Abroad the tempest burst. 'Twas not his songs
Alone that raised it! Memories which they waked,
Memories of childhood, fainter year by year,
Tripled his might. Meantime a Saxon priest
Potential there, bent low, with eye-brow arched,
O'er Eardulf's ear, Eardulf old warrior famed,
And whispered long, and as he whispered glanced
Oft at Birinus. Keen of eye the King,
The action noting well, the aim divined,
And thus to Offa near him spake, low-toned:
'The full-fed priest of Odin sends a sword
To slay that naked babe he hates so sore,
The Faith of Christ!'
Rising with fiery face
And thundering hand that shook the banquet board
Eardulf began: '"Ye are not what ye were!"
So saith our stranger kinsman from the north,
A man plain-tongued; I would that all were such!
Lords, and my King, this stranger speaks the truth!
I tell you too, we are not what we were:
Nor lengthened trail he hunts who seeks the cause.
Lo, there the cause among us! Man from Rome!
I ask who sent thee hither? From the first
Rome and our native races stand at war;
Her hope was this, to make our sons like hers
Liars and slaves, our daughters false and vile,
And, thus subverted, rule our land and us.
Frustrate in war, now sends she forth her priests
In peaceful gown to sap the manly hearts
Her sword but manlier made. Ho, Wessex men!
Ye see your foe! My counsel, Lords, is this:
The worm that stings us tread we to the earth,
Then spurn it from our coasts!'
Ere ceased the acclaim
Subdued and soft the Pagan pontiff rose,
And three times half retired, as one who yields
His betters place; and thrice, answering the call,
Advanced, and leaning stood: at last he spake,
Sweet-voiced, not loud; 'Ye Wessex Earls and Thanes,
I stand here but as witness, not as judge;
Ye are the judges. Late ye heard--yea, twice--
Words strange and new; "Ye are not what ye were!"
I witness this; things are not what they were;
For round me as I roll these sorrowing eyes,
Now old and dim--perchance the fault is theirs--
They find no longer, ranged along your walls
Amid the deep-dyed trophies of old time,
That chiefest of your Standards, lost, men say,
In that ill-omened battle lost which wrecked
But late our Wessex kingdom. Odin's wrath--
I spare to task your time and patience, Lords,
Enforcing truth which every urchin knows--
'Twas Odin shamed his foe! Ah Cynegils!
What made thee Odin's foe? Our friend was he!
Base tolerance first, connivance next, then worse,
Favoured that Faith perfidious! Stood and stands
A bow-shot hence that church the strangers built;
Their church, their font! The strangers, who are they?
Snake-like and supple, winding on and on
Through courtly chambers darkling still they creep,
Nor dare to face a people front to front;
Let them stand up in light, and all is well!
And who their converts? Late, to please a king,
They donned his novel worship like a robe;
When dead he lay they doffed it! Earls and Thanes,
A nobler day is come; a sager king;
In him I trust; in you; in Odin most,
Our nation's strength, the bulwark of our throne.
I proffer nought of counsel. Ye have eyes:
The opprobrium sits among you!'
From the floor
The storm of iron feet rang loud, and swords
Leaped flashing from their sheaths. In silence some
Waited the event: the larger part by far
Clamoured for vengeance on the outlandish Faith,
The loudest they, the apostates of past time.
Then stately from his seat Birinus rose,
And stood in calm marmorean. Long he stood,
Not eager, though expectant. By degrees
That tumult lessening, with a quiet smile
And hand extended, noticing for peace,
Thus he addressed that concourse.
'Earls and Thanes,
Among so many here I stand alone,
Why peaceful? why untroubled? In your hands
I see a hundred swords against me bent:
Sirs, should they slay me, Truth remains unpierced.
A thousand wheat ears swayed by summer gust
Affront one oak; it slights the mimic threat:
So slight I, strong in faith, those swords that err--
Your ignorance, not your sin. The truth of God,
The heart of man against you fight this day,
And, with his heart, his hope. In every land,
Through all the unnumbered centuries yet to come,
The cry of women wailing for their babes
Restored through Christ alone, the cry of men
Who know that all is lost if earth is all,
The cry of children still unstained by sin,
The sinner's cry redeemed from yoke of sin,
Thunder against you. Pass to lesser themes.
