The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Vol. 2

"But Morcar and Edwin, the unfortunate Queenes' brethren, by night escaping the battaile, came unto London, where, with the rest of the peeres, they beganne to lay the foundation of some fresh hopes; posting thence their messengers to raise a new supply, and to comfort the English (who, through all the land, were stricken into a feareful astonishment with this unexpected newes) from a despairing feare, showing the chance of warre to be mutable, their number many and captaines sufficient to try another field. Alfred, Archbishop of Yorke, there present, and president of the assembly, stoutly and prudently gave his counsell forthwith to consecrate and crowne young Edgar Atheling (the true heire) for their king, to whom consented likewise both the sea-captaines and the Londoners. But the Earles of Yorkeshire and Cheshire, Edwin and Morcar (whom this fearefull state of their country could not disswade from disloyaltie and ambition), plotting secretly to get the crown themselves, hindred that wise and noble designe. In which, while the sorrowfull Queene, their sister, was conueyed to Westchester, where, without state or title of a Queene, she led a solitary and quiet life.

"The mother of the slaine King did not so well moderate her womanly passions as to receive either comfort or counsell of her friends: the dead body of her sonne shee greatly desired, and to that end sent to the Conquerour two sage brethren of his Abbey at Waltham, who had accompanied him in his unfortunate expedition. Their names (as I finde them recorded in an olde manuscript) were Osegod and Ailric, whose message to the Conquerour, not without abundance of teares and feare, is there set downe in the tenour as followeth:

"'Noble Duke, and ere long to be a most great and mightie King, we thy most humble servants, destitute of all comfort (as we would we were also of life) are come to thee as sent from our brethren, whom this dead King hath placed in the monastery of Waltham, to attend the issue of this late dreadfull battaile (wherein God favouring thy quarrell, he is now taken away and dead, which was our greatest comforter, and by whose onely bountifull goodenesse we were relieved and maintained, whom hee had placed to serve God in that church). Wherefore wee most humbly request thee (now our dread lord) by that gracious favour which the Lord of lords hath showed unto thee, and for the reliefe of their soules, who in this quarrell have ended their dayes, that it may be lawfull for us by thy good leave safely to take and carry away with us the dead body of the King, the founder and builder of our church and monasterie; as also the bodies of such others as whom, for the reverence of him and for his sake, desired also to be buried with us, that the state of our church by their helpe strengthened, may be the stronger, and endure the firmer.' With whose so humble a request, and abundant teares, the victorious and worthy Duke moved, answered:

"'Your King (said he) unmindfull of his faith, although he have for the present endured the worthy punishment of his fault, yet hath he not therefore deserved to want the honour of a sepulchre or to lie unburied: were it but that he died a King, howsoever he came by the kingdom, my purpose is, for the reverence of him, and for the health of them who, having left their wives and possessions, have here in my quarrel lost their lives, to build here a church and a monastery with an hundred monkes in it, to pray for them for ever, and in the same church to bury your King above the rest, with all honour unto so great a prince, and for his sake to endow the same with great revenewes.'

"With which his courteous speech and promises, the two religious fathers, comforted and encouraged, again replied:

"'Not so, noble Duke, but grant this thy servants' most humble request, that we may, for God, by thy leave, receive the dead body of our founder, and to bury it in the place which himself in his lifetime appointed, that wee, cheered with the presence of his body, may thereof take comfort, and that his tombe may be unto our successors a perpetual monument of his remembrance.'

"The Duke, as he was of disposition gracious, and inclined to mercy, forthwith granted their desires, whereupon they drew out stores of gold to present him in way of gratulation, which he not only utterly refused, but also offered them plenty to supply whatsoever should be needfull for the pompe of his funerall, as also for their costs in travaile to and fro, giving strait commandments that none of his souldiers should persume to molest them in this businesse or in their returne. Then went they in haste to the quarry of the dead, but by no meanes could find the body of the King; for the countenances of all men greatly alter by death, but being maimed and imbrued with bloud, they are not known to be the men they were. As for his other regall ornaments which might have shewed him for their King, his dead corps was despoyled of them, either through the greedy desire of prey (as the manner of the field is) or to be the first bringer of such happy news, in hope of a princely reward, upon which purpose many times the body is both mangled and dismembred, and so was this King after his death by a base souldier gasht and hackt into the legge, whom Duke William rewarded for so unsouldier like a deed, cashiering him for ever out of his wages and warres. So that Harold, lying stript, wounded, bemangled, and goared in his bloud, could not be founde nor knowne till they sent for a woman named Editha (for her passing beautie surnamed Swan-shals, that is, Swan's-necke), whom hee entertained in secret love before he was King, who by some secret marks of his body, to her well knowne, found him out, and then put into a coffine, was by divers of the Norman nobilitie honourably brought unto the place afterward called Battle Bridge, where it was met by the nobles of England, and, so conveyed to Waltham, was there solemnly and with great lamentation of his mother, royally interred, with this rude epitaph,¹¹¹ well beseeming the time, though not the person.

