country of Agobio an exceeding great wolf, terrible and fierce, the
which not only devoured animals, but also men, insomuch that all the
city folk stood in great fear, sith ofttimes he came near to the city,
and all men when they went out arrayed them in arms as it were for the
battle, and yet withal they might not avail to defend them against him
whensoe'er any chanced on him alone; for fear of this wolf they were
come to such a pass that none durst go forth of that place. For the
which matter, St. Francis having compassion on the people of that land,
wished to go forth unto that wolf, albeit the townsfolk all gave counsel
against it: and making the sign of the most holy cross he went forth
from that place with his companions, putting all his trust in God. And
the others misdoubting to go further, St. Francis took the road to the
place where the wolf lay. And lo! in the sight of many of the townsfolk
that had come out to see this miracle, the said wolf made at St. Francis
with open mouth: and coming up to him, St. Francis made over him the
sign of the most holy cross, and called him to him, and bespake him
thus: "Come hither, brother wolf: I command thee in the name of Christ
that thou do no harm, nor to me nor to any one." O wondrous thing!
Whenas St. Francis had made the sign of the cross, right so the
terrible wolf shut his jaws and stayed his running: and when he was
bid, came gently as a lamb and lay him down at the feet of St. Francis.
Thereat St. Francis thus bespake him: "Brother wolf, much harm hast thou
wrought in these parts and done grievous ill, spoiling and slaying the
creatures of God, without His leave: and not alone hast thou slain and
devoured the brute beasts, but hast dared to slay men, made in the image
of God; for the which cause thou art deserving of the gibbet as a thief
and a most base murderer; and all men cry out and murmur against thee
and all this land is thine enemy. But I would fain, brother wolf, make
peace between thee and these; so that thou mayest no more offend them,
and they may forgive thee all thy past offences, and nor men nor dogs
pursue thee any more." At these words the wolf with movements of body,
tail, and eyes, and by the bending of his head, gave sign of his assent
to what St. Francis said, and of his will to abide therby. Then spake
St. Francis again: "Brother wolf, sith it pleaseth thee to make and hold
this peace, I promise thee that I will see to it that the folk of this
place give thee food alway so long as thou shalt live, so that thou
suffer not hunger any more; for that I wot well that through hunger hast
thou wrought all this ill. But sith I win for thee this grace, I will,
brother wolf, that thou promise me to do none hurt to any more, be he
man or beast; dost promise me this?" And the wolf gave clear token by
the bowing of his head that he promised. Then quoth St. Francis:
"Brother wolf, I will that thou plight me troth for this promise, that
I may trust thee full well." And St. Francis stretching forth his hand
to take pledge of his troth, the wolf lifted up his right paw before him
and laid it gently on the hand of St. Francis, giving thereby such sign
of good faith as he was able. Then quoth St. Francis: "Brother wolf, I
bid thee in the name of Jesu Christ come now with me, nothing doubting,
and let us go stablish this peace in God's name." And the wolf obedient
set forth with him, in fashion as a gentle lamb; whereat the townsfolk
made mighty marvel, beholding. And straightway the bruit of it was
spread through all the city, so that all the people, men-folk and
women-folk, great and small, young and old, gat them to the market place
for to see the wolf with St. Francis.
And the people being gathered all together, St. Francis rose up to
preach, avizing them among other matters how for their sins God suffered
such things to be, and pestilences also: and how far more parlous is the
flame of hell, the which must vex the damned eternally, than is the fury
of the wolf that can but slay the body; how much then should men fear
the jaws of hell, when such a multitude stands sore adread of the jaws
of one so small a beast? Then turn ye, beloved, unto God, and work out a
fit repentance for your sins; and God will set you free from the wolf in
this present time, and in time to come from out the fires of hell. And
done the preaching, St. Francis said: "Give ear, my brothers: brother
wolf, who standeth here before ye, hath promised me and plighted troth
to make his peace with you, and to offend no more in any thing; and do
ye promise him to give him every day whate'er he needs: and I am made
his surety unto you that he will keep this pact of peace right
steadfastly." Then promised all the folk with one accord to give him
food abidingly. Then quoth St. Francis to the wolf before them all: "And
thou, brother wolf, dost thou make promise to keep firm this pact of
peace, that thou offend not man nor beast nor any creature?" And the
wolf knelt him down and bowed his head: and with gentle movements of his
body, tail, and eyes, gave sign as best he could that he would keep
their pact entire. Quoth St. Francis: "Brother wolf, I wish that as thou
hast pledged me thy faith to this promise without the gate, even so
shouldest thou pledge me thy faith to thy promise before all the people,
and that thou play me not false for my promise, and the surety that I
have given for thee." Then the wolf lifting up his right paw, laid it in
the hand of St. Francis. Therewith, this act, and the others set forth
above, wrought such great joy and marvel in all the people, both through
devotion to the saint, and through the newness of the miracle, and
through the peace with the wolf, that all began to lift up their voices
unto heaven praising and blessing God, that had sent St. Francis unto
them, who by his merits had set them free from the jaws of the cruel
beast. And thereafter this same wolf lived two years in Agobio; and went
like a tame beast in and out the houses, from door to door, without
doing hurt to any or any doing hurt to him, and was courteously
nourished by the people; and as he passed thuswise through the country
and the houses, never did any dog bark behind him. At length, after a
two years' space, brother wolf died of old age: whereat the townsfolk
sorely grieved, sith marking him pass so gently through the city, they
minded them the better of the virtue and the sanctity of St. Francis.
