; nigh Roman town.
Then on a morrow, risen from early meat,
They journey both together on, afoot.

Upon Cebennas, (those religious hills!)
The sun is Westing now, yond streaming Rhone;
And seem his rays to crown a dying world.
Wayfaring, come then, Christ's disciples, soon,
To an hedged garden, lies before the walls.

A reed-thatcht little lodge therein, is seen.
Fair almond tree blows midst that pleasant close;
Behold, whereunder, fallen upon his knees,
Some man, in Syrian guise, spreads forth his palms;
And this who prays, and names the Christ, is Lazarus.

And they twain, tarrying, on the man, still gaze!
Is he, who, three days, dead; at voice, arose,
Of the eternal WORD, in Jesus, was.
He wounden in his shroud, when called the Lord,
Revived. And when came Lazarus forth, unbound,
To light, from powder of the darksome grave,
His body ruddy of hew and fragrant was:
So that turned home, with his Redeemer,
Lazarus
Seemed some fresh bridegroom, in a marriage-house;
Or Adam, sprung from God's creating hands!
This Simon whispers, at the tamarisk hedge,
In heathen Gaul; where drawn apart, they wait.
How changed that young man's hew, whom Jesus loved,
Sith risen is Christ, and from the world ascended!
Behold now Lazarus, one of elders' age!
Swept is that little plot, wherein he kneeleth;
And fenced, from common wont, around, with stones.
There now his hands outstretched, like the Lord's rood;
They hear his words, in Syrian tongue, to sound,
Praying for heathen Gaul; and for Christ's fold,
In all the world. With voice of them that mourn,
Then spake he, and toucht his forehead to the ground,
Lord Jesu, Thou our Righteousness, O, come soon!

Simon saith, Shalom! opening now the gate.
Turned Lazarus, knoweth Justus; and salutes
Him saying, Peace, Maran-atha! and, by the hand,
Takes. Justus makes Zelotes known to Lazarus.
Amazed! refigures Lazarus, in his thought,
Simon the Canaanite; this, which on a staff,
Now, old man, leans! so kisseth both his cheeks:
And Lazarus wept, and Simon on his neck.

Loud Lazarus calls then Martha, and Mary of Clopas!

And they twain, hastily coming forth, know Simon,
Marvelling; one of the twelve! And they, still wondering,
Do stand; and look, one upon other's face!
And taketh each one Simon, by the hand.
With joy, they enter all then in the house;
Where Mary of Clopas washeth the guests' feet.

Martha makes ready: and soon, at board, they sate;
With gladness, sup, remembering the Lord Christ.
And oft they sigh among, and somewhiles weep.
And when that plaint had somedeal eased their hearts,
Spake Martha; whilst her tears anew break forth,
How Miriam slept! To Simon she relates,
How angry Jews of Joppa cast them forth;
Where they had, fugitives, dwelled, since:Stephen's death;
When, in the Holy City, the chief priests
And scribes, would have condemned their brother
Lazarus.

Of those, come certain, from Jerusalem, down;
They stirred chief Jews, and elders and devout
And honourable women. Tumult risen,
Envenimed rabble haled them, through their streets,
To shore: yet durst them not, for fear of Romans,
Stone. Lay some broken hull, there on banked sand.
This thrust down raging Jews, to the salt waves;
And them compelled, aboard. Yet fearing break
The Law, gave those them bread; fetcht pitying women
Their pitchers, full of water, from the town.

Then cruel wights, that hull thrust from their strand;
Hoping to see them perish presently:
With mocking shout, they bade them, learn to sail.
But heard the Lord their crying! and the seams
Were closed, of those warped boards, in wondrous wise.

A gentle breath then wafted, sent from God,
Their broken ship, which rode forth from the sand:
Wherein, she and Miriam kneeled, and Mary Clopas;
With Lazarus. Wont, in Galilee, Mary of Clopas,
To fishers' barks, she sewed two of their cloaks;
Which they then loosed for sail, with cry to Christ!
To Whom obeyed swart tempests in the lake.

God sent them, softly blowing, wind, in poop,
Then, many days; nor minished was their meat;
Nor water failed, whilst, in much deep, they fleet:
And aye Christ's Spirit did comfort their cold hearts.

The second month of their ship-voyage, in vast
Deep driving; met with them Italiot vessel,
By divine grace: whose master, sent his skiff,
Received them all, with kindness, on his board.
Next eve, they saw a land; and, furled, at dawn,
Was cast their anchor, in Massilia haven!