"Goodwine, the eldest son of the King Harold, being growne to some ripenesse of years in y^e life of his father, after his death and overthrow by the Conquerour, took his brother with him and flew over into Ireland, from whence he returned and landed in Somersetshire, slew Edmoth (a baron sometimes of his fathers) that encountered him, and taking great preyes in Devonshire and Cornwell, departed till the next yeare; when, comeing again, he fought with Beorn and Earle of Cornwall, and after retired into Ireland, and thence went into Denmarke to King Swayn, his cosen-german, where he spent the rest of his life.

"Edmund, the second sonne to King Harold, went with his brother into Ireland, returned with him into England, and was at the slaughter and overthrow of Edmoth and his power in Somersetshire, at the spoyles committed in Cornwall and Devonshire, at the conflict with the Cornish Earle Beorn, passed, repassed with him in all his voyages, invasions, and warres, by sea and by land, in England and Ireland; and at the last departed with him from Ireland to Denmarke, tooke part with him of all pleasure and calamitie whatsoever, and attending and depending wholly upon him, lived and died with him in that country.

"Magnus, the third sonne of the King Harold, went with his brothers into Ireland, and returned with them the first time into England, and is never after that mentioned amongst them, nor elsewhere, unlesse (as some conjecture) he be that Magnus, who, seeing the mutability of humane affaires, became an anchoret, whose epitaph, pointing to his Danish originall, the learned Clarenciaux discovered in a little desolate church at Lewes, in Sussex, where, in the gaping chinks of an arch in the wall, in a rude and over worne character, certain old imperfect verses were found."

A daughter, whose name is not known, left England with her brothers, and sought refuge with them in Denmark.

Speed quotes Saxo Grammaticus, who says, "She afterwards married Waldemar, King of Russia." To this daughter I have given the name and character assigned to her in the poem.

ST JOHN IN PATMOS

ADVERTISEMENT

This poem was first published under the name of "One of the Living Poets of Great Britain." I have thought it best to revise and publish it in my own name, and as it is the last written by me, and the last I may ever live to write, I have added, from volumes long out of print, some selected verses of my earliest days of song.¹¹²

Since these were written, I have lived to hear the sounds of other harps, whose masters have struck far more sublime chords, and died. I have lived to see among them females¹¹³ of the highest poetical rank, and many illustrious masters of the lyre, whose names I need not specify, crowned with younger and more verdant laurels, which they yet gracefully wear. Some who now rank high in the poet's art have acknowledged that their feelings were first excited by these youthful strains, which I have now, with melancholy feelings, revised for the last time.

It is a consolation that, from youth to age, I have found no line I wished to blot, or departed a moment from the severer taste which I imbibed from the simplest and purest models of classical composition.

Time – Four days.

Characters. – St John – Mysterious Stranger – Præfect of the Roman Guard – Robber of Mount Carmel, converted – Grecian Girl and Dying Libertine – Elders of Ephesus – Visions.

ST JOHN IN PATMOS

War, and the noise of battle, and the hum Of armies, by their watch-fires, in the night, And charging squadrons, all in harness bright, The sword, the shield, the trumpet, and the drum – Themes such as these, too oft, in lofty song Have been resounded, while the poet strung His high heroic lyre, and louder sung Of chariots flashing through the armed throng: – But other sights and other sounds engage, Fitlier, the thoughts of calm-declining age, More worthy of the Christian and the sage; Who, when deep clouds his country have o'ercast, And sadder comes the moaning of the blast, To God would consecrate a parting lay Of holier homage, ere he pass away.

PART FIRST

Cave in Patmos – Apparition – Mysterious Visitant – Day, Night, and Morning.

