CONTENTS. f ap of t|c llcfornuition. PAGE MOKNING STARS, PART I. - 3 PART II. 11 PART III. 19 NOTES •29 THE SCHLOSS-KIRCHE DOOB 35 LUTHER AT WORMS 49 NOTES 72 LAY OF THE WARTBURG . 79 NOTES . 91 THE HERMIT OF LIVRY, PART I 94 PART II. . 101 PART I II. ^ , . 108 Bm^im tmts. THE BOY OF LYSTRA, PART I. PART II. PART IIL 117 123 129 VI u CONTENTS. PAGE THE BROTHERS . . . . • .136 "WARNED OF god" ..... 146 AN ARK SONG ...... 151 A VOYAGE FROM TROAS TO NEAPOLIS, A.D. 58 . 153 NOTES ........ 162 A SABBATH JIORN AT PHILTPPI . . . 1 64 JEPHTHAH's DAUGHTER . . . .170 ELIEZER AT THE FOUNTAIN . . . .182 THE BETTER CHOICE MOAB OR ISRAEI, ? . 190 THE GLEANER ...... 195 THE LITTLE CAPTIVE MAID . . . 200 ClUllltOUS. RCJNNYMEDE PHILIPPINA WELSER A GOOD-FRIDAT LEGEND AN OLD verger's TALE CHIMINGS TO CECILIA . THE BABE AND THE SAINT A SABBATH REMINISCENCE OUR DEPARTED TWAIN TO MAHY MY grandmother's WALKING-CANE HYMN " I WILL BLESS THE LORD AT ALI> '1 IMliS 215 226 235 246 252 255 259 265 268 275 278 283 LAYS OF THE KEFOKMATION. B •" When I reoall to mind how the bright and blissful Eefor- mation (by Di^•ine iiower) struck through the black and settled night of ignorance and antichristian tyranny, me- thinks a sovereign and reviving joy must needs rush into the bosom of liim that reads or hears ; and the sweet odour of the returning Gosjiel embathe his soul with the fragrancy of heaven. Then was the sacred Bible sought out of the dusty comers where profane falsehood and neglect had thrown it ; the schools opened ; divine and human learning raked out of firgotten tongues ; the princes and critics trooping apace to the new-erected banner of salvation ; the martyrs, with the unresistible might of weakness, shaking the powers of dai'kness and scorning the fiery rage of the old red dragon." — Milton. MORNING STARS. PART I. . . , . " He made the stars, And set them in the firmament of heaven To illuminate the earth, and rule the day In their vicissitude, and rule the night, And light from darkness to di\ade." Milton, Paradise Lost, Book 7th. Now count five liunclred rings, or more, In the bole of the old oak-trees That wave their broken shadows o'er The rocky banks of Tees ; And bid the chronicles of yore Bring back five centuries. LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. In Egglestone old Prioiyi The lamps are burning dim, And daylight, with a gentle eye, Peeps through the windows trim ; And the monks are chaunting drowsily The sweet old matin hymn. They chaunt it bravely, note by note, Though half asleep they seem ; For they know it every word by rote, And could sing it in a dream : And o'er their pauses softly float The voices of the stream. Betwixt the sculptured traceries The tender light is stealing ; Pouring the quiet of the skies, — Like some fresh breath of healinsr, — Across the missals' glowing dyes. And o'er those figures kneeling. '&! MORNING STARS. Down o'er the Abbot's brcidered gown It sheds a chastening ray ; And on the poor monk's shaven cro^vn, And coat of hodden grey ; And o'er the altar trickles down, Like blessing dropped astray. There sits a gentle lady fair, — In ancient hall sits she, — In kirtle edged with miniver, And coat of cramoisie : And a little babe, of beauty rare. Is sleeping on her knee.^ You might search each Yorkshire dale anear, And search afar each wold, Yet never find that infant's peer, So beauteous to behold ! With lambent eye and forehead clear, And hair like thredded gold. LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. The morning star, so pale and miki, Througli the old lattice crept, And shone upon the dreaming child, The while he softly slept ; And the young babe awoke, and smiled. As o'er his lip it swept. The Lady spake out merrily, — " Alack, my pretty son ! The star of morn seems claiming thee,^ In earnest, for her own ; And o'er thy forehead, stealthily, Her holy chrism thrown." Time flew. The babe at Wycliffe halH Like lily, grew apace : A gentle Boy — the loved of all — With sweet, angelic face ; And a shrewd fancy, held in thrall By tender cords of grace. • MORNING STARS. There sat a grandeur on his brow, So pure and undefiled, Which even made the aged bow In reverence to the child. And now and then there flushed a glow Of transport when he smiled. And day by day this little one Hied o'er the craggy hill, By river side, through forest lone, And by the splashing gill ; That the poor monks at Egglestoae' Might learn him clerkly skill. Like a pure dewdrop from the sky. On scenes of gloom and din ; Or like a sun-ray from on high, This gentle youth dropped in ; With low, sweet voice, and guileless eye. Reproving sloth and sin. LAYS OF THE REFORMAfTION. The aged faces grew less old, Scanning his youthful grace ; The cynic less morose and cold, Wliile gazing on his face ; Less confident the coarse and bold, And less depraved the base. That old monk, with the artist eye. And open manuscript, And glowing palette — patiently Waits — with his pencil dipped. Until the saintly boy draw nigh The old " Scriptorium " crypt. With brush 'twixt finger and 'twixt thumb, And gilded vellum spread. He waits until his model come For the young Baptist's head : Impatient lest the morning bloom From the boy's cheek be fled. MORNING STARS. It was but little they could teacb, Beyond their missal's store ; But this was written in the speech The grand old Vulgate bore ; And Latin words were steps to reach A higher, holier lore. " Now, read me not about your saints. But take this volume down, Which tells how Christ was railed against, And wore the thorny crown ; And how the Lord of glory faints Upon the cross — alone ! " And read me how the Baptist felt, When first the Christ he knew ; And how he gladly would have knelt To loose his Master's shoe ; And how he wore the rough hair-belt O'er loyal heart and true ! 10 LAYS OF THE REFORMATIOK. " How Jesus raised the ruler's dead, And the poor widow's son ; And how the multitude were fed With food, where there was none. For when God's children cry for bread, He doth not give a stone." Tlie lazy Friars — not a few — Swore, by Saint Peter's rood, That little John de Wycliffe grew Too clerkly and too shrewd ! " And some," quoth they, " will live to rue This child — so over-good !" 11 MOENING STAES. PAET II. " . . . . The morning stai- of song, who made His music heard helow ; Dan Chaucer, the first warhler, whose sweet breath Preluded those melodious bursts that fill The spacious times of great Elizabeth With sounds that echo still." — Tennyson. Two moving shadows slowly glide Fortli from tlie sylvan shade ! Two youths are pacing, side by side, Up Thorsgill's broomy glade ! The woodland creatttres scarcely hide - The shy are scarce afraid. 