Thus pagan died old Penda as he lived :
Yet Penda's sons were Christian, kindlier none ;
His daughters nuns ; and lamb-like Mercia's House,
Lion one while, made end. King Oswy raised
His monasteries twelve: benigner life
Around them spread: wild waste, and robber bands
Vanished the poor were housed, the hungry fed :
And Oswy sent his little new-born babe
Dewed with her mother's tear-drops, Eanfleda,
Like some young lamb with fillet decked and flower,
Yet dedicated not to death, but life,
To Hilda sent on Whitby's sea-washed hill,
Who made her Bride of Christ. The years went by,
And Oswy, now an old king, glory-crowned,
His country from the Mercian thraldom loosed
And free from north to south, in heart resolved
A pilgrim, Romeward faring with bare feet,
To make his rest by Peter's tomb and Paul's.
God willed not thus: within his native realm
The sickness unto death clasped him with hold
Gentle but firm. Long sleepless, t'ward the close
Amid his wanderings smiling, from the couch
He stretched a shrivelled hand, and pointing said,
'Who was it fabled she had died in age?
In all her youthful beauty holy and pure,
Lo, where she kneels upon the wintry ground,
The snow-flakes circling round her, yet with face
Bright as a star!' so spake the king, and taking
Into his heart that vision, slept in peace.
His daughter, abbess then on Whitby's height,
Within her church interred her father's bones
Beside her grandsire's, Edwin. Side by side
They rested, one Bernicia's king, and one
Deira's great Northumbria's sister realms;
Long foes, yet blended by that mingling dust.
THE VENGEANCE OF THE MONKS OF BARDENEY.
Osthryda, Queen of Mercia, translates the relics of her uncle, Oswald of Northumberland, to the Abbey of Bardeney. The monks refuse them admittance because King Oswald had conquered and kept for one year Lindsay, a province of Mercia. Though hourly expecting the destruction of their Abbey, they will yield neither to threats nor to supplications, nor even to celestial signs and wonders. At last, being convinced by the reasoning of a devout man, they repent of their anger.
SILENT, with gloomy brows in conclave sat
The monks of Bardeney, nigh the eastern sea ;—
Rumour, that still outruns the steps of ill,
Smote on their gates with news: 'Osthryda comes
To bury here her royal uncle's bones,
Northumbrian Oswald.' Oswald was a Saint;
Had loosed from Pagan bonds that Christian land
His own by right. But Oswald had subdued
Lindsay, a Mercian province; and the monks
Were sons of Mercia leal and true. Osthryda,
Northumbrian born, had wedded Mercia's King;
Therefore the monks of Bardeney pondered thus:
'This Mercian Queen spurns her adopted country!
Must Mercia therefore build her conqueror's tomb?
Though earth and hell cried " Ay," it should not be !'
Thus mused the brethren till the sun went down :
Then lo! beyond a vista in the woods
Drew nigh a Bier, black-plumed, with funeral train:
Thereon the stern monks gazed, and gave command
To close the Abbey's gate. Beside that gate
Tent-roofed that Bier remained.
Stood up the royal herald. Thus he spake :
'Ye sacred monks of Bardeney's Abbey, hail!
Osthryda, wife of Ethelred our King,
Prays that God's peace may keep this House forever.
The Queen has hither brought, by help of God,
King Oswald's bones, and sues for them a grave
Within this hallowed precinct.' Answer came :
'King Oswald, living, was Northumbria's King;
King Oswald, by the pride of life seduced,
Wrested from Mercia's sceptre Lindsay's soil;
Therefore in Lindsay's soil King Oswald, dead,
May never find repose.'
Three earls advanced full-armed, and spake loud-voiced :
'Our Queen is consort of the Mercian King;
Ye, monks, are Mercian subjects! Sirs, beware!
Our King and Queen have loved you well till now,
And ranked your abbey highest in their realm:
But hearts ingrate can sour the mood of love ;
And Ethelred, though mild as summer skies
When mildly used, once angered' -Answer came :
'We know it, and await our doom, content:
If Mercia's King contemns his realm, more need
That Mercia's priests her confessors should die :
In Bardeney's church King Oswald ne'er shall rest:
Ye have your answer, Earls!'
Ere long a gentler embassage made way,
Three priests; arrived, they knelt, and, reverent, spake: 'Fathers and brethren, Oswald was a Saint!
He loosed his native land from pagan thrall :
Churches and convents everywhere he built :
His relics, year by year, grow glorious more
Through miracles and signs. Fathers revered,
Within this sanctuary beloved of God
Vouchsafe his dust interment !' They replied:
'We know that Oswald is a Saint with God:
We know he freed his realm from pagan thrall ;
We know that churches everywhere he built;
We know that from his relics Grace proceeds
|