HOW ST. FRANCIS TAMED THE WILD TURTLE-DOVES
It befell on a day that a certain young man had caught many
turtle-doves: and as he was carrying them for sale, St. Francis, who had
ever a tender pity for gentle creatures, met him, and looking on those
turtle-doves with pitying eyes, said to the youth: "I pray thee give
them me, that birds so gentle, unto which the Scripture likeneth chaste
and humble and faithful souls, may not fall into the hands of cruel men
that would kill them." Forthwith, inspired of God, he gave them all to
St. Francis; and he receiving them into his bosom, began to speak
tenderly unto them: "O my sisters, simple-minded turtle-doves, innocent
and chaste, why have ye let yourselves be caught? Now would I fain
deliver you from death and make you nests, that ye may be fruitful and
multiply, according to the commandments of your Creator." And St.
Francis went and made nests for them all: and they abiding therein,
began to lay their eggs and hatch them before the eyes of the brothers:
and so tame were they, they dwelt with St. Francis and all the other
brothers as though they had been fowls that had always fed from their
hands, and never did they go away until St. Francis with his blessing
gave them leave to go. And to the young man who had given them to him,
St. Francis said: "My little son, thou wilt yet be a brother in this
Order and do precious service unto Jesu Christ." And so it came to pass;
for the said youth became a brother and lived in the Order in great
sanctity.
SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA
Where the remote Bermudas ride
In the ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat that row'd along
The listening winds received this song:
"What should we do but sing His praise
That led us through the watery maze
Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks
That lift the deep upon their backs,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own?
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage:
He gave us this eternal spring
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care
On daily visits through the air.
He hangs in shades the orange bright
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows:
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet;
But apples plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice!
With cedars chosen by his hand
From Lebanon he stores the land;
And makes the hollow seas that roar
Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The Gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound His name.
O let our voice His praise exalt
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay!"
--Thus sung they in the English boat
A holy and a cheerful note:
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.
_--A. Marvell_
LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND
The breaking waves dash'd high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches toss'd;
And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moor'd their bark
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;--
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free!
The ocean eagle soar'd
From his nest by the white wave's foam;
And the rocking pines of the forest roar'd--
This was their welcome home!
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band;--
Why had _they_ come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?
There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?--
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?--
They sought a faith's pure shrine!
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod.
They have left unstain'd what there they found--
Freedom to worship God.
_--Felicia Browne Hemans_
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
_IN THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM_
As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain
place where was a den, and laid me down in that place to sleep; and as I
slept, I dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold, I saw a man clothed
with rags standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house,
a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back. I looked, and saw
him open the book and read therein; and as he read he wept and trembled;
and not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable
cry, saying, "What shall I do?"
In this plight, therefore, he went home, and restrained himself as long
as he could, that his wife and children should not perceive his
distress; but he could not be silent long, because that his trouble
increased. Wherefore at length he brake his mind to his wife and
children; and thus he began to talk to them: "O my dear wife," said he,
"and you the children of my bowels, I, your dear friend, am in myself
undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me; moreover, I am
certainly informed that this our city will be burned with fire from
heaven; in which fearful overthrow, both myself, with thee, my wife, and
you, my sweet-babes, shall miserably come to ruin, except (the which
yet I see not) some way of escape _can_ be found whereby we may be
delivered."
At this his relations were sore amazed; not for that they believed that
what he said to them was true, but because they thought that some frenzy
distemper had got into his head; therefore, it drawing toward night, and
they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with all haste they got
him to bed. But the night was as troublesome to him as the day;
wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. So when
the morning was come, they would know how he did. He told them, "Worse
and worse": he also set to talking to them again; but they began to be
hardened. They also thought to drive away his distemper by harsh and
surly carriage to him; sometimes they would deride, sometimes they would
chide, and sometimes they would quite neglect him. Wherefore he began to
retire himself to his chamber to pray for and pity them, and also to
condole his own misery; he would also walk solitarily in the fields,
sometimes reading and sometimes praying; and thus for some days he spent
his time.
