'Then let us wait that hour,' and laid him down With those kine-tending and harp-mastering hands Meanwhile the monks, The lights removed in reverence of his sleep, And 'Hoc est Corpus Meum. Northward far Head ; For now the mightiest spring-tide of the year, Following the magic of a maiden moon, Approached its height. Nearer, that sea which sobbed In many a cave by Whitby's winding coast, A softer strain and sweeter, making way That moment reached them from the central gloom Succeeded: neither seemed the sigh of pain : And some one said, ' He wakens.' Large and bright 142 KING OSWY OF NORTHUMBRIA, OR Oswy, King of Bernicia, being at war with his kinsman Oswin, slays him unarmed. He refuses to repent of this sin; yet at last, subdued by the penitence, humility, and charity of Eanfleda, his wife, repents likewise, and builds a monastery over the grave of Oswin. Afterwards he becomes a great warrior and dies a saint. YOUNG, beauteous, brave-the bravest of the brave- A beggar claimed his alms. 'Gold have I none,' Aidan replied; this horse be thine!' The King, Hearing the tale, was grieved. Keep I, my lord, No meaner horses fit for beggar's use That thus my best should seem a thing of naught?' The Saint made answer: 'Beggar's use, my King! What was that horse? The foal of some poor mare! The least of men-the sinner-is God's child!' Then dropped the King on both his knees, and cried : 'Father, forgive me!' As they sat at meat Oswin was mirthful, and at jest and tale His hungry thanes laughed loud. But great, slow tears In silence trickled down old Aidan's face : These all men marked; yet no man question made. In Irish tongue, unknown to all save them, Who loved not Oswin? Not alone his realm, 'The armies stood. But Oswin, when he marked His own a little flock 'mid countless wolves, Addressed them thus: Why perish, friends, for me? From exile came I: for my people's sake To exile I return, or gladlier die : Depart in peace.' He rode to Gilling Tower; Twelve days passed ; Then Aidan, while through green Northumbria's woods The pilgrim from far countries came in faith The sick man there found health. Thus Oswin lived, Though dead, a benediction in the land. What gentlest form kneels on the rain-washed ground |