12 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. Two pleasant voices, young and free, In earnest converse blend ; Yet neither seemetla to agree, In counsel, witli his friend ; And though they commune courteously, They neither yield nor bend. The accent of the younger shames The northman's simple tongue ; It smatters of the banks of Thames, And of the joust and song ; And of the courtly London dames, The dance, and festive throng. He wears a camlet rochet grand, Broider'd with golden thread — A jewell'd ring on dainty hand, And pointed hosen red ; And a jaunty cap, with plume and band. Placed sidewise on his head ; — MORNING STARS. 13 A merry youtli ! — And yet, o'er all, The soul immortal glanced ; And genius spurned at fashion's thrall, And loved the Muses' haunts. And on those lips, refined and small, And eyes like Amadis' of Gaul, The soul of song lay tranced. He had quaflf'd largely at the well Of sweet Provencal lore ; And just had found a hollow shell Upon his native shore : — ^^d almost started at the swell Of song which floated o'er ! Quoth he, " Dear Wycliffe ! those are wise, And I a frolic youth ; Yet both hate falsehood and disguise, And both revere the truth :5 Thou, a true saint, with those pure eyes, ^^d I — no saint, forsooth! 14 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " Oh, I would sweep my country's lyre, With daring hand and free, And tune to song each stubborn wire, Till men shall say of me, ' Dan Chaucer is the princely sire Of England's poesy !' " All, I will such, like honey-bee, The flowers of fair Provence ; And steal, from Guillaume de Lorris, The Eose's quaint romance ; ^ And sip my pipe of Malvoisie In Windsors royal haunts. " I'll pledge thy health in jewell'd cup. Thou saintly Gospeler ! When Percy and when Chaucer sup With noble Lane aster. 7 Ah, those old monks ! — we'll show them up, And lash each lazy/zw-e." MORNING STARS. IT) He laughed a jocund peal ; — it rung Adown the forest glen ; The woodpecker, with flippant tongue, Laughed merrily again ; The heron from the river sprung. The bittern from the fen. " Alas, Sir Bard ! Thy stinging dart May scar the Dragon's skin ; But will not reach the evil heart, Nor mend the life within. He'll writhe a moment at the smart, But only hug the sin. " 'Tis not thy laugh — 'tis not my sigh — Nor frolic jest — nor frown — Can Antichrist, in strength, defy, And smite his banner down : The Saviour must be lifted high, Ere Sin be overthrown. 16 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " God give me grace ! — I will not grant Slotli to my labouring breast Until His Ark of Covenant Shall find a place of rest ; And England's bills and dales sball pant For blessings — and he blessed. " I'll open wide a living brook On every barren moor ; I'll take the Gospel's holy book, And give it to the poor ; And blind men on the light shall look, And, seeing Christ, adore ! " From where the Loire in sunshine flows Thou bring'st the quaint ^ Bomaunt;'' And of the worldling's vapid woes, Dear Bard ! thou lov'st to chaunt : But / would pluck sweet Sharon's Rose, And wheresoe'er the poor man goes That fragrant flower I'd plant. MORNING STARS. 17 " rd poiir soft drops of Gilcad's balm O'er every wounded head ; I'd wave the victor's holy pahu O'er every dying bed ; And laud, and prayer, and dulcet psalm, The troubled soul shall cheer and calm, In native language read." " Forsooth ! — Thy saintship's reveries My poet-dreams outshine ! But, ah ! I'd creep on liended Icnees To old Saint Becket's shrine ; And I would scatter to the breeze The choicest pearls of Indian seas — Aye, give my sweetest melodies — For one such dream as thine !" They part. — Life's river soon shall fret And brawl betwixt the twain, c 18 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. And many a sun of hope shall set, And many a star shall wane ; And laurel wi'eaths with tears be wet, Ere clasp they hands again ! 19 MORNING STAES. PART III. " Our Wycliffe's preaching ivas the lamp at which all the succeeding reformers lighted their tapers." — Milton. A SINGLE horseman, from a lane, Is ambling into sight ! — With jewell'd hand he checks the rein Of palfrey, sleek and white, To listen to the merle's refrain. Until those troubled eyes again O'erflow with frolic light. 20 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. The palfrey crops the linden spray, Dripping with dews of eve. The rider's fingers softly play With threads of thought — to weave A dewy stanza, in a lay, About a " Flower and Leaf ! "8 Time hath pass'd roughly, with his plough, Across that face of care, And grooved deep furrows on the brow. Still grand with genius rare ; As if the envied laurel bough Distill'd but poison there ! Anon, the curfew's mellow chime Floats from an old church-tower — The poet drops his threaded rhyme About the Leaf and Flower ; And, chafing at the waste of time. Leaves fancy's dewy bower. MORNING STA1J8. 21 The sweet " Amen" secm'd lingering still Around the house of prayer — The breath of praise seem'd yet to fill The balmy, sunset air — As, o'er the brook and up the hill. The seatter'd people fare. The poet wondei'ed to behold The light of gentle grace, Which shone, as from a lamp of gold. On every peasant's face : A look of holy peace, that told The flock had found the shepherd's fold, A quiet resting-place ! The halt and aged seemed to lean Upon some secret stay ; The heavy-laden to have seen Their burden rolled away ; The solaced mourner to have been Where she could weep and pray. 22 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. Like picture of some saint of yore, In Gothic niche portrayed, The preacher, from the low-arched door, Emerges from the shade : While sunset glories, floating o'er, A golden nimbus, softly pour Around his snow-white head. Like pilgrims met at eventide To pitch the desert tent ; Like aged brothers, parted wide. To meet when day is spent ; The friends are seated, side by side, In converse eloquent.9 " Wycliffe I How soft the shadows lay Beneath those summer trees, When Ave twain dreamed our dreams one day. Beside the banks of Tees ! MOimiNG 8TAU8. 