'Eardulf, that raged against me, told you, Lords,
That Rome was still the hater of your race,
And warred thereon. She warred much more on mine,
Roman but Christian likewise! Ye were foes;
Warring on you she warred on hostile tribes:
In us she tore her proper flesh and blood:
Mailed men were you that gave her blow for blow;
We were her tender children; on her hearths
We dwelt, or delved her fields and dressed her vines.
What moved her hatred? that we loved a God
All love to man. With every God beside
Rome made her traffic: fellowship with such
Unclean we deemed: thenceforth Rome saw in us
Her destined foe.
Three centuries, Earls and Thanes,
Her hand was red against us. Vengeance came:
Who wrought it? Who avenged our martyred Saints
That, resting 'neath God's altar, cried, "How long?"
Alaric, and his, the Goths! And who were they?
Your blood, your bone, your spirit, and your soul!
They with your fathers roamed four hundred years
The Teuton waste; they swam the Teuton floods,
They pointed with the self-same hand of scorn
At Rome, their common foe! In Odin's loins
Together came ye from the shining East:--
True man was he: ye changed him to false god!
That Odin, when the destined hour had pealed,
Beckoned to Alaric, marched by Alaric's side
Invisibly to Rome!
Ye know the tale:
Her senate-kings their portals barred; they deemed
That awe of Rome would drive him back amazed;
And sat secure at feast. But he that slew
Remus, his brother, on the unfinished wall,
A bitter expiation paid that night!
The wail went up: the Goths were lords of Rome!--
Alaric alone in that dread hour was just,
And with his mercy tempered justice. Why?
Alaric that day was Christian: of his host
The best and bravest Christian. Senators
In purple nursed lived on, 'tis true, in rags;
To Asian galleys and Egyptian marts
The rich were driven; the mighty. Gold in streams
Ran molten from the Capitolian roofs:
The idol statues choked old Tyber's wave:
But life and household honour Alaric spared;
And round the fanes of Peter and of Paul
His soldiers stood on guard. Upon the grave
Of that bad Empire sentenced, nay of all
The Empires of this world absorbed in one,
In one condemned, they throned the Church of Christ;
His Kingdom's seat established.
Since that hour
That Kingdom spreads o'er earth. In Eastern Gaul
Long since your brave Burgundians kneel to Christ;
Pannonia gave Him to the Ostro-Goths,
Barbaric named; and to the Suevi Spain:
The Vandals o'er the Mauritanian shores
Exalt His Cross with joy. Your pardon, sirs:
These lands to you are names; but Odin knew them;
A living man he trod them in his youth;
Hated their vices; bound his race to spurn
Their bait, their bond! That day he saw hath dawned;
O'er half a world the vivifying airs
Launched from your northern forests chaste and cold
Have blown, and blow this hour! The Saxon race
Alone its destiny knows not. Ye have won
Here in this Isle the old Roman heritage:
Perfect your victory o'er that Pagan Rome
With Christian Rome partaking!
Earls and Thanes,
But one word more. Your pontiff late averred
That kings to us are gods; through them we conquer:
I answer thus: That Kingdom God hath raised
Is sovereign and is one; kingdoms of earth,
How great soe'er, to it are provinces
In spiritual things. If princes turn to God
They save their souls. If kingdoms war on God
Their choice is narrow, and their choice is this:
To break, like that which falleth on a stone;
Or else, like that whereon that stone doth fall,
To crumble into dust.'
The Pagan priest
Whispered again to Eardulf, 'Praise to Thor!
He flouts our king! The boaster's chance is gone!'
Then rose that king and spake in careless sort:
'Earls and my Thanes, I came from exile late:
It may be that to exile I return:
Not less my arm is long; my sword is sharp:
Let him that hates me fear me!
Earls and Thanes,
I passed that exile in a Christian realm:
There of the Christian greatness, Christian right,
I somewhat heard, and hearing, disbelieved;
Saw likewise somewhat, and believed in part:
Saw more, till nigh that part had grown to whole:
I saw that war itself might be a thing
Though stern, yet stern in mercy; saw that peace
Might wear a shape dearest to manliest heart,
Peace based on fearless justice militant
'Gainst wrong alone and riot. Earls and Thanes,
Returned, this day and in this regal hall
A spectacle I saw, if grateful less,
Not therefore less note-worthy--countless swords
In judgment drawn against a man unarmed;
Yea, and a man unarmed with brow unmoved
Confronting countless swords. These things I saw;
Fair sight that tells me how to act, and when;
For I was minded to protract the time,
Which strangles oft best purpose. At the font
Of Christ--it stands a bow-shot from this spot,
As late we learned--at daybreak I and mine
Become henceforth Christ's lieges.