 
'Twas in the rugged and forsaken isle
Of Patmos, dreariest of the sister isles
Which strew the Ægean, where the pirate, wont
To rove the seas with scymitar of blood,
Now scowled in sullen exile, an old man,
Tranquilly listening to the ocean-sounds,
And resting on his staff, beside a cave,
Gazed on the setting sun, as it went down
In glory o'er the distant hills of Greece.
Pale precipices frowned above the track
Of dark gray sands and stone; nor wood nor stream
Cheered the lone valleys, desolate, and sad,
And silent; not a goat amid the crags
Wandering, and picking here and there a blade
Of withered grass, above the sea-marge hung.
The robber¹¹⁴ scowled, and spoke not; his dark eye
Still flashed unconquered pride, and sullen hate
To man, and, looking on his iron chain,
He muttered to himself a deeper curse.
The old man had his dwelling in a cave,
Half-way upon the desert mountain's side,
Now bent with the full weight of eighty years
And upwards; and that caverned mountain-crag
Five years had been his dwelling:¹¹⁵ there he sat,
Oft holding converse, not with forms of earth,
But, as was said, with spirits of the blessed,
Beyond this cloudy sphere, or with the dead
Of other days. A girdle bound his loins;
Figs and Icarian honey were his food;
An ill-carved cup by a clear fount was seen;
His long locks and his white descending beard
Shook when he tottered down into the sun,
Supported by a slender cross of pine,
His staff; and when the evening star arose
O'er Asia, a brief time he stood and gazed,
Then sought his melancholy cave and prayed.
And who, in this sad place, was this old man?
Who, in this island, where the robber scowled,
Was this old man, exiled and destitute —
Old, but so reverenced, the murderer passed
His rocky dwelling, and bade peace to it?
'Twas he who leaned upon our Saviour's breast
At the last supper; he to whom the Lord,
Looking upon his countenance of youth,
His calm, clear forehead, and his clustering hair,
Said, What if he shall tarry till I come!
Long years – and many sorrows marked these years —
Had passed since this was said; and now that face
Was furrowed o'er with age; and weariness
And exile, in the last lone days of life,
Were now his lot; for they whom he had loved —
They, the disciples of "Him crucified" —
Professing one warm faith, one glorious hope,
Were all, in the same faith and the same hope,
Laid down in peace, after their pilgrimage,
Where the world ceased from troubling.
He alone
Lingered when all were dead, with fervent prayer
Soon in the bosom of his Lord to rest.
And now he comes forth from his rocky cave
To gaze a while upon the silent sea,
In the calm eventide of the Lord's day;
To think on Him he loved, and of that voice
Once heard on earth: so, pondering, on his staff,
The old man watched another sun go down
Beyond the Cape of Tenos.¹¹⁶ The still sea
Slept, in the light of eve, beneath his feet,
And often, as in very gentleness,
It seemed to touch his sandals, and retire.
And now the last limb of the sinking orb
Is hid, yet far away the cloudy track
Reddens with its departing glory.
Hark!
A voice, and, lo! seven "golden candlesticks,"¹¹⁷
The "Angels of the Churches" upon earth,
"Seven golden candlesticks," and He, the Lord,
Among them, like unto that Son of God
Who radiant on the mount of vision¹¹⁸ stood,
Now recognised the same, in the same shape.
His hair was white as snow; his eyes were flame;
His voice, the sound of waters; in his hand —
His raised right hand – seven stars; his countenance
As the bright sun, that shineth in his strength;
And yet serene as the descending day.
It was the Lord: the old man at his feet
Fell down as dead; the apparition stood
Glorious above his head, and spoke:
Fear not;
I am the first and last; the last and first:
Lo, I am he that liveth, and was dead:
And now, behold, I live for evermore —
For evermore, and have the keys of hell
And death!¹¹⁹
The glory passed – and all around
Is still as death: the old man sinks to earth,
Astonied, faint, and pale. When the slow sense
Struggled to recollection, he looked around,
Yet trembling; but no voice was heard; no form
Stood, bending in its glory, o'er him.
Then seemed the hills of that forsaken isle
More dreary; and the promontories bare
Lifted their weather-beaten brows more dark
And desolate. Back to his lonely cave
The old man passed; and, wrapped in thoughts of heaven,
Lifted in prayer his clasped emaciate hands;
Then on his bed of rushes in the cave
Lay down to rest till dawn. What was his dream?
He saw again, as when the rocks were rent,
And "darkness at midday was o'er the land,"
His Saviour calmly bowing his meek head
Upon the cross: he heard that thrilling voice
Even from the cross, Woman, behold thy son!
Son, look upon thy mother!
Then he saw
The forms of those whom he had loved on earth,
And heard their voices still; and stood entranced,
With Peter and with James, upon the mount