23 E'en as that stream, in reckless play, Tossed to the winds its foamy spray ,^ So have I tossed life's Avine away^ And sucked the bitter lees. " Though kings have twined my laureate wi-eath, And warriors sung my praise ; Though time hath breathed immortal breath Upon my deathless lays ; And princes crouched to bask beneath The sparkle of my rays 5 " 'Twas only while my merry jest Could brim the festal bowl, And while my witty laugh gave zest To the dull Avorldling's role, That Chaucer's jewelled baldrick pressed Across this troubled soul. 24 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " 'Twas all a dream ! Life's only truth Was once, — in stormy figlit, Wlien stood the friend of Geoffrey's youth, Braving the crozier's might ; And the court-poet, bland and smooth, Defied man's threat, and scorned his ruth, And stood by Wycliffe's right.*" " The dream was o'er ! I woke at last To find the laurel crown Shiv'ring in autumn's stormy blast. Blighted, and sere, and brown ; And from my lute — mine idol — passed The glory and renown. " Like a tired child, come home at night, With lagging, faltering tread ; (His hollow reed in tuneless plight, His flowers all dank and dead,) I come to borrow of thy light. To find my way to bed ! " MORNING STARS. 25 Ah ! who shall tell what holy cheer Came down, like summer rain ? How heavenly love cast oiit earth's fear, With all its shadowy train ? And how the Lord of grace drew near. And talked with the twain ? Like travellers who appoint a tryst, Before they part in love, Minded to meet again in Christ, Within the courts above. The Poet and Evangelist On severed pathways move. Time passed. The gales of midnight sigh ■ Among the churchyard trees : The wailing streamlet murmurs by, Tost by the gusty breeze ; And Seraph-hosts are drawing nigh, To hail, with " Alleluias" high, The fettered saint's release. 26 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. All ! if men's eyes were finely skilled To scan immortal things, They'd see his dying chamber filled With angels' radiant wings ; And if their plaintive sighs were stilled, Perchance the ear of faith were thrilled With sounds from viewless strings. Time passed. The trysting-place drew near. The holy tryst was kept : And princes thronged around the bier Where England's Poet slept ; And strangers came to drop a tear, And merrie England wept. They scooped their minstrel's narrow grave Among the royal dead ; And the banners of the mighty wave Around his laureled head ; And the scutcheons of the proud and brave Glow round his dreamless bed. MORNING STARS. ■ 27 The Poet left to earth,—" a well Of English midefiled :"ii A place to gather asphodel For every minstrel child ! Alas ! that e'er its babblings tell, Of baneful flower and noxious bell, And gropings through a wild. Each left his legacy. The saint Left glorious wealth untold. More than the mind of man can paint. And more than eyes behold : To poor — and lone — and sick — and faint, Pearls — silver — finest gold ! He opened wide a living brook By cot and cabin door ; He made the Gospel's holy Book Speak peace from shore to shore ; The bread of life from Christ he took, And gave it to the poor. 28 LAYS OF THE KEFORMATION. He lit Truth's lamp, at dead of night, With patient toil and skill ; He bore it bravely through the fight, And set it on a hill. And distant watchers hailed the sight, And lit their torch at Wycliffe's light, —And, lo ! it burneth still ! '^ NOTES. Note 1, page 4. " In Egglestone old Priorj-." The I'liins of Egglestone Priory, or Abbey (for Tanner calls it the latter and Leland the former), are beautifully situated upon the angle foiTned by a little dell called Thorsgill, at its junction with the river Tees. The Priory is supposed to have been founded about the end of the reign of Henry the Second. Note 2, page 5. " And a little babe, of beauty rare. Is sleeping on her knee." Most of the portraits professing to be likenesses of Wycliffe indicate a high style of beauty, both in featiu-e and in expression. Probably not one is an original like- ness: but in the portraits of celebrated men there has generally been some remote, historical picture, or descrip- tion, from -which copyists have originally worked. 30 NOTES. Note 3, page 0. " The star of morn seems claiming thee." About the same transition-peinod from darkness to day- light, ai'ose England's two Morning Stars. In 1324 was born John WyclifTe, in an obscure Yorkshire valley on the banks of the Tees. In lo'^fi was born Geoffrey Chaucer, on the banks of the Thames. Both were ^^ Morning Stars." The one ushered in the dawn of religious reformation and liberty of conscience, the other was the father of English poetry. To compare the heavenly vocation of the former with the intellectual services of the latter would seem folly, excepting in so far as they both contended (though with very difl'erent weapons) for truth, and both for the un- masking of falsehood. Moreover, they both contributed to settle and fix the noble language of their native land, then capriciously fluctuating between the Norman-French and the Anglicised Saxon. Wyclifie, by his translation of the Bible into fine old Saxon-English, gave to the common people the Word of Truth in the language of hearth and home. Chaucer, by his courtly diction, drawn from the polished South as well as from the sterner North, imparted just that richness and flexibility which were needed to commend his native tongue to the peer as well as to the peasant, and to prove its adaptation for general literature. Note 4, page 6. " Time flew. The babe at Wyclifie hall." Dr. Whittaker, in his History of Richmondshire, pain- fully disputes the general impression respecting the place NOTES. 31 of Wycliffe's birth. His arguments, however, scarcely un settle the current opinion; namely, that the great Forerunner of the Protestant Eeformation was horn at WycUffi: Hall, on the banks of the Tees, near Barnard Castle. Note 5, page 13. " Yet both hate falsehood and disguise, And both revere the truth." That the Poet sympathised with the Gospel Doctor in many of his enlightened religious opinions is an historical fact. Note C, page 14. " And steal, from Guillaume de Lorris, The Piose's quaint romance.'' The celebrated old poem called The Romaunt of the Bnse was translated by Chaucer into English metre, from the old French of Guiilaume de Lorris. Note 7, page 14. " I'll pledge thy health in jewell'd cup, Thou saintly Gospeler ! When Percy and when Chaucer sup "With noble Lancaster." John of Gaunt, the princely Duke of Lancaster, was the patron of the Poet as well as the protector of the Reformer ; and Chaucer heartily entered into the Duke's espousal of Wycliffe's cause. 