Earls and Thanes,
I heard but late a railer who affirmed
That kings were tyrants o'er the faiths of men
Flexile to please them: thus I make reply;
The meanest of my subjects, like his king,
Shall serve his God in freedom: if the chief
Questions the equal freedom of his king
That man shall die the death! Through Christian Faith--
I hide not this--one danger threats the land:
It threats as much, nay more, my royal House:
That danger must be dared since truth is truth:
That danger ye shall learn tomorrow noon:
Till comes that hour, farewell!'
The matin beam,
God's winged messenger from loftier worlds,
Through the deep window of the baptistery
Glittered on eddies of the bath-like font
Not yet quiescent since its latest guest
Had thence arisen; beside its marge the king
In snowy raiment stood; upon his right,
Alfred, his first-born, boy of seven years old,
And, close beside, in wonder not in dread,
Mildrede, his sister, younger by one year,
Holding her brother's hand. From either waist
Flowed a white kirtle to the small snow feet
With roses tinged. Above it all was bare,
And with the fontal dew-drops sparkling still;
While from each head with sacred unction sealed
Floated the chrismal veil. That eye is blind
Which sees not beauty save on female brows:
On either face that hour the lustre lay;
But hers was lustre passive, lustre pale;
The boy's was active, daring, penetrating--
The lily she; but he the Morning Star,
Beaming thereon from heaven! With dewy eyes
The strong king on them gazed, and inly mused,
'To God I gave them up: yet ne'er till now
Seemed they so wholly mine!'
Birinus spake:
'Ye have been washed in baptism, though no sin
Hath yet been yours save Adam's, and confirmed;
And houselled ye shall be at Mass seven days,
Since Christ in infant bosoms loves to dwell.
Pray, day by day, that Christ would keep you pure:
Pray for your Father: likewise pray for me,
Old sinner soon to die.' Then raised those babes
Their baptism tapers high, and fixing eyes
That moved not on their backward-fluttering flames,
Led the procession to their palace home,
Their father pacing last.
That day at noon
The monarch sat upon his royal throne,
Birinus near him standing: at his feet
His children played; while round him silent thronged
Warriors and chiefs. The king addressed them thus:
'Birinus, and the rest, I hold it meet
A king should hide his secret from his foes,
But with his friends be open. Yestereve
I, Christian now, unfalteringly avouched
That in the victory of the Christian Faith,
True though it be, one danger I discerned:
That danger, and its root, I now divulge.
Saw ye the scorn within that Northman's eye
Last eve, when, praising Thor, in balance stern
He weighed what now we are with what we were
When first he trod our shores! He spake the truth:
His race and ours are kin; but his retain
Stronglier their manly virtue, frost and snow
Like whetstones sharpening still that virtue's edge.
We soften with the years. Beggars this day
Sue us for bread! Sirs, in a famine once
I saw, then young, a hundred at a time
That, linking hand in hand, loud singing rushed,
Like hunters chasing hart, to sea-beat cliffs,
And o'er them plunged! Now comes this Faith of Christ;
That Faith to which, because that Faith is true,
I pledged this morn my word, my seal, my soul,
The fate and fortunes of our native land
And all my royal House, well knowing this,
The king who loves his kingdom more than God,
Better than both loves self--no king at heart.
Now comes this Christian Faith! That Faith, be sure,
Is not a hardening faith: gentle it makes:--
I told you, Lords, we soften day by day;
I might have added that with growing years
Hardness we doubly need. When Rome was great
Our race, however far diffused, was one,
Blended by hate of Rome. When Rome declined
That bond dissolved. A second bond remained
In Odin's Faith:--Northmen alone retain it
In them a new Rome rises! Earls and Thanes!
The truth be ours though for that truth we die!
Hold fast that truth; yet hide not what it costs.
Through fog and sea-mist of the days to come
I see huge navies with the raven flag
Steering to milder borders Christian half,
Brother 'gainst brother ranging. Kingdoms Seven
Of this still fair and once heroic land,
I say, beware that hour! If come it must,
Then fall the thunder while I walk this earth,
Not when I skulk in crypts!'