Of glorious vision; now he saw, in dreams,
Again the glistening apparition rise,
And stand above him. He has tarried long
And lonely in the world: the vision comes
To animate his hopes – to say, Live, live
With me, for evermore! And, lo, the keys!
This opens the bright mansions of the blessed;
This closes the eternal gates of hell,
Upon the gnashing of the teeth, and groans
Unutterable. So the Saviour spoke,
As seemed in his sleep. Ah! the stern shade
Of murdered Cæsar rises: Art thou dead,
King of the world? for this didst thou proclaim
Thyself a god – a living god on earth?¹²⁰
Let the pit hide thee! But thou art a god!
Then bid the fury of these flames assuage
Ere they reach thee! Who shrieked?
At the sound,
The ancient and the solitary man
Started from sleep
The cold gray dawn appeared,
When, standing opposite, with steadfast look,
And in the glimmer of the inmost cave,
He saw a stranger.
Whence and who art thou?
With trembling voice he asked – whence? who art thou?
Perhaps the spirit of this dismal isle!
Or, cast upon these melancholy rocks,
A poor and world-forsaken thing, like me!
The stranger gazed unmoved, and answered not:
His looks were those of pity – of respect —
As mingling thoughtful wisdom with the grace
Of beauty. In his hand he held a book:
He opened it; and never light appeared
So fair as that on his majestic brow,
For now the sun had risen, and its beams
Shot far into the cave.
John gazed with awe
On that majestic man, he knew not why;
And well might he have gazed with reverence,
For here, in this rude spot, he only saw
Men the most dark and savage of their kind,
Murderers, and ruthless criminals in chains.
He spoke to them of truth and righteousness —
He spoke of an offended God! Some looked
To the bright sun, defying; others turned
Muttering. He spoke of pity, and they heard,
Even as the relentless hurricane
Hears the last prayer of the faint mariner,
Whom wintry waves had dashed upon the rocks.
Yet ever with the gentlest offices,
With tears and prayers the holy exile strove
To wake their better feelings, for he laid
His hands upon the sick, and they looked up
With hope and blessed him, and, restored to strength,
Forgot the vows they made; him, too, who died
Hardened, and, as to human eyes, in sin,
He laid in the cold grave, and said a prayer
For mercy to the God of all, the Judge,
To whom all hearts be open, and from whom
No secret thought is hid – and, self-accused,
Mortal himself, presumed not to condemn.
So passed this ancient holy man his days,
Peaceful, amid the banished criminals,
Banished and poor himself, but living thus,
Among the sternest of their kind, he prayed
For their salvation: – so he passed his days
Peaceful, but sad; and now, with anxious gaze,
He turned his look to the mysterious man,
Who, steadfastly beholding him, thus spoke:
The voice of prophecy has been fulfilled;
Where is the Temple? where Jerusalem?
Ah! wretched city! Famine, war, and woe
Have done their destined work. The living drops¹²¹
Dead on the carcase he is burying!
That famished babe is black! Oh! turn away!
All – all is silent now; and thou hast seen
This prophecy fulfilled, for not one stone
Of beautiful and sacred Solima
Is left upon another! He who died,
When he beheld the city, o'er it wept,
And said, O daughters of Jerusalem!
Weep not for me, but for your little ones!
The tender words – dost thou remember them?
Jerusalem, Jerusalem! how oft
Would I have gathered up those little ones,
Even as a hen beneath a mother's wing;
But ye would not: and now, behold your house
Is left unto you desolate! Alas!
How desolate! But even in those last days
Warning was given, if yet they would repent.
A bloody sword, like a red comet, hung
Above the Temple, and a strange sad light
Sat on the altar; while the inner gate,
Untouched, at midnight burst its brazen bars,
And stood wide open; armed men did fight
Amid the clouds; and, in the dead of night,
The pale priest heard a voice, Depart! depart!¹²²
So the fair city of Jerusalem
Perished: but, lo! Christ's holy Church shall rise —
Rise from its ashes – yea, is risen now;
Its glorious gates shall never be cast down,
Till He, the King of glory, shall appear!
He founded it upon a rock – a rock,
Which time, the rushing earthquake, or the storm,
Whilst earth endures, shall never shake!
Old man,
Beloved of the Lord, wouldst thou know more —
What things shall be hereafter? rise and mark!
The old man, lifting up his eyelids, slow,
Saw a door opened in the heaven, and heard
A voice, as of a trumpet: Come and see!
Straight he was in the Spirit, and the voice
Inquired, What vision comes? The seer replied:
There is a throne in heaven,¹²³ and on the throne
One sitteth, and he seems, to look upon,
Red as a sardine-stone – a deep, deep red
Is round about, yet, as a jasper, bright
His face! The sun is of an ashy pale,
So red and bright that form!
 