32 NOTES. Note 8, pa^e 20. " A dewy stanza, in a lay, About a ' Flower and Leaf.' " See Chaucer's Poems. The fable of " the Flower and the Leaf" is an exquisite thing — fresh and dewy. Note 9, page 22. " The friends ai'e seated, side by side, In converse eloquent." That there really existed a personal friendship betwixt the twain (in other words, that the " Morning Stars" some- times loved to sing together) may be further guessed by Chaucer's lovely descrii)tion of a true Gospel Minister of his times, said to be a portrait, from the life, of the Eector of Lutterworth. The features are limned in with such a loving hand, that it seems impossible to doubt their truth- fulness. " A good man of religion did I see, And a j)oor parson of a town was he : But rich he was of holy thought and work, And also was a learned man — a clerk, And ti'uly would Christ's holy gospel preach, And his parishioners devoutly teach. Benign he was, and wondrous diligent, And patient when adversity was sent. ***** Wide was his parish — houses far asunder — But he neglected nought for rain or thunder. NOTES. 33 In sickness and in grief to \'isit all, The farthest in his parish, great and small ; Always on foot, and in his hand a stave. ***** And though he holy was, and vu'tuous, He was to sinful men full piteous. His words were strong, hut not with anger fraught; A love henignant he distinctly taught. To draw mankind to heaven hy gentleness And good example, Avas his husiness. But if that any one were obstinate, Whether he were of high or low estate ; Him would he shaqjly check with altered mien ; A better parson there was no where seen. He paid no com-t to pomps or reverence, Nor spiced his conscience at his soul's expence ; But Jesu's love, which owns no pride or pelf, He taught, — hut first he followed it himself." Note 10, page 24. " 'Twas all a cU-eam ! Life's only truth Was once, — in stormy fight, When stood the friend of Geoffrey's youth, Braving the crozier's might ; And the court-poet, bland and smooth. Defied man's threat, and scorned his ruth, And stood by Wycltffe's right." There is an interesting historical picture by Egan, en- graved by Jones, in which is represented the citation of Wycliile (in Saint Paul's) to answer the charge of heresy. D 34 KOTES. Geoffrey Chaucer's poet-face may be seen in close proximity to the beautiful countenance of the Kector of Lutterworth. Note 11, page 27. " The Poet left to earth,—' a weU Of English undefilecl.' " " Dan Chaucer ! well of English undefiled." — Spenser. Note 12, page 28. " He lit Trath's lamp, at dead of night, With patient toil and skill ; He bore it bravely through the fight, And set it on a hill. And distant watchers hailed the sight, And ht their torch at Wycliffe's Hght, — And, lo ! it bm-neth still ! " Milton, in one of his prose essays, truly remarks, " Our Wycliffe's preaching was the lamp at which all the suc- ceeding reformers lighted their tapers." The lamp never went out. It shone across the sea to the continent of Europe ; and was welcomed with a response from Alpine fastnesses and Bohemian forests. 'Till, at length, the great Saxon Reformer awoke, and, with his powerful voice, proclaimed the daylight. 85 THE SCHLOSS-KIECHE DOOR. (AN OLD MONK'S TALE.) Luther affixed his celehrated Theses to the door of the old Schloss-Kh-che at Wittenherg, on the eve of All Saints' Day, 1517. " The Seller of Indulgences, With all liis pampered band, Had trafficked with his deadly ware Throughout the Saxon's land ; — The Saxon's land, where towers are strong, And wills and deeds are bold ; And honest hearts shall never be Turned by the wards of any key. Of iron or of gold ! 36 LAYS OF THE KBFOKMATION. " The Seller of Indulgences Was worthy of his craft ; He took away the people's gold, And left tlie poison-draught. He took away the people's wealth To gild Saint Peter's dome, But left a shaft with force unspent. Whose pointed barb should back be sent- By a strong arm — to Rome ! " 'Twas not the soft and jewelled band Of Kaiser or of King, Which laid the arrow on the bow, And pulled the whirring string. 'Twas not a hand in glove of steel Made strong by sturdy fight ; Nor yet the pale and sinewy band That wields the gilded crozier-wand, With proud, yet borrowed might. THE SCHL08S-KIRCHE DOOR. 37 " It was an arm well nerved for fight, And strong to will and dare — A poor monk's feeble hand, made strong By lifting up in prayer ! By drawing down its secret might From treasuries unfailing ; Wrestling, like Jacob, all night long. Halting and weak, while waxing strong. And, as a prince, prevailing ! * " He rose up from his knees one eve — (Methinks I see him now. With autumn's stormy twilight poured Upon his massive brow) — Dashed down his book of popish prayers, Recoiling with a start : And, with a loving grasp, then took Another and a holier Book, And girt it on his heart. * Genesis, xxxii. 28. 38 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " I marked a sparkle of the eye, A freedom in each move, Like what I've seen in champion knight When he throws down his glove. The miner's son might match the knight, In gesture and in tone : I know not how, hut so it was. The poor Augustine monk might pass For a highborn baron's son. " Ah me ! No knight with plume and lance. E'er played a sterner role! His morion was the convent cowl, His glove a written scroll — A scroll whose every line was writ Mid sighs, and tears, and prayer : And midnight's shade, and twdlight's gleam. And noontide's clear, unwavering beam, All left their pathway there. THE SCHLOSS-KIRCHE DOOR. 39 " Along the convent corridor He strode, with steady pace — The Brothers peejDing from their cells To gaze upon his face. And some did frown a scowl that well Might all heaven's saints dishearten : Bixt others raised their drooping head, And wrung his hand, and whispering said, * Christ bless thee, Brother Martin!'' " And then adown the old oak stairs, With muffled sandal shod, He passed — and every ancient board Creaked harshly as he trod. And out into the cloistered court, And 'neath the portal low ; And there the shades seemed backward driven, And the pure, liquid light of heaven Streamed right upon his brow. 40 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " Alone lie trod the gabled street, For men took little heed, As yet, of what was Gospel truth. And what the Romish creed. Itlmriel had