Now I saw, upon a time, when he was walking in the fields, that he was,
as he was wont, reading in his book, and greatly distressed in his mind;
and as he read, he burst out, as he had done before, crying, "What shall
I do to be saved?"
I saw also that he looked this way, and that way, as if he would run;
yet he stood still, because, as I perceived, he could not tell which
way to go. I looked then, and saw a man named Evangelist coming to him,
and he asked, "Wherefore dost thou cry?"
He answered, "Sir, I perceive, by the book in my hand, that I am
condemned to die, and after that to come to judgment; and I find that I
am not willing to do the first, nor able to do the second."
Then said Evangelist, "Why not willing to die, since this life is
attended with so many evils?" The man answered, "Because I fear that
this burden that is upon my back will sink me lower than the grave and I
shall fall into Tophet. And, sir, if I be not fit to go to prison, I am
not fit to go to judgment, and from thence to execution; and the
thoughts of these things make me cry."
Then said Evangelist, "If this be thy condition, why standest thou
still?" He answered, "Because I know not whither to go." Then he gave
him a parchment roll, and there was written within, "Flee from the wrath
to come."
The man therefore read it and looking upon Evangelist very carefully,
said, "Whither must I fly?" Then said Evangelist, pointing with his
finger over a very wide field, "Do you see yonder wicket-gate?" The man
said, "No." Then said the other, "Do you see yonder shining light?" He
said, "I think I do." Then said Evangelist, "Keep that light in your
eye, and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou see the gate; at which,
when thou knockest, it shall be told thee what thou shalt do." So I saw
in my dream that the man began to run. Now he had not run far from his
own door when his wife and children, perceiving it, began to cry after
him to return; but the man put his fingers in his ears, and ran on,
crying, "Life! life! eternal life!" So he looked not behind him; but
fled toward the middle of the plain.
The neighbors also came out to see him run; and as he ran some mocked,
others threatened, and some cried after him to return; and among those
that did so, there were two that resolved to fetch him back by force.
The name of the one was Obstinate, and the name of the other Pliable.
Now by this time the man was got a good distance from them; but however
they were resolved to pursue him, which they did, and in a little time
they overtook him. Then said the man, "Neighbors, wherefore are ye
come?" They said, "To persuade you to go back with us." But he said,
"That can by no means be; you dwell," said he, "in the City of
Destruction, the place also where I was born: I see it to be so; and
dying there, sooner or later you will sink lower than the grave, into a
place that burns with fire and brimstone: be content, good neighbors,
and go along with me."
What! said Obstinate, and leave our friends and comforts behind us?
Yes, said Christian, for that was his name, because that all which you
forsake is not worthy to be compared with a little of that I am seeking
to enjoy; and if you will go along with me, and hold it, you shall fare
as I myself; for there, where I go, is enough and to spare. Come away,
and prove my words.
_Obst._ What are the things you seek, since you leave all the world to
find them?
_Chr._ I seek an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth
not away; and it is laid up in heaven, and safe there, to be bestowed at
the time appointed, on them that diligently seek it. Read it so, if you
will, in my book.
Tush, said Obstinate, away with your book; will you go back with us or
no?
No, not I, said the other, because I have laid my hand to the plow.
_Obst._ Come then, neighbor Pliable, let us turn again, and go home
without him; there is a company of these crazy-headed coxcombs, that
when they take a fancy by the end, are wiser in their own eyes than
seven men that can render a reason.
_Pli._ Then said Pliable, Don't revile; if what the good Christian says
is true, the things he looks after are better than ours; my heart
inclines to go with my neighbor.
_Obst._ What! more fools still? Be ruled by me and go back; who knows
whither such a brain-sick fellow will lead you? Go back, go back, and be
wise.
_Chr._ Come with me, neighbor Pliable; there are such things to be had
which I spoke of, and many more glories beside. If you believe not me,
read here in this book; and for the truth of what is expressed therein,
behold, all is confirmed by the blood of him that made it.
_Pli._ Well, neighbor Obstinate, said Pliable, I begin to come to a
point; I intend to go along with this good man, and to cast in my lot
with him: but, my good companion, do you know the way to this desired
place?
_Chr._ I am directed by a man, whose name is Evangelist, to speed me to
a little gate that is before us, where we shall receive instruction
about the way.
_Pli._ Come then, good neighbor, let us be going.
Then they went both together.
_Obst._ And I will go back to my place, said Obstinate. I will be no
companion of such misled, fantastical fellows.
Now I saw in my dream, that when Obstinate was gone back, Christian and
Pliable went talking over the plain, and thus they began their
discourse.
_Chr._ Come, neighbor Pliable, how do you do? I am glad you are
persuaded to go along with me. Had even Obstinate himself but felt what
I have felt of the powers and terrors of what is yet unseen, he would
not thus lightly have given us the back.