There, led before the Roman magistrate;
He gave them cloth and sustenance, until found
Were some convenient mean, to send them home;
And gave them place, to dwell in, the Camargue.
But, the next month, the Lord appeared to Lazarus,
In dream; and bade him boldly, in heathen Gaul,
Go up preaching Salvation, through His Name.

Touching then Miriam's death, she weeping saith;
How journeying many days, their sister was
Weary begone, and sickness still increased,
In her. One eve, and when she might no more,
She sate her down, by the long way, and sighed.

Was there fresh plain, like to some springing field,
In Galilea. They, laid their budgets down,
A pillow of them made, for Miriam's head.
An hind, which that way led his flock, her gave
To drink out of his gourd: they, o'er her, spread
Their cloaks; and comforted, Miriam eftsoon slept.

She, Martha, and Mary of Clopas, sought then forth
Some bitter herbs, meet for the Passover;
And which should, by their reckoning, fall, to-night.
Whilst they then wend, in Syrian tongue, they sing;
Christ, as this night, our Passover, was slain!

Now when the hour of incense, and the sun
Low stooping in the West, they came again,
With Lazarus, who had lifted, from the earth,
His hands, apart; and said, as Jesus taught,
To His disciples: and behold, was fallen
Their sister, on her knees, and on her face;
As yet she prayed! And, in that posture, seemed,
Wherein, wet with her tears, she washed and kissed
The Master's feet, and wiped them, with her hairs.
And was their sister, to the Master passed!

Then she and Mary of Clopas, Miriam dead,
With tears, prepared, and sighing, to the grave.
Sith, sitting round, they Miriam mourned and wept:
But Lazarus prayed, and strengthened Christ their hearts.

They, in that field, being girt, as Moses bade;
Did si then eat, with bitter herbs, their bread,
Under the stars: then Miriam they lamented,
Till dawn; when now, with jingling mules and wains,
A company approached that way, of merchant Gauls;
Journeying, from parts of Cularo, to Vienne.

Those seeing them strangers, in outlandish weed;
In tongue of Greek Massilia, gan enquire;
Why wept they, and, what for country-folk, they were?

What aileth them; and what this, covered corse?
Good man and rich, one Drappes, with them, rides.

Heard, (owner of that field,) their broken tale,
This Gaul, moved with compassion, as towards guests,
Showed certain myrtle-headland of his glebe,
Where no plough fares; and bury, in that waste place,
He grants their dead. Spoiled them of upper weed,
With mattock and with spade, he and his servants;
Then Lazarus, to that need, gan hastily aid.

Crowned, as a bride; her brethren, with fresh flowers,
Have buried her, in that swart stranger mould:
So, weeping many tears, closed Miriam's grave.
They, in far land, thus laid to rest, her flesh,
Yet sighed and wept; but Lazarus spake of Christ!
And, to this day, in Gaulish tongue, is named,
Where Miriam sleeps, the Beautiful Guest's Grave.

Led Drappes in, from pasture, his yoke-beasts;
His servants joined them, to his wains; wherein
He takes then up those wayworn and sad Syrians.
They, journeying, with him, on, by many league-stones;
Came to Vienne. There dwelled they then, in house
Of Drappes, (who, through their word, hath believed,)
Two years: till last, (one night-time was,) they fled,
In bark; and that for Cæsar's edict's cause,
Fearing Vienna's city magistrates.
So came they to Lugdunum; whereas Lazarus,
A little gathered flock, now feeds, for Christ.
And yet they only, of an uncertain alms,
Lived; until Drappes dying, in the Lord;
(Had he here also land,) to them bequeathed
A field; and gave, therein, this dwelling-place.

With Martha and Mary, and Lazarus, certain days,
Hosts of the Lord, Zelotes made abode.
Much joy and consolation have they all,
Communing of the deep sweet things of Christ;
And that, (hid, sith beginning of the world,)
Great MYSTERY of God! But pause those oft among,
And sigh they all, because, and that so long,
The Master tarries to them, to return.

They do His gracious looks record, His voice:
His mild eyes, like to wells in wilderness.
His words, as dew drops on a weary grass.
His smile transmuted all their earthly dross.

Servants, to Roman captains, in the legions,
Went, these days, certain by, from conquered Britain,
Journeying to Roma: and they, which wend from Aquas,
Are proselytes of Greek tongue. They visit Lazarus;
Concerning whom, they heard so marvellous tiding!
Simon hears, from their mouths, of Roman Britain,
Beyond cold sea of Gaul: amazed then hears
How Joseph, (that rich councillor, which the Lord
Laid, from the tree, in his own garden grave,)
Sith longtime, to that UTMOST ISLE arrived,
With certain brethren, preacheth Jesus Christ!