not touched the foe, As yet, with fiery spear ; And made him shift his old disguise. And starting from his lair, arise In sin's true character. " October's stormy evening sky Lit iiji the old Schloss-Kirk, And threw a crimson gleam adown The stony tracery-work ; Pouring a broken ray aslant Across the dusky aisle : And, in the western portal dim. Making the demon-masks look grim. And stony saints to smile. THE SCHL0S8-KIRCHE DOOR. 41 " He stood beneath the heavy arch, In the full ruddy light ; And with his left hand grasped a nail, — A hammer with his right : — Unrolled that scroll he wi'it with tears, And signed midst heaving groans : — Rapp, rapp ! — oh, door of Saxon oak ! Didst ever quail with such a stroke. E'er since the woodman's hatchet woke The echoes with thy moans ? " I shuddered as the vaulted aisle Gave back the hollow sound ; And every shrine obeyed the sign, And sent the echo round. Eapp, rapp ! — a second nail is driven, Too firm for storms to move I Rapp, rapp ! — a third ! — a fourth I — all right ! Hurrah for Europe's champion-knight ! He hath thro^vn down the glove ! 42 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " Wlien convent-cliapel lamps were lit That eve, for vesper prayer, No sweet voice cliaunted forth the psalm So strong as his, so rare ! 'Twould seem as if the burdened soul Had brought her weary load Of hopes and fears, of gain and loss, And Faith had nailed all to the cross, And left it there with God. " The winter sun uprose next morn. Cold, cloudless, and serene ; Smiling a silvery smile of peace Across the frosty scene. The old Schloss-Kirk, in festal pomp. Soon oped her j)ortals wide ; And lines of priests, in grand array. Spread out the relics for display. To edify, on ' All Saints' Day,' The neighbouring country side. THE SCHLOSS-KIRCHE DOOR. 43 " From many a hamlet's quiet shade, From many a storm-rent tower, From forest path, and river's brink. And peaceful vintage bower ; On slow-paced mule, on prancing steed, On holy pilgrim staff. They throng the gates, within, without. And make the old walls ring with shout. And song, and psalm, and laugh. " But song, and psalm, and laughter-shout Are changed for grave debate. Soon as that giddy multitude Have reached the old Kirk-gate, And spy those Theses, lettered out Clear, legible, and strong. The clerkly con them o'er and o'er. The learned read them to the poor, And, halting round the grey Kirk-door, Cluster the gathering throng. 44 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " The baron smiled a puzzled smile ; His lady langlied outright — For woman's heart is always quick To catch a ray of light. The friars shook their shaven crowns — ' The monk is mad,' quoth one — But others sighed, ' If he be mad, Augustine the like mania had, And Paul, and sweet Saint John !' " A pilgrim smote upon his breast, — * I might have prayed at home. Nor dragged my weary, heavy heart, And bleeding feet, to Eome ! ' ' Alack ! ' responds a burgher's dame, Betwixt a smile and scowl, — ' I might have kept (and been no worse) Those golden guelders in my purse, Nor heaped, perchance, another curse Upon poor Tetzel's soul.' THE 6CHL0SS-KIRCHE DOOR. 45 " But, all ! the smile of radiant joy Which lit the poor man's eye ! ' Is there indulgence, then, for me Who have no gold to buy ? They told me that my lost one lies In purgatorial flame. Because I had no coin, alas ! To buy a single priestly mass, To save my one ewe lamb.' " In vain the swinging censer's breath Perfumes the heavy air ; And round the altar's glittering height A hundred tapers glare. In vain the choral anthem swells, Their truant hearts to win ; And pompous sacristans in vain Sweep the long aisle with rustling train, To lure the people in. 46 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " Still, still around the old Kirk-door, In loud debate they stand — The posies for the Virgin's shrine Slow withering in their hand. That morn one strong electric shock Hath touched a thousand strings — That morn the deathless soul awoke, And started from beneath man's yoke To find that she hath wings ! " Ah me ! Full many a year hath flown, And many a tempest's stroke Hath struck, and back recoiled again From that old door of oak : Yet, though an old man's eyes wax dim. And memory halts and fails. And ears grow dull, methinks I hear. In strong distinctness, bold and clear, That hammer on those nails. THE SCHLOSS-KIRCHE DOOR. 47 " O'er rale and hill, o'er mount and plain, The booming echoes roll, Knocking against the dungeon doors Of man's imprisoned soul. The dark pine-forests caught the sound, The hills replied again ; The mountains sped it on its flight. And tossed it on from height to height, And rolled it to the plain. " Old Tyber frets his tawny wave, And chafes with muddy foam, To speed the Vandal note of war On to the gates of Rome. The seven hills awake from sleep, Affrighted at the peal ; And turning fiercely at the sound. Old Antichrist receives a wound Which never more shall heal. 48 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " Long since, I left my convent cell, For Christ, who made me free ; To preach His gospel to the poor, In glorious liberty ; To pray the spirit-prayer of faith Without the senseless beads ; To grasp the living Word of Light, In all its quickening truth and might. Without man's deadening creeds. " Ah ! I can think on Him who bled Upon th' accursed tree. Without the graven crucifix To help my memory. Without the mass-book I can laud His grace, on bended knees ; And when my spirit plumes her wing, Without my missal I can sing Sweet ' Benedkites r " 49 LUTHER AT WORMS, IN 1521. " Ein feste Burg ist viuser Gott, Ein gute Welir und Waffen, Er helft uns frei aus aller Notli Die uns je hat betroffen." LUTHEE. Thus spake a youtliful warrior, In the knightly days of old, — With mirthful eye, and open hrow, And step erect and bold : — " Sit here, and tell me, grandsire. Some tale of daring deed ; Of hero, girt with charmed sword, Bridling his fiery steed ! E 50 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. Tell of the scaly dragon/ 'Neath Siegfred's mighty hand — The glory and the darling of The German's Fatherland ! How with a thousand plaudits, The dark pine-forests rang, And ancient minstrels wove the lays Which fair young maidens sang." The old man paused — high visions Upon his soul throng fast ; And memory's touch is wandering o'er Tlie key-notes of the Past. And when he spake, sonorous Became his voice, and clear — Unlike the weak and faltering tones The youth was wont to hear. " I'll tell thee of a hero. Before whose pure renown, liUTHER AT WORMS. 