The others mute,
From joy malicious some, some vexed with doubt,
Birinus made reply: 'My Lord and King,
Inly this day I gladden, certain now
That neither fancy-drawn, nor anger-spurred,
Nor seeking crowns, for others or thyself,
Nor shunning woes, the worst that earth can know,
For others or thyself, but urged by faith,
God's greatest gift to man, thou mad'st this day
Submission true to Christ. So be it, King!
So rest content! God with a finger's touch
Could melt that cloud which threats thy realm well-loved;
(That threat I deem nor trivial nor obscure)
Not thus He wills. Danger, distress, reverse,
Are heralds sent from God, like peace and joy,
To nations as to men. Happy that land
Which worketh darkling; worketh without wage;
And worketh still for God! If God desired
A people for His sacrificial lamb,
Happiest of nations should that nation be
Which died His willing victim!'
'King, and Son,'
With voice a moment troubled he resumed,
'Thy future rests with God! Yet shake, Oh shake
One boding grief--'tis causeless--from thy breast,
Deeming thy race less valiant than the North:
Faithfuller they stand and nearer to their sires!
Remorseless less to others and to self
I grant them; that implies not valiant less:
The brave are still in spirit the merciful;
Far down within their being stirs a sense
Of more than race or realm. Some claim world-wide,
Whereof the prophet is the wailing babe,
Smites on their hearts--a cradle decks therein
For Him they know not yet, the Bethlehem Babe.
That claim thy fathers felt! Through Teuton woods
(Dead Rome's historian saw what he records[25]),
Moved forth of old in cyclic pilgrimage
Thick-veiled, the sacred image of the Earth,
All reverend Mother, crowned Humanity!
Not war-steeds haled her car, but oxen meek;
And, as it passed oppugnant bounds, the trump
Ceased from its blare; the lance, the war-axe fell;
Grey foes shook hands; their children played together:
Beyond the limit line of dateless wars
Looked forth the vision thus of endless peace.
Think'st thou that here was lack of manly heart?
King, this was manhood's self!'
While thus he spake,
Alfred, and Mildrede, children of the King,
That long time, by that voice majestic charmed,
Had turned from distant sports, upon their knees
Softly and slowly to Birinus crept,
Their wide eyes from his countenance moving not,
And so knelt on; Alfred, the star-eyed boy
Supported by his father's sceptre-staff,
His plaything late, now clasped in hands high-held.
Him with a casual eye Birinus marked
At first; then stood, with upward brow, in trance--
Sudden, as though with Pentecostal flame,
His whole face brightened; on him fell from God
Spirit Divine; and thus the prophet cried:
'Who speaks of danger when the Lord of all
Decrees high triumph? Victory's chariot winged
Up-climbs the frowning mountains of Dismay,
As when above the sea's nocturnal verge
Twin beams, divergent horns of orient light,
Announce the ascending sun. Whatever cloud
Protracts the conflict, victory comes at last.
'What ho! ye sons of Odin and the north!
Far off your galleys tarry! English air
Reafen, your raven standard, darkened long,
Woven of enchantments in the moon's eclipse:
It rains its plague no more! The Kingdoms Seven
Ye came to set a ravening each on each:
Lo, ye have pressed and soldered them in one!
'Behold, a Sceptre rises--not o'er Kent
The first-born of the Faith; nor o'er those vales
Northumbrian, trod so long by crowned saints;
Nor Mercia's plains invincible in war:
O'er Wessex, barbarous late, and waste, and small,
The Hand that made the worlds that Sceptre lifts;
Hail tribe elect, the Judah of the Seven!
'Piercing the darkness of an age unborn,
I see a King that hides his royal robe;
Assumes the minstrel's garb. Where meet the floods
That King abides his time. I see him sweep,
Disguised, his harp within the Northmen's camp;
In fifty fights I see him victory-crowned;
I see the mighty and the proud laid low,
The humble lifted. God is over all.
'The ruined cities 'mid their embers thrill:
A voice went forth: they heard it. They shall rise,
Their penance done, and cities worthier far
With Roman vices ne'er contaminate.
These shall not boast mosaic floor gem-wrought,
And trod by sinners. In the face of heaven
Their minster turrets these shall lift on high,
Inviting God's great angels to descend
And chaunt with them God's City here on earth.
