[This poem seems only intelligible by our supposing that a double
reference is intended; first, and faintly, to St. Stephen the
proto-martyr; and mainly to Stephens (Stephanus), father and son,
Robert and Henry, the great scholars, commentators, printers, and
publishers of the sixteenth century, whose books would always be in
Crashaw's hands. Stephens, father and son, suffered persecution,
banishment, poverty, and excommunication alike from Protestants and
Catholics, while engaged in bringing out the Bible, Greek Testament,
and numerous Classic Authors. 'In two years Henry revised and
published more than 4000 pages of Greek text.' In the latter years
of his life, being driven from Geneva (as it is alleged) by the
'petty surveillance and censorship of the pious pastors there, he
wandered in poverty over Europe, his own family often ignorant where
he was to be found.']
Behold thy stones! more precious nought is seen,
Whether they deck with precious rays serene
Thy head, or from it take a precious glow.
This is your style of diadem; e'en so
With crowned locks 'tis seemly ye should go:
The viler in itself each stone may seem,
A richer gem upon thy head will gleam.
Behold the Book where, seen through mist of tears,
A sacred form in manhood's bloom appears.
Ah, you will say, when you behold this face,
Such looks, O such, our father us'd to grace.
The accustom'd sounds you hope for--holy thunder,
And the blest honey hid that sweet tongue under:
So, o'er his pen, you say, that hand was bent,
When her own wings to fetter'd Fame he lent.
Such was that breast, his spirit's lofty dwelling--
That breast with its own starry thoughts high swelling.
O pleasing fantasies of picture fair,
And kindred forms which laboured brass may bear!
Since through thee, Sire, such countless writings live,
Life unto thee let this one writing give. R. WI.