51 Down to tlie dust falls each sere leaf From Siegfred's lordly crown ! I'll tell tliee of a braver Than all whose knightly praise Is registered in chronicle, Or chaunted forth in lays. Aye, boy ! the free souVs chami^ion ! Who wielded such a brand, As dauntless Siegfred never gras^Dcd Within his steel-gloved hand ; And dealt the old Arch-dragon A blow — so sturdily ! — That a thousand, thousand captive souls Were from his coil set free. " It was a spring-tide morning" — I mind me how the vine Was putting forth her tender leaves, Along the winding Rhine ; 52 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION, And how the silvery blossoms Were budding on the thorn ; And sprouted on the upland slopes, The young blades of the corn. " But the peasant left his vineyard, And the lady left her bower, And the baron, on his stout roan steed, Spurred down from castled tower ; And the smith forsook his anvil, And boys forgot their play. To throng this old imperial town Upon that wondrous day. " x^h me ! I was a stripling ; And my father's vassals said That chestnut ringlets never waved Upon a comelier head ; And that the broidered doublet Ne'er spanned a nobler chest ; LUTHER AT WORMS. 53 And that a fleeter step ne'ei* chased The leveret from her nest. " I went forth on that morning A child of careless glee, To whom the whole world seemed a dream Of song and revelry ! There came a change ere sunset : And the mirthful, heedless youth Awoke, henceforth to look on life As a holy battle-field of strife, Of earnestness and truth ! " I had seen the youthful Kaiser,^ And gave admiring heed To the housings, wrought in blue and gold, Of his Andalusian steed : I had marked his lordly bearing. And owned the stern appeal 54 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. Of the Austrian lip, astute and firm, And proud eye of Castile. I had seen his Flemish warriors, With plume and gilded spur ; And pampered Andalusian lords, In silk and miniver. My eyes were dazed with gazing On corslet and on helm, As they thronged the city's northern gate, And passed in slow, imperial state, To the Diet of the realm. But it was not prince nor pageant That wrought my spirit's change, And Kaiser Karl was not the man To move a work so strange. " The Herald of the empire,'* Robed in official garb. LUTHER AT WORMS. Had sped on high commission forth, Upon his milk-white barb. He forded many a river, Crossed many a mountain-chain, And threaded many a forest-path, And scoured o'er many a plain. He passed by princely castles. And cities of renown. But paused — before the lowly gate Of a grey old Saxon town ! The rude and rugged pavement Is ringing 'neath his feet, As the milk-white barb is pacing slow Along the dusky street. All knew that rider's mission, And why he came in state, And drew his rein, and bent his plume Beneath the convent-gate: — For a strong voice, from that portal, Had echoed far and near. 55 56 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. And had miitter'd 'mongst the seven hills, And made Rome quake for fear ! — Aye ! — from a poor monk's cloister A tempest had been hurl'd, Whose mighty heavings were to shake The prison of a world ! " ' Thy Kaiser, Martin Luther! And the Diet of the State, Do cite thee thither to repair Within a certain date. He covenants ' Safe-Conduct,' And, to assure thy weal, He signs the mandate with his name, And seals it with his seal.' " There was sighing in the cloister, There was wailing in the town : — ' Alas ! our Brother goeth forth To win the martyr's crown ! LUTHER AT WORMS. 57 We've heard of perjur'd councils — Of violated bond — And of the plighted, broken troth Of Kaiser 8igismond ! ' ^ " But, 'midst the reeds that trembled Before the gathering storm, E'en like some deeply-rooted oak Stood Luther's dauntless form. Exultant amidst j^eril, Forth goes he to fulfil — In face of friend, in face of foe — God's and his Kaiser's will.^ " Oh the throbbings of men's bosoms, Oppress'd by doubt and fear ! — Oh the surgings of the multitude, As that poor monk drew near ! 58 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. From liamlet and from city Around liis feet tliey press ; — Some came to curse the heretic, And some the saint to bless. ' Cursed be the bold arch-rebel ! ' Was mutter'd 'mongst the crowd ; * God bless the man whom Rome hath cursed ! ' Responded clear and loud. And many a peasant-mother — At cot, or cabin-door — Held up her little babe, to see The teacher of the Poor. " I mind me how I mingled Amongst the eddying throng, And how my youthful steps were borne With torrent force along. — I mind me how the Herald Pranced, foremost in the band, LUTHER AT WORMS. 59 And tlie Empire's Eagle spread its wings Upon his gilded wand ; — And next, my young eye singled, From out the troublous scene, One steadfast brow, one fearless eye, One calm, heroic mien — A rock, whose base the surges Swept round, but could not move — Conversing with his soul within, And with his God above ! " With that one look, fast faded Life's pageantry away ! — ■ Aye, Boy ! the masquerade was o'er- I gazed no more that day ! 60 LAYS OF THE REFORMATIOX. " Uprose tlie dewy morning, And gemm'd the vines with pearl, And waken'd to their matin-song The throstle and the merle — Waken'd the troublous city To the battle-field of life, And woke the monk of Wittenberg To the trumpet-call of strife. Uprose the weary princes From brief, perturb'd repose : And from his purple couch of state Young Kaiser Charles arose ! " Bring forth the golden flagons, And pour the red wine free ; And fill your goblets to the brim, From casks of Burgundy ! And for the lists now nerve ye. At you imperial board, LUTHER AT WORMS. Gl And in the lordly banquet-hall Be your dull strength restored ! For Rome's unconquer'd rebel Hath weapons well anneaVd ; And his girdle he is bracing 7iow, And polishing his shield ! '• He hath entered his closet, And, kneeling prostrate there, He is pouring forth his troubled soul In sighs, and tears, and prayer ! ^ God help thee, Martin Luther ! Thy Lord hath hid His face, And, for a season, sealed up The treasury of grace. Oh, how the strong man wrestled ! — Oh, how the weak man cried ! — But he knows the Angel's " Secret Name," And will not be denied.