_Pli._ Come, neighbor Christian, since there are none but us two here,
tell me now further, what the things are, and how to be enjoyed, whither
we are going.
_Chr._ I can better conceive of them with my mind, than speak of them
with my tongue: but yet since you are desirous to know, I will read them
in my book.
_Pli._ And do you think that the words of your book are certainly true?
_Chr._ Yes, verily; for it was made by him that cannot lie.
_Pit._ Well said; what things are they?
_Chr._ There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, and everlasting life
to be given us, that we may inhabit that kingdom forever.
_Pli._ Well said; and what else?
_Chr._ There are crowns of glory to be given us; and garments that will
make us shine like the sun in the firmament of heaven.
_Pli._ This is excellent: and what else?
_Chr._ There shall be no more crying nor sorrow, for he that is owner of
the place will wipe all tears from our eyes.
_Pli._ And what company shall we have there?
_Chr._ There we shall be with seraphims and cherubims; creatures that
will dazzle your eyes to look on them. There also you shall meet with
thousands and ten thousands that have gone before us to that holy place;
none of them are hurtful, but loving and holy; every one walking in the
sight of God, and standing in his presence with acceptance forever. In a
word, there we shall see the elders with their golden crowns; there we
shall see the holy virgins with their golden harps; there we shall see
men that by the world were cut in pieces, burned in flames, eaten of
beasts, drowned in the sea for the love they bare to the Lord of the
place; all well and clothed with immortality as with a garment.
_Pli._ The hearing of this is enough to ravish one's heart. But are
these things to be enjoyed? How shall we get to be sharers thereof?
_Chr._ The Lord, the governor of the country, hath recorded that in this
book; the substance of which is, If we be truly willing to have it, he
will bestow it upon us freely.
_Pli._ Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of these things: come
on, let us mend our pace.
_Chr._ I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this burden that is
on my back.
Now I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended this talk, they drew
nigh to a very miry slough that was in the midst of the plain: and they,
being heedless, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the
slough was Despond. Here, therefore, they wallowed for a time, being
grievously bedaubed with dirt; and Christian, because of the burden that
was on his back, began to sink in the mire.
_Pli._ Then said Pliable, Ah, neighbor Christian, where are you now?
_Chr._ Truly, said Christian, I do not know.
_Pli._ At this Pliable began to be offended, and angrily said to his
fellow, Is this the happiness you have told me all this while of? If we
have such ill speed at our first setting out, what may we expect between
this and our journey's end? May I get out again with my life, you shall
possess the brave country alone for me. And with that he gave a
desperate struggle or two, and got out of the mire on that side of the
slough which was next to his own house: so away he went, and Christian
saw him no more.
Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough of Despond alone:
but still he endeavored to struggle to that side of the slough that was
furthest from his own house, and next to the wicket-gate; the which he
did, but could not get out because of the burden that was upon his back:
but I beheld in my dream, that a man came to him, whose name was Help,
and asked him, "What he did there?"
_Chr._ Sir, said Christian, I was bid to go this way by a man called
Evangelist, who directed me also to yonder gate, that I might escape the
wrath to come. And as I was going thither I fell in here.
_Help._ But why did not you look for the steps?
_Chr._ Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next way, and fell in.
_Help._ Then said he, Give me thine hand; so he gave him his hand, and
he drew him out, and he set him upon sound ground, and bid him go on his
way.
Then I stepped to him that plucked him out, and said, "Sir, wherefore,
since over this place is the way from the City of Destruction to yonder
gate, is it, that this plat is not mended, that poor travellers might go
thither with more security?" And he said unto me, "This miry slough is
such a place as cannot be mended: it is the descent whither the scum and
filth that attends conviction for sin doth continually run, and
therefore it is called the Slough of Despond; for still as the sinner
is awakened about his lost condition, there arise in his soul many
fears and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which all of them get
together, and settle in this place: and this is the reason of the
badness of this ground.
"It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should remain so
bad. His laborers also have, by the direction of his Majesty's
surveyors, been for above these sixteen hundred years employed about
this patch of ground, if perhaps it might have been mended: yea, and to
my knowledge," said he, "here have been swallowed up at least twenty
thousand cart-loads, yea, millions, of wholesome instructions, that have
at all seasons been brought from all places of the King's dominions--and
they that can tell, say, they are the best materials to make good ground
of the place--if so be it might have been mended; but it is the Slough
of Despond still, and so will be when they have done what they can.
"True, there are, by the direction of the Lawgiver, certain good and
substantial steps, placed even through the very midst of this slough;
but at such time as this place doth much spew out its filth, as it doth
against change of weather, these steps are hardly seen; or if they be,
men, through the dizziness of their heads, step beside, and then they
are bemired to purpose, notwithstanding the steps be there; but the
ground is good when they are once in at the gate."