The Latin hymns, which I understand
Quite as well, I think, as the rest.
And at night such lodging in barns and sheds,
Such a hurly-burly in country inns, 40
Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads,
Such a helter-skelter of prayers and sins!
Of all the contrivances of the time
For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime,
There is none so pleasing to me and mine 45
As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine!
PRINCE HENRY.
If from the outward man we judge the inner,
And cleanliness is godliness, I fear
A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sinner,
Must be that Carmelite now passing near. 50
LUCIFER.
There is my German Prince again,
Thus far on his journey to Salern,
And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain
Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain;
But it ‘s a long road that has no turn! 55
Let them quietly hold their way,
I have also a part in the play.
But first I must act to my heart’s content
This mummery and this merriment,
And drive this motley flock of sheep 60
Into the fold, where drink and sleep
The jolly old friars of Benevent.
Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh
To see these beggars hobble along,
Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, 65
Chanting their wonderful piff and paff,
And, to make up for not understanding the song,
Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong!
Were it not for my magic garters and staff,
And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, 70
And the mischief I make in the idle throng,
I should not continue the business long.
PILGRIMS, chanting.
In hâc urbe, lux solennis,
Ver æternum, pax perennis;
In hâc odor implens cælos, 75
In hâc semper festum melos!
PRINCE HENRY.
Do you observe that monk among the train,
Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass,
As a cathedral spout pours out the rain,
And this way turns his rubicund, round face? 80
ELSIE.
It is the same who, on the Strasburg square,
Preached to the people in the open air.
PRINCE HENRY.
And he has crossed o’er mountain, field, and fell,
On that good steed, that seems to bear him well,
The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray, 85
His own stout legs! He, too, was in the play,
Both as King Herod and Ben Israel.
Good morrow, Friar!
FRIAR CUTHBERT.
Good morrow, noble Sir!
PRINCE HENRY.
I speak in German, for, unless I err,
You are a German.
FRIAR CUTHBERT.
I cannot gainsay you. 90
But by what instinct, or what secret sign,
Meeting me here, do you straightway divine
That northward of the Alps my country lies?
PRINCE HENRY.
Your accent, like St. Peter’s, would betray you,
Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes. 95
Moreover, we have seen your face before,
And heard you preach at the Cathedral door
On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg square.
We were among the crowd that gathered there,
And saw you play the Rabbi with great skill, 100
As if, by leaning o’er so many years
To walk with little children, your own will
Had caught a childish attitude from theirs,
A kind of stooping in its form and gait,
And could no longer stand erect and straight. 105
Whence come you now?
FRIAR CUTHBERT.
From the old monastery
Of Hirschau, in the forest; being sent
Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent,
To see the image of the Virgin Mary,
That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks, 110
And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks,
To touch the hearts of the impenitent.
PRINCE HENRY.
Oh, had I faith, as in the days gone by,
That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery!
LUCIFER, at a distance.
Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert!
FRIAR CUTHBERT.
Farewell, Prince! 115
I cannot stay to argue and convince.
PRINCE HENRY.
This is indeed the blessed Mary’s land,
Virgin and Mother of our dear Redeemer!
All hearts are touched and softened at her name,
Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand, 120
The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant,
The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer,
Pay homage to her as one ever present!
And even as children, who have much offended
A too indulgent father, in great shame, 125
Penitent, and yet not daring unattended
To go into his presence, at the gate
Speak with their sister, and confiding wait
Till she goes in before and intercedes;
So men, repenting of their evil deeds, 130
And yet not venturing rashly to draw near
With their requests an angry father’s ear,
Offer to her their prayers and their confession,
And she for them in heaven makes intercession.
And if our Faith had given us nothing more 135
Than this example of all womanhood,
So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good,
So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure,
This were enough to prove it higher and truer
Than all the creeds the world had known before. 140
PILGRIMS, chanting afar off.
Urbs cœlestis, urbs beata,
Supra petram collocata,
Urbs in portu satis tuto
De longinquo te saluto,
Te saluto, te suspiro, 145
Te affecto, te requiro!
V.