^ 62 LAYS OF THK BEFORMATION, Amidst thick clouds of darkness, He knows that name is Love, And that the anchorage of faith Nor earth nor hell can move ! " I mind me how I marvelled, As I stood without, and heard The pleadings of that broken heart. And how my soul was stirr'd. I knew not, then, the dealings Of a Father with a Son ; Nor how, apart from carnal strength, The victory is won. If sever'd from the mighty. How weak the strong ! — how faint !■ And, parted from the Saviour, How helpless is the Saint ! LUTHER AT WORMS. 63 " But the footstep of the herald Is ringing on the stair ! — The hour hath struck, and at its call He rises up from prayer. 9 Like ocean, -whose wild tumult Is hush'd at summer even. Now calmly on his settled brow Eesteth the light of heaven. Behold, once more, the Dauntless "With firm step moves along! — He feels the Eock beneath his feet, And therefore is he strong. " I ween that earth ne'er witnessed So lordly an array ' Of princes and of potentates As met in state that day — From the banks of yellow Tyber, From Danube's moaning river, 64 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. From Weser, Elbe, and Vistula, Aud flowery Guadalquiver : lo There were stout Teutonic barons, And proud Castilian lords, And Belgic and Burgundian knights. Clanking tlieir jewell'd swords ; There was cloth of gold from Flanders, Pearls from the Indian main, And silks from Asiatic looms, And a new world's gold from Spain. " The Empire's seven Electors, ^i Each in his chair of state, Next to their Kaiser's gilded throne. In proud precedence, sate. I mark'd our youthful monarch, Beneath his purple dome, As whisper'd in his listening ear The Legate priest from Rome. LUTHER AT WORMS. I marked tlie cruel cunning That lit Duke Alva's eye, And tlie cloud across the anxious brow Of noble Saxony. 12 G5 " ' Will he retract ?'— Behold him, Before ye dare respond ! — Is that a man to league with Truth, And then to break his bond ? — To turn again to darkness — Back, from the light of day — To find a pearl of priceless worth, x4.nd fling that pearl away ? " ' Wilt thou renoimce thy doctrines ?' ' Yea ! — should they not accord With Truth unchangeable, declared In God's unerring Word. F LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. The mind of man is erring, Thouo-h honest be its aim — The mind of God infallibly, Immutably, the same! Prove ye that Christ and Luther Two gospels do declare, And Luther's voice shall be the first His tenets to forswear ; But, failing this, my conscience Will not, and dare not, yield To any Standard but the Lord's, In any battle-field ! Try, by God's word, each doctrine I've taught by speech or pen. — My Kaiser ! — here I take my standi God helping me .' — Aiiwi ! ' ^^ Til ere was silence in the council, And men with awe look'd pale, LUTHER AT WORMS. 67 And cruel Alva knit his brow, And the Legate priest did quail. 'Twas strange ! — Here sate a monarch, 'Neath whose imperial sway (Own'd in two earthly hemispheres) Ne'er sets the light of day ; And liere^ earth's rich and noble — Helms, mitres, coronets — Back'd by the golden bribes of Rome, And, failing these, her threats ! And there, before his judges. Upheld by voice of none, Stood a poor monk from Wittenberg — A simple miner's son — Leaning upon an anchor, Within the riven veil, And clasping to his breast the Word That cannot change nor fail ! C)8 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " Tims, like some Alpine summit, Calm in the liglit of heaven, While, round its agitated base, Dark thunder-clouds are driven : In peace, though 'sieged by tempests — 'Midst tumult, yet at rest — There stood the man whom Rome hath curst, But whom his Lord hath blest ! " Will he retract? — First turn ye The planets from their course, Or dash the mighty cataract Back to its mountain-source ! My tale is well-nigh ended — The Empire's heavy ban LUTHER AT WORMS. llath echoed back the tluincleriiig curse Hurl'd from the Vatican ! What boots man's wi-ath ? — The banner Of Christ hath been nnfurlVl, And a poor Saxon monk becomes The Hero of a world ! " The Branded and the Outcast A refuge-tower hath found, Where — Patmos-like — the pen is free, And the wing'd soul unbound : And where the holy Volume, Seal'd up, from age to age, (For only priests and letter'd men Could read its learned page) Became the poor man's treasure, Unroll'd by Luther's hand, And vocal with the living speech Of the German's Fatherland — 70 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. The speech in which, the mother Doth with her child converse — The speech in which the silver-hair'd Life's toils and cares rehearse. " And thus Truth's lamp was lifted, By God's o'erruling will, From shadows of a convent-cell And set upon a hill. It hath lighten'd northern forests, It hath smiled in Alpine glens, And the valleys of the Island Queen Have shouted glad ' Aniens!'' " The curse, the han, the Wartburg, But veil'd God's glorious ways ; And the echo to the wrath of man Is heard in songs of praise ! i"* LUTHER AT WORMS. 71 " Aye, Boy ! — the niiglitiest weapon Is not thy steel-wrought sword : The bravest Avarrior of his age Is the servant of the Lord!'" NOTES. Note 1, page 50. " Tell of the scaly dragon, 'Neath Siegfred's mighty hand." According to the Niehelungenl'ud^ it was on the borders of the Rhine, nearly opposite the present city of Woims, that Siegfred, the favourite hero of song and story, destroyed the ch-agon. Note 2, page 51. " It was a spring-tide morning." It was in spring, on the morning of the 16th of April, 1521, that Luther arrived at Worms, where the Diet had akeady been sitting more than three months. Note 3, page 53. " I had seen the youthful Kaiser." The Emperor Charles V. was bom at Ghent in 1500, and NOTES. 73 ■\\as, therefore, twenty-one years of age at the period of this celebrated Diet. He was the eldest son of Philiji, archduke of Austria, and of Joanna, the daughter of Ferdinand of Arragon and Isabella of Castile. Note -4, page 54. " The Herald of the empire." Everlasting blessings to the soul of the imperial herald, Gaspar Sturm, were the consequences of this mission. His intercoui'se with Lutlier during tlie journey, and Luther's sermons at Weimar, at Eisenach, and at Erfurth, in all which places he was permitted to jireach, wrought so pow- erfully on his convictions, that from henceforth Gaspar Sturm was a staunch friend of Luther and of the Re- formation. Wlien Luther left Wonns to return to Saxony, the herald joined him again at Oppenheim, near Frankfurt, and accompanied him as far as Freundsberg. There they parted as dear brothers in Christ, Note 5, page 57. " We've heard of perjur'd councils — Of violated bond — And of the plighted, broken troth Of Kaiser Sigismond !" John Huss, the great Bohemian reformer, was executed at Constance, July 7th, 1415, not\vithstanding a formal " safe-conduct" from the Emperor Sigismond. 74 NOTES. NoTK 6, page 57. " Exultant amidst peril, Forth goes he to fulfil — In face of friend, in face of foe — God's and his Kaiser's will." Luther's ready and determined obedience to the impeiial summons, in the face alUie of warning and of threat, unfolds a noble example of Christian intreijidity. Even the most stouthearted of his friends implored him to take warning from the history of the past, and abide in a place of safety. But Luther knew that the hour was come for setting the candle upon the candlestick, that it might give light to the world; and his own life was only dear to him as an ofi'ering to Christ. " If," said he, '' every tile on every house-roof at Worms were a devil, yet stUl I would go." IMany years afterwards, when the great reformer was drawing near to life's evening, he alluded to the emotions of exultant joy which he experienced at that hour, saying to his friends, " I felt no fear. God can give marvellous bold- ness. If the same thing had happened now, instead of then, I am not sure that I should feel such extraordinary liberty and exultation." Note 7, page 01. " He is pouring forth his troubled soul In sighs, and tears, and prayer." It was even said of Luther's Di^'ine Master, " It pleased tlie Father to bruise Him." And su, in a different sense, NOTES. 75 and for a widely different end, it may be said of the servant. One of the most affecting historical documents in existence is that which records liis mental agony luider a temporary sense of Divine deseilion, as tlie hour drew near for his introduction to the Diet. His friends, who were waiting for his reappearance, outside the door of his closet, heard his earnest, agonising pleadings with his God and Father. For awhile a horror of tliick darkness seems to have veiled the Mercy-seat. " God ! " he pleaded ; " God ! Oh, Thou, my God ! help me against all the wisdom of this world. Do this, I beseech Thee! Thou shouldst do this; . , . . by Thine own mighty power ! . . . . The work is not mine, but Thine. I have no business here. . . . . I have nothing to contend for with these great men of the world ! I would gladly pass my days in hap- piness and peace. But the cause is Thine . . . and it is righteous and everlasting ! O Lord, help me ! 0, faithful and tmchangeable God ! I lean not upon man. It were vain ! Whatever is of man is tottering ; whatever pro- ceeds from him must fall ! My God ! my God ! Dost not Thou hear? My God! Art Thou no longer living? Nay, Thou canst not die ! Thou dost btit hide Thyself. Thou hast chosen me for this work. I know it! . . . There- fore, God, accomplish Thine own will! Forsake me not, for the sake of Thy well-beloved Son, Jesus Christ, my defence, my buckler, and my stronghold!" Then, after a moment of silent struggle, Luther conti- nued:— "0 Lord! where art Thou? . . . My God! where art Thou ? . . . Come, I pray Thee ; I am ready ! . . . Behold me prepared to lay down my life for Thy truth! . . . suffering like a lamb! For the cause is lioly. It is Thine own I ... I will not let Thee go ! 76 KOTES. No, nor jet for all eternity ! And though the world should be thronged •with de\dls, and though this body, which is the work of Thine hands, should he cast forth, trodden under foot, cut in pieces . . . consumed to ashes . , . My SOUL IS Thine ! Yes ! I have Thine own Word to assui'e me of it. My soul belongs to Thee, and will abide with Thee for ever! Amen! God, send help ! . . . Amen!'' See D'Aubigne's History of the Refoiination, Eng. trans., vol. ii. page 289. See also jMichelet's Life of Luther. jNIerle D'Aubigne says that this prayer may be originally found " dans le Eecueil des Pieces relative a la comparation de Luther, a Woi-ms, sous le numero ] ; au milieu de ' Sauf- conduits,' et d'autres documents de ce genre." Note 8, page 61. " But he knows the Angel's ' Secret Name,' And will not be denied." Genesis, xxii. 26-29. Note 9, page 63. " The hour hath struck, and at its call He rises up from prayer." " Four o'clock anived. The marshal of the emi^ii'e ap- peared. Luther prepared to set out. God had heard his prayer : he was calm when he quitted the hotel." — D'Au- bigne, NOTES. 77 Note 10, page 04. " From the banks of yellow Tyber, From Danube's moaning river, From Weser, Elbe, and Vistula, And flowery Guadalquiver." " And now the doors of the hall were thrown open. Luther entered ; and many who constituted no part of the Diet gained admission with him. Never had any man ap- peared before so august an assembly." — D'Aubigne. Note 11, page 64. " The Empire's seven Electors." Only six of the seven electors of the empire were present on this occasion. Note 12, page 05. " And the cloud across the anxious brow Of noble Saxony." Frederick, surnamed the Wise, Elector of Saxony, was Luther's dear friend. It is a remarkable fact that they never met, face to face, till this hour; and, it is believed, never afterwards, tUl they met in heaven. The Duke of Alva, afterwards so famous (or rather so iiifanwus) in the history of Protestantism, and his two sons, were present. 78 NOTES. Note 13, page 66. " My Kaiser! — here I take my stand, God helping me ! — Amen! " " Hier stehe Ic-li ! Ich kan nicbt anders. Gott helfe mir ! Amen ! " Note 14, page 70. " And the echo to the -m-ath of man Is heard in songs of praise." " Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee ; and the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain." — Psalm lxx^i. 10. 79 LAY OF THE WARTBURG. " Sint Scriptm-se qua3 delicife mese ! Nee decipior iii eis, nee decipiam ex eis." — Augustine. There was mourning on the banks of Elbe, In the laughing month of May ; In toA\'n and hamlet, hall and cot. Were sorrow and dismay. There were boding sighs, and childlike tears. By strong men freely shed ; And broken words — " Let foes beware — Kaiser or Pope — if they but dare To crush one single, honoured hair Upon ^hat freeborn head ! 80 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. " We care not for tiai-a crowns, Nor royal miniver ! Tlic Saxon hatli his coat of mail, And steed, and knightly spur ! We care not for the golden keys ; We have our iron fist ; And thousