I spoke her name alone. Thrice-happy And alders, garden-isles; and now we left we met, The crown of all, we met to part no more.' Were not his words delicious, I a beast To take them as I did? but something jarr'd ; Whether he spoke too largely; that there seem'd Delighted with the freshness and the sound. But, when the bracken rusted on their crags, My suit had wither'd, nipt to death by him That was a God, and is a lawyer's clerk, The rentroll Cupid of our rainy isles. A touch of something false, some self- 'Tis true, we met; one hour I had, no conceit, Or over-smoothness: howsoe'er it was, He scarcely hit my humour, and I said: more : She sent a note, the seal an Elle vous suit, The close, 'Your Letty, only yours;' and this 'Friend Edwin, do not think yourself Thrice underscored. alone of morn Of all men happy. Shall not Love to Clung to the lake. The friendly mist I boated over, ran My craft aground, and heard with beating heart The Sweet-Gale rustle round the shelving keel; And out I stept, and up I crept she moved, Like Proserpine in Enna, gathering flowers: Then low and sweet I whistled thrice; and she, She turn'd, we closed, we kiss'd, swore faith, I breathed In some new planet: a silent cousin stole Upon us and departed: Leave,' she cried, O leave me!' 'Never, dearest, never: here I brave the worst:' and while we stood Embracing, all at once a score of pugs came Trustees and Aunts and Uncles. 'What, with him! Go' (shrill'd the cotton-spinning chorus); 'him !' I choked. Again they shriek'd the burthen-Him!' Again with hands of wild rejection 'Go!— They wedded her to sixty thousand pounds, And educated whisker. But for me, arms: There came a mystic token from the king Her taper glimmer'd in the lake below : So left the place, left Edwin, nor have seen Him since, nor heard of her, nor cared to hear. sleet, and snow; And I had hoped that ere this period closed Thou wouldst have caught me up into thy rest, Denying not these weather-beaten limbs The meed of saints, the white robe and the palm. O take the meaning, Lord: I do not breathe, Not whisper, any murmur of complaint. Pain heap'd ten-hundred-fold to this, were still Nor cared to hear? perhaps : yet long Less burthen, by ten-hundred-fold, to bear, ago I have pardon'd little Letty; not indeed, Than were those lead-like tons of sin, that crush'd It may be, for her own dear sake but this, My spirit flat before thee. She seems a part of those fresh days to me; O Lord, Lord, For in the dust and drouth of London life Thou knowest I bore this better at the Was tagg'd with icy fringes in the moon, I drown'd the whoopings of the owl with sound Of pious hymns and psalms, and sometimes saw An angel stand and watch me, as I sang. Now am I feeble grown; my end draws nigh; I hope my end draws nigh: half deaf I am, So that scarce can hear the people hum About the column's base, and almost blind, And scarce can recognise the fields I know; And both my thighs are rotted with the dew; Yet cease I not to clamour and to cry, While my stiff spine can hold my weary head, Till all my limbs drop piecemeal from the stone, Have mercy, mercy: take away my sin. O Jesus, if thou wilt not save my soul, Who may be saved? who is it may be saved? Who may be made a saint, if I fail here ? Show me the man hath suffer'd more than I. For did not all thy martyrs die one death? I bore, whereof, O God, thou knowest all. Three winters, that my soul might grow to thee, I lived up there on yonder mountain side. My right leg chain'd into the crag, I lay Pent in a roofless close of ragged stones; Inswathed sometimes in wandering mist, and twice Black'd with thy branding thunder, and sometimes Sucking the damps for drink, and eating not, Except the spare chance-gift of those that came To touch my body and be heal'd, and live: And they say then that I work'd miracles, Whereof my fame is loud amongst mankind, Cured lameness, palsies, cancers. Thou, Knowest alone whether this was or no. Then, that I might be more alone with thee, Three years I lived upon a pillar, high Six cubits, and three years on one of twelve ; that rose For either they were stoned, or crucified, And twice three years I crouch'd on one Bear witness, if I could have found a way (And heedfully I sifted all my thought) More slowly-painful to subdue this home Of sin, my flesh, which I despise and hate, I had not stinted practice, O my God. For not alone this pillar-punishment, Not this alone I bore: but while I lived In the white convent down the valley there, For many weeks about my loins I wore The rope that haled the buckets from the well, Twisted as tight as I could knot the noose; And spake not of it to a single soul, Until the ulcer, eating thro' my skin, Betray'd my secret penance, so that all My brethren marvell'd greatly. More than this Twenty by measure; last of all, I grew Twice ten long weary weary years to this, That numbers forty cubits from the soil. I think that I have borne as much as this Or else I dream—and for so long a time, If I may measure time by yon slow light, And this high dial, which my sorrow crowns So much even so. And yet I know not well, For that the evil ones come here, and say, 'Fall down, O Simeon: thou hast suffer'd long For ages and for ages!' then they prate Of penances I cannot have gone thro', Perplexing me with lies; and oft I fall, Maybe for months, in such blind lethargies That Heaven, and Earth, and Time are choked. Bow down one thousand and two hundred Speak! is there any of you halt or maim'd? I think you know I have some power with Heaven times, To Christ, the Virgin Mother, and the saints; Or in the night, after a little sleep, I wake the chill stars sparkle; I am wet From my long penance: let him speak his wish. Yes, I can heal him. Power goes forth from me. With drenching dews, or stiff with crack- They ling frost. I wear an undress'd goatskin on my A grazing iron collar grinds my neck; say that they are heal'd. Ah, hark! they shout 'St. Simeon Stylites.' Why, if so, God reaps a harvest in me. O my soul, God reaps a harvest in thee. If this be, Can I work miracles and not be saved? This is not told of any. They were saints. It cannot be but that I shall be saved; Yea, crown'd a saint. They shout, 'Behold a saint!' And lower voices saint me from above. Courage, St. Simeon! This dull chrysalis Cracks into shining wings, and hope ere death Spreads more and more and more, that God hath now Sponged and made blank of crimeful record all My mortal archives. O my sons, my sons, I, Simeon of the pillar, by surname Stylites, among men; I, Simeon, The watcher on the column till the end; I, Simeon, whose brain the sunshine bakes; I, whose bald brows in silent hours become Unnaturally hoar with rime, do now From my high nest of penance here proclaim That Pontius and Iscariot by my side Show'd like fair seraphs. On the coals When I am gather'd to the glorious With colt-like whinny and with hoggish I know thy glittering face. I waited whine They burst my prayer. was left, long; Yet this way My brows are ready. What! deny it now? 'Tis gone: 'tis here again; the crown! the crown! So now 'tis fitted on and grows to ne, And from it melt the dews of Paracise, Sweet! sweet! spikenard, and baln, and frankincense. Ah! let me not be fool'd, sweet saints: I trust That I am whole, and clean, and meet for Heaven. Speak, if there be a priest, a man of God, Among you there, and let him presently Among the powers and princes of this Approach, and lean a ladder on the shaft, world, And climbing up into my airy home, But thou, O Lord, Aid all this foolish people; let them take Example, pattern: lead them to thy light. THE TALKING OAK, ONCE more the gate behind me falls; I see the moulder'd Abbey-walls, |