Part 362 (1/2)
MORTIMER.
I scarce, my liege, had numbered twenty years, Trained in the path of strictest discipline And nursed in deadliest hate to papacy, When led by irresistible desire For foreign travel, I resolved to leave My country and its puritanic faith Far, far behind me: soon with rapid speed I flew through France, and bent my eager course On to the plains of far-famed Italy.
'Twas then the time of the great jubilee: And crowds of palmers filled the public roads; Each image was adorned with garlands; 'twas As if all human-kind were wandering forth In pilgrimage towards the heavenly kingdom.
The tide of the believing mult.i.tude Bore me too onward, with resistless force, Into the streets of Rome. What was my wonder, As the magnificence of stately columns Rushed on my sight! the vast triumphal arches, The Colosseum's grandeur, with amazement Struck my admiring senses; the sublime Creative spirit held my soul a prisoner In the fair world of wonders it had framed.
I ne'er had felt the power of art till now.
The church that reared me hates the charms of sense; It tolerates no image, it adores But the unseen, the incorporeal word.
What were my feelings, then, as I approached The threshold of the churches, and within, Heard heavenly music floating in the air: While from the walls and high-wrought roofs there streamed Crowds of celestial forms in endless train-- When the Most High, Most Glorious pervaded My captivated sense in real presence!
And when I saw the great and G.o.dlike visions, The Salutation, the Nativity, The Holy Mother, and the Trinity's Descent, the luminous transfiguration And last the holy pontiff, clad in all The glory of his office, bless the people!
Oh! what is all the pomp of gold and jewels With which the kings of earth adorn themselves!
He is alone surrounded by the G.o.dhead; His mansion is in truth an heavenly kingdom, For not of earthly moulding are these forms!
MARY.
O spare me, sir! No further. Spread no more Life's verdant carpet out before my eyes, Remember I am wretched, and a prisoner.
MORTIMER.
I was a prisoner, too, my queen; but swift My prison-gates flew open, when at once My spirit felt its liberty, and hailed The smiling dawn of life. I learned to burst Each narrow prejudice of education, To crown my brow with never-fading wreaths, And mix my joy with the rejoicing crowd.
Full many n.o.ble Scots, who saw my zeal, Encouraged me, and with the gallant French They kindly led me to your princely uncle, The Cardinal of Guise. Oh, what a man!
How firm, how clear, how manly, and how great!
Born to control the human mind at will!
The very model of a royal priest; A ruler of the church without an equal!
MARY.
You've seen him then,--the much loved, honored man, Who was the guardian of my tender years!
Oh, speak of him! Does he remember me?
Does fortune favor him? And prospers still His life? And does he still majestic stand, A very rock and pillar of the church?
MORTIMER.
The holy man descended from his height, And deigned to teach me the important creed Of the true church, and dissipate my doubts.
He showed me how the glimmering light of reason Serves but to lead us to eternal error: That what the heart is called on to believe The eye must see: that he who rules the church Must needs be visible; and that the spirit Of truth inspired the councils of the fathers.
How vanished then the fond imaginings And weak conceptions of my childish soul Before his conquering judgment, and the soft Persuasion of his tongue! So I returned Back to the bosom of the holy church, And at his feet abjured my heresies.
MARY.
Then of those happy thousands you are one, Whom he, with his celestial eloquence, Like the immortal preacher of the mount, Has turned and led to everlasting joy!
MORTIMER.
The duties of his office called him soon To France, and I was sent by him to Rheims, Where, by the Jesuits' anxious labor, priests Are trained to preach our holy faith in England.
There, 'mongst the Scots, I found the n.o.ble Morgan, And your true Lesley, Ross's learned bishop, Who pa.s.s in France their joyless days of exile.
I joined with heartfelt zeal these worthy men, And fortified my faith. As I one day Roamed through the bishop's dwelling, I was struck With a fair female portrait; it was full Of touching wond'rous charms; with magic might It moved my inmost soul, and there I stood Speechless, and overmastered by my feelings.
”Well,” cried the bishop, ”may you linger thus In deep emotion near this lovely face!
For the most beautiful of womankind, Is also matchless in calamity.
She is a prisoner for our holy faith, And in your native land, alas! she suffers.”
[MARY is in great agitation. He pauses.
MARY.
Excellent man! All is not lost, indeed, While such a friend remains in my misfortunes!
MORTIMER.
Then he began, with moving eloquence, To paint the sufferings of your martyrdom; He showed me then your lofty pedigree, And your descent from Tudor's royal house.