V. The Inn at Genoa
A terrace overlooking the sea. Night.
PRINCE HENRY.
IT is the sea, it is the sea,
In all its vague immensity,
Fading and darkening in the distance!
Silent, majestical, and slow,
The white ships haunt it to and fro, 5
With all their ghostly sails unfurled,
As phantoms from another world
Haunt the dim confines of existence!
But ah! how few can comprehend
Their signals, or to what good end 10
From land to land they come and go!
Upon a sea more vast and dark
The spirits of the dead embark,
All voyaging to unknown coasts.
We wave our farewells from the shore, 15
And they depart, and come no more,
Or come as phantoms and as ghosts.
Above the darksome sea of death
Looms the great life that is to be,
A land of cloud and mystery, 20
A dim mirage, with shapes of men
Long dead, and passed beyond our ken.
Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath
Till the fair pageant vanisheth,
Leaving us in perplexity, 25
And doubtful whether it has been
A vision of the world unseen,
Or a bright image of our own
Against the sky in vapors thrown.
LUCIFER, singing from the sea.
Thou didst not ma
ke it, thou canst not mend it, 30
But thou hast the power to end it!
The sea is silent, the sea is discreet,
Deep it lies at thy very feet;
There is no confessor like unto Death!
Thou canst not see him, but he is near; 35
Thou needst not whisper above thy breath,
And he will hear;
He will answer the questions,
The vague surmises and suggestion,
That fill thy soul with doubt and fear! 40
PRINCE HENRY.
The fisherman, who lies afloat,
With shadowy sail, in yonder hoat,
Is singing softly to the Night!
But do I comprehend aright
The meaning of the words he sung 45
So sweetly in his native tongue?
Ah yes! the sea is still and deep.
All things within its bosom sleep!
A single step, and all is o’er;
A plunge, a bubble, and no more; 50
And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free
From martyrdom and agony.
ELSIE, coming from her chamber upon the terrace.
The night is calm and cloudless,
And still as still can be,
And the stars come forth to listen 55
To the music of the sea.
They gather, and gather, and gather,
Until they crowd the sky,
And listen, in breathless silence,
To the solemn litany. 60
It begins in rocky caverns,
As a voice that chants alone
To the pedals of the organ
In monotonous undertone;
And anon from shelving beaches, 65
And shallow sands beyond,
In snow-white robes uprising
The ghostly choirs respond.
And sadly and unceasing
The mournful voice sings on, 70
And the snow-white choirs still answer
Christe eleison!
PRINCE HENRY.
Angel of God! thy finer sense perceives
Celestial and perpetual harmonies!
Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes, 75
Hears the archangel’s trumpet in the breeze,
And where the forest rolls, or ocean heaves,
Cecilia’s organ sounding in the seas,
And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves.
But I hear discord only and despair, 80
And whispers as of demons in the air!
IL PADRONE.
THE WIND upon our quarter lies,
And on before the freshening gale,
That fills the snow-white lateen sail,
Swiftly our light felucca flies.
Around, the billows burst and foam; 5
They lift her o’er the sunken rock,
They beat her sides with many a shock,
And then upon their flowing dome
They poise her, like a weathercock!
Between us and the western skies 10
The hills of Corsica arise;
Eastward, in yonder long blue line,
The summits of the Apennine,
And southward, and still far away,
Salerno, on its sunny bay. 15
You cannot see it, where it lies.
PRINCE HENRY.
Ah, would that never more mine eyes
Might see its towers by night or day!
ELSIE.
Behind us, dark and awfully,
There comes a cloud out of the sea, 20
That bears the form of a hunted deer,
With hide of brown, and hoofs of black,
And antlers laid upon its back,
And fleeing fast and wild with fear,
As if the hounds were on its track! 25
PRINCE HENRY.
Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and falls
In shapeless masses, like the walls
Of a burnt city. Broad and red
The fires of the descending sun
Glare through the windows, and o’erhead, 30
Athwart the vapors, dense and dun,
Long shafts of silvery light arise,
Like rafters that support the skies!
ELSIE.
See! from its summit the lurid levin
Flashes downward without warning, 35
As Lucifer, son of the morning,
Fell from the battlements of heaven!
IL PADRONE.
I must entreat you, friends, below!
The angry storm begins to blow,
For the weather changes with the moon. 40
All this morning, until noon,
We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws
Struck the sea with their cat’s-paws.
Only a little hour ago
I was whistling to Saint Antonio 45
For a capful of wind to fill our sail,
And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale.
Last night I saw Saint Elmo’s stars,
With their glimmering lanterns, all at play
On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars, 50
And I knew we should have foul weather to-day.
Cheerily, my hearties! yo heave ho!
Brail up the mainsail, and let her go
As the winds will and Saint Antonio!
Do you see that Livornese felucca, 55
That vessel to the windward yonder,
Running with her gunwale under?
I was looking when the wind o’ertook her.
She had all sail set, and the only wonder
Is that at once the strength of the blast 60
Did not carry away her mast.
She is a galley of the Gran Duca,
That, through the fear of the Algerines,
Convoys those lazy brigantines,
Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. 65
Now all is ready, high and low;
Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio!
Ha! that is the first dash of the rain,
With a sprinkle of spray above the rails,
Just enough to moisten our sails, 70
And make them ready for the strain.
See how she leaps, as the blasts o’ertake her,
And speeds away with a bone in her mouth!
Now keep her head toward the south,
And there is no danger of bank or breaker. 75
With the breeze behind us, on we go;
Not too much, good Saint Antonio!
VI.
I. The School of Salerno
A travelling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate of the College.
SCHOLASTIC.
THERE, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield,
Hung up as a challenge to all the field!
One hundred and twenty-five propositions,
Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue
Against all disputants, old and young. 5
Let us see if doctors or dialecticians
Will dare to dispute my definitions,
Or attack any one of my learned theses.
Here stand I; the end shall be as God pleases.
I think I have proved, by profound researches, 10
The error of all those doctrines so vicious
Of the old Areopagite Dionysius,
That are making such terrible work in the churches,
By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East,
And done into Latin by that Scottish beast, 15
Johannes Duns Scotus, who dares to maintain,
In the face of the truth, the error infernal,
That the universe is and must be eternal;
At first laying down, as a fact fundamental,
That nothing with God can be accidental; 20
Then asserting that God before the creation
Could not have existed, because it is plain
That, had He existed, He would have created;
&nbs
p; Which is begging the question that should be debated,
And moveth me less to anger than laughter. 25
All nature, he holds, is a respiration
Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter
Will inhale it into his bosom again,
So that nothing but God alone will remain.
And therein he contradicteth himself; 30
For he opens the whole discussion by stating,
That God can only exist in creating.
That question I think I have laid on the shelf!
He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and followed by pupils.
DOCTOR SERAFINO.
I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain,
That a word which is only conceived in the brain 35
Is a type of eternal Generation;
The spoken word is the Incarnation.
DOCTOR CHERUBINO.
What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic,
With all his wordy chaffer and traffic?
DOCTOR SERAFINO.
You make but a paltry show of resistance; 40
Universals have no real existence!
DOCTOR CHERUBINO.
Your words are but idle and empty chatter;
Ideas are eternally joined to matter!
DOCTOR SERAFINO.
May the Lord have mercy on your position,
You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs! 45
DOCTOR CHERUBINO.
May he send your soul to eternal perdition,
For your Treatise on the Irregular Verbs!
They rush out fighting. Two Scholars come in.
FIRST SCHOLAR.
Monte Cassino, then, is your College.
What think you of ours here at Salern?
SECOND SCHOLAR.
To tell the truth, I arrived so lately, 50
I hardly yet have had time to discern.
So much, at least, I am bound to acknowledge:
The air seems healthy, the buildings stately,
And on the whole I like it greatly.
FIRST SCHOLAR.
Yes, the air is sweet; the Calabrian hills 55
Send us down puffs of mountain air;
And in summer-time the sea-breeze fills
With its coolness cloister, and court, and square.
Then at every season of the year
There are crowds of guests and travellers here; 60
Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Delphi Poets Series Book 13) Page 107