'Who through the lethal forest cleaves a road
Healthful and fresh? Who bridges stream high-swollen?
Who spreads the harvest round the poor man's cot;
Sets free the slave? On justice realms are built:
Who makes his kingdom great through equal laws
Not based on Pagan right, but rights in Christ,
First just, then free? Who from her starry gates
Beckons to Heavenly Wisdom--her who played
Ere worlds were shaped, before the eyes of God?
Who bids her walk the peopled fields of men,
The reverend street with college graced and church?
Who sings the latest of the Saxon songs?
Who tunes to Saxon speech the Tome Divine?
'Sing, happy land! The Isle that, prescient long,
Long waiting, hid her monarch in her heart,
Shall look on him and cry, "My flesh, my bone,
My son, my king!" To him shall Cambria bow,
And Alba's self. His strength is in his God;
The third part of his time he gives to prayer,
And God shall hear his vows! Hail, mighty King!
For aye thine England's glory! As I gaze,
Methinks I see a likeness on thy brow,
Likeness to one who kneels beside my feet!
The sceptre comes to him who sceptre spurned;
Through him it comes who sceptre clasped in sport;
From Wessex' soil shall England's hope be born
Two centuries hence; and Alfred is his name!'
EPILOGUE.
_BEDE'S LAST MAY._
Bede issues forth from Jarrow, and visiting certain villagers in a
wood, expounds to them the Beatitudes of Our Lord. Wherever he goes
he seeks records of past times, and promises in return that he will
bequeath to his fellow-countrymen translations from divers Sacred
Scriptures, and likewise a history of God's Church in their land.
Having returned to his monastery, he dies a most happy death on the
feast of the Ascension, while finishing his translation of St.
John's gospel.
The ending of the Book of Saxon Saints.
With one lay-brother only blessed Bede,
In after times 'The Venerable' named,
Passed from his convent, Jarrow. Where the Tyne
Blends with the sea, all beautiful it stood,
Bathed in the sunrise. At the mouth of Wear
A second convent, Wearmouth, rose. That hour
The self-same matin splendour gilt them both;
And in some speech of mingling lights, not words,
Both sisters praised their God.
'Apart, yet joined'--
So mused the old man gazing on the twain:
Then onward paced, with head above his book,
Murmuring his office. Algar walked behind,
A youth of twenty years, with tonsured head,
And face, though young, forlorn. An hour had passed;
They reached a craggy height; and looking back,
Beheld once more beyond the forest roof
Those two fair convents glittering--at their feet
Those two clear rivers winding! Bound by rule,
Again the monk addressed him to his book;
Lection and psalm recited, thus he spake:
'Why placed our holy Founder thus so near
His convents? Why, albeit a single rule,
At last a single hand, had sway o'er both,
Placed them at distance? Hard it were to guess:
I know but this, that severance here on earth
Is strangely linked with union of the heart,
Union with severance. Thou hast lost, young friend,
But lately lost thy boyhood's dearest mate,
Thine earliest friend, a brother of thy heart,
True Christian soul though dwelling in the world;
Fear not such severance can extinguish love
Here, or hereafter! He whom most I loved
Was severed from me by the tract of years:
A child of nine years old was I, when first
Jarrow received me: pestilence ere long
Swept from that house her monks, save one alone,
Ceolfrid, then its abbot. Man and child,
We two the lonely cloisters paced; we two
Together chaunted in the desolate church:
I could not guess his thoughts; to him my ways
Were doubtless as the ways of some sick bird
Watched by a child. Not less I loved him well:
Me too he somewhat loved. Beneath one roof
We dwelt--and yet how severed! Save in God,
What know men, one of other? Here on earth,
Perhaps 'tis wiser to be kind to all
In large goodwill of helpful love, yet free,
Than link to one our heart--
Poor youth! that love which walks in narrow ways
Is tragic love, be sure.'
With gentle face
The novice spake his gratitude. Once more,
His hand upon the shoulder of the youth,
(For now they mounted slow a bosky dell)
The old man spake--yet not to him--in voice
Scarce louder than the murmuring pines close by;
For, by his being's law he seemed, like them,
At times when pensive memories in him stirred,
Vocal not less than visible: 'How great
Was he, our Founder! In that ample brow,
What brooding weight of genius! In his eye,
How strangely was the pathos edged with light!