VOICE

 
Thou seest the throne
Of the Eternal Justice. Look again.
 

JOHN

 
There is a rainbow¹²⁴ round about the throne,
Tempering the fiery red.
 

VOICE

 
It is the bow
Of mercy, and of pardon, and of peace;
Of mercy, as when, stealing from the clouds,
It came forth, beautiful and silently,
Above the waste of waters, and the flood,
Receding – token of the covenant
Of grace restored; while the great orb of day
Shone westering, and some few small drops of rain
Fell transient in the sunshine, where, far off,
The wings of the ascending dove were seen,
And by the altar, in the rainbow-light —
That light upon the altar and his brow —
The world's survivor stood. What seest thou more?
 

JOHN

 
About the throne are four and twenty seats;¹²⁵
And four and twenty elders, clothed in white,
Each having on his head a crown of gold,
Are on those seats.
 

VOICE.¹²⁶

 
Dost thou not hear a voice?
 

JOHN

 
Yea! voices, such as earth ne'er heard; and, lo!
There are seven lamps of fire, before the throne.
 

VOICE

 
They are the Spirits of the living God.
 

JOHN

 
Four mighty cherubims,¹²⁷ which blaze with eyes,
Having six wings, and full of eyes within,
Are 'round the throne: I see their radiant forms.
 

VOICE

 
These rest not night nor day.
 

JOHN

 
I hear them now,
Proclaiming, Holy, holy, holy Lord,
Lord God Almighty, Him who was, and is,
And is to come! And while these cherubims
Give honour, glory, praise, and thanks to Him
Who sitteth on the throne, —
 

VOICE

 
To Him who lives
For ever and for ever!
 

JOHN

 
They fall down,
The four and twenty elders, at the feet
Of Him who sitteth on the throne, and cast
Their crowns before the throne, and cry, O Lord
Almighty! thou art worthy to receive
Glory and honour, majesty and might!
Thou hast created all things; and for thee
They are and were created!
 

VOICE

 
Oh that earth
Might answer their glad voices! Oh that earth
Might listen and repeat! What more?
 

JOHN

 
I see,
In His right hand who sitteth on the throne,
A book; without, within darkly inscribed,
Having seven seals. Now, a strong angel cries,
With a loud voice, What man is worthy found
To loose the seals, and open that dark book!¹²⁸
 

VOICE

 
Ah! no one, in the heaven or on the earth,
May open that same book, or look thereon!
Why dost thou weep?
 

JOHN

 
I weep because no man
Is worthy found to open, or to read,
Or look upon that book. I weep for this.¹²⁹
 

VOICE

 
Weep not; but say what follows.
 

JOHN

 
Lo! a Lamb,
As it were slain – it hath seven horns and eyes.
He takes the book from the right hand of Him
Who sitteth on the throne!
 

VOICE

 
What follows? mark!
 

JOHN

 
The elders and the mighty cherubims
Fall down before the Lamb, the Lamb of God,
With solemn harps, and golden vials full
Of odours.
 

VOICE

 
These are prayers of saints on earth:
They sing a new song to the Lamb!
 

JOHN

 
And shout:
Thou only, Lamb of God! art worthy found
To take the book, and ope the seals thereof;
For thou wert slain, thou hast redeemed us
From every tongue and nation upon earth!
 

VOICE

 
Hearest thou aught beside?
 

JOHN

 
I hear the voice,
Of shining mighty troops, about the throne,
Angels, and seraphim, and cherubim,
Ten thousand and ten thousand hierarchies,
Lift up their voices:
Worthy is the Lamb,
Slain from the world's foundation, to receive
Riches and wisdom. Blessing, glory, power
Be unto Him that sitteth on the throne,
And to the Lamb, for ever and for ever!
The quail¹³⁰ goes clamouring by; the old man raises
His eyelids, and the vision floats away.