Volume Iii Part 5 (1/2)
What you look upon, hangs there to represent the death of him who died that man might live.”
”And is it so? Then be our lives sacred unto the service of him who laid his life down for our race, and sent his angel to deliver us, in his own likeness too; for this is he who came to us in great extremity, when we called on the name of our Redeemer in agony of soul.”
”Remain with me till our great festival. This miracle must be made known to all that trust in Jesus' name. Meanwhile I will cherish and comfort the beloved of heaven.”
The day arrived of the great festival, the anniversary of the overthrow of mighty Odin,--that sublime event that broke the bands of iron and of steel, and threw the gates of superst.i.tion open to Albyn's Christian triumph. On that day the king's whole household, n.o.bles of the realm, high dames and commons, abbots, monks, and mendicants, a motely and a countless mult.i.tude, a.s.sembled early at the monastery of ancient Otholine, to render thanks for their deliverance. Ma.s.ses were said; and holy hymns of praise ascended to the skies. With one accord, then all the grateful mult.i.tude agreed to canonize the three heroic virgins, who, with the aid of angels, had wrought out the Christian's triumph, the beloved of heaven, translated to the blest beat.i.tude, where souls of saints and blessed martyrs dwell, and whose joint prayers might with the holy Virgin much avail.
A joyful clamour for the ordinance then spread around, so eager were the crowd to kneel and pay their humble adorations to the three maids, translated to the heavens with bodies like their own. Applauses rang; and from behind the altar was given forth a song divine, in which a thousand voices joined, till all were hushed at this ecstatic strain.
Hail to the happy three!
Vessels of sanct.i.ty!
Now honoured to stand At the Virgin's right hand.
(Mater Dei!
Remember me!) Remember us all, and send us for good, Bone of our bone, and blood of our blood.-- Song of harp, and voice be dumb!-- The heaven is oped. They come, they come!
A bustle rose. The abbot on his knees sunk down and leaned upon the altar-cloth, and only a few voices whispered round, ”They come, they come!” The congregation turned their eyes into the chancel, and beheld three virgins, all in robes of purest white, stand over against the altar. The loud choir was hushed, and every brow was forward bent in low obeisance: All believing these three beauteous flowers from paradise had come arrayed in robes of heaven, with angel forms that bloomed like winter roses newly oped, in high approval of the festival, and sacred honours to be paid to them.
The virgins beckoned, raised their flowing veils, and their right hands to heaven. ”Stay, they cried, stay the solemnity, ere you profane the name and altar of the G.o.d of heaven. Here stand the three unworthy maids of Stormont whom you would deify. Come nigh to us our father and our king, and ye chaste ministers of him we serve: Come nigh, and feel that we are mortal like yourselves, and stop the rite.
Pay adoration to that Holy One who pitied us in misery extreme, and you in grievous bonds. There be your vows and wors.h.i.+p paid, in which we three shall join. He hath indeed done wondrous things for us, works of amazement, which you all shall hear, and whoso heareth shall rejoice in heart.”
Then came they all unto their father's knee, kneeled and embraced him, while the good old earl shed tears of joy, and rendered thanks to heaven; their sovereign next, their former lovers, friends, and all they knew in that mixed mult.i.tude, they did embrace, that no remaining doubt might spring and spread of their ident.i.ty. It was a joyful meeting, such a one as hath not been in any land for happiness and holy ecstacy. They lived beyond the years of women,--but their lives were spent in acts of holiness, apart from grandeur's train. In curing of the sick, clothing the naked, ministering to all in want and wretchedness, and speaking peace unto poor wandering and benighted souls. Their evening of life was like the close of summer day, pure, placid, and serene,--the twilight long, but when at last it closed, it was with such a heavenly glow, it gave pure prospect of a joyous day to come. Thus ends my legend; and, with all submission, I bow to your awards, and wait my doom.
CHAP. III.
_Garolde._ p.r.i.c.k on good Markham. That galled jade of yours Moves with a hedgehog's pace. Is this a time To amble like a belle at tournament, When life and death hang on our enterprize?
_Mark._ We've had long stages, Garolde; We must take up. What miscreants have we here?
_The Prioress._
”Lo, have not I taken great delight in the words of thy mouth?” said the friar, ”for it is a legend of purity and holiness which thou hast told, and the words of truth are contained in it. Peradventure it may be an ancient allegory of our nation, in which manner of instruction the fathers of Christianity amongst us took great delight. But, whether it be truth, or whether it be fiction, the tendency is good; and behold, is it not so; do not I even thank thee for thy tale?”
”It is the most diffuse, extravagant, and silly legend that ever was invented by votary of a silly and inconsistent creed,” said the Master.
”I side wi' you, Master Michael Scott,” said Tam Craik; ”I think the tale is nought but a string of bombastical nonsense.”
”Excepting ane about fat flesh, I think I never heard the match o't,”
said the laird of the Peatstacknowe; ”It brings me a-mind o' our host's dinner, that was a' show but nae substance.”
”If I foresee aught aright,” said the Master, ”of many a worse dinner shall I see thee partake, and enjoy the sight.”
”Was not that a beautiful and sublime tale, father?” said Delany: ”I could sit and listen to such divine legends for ever.” The poet's eyes shone with tears when he heard the maid he loved say these words to the friar apart, who answered and said unto her, ”Lo, there are many more sublime and more wonderful in thy little book; nevertheless the tale is good for instruction to those that are faithless and doubting.”
”Alak! I fear I shall not live to learn and enjoy these. Do not you think, father, that we shall all perish in this miserable place,”
added Delany,--”this horrible place of witchcraft and divination?”
Charlie Scott stepped forward when he overheard some of these words.
”Eh? what was the la.s.sie saying?” said he. ”Eh? I'll tell ye what it is, hinney: I believe ye see things as they are. There's naething but witchcraft gaun on here; and it is that, and that alone, that a' our perils and mischances rise frae. Begging your pardon, father, I canna help thinking what I think, and seeing what I see. But, gude faith! we maun blaw lown till we win aff the tap o' this bigging, if that ever be.”