How oft, his churches roaming, flashed its beam
From pillar on to pillar, resting long
On carven imagery of flower or fruit,
Or deep-dyed window whence the heavenly choirs
Gave joy to men below! With what a zeal
He drew the cunningest craftsmen from all climes
To express his thoughts in form; while yet his hand,
Like meanest hand among us, patient toiled
In garden and in bakehouse, threshed the corn,
Or drave the calves to milk-pail! Earthly rule
Had proved to him a weight intolerable;
In spiritual beauty, there and there alone,
Our Bennett Biscop found his native haunt,
The lucent planet of his soul's repose:
And yet--O wondrous might of human love--
One was there, one, to whom his heart was knit,
Siegfried, in all unlike him save in worth.
His was plain purpose, rectitude unwarped,
Industry, foresight. On his friend's behalf
He ruled long years those beauteous convents twain,
Yet knew not they were beauteous! An abyss
Severed in spirit those in heart so near:
More late exterior severance came: three years
In cells remote they dwelt, by sickness chained:
But once they met--to die. I see them still:
The monks had laid them on a single bed;
Weeping, they turned them later each to each:
I saw the snowy tresses softly mix;
I saw the faded lips draw near and meet;
Thus gently interwreathed I saw them die--
Strange strength of human love!'
Still walked they on:
As high the sun ascended, woodlands green
Shivered all golden; and the old man's heart
Brightened like them. His ever active mind
Inquisitive took note of all it saw;
And as some youth enamoured lifts a tress
Of her he loves, and wonders, so the monk,
Well loving Nature, loved her in detail,
Now pleased with nestling bird, anon with flower,
Now noting how the beech from dewy sheath
Pushed forth its silken leaflets fringed with down,
Exulting next because from sprays of lime
The little fledgeling leaves, like creatures winged,
Brake from their ruddy shells. Jesting, he cried:
'Algar! but hear those birds! Men say they sing
To fire their young, night-bound, with gladsome news,
And bid them seek the sun!' Sadly the youth
With downward front, replied: 'My friend is dead;
For me to gladden were to break a troth.'
Upon the brow of Bede a shadow fell;
Silent he paced, then stopped: 'Forgive me, Algar!
Old men grow hard. Yet boys and girls salute
The May: like them the old must have their maying;
This is perchance my last.'
As thus he spake
They reached the summit of a grassy hill;
Beneath there wound a stream, upon its marge
A hamlet nestling lonely in the woods:
Its inmates saw the Saint, and t'wards him sped
Eager as birds that, when the grain is flung
In fountained cloister-court of Eastern church,
From all sides flock, with sudden rush of wings,
Darkening the pavement. Youths and maids came first;
Their elders followed: some his garments kissed,
And some his hands. The venerable man
Stretched forth his arms, as though to clasp them all:
Above them next he signed his Master's cross;
Then, while the tears ran down his aged face,
Brake forth in grateful joy; 'To God the praise!
When, forty years ago, I roamed this vale
A haunt it was of rapine and of wars;
Now see I pleasant pastures, peaceful homes,
And faces peacefuller yet. That God Who walked
With His disciples 'mid the sabbath fields
While they the wheat-ears bruised, His sabbath keeps
Within your hearts this day! His harvest ye!
Once more a-hungered are His holy priests;
They hunger for your souls; with reverent palms
Daily the chaff they separate from the grain;
Daily His Church within her heart receives you,
Yea, with her heavenly substance makes you one;
Ye grow to be her eyes that see His truth;
Her ears that hear His voice; her hands that pluck
His tree of life; her feet that walk His ways.
Honouring God's priests ye err not, O my friends,
Since thus ye honour God. In Him rejoice!'
So spake he, and his gladness kindled theirs;
With it their courage. One her infant brought
And sued for him a blessing. One, bereaved,
Cried out: 'Your promised peace has come at last;
No more I wish him back to earth!' Again
Old foes shook hands; while now, their fears forgot,
Children that lately nestled at his feet
Clomb to his knees. Then called from out that crowd
A blind man; 'Read once more that Book of God!
For, after you had left us, many a month
I, who can neither see the sun nor moon,
Saw oft the God-Man walking farms and fields
Of that fair Eastern land!' He spake, and lo!
All those around that heard him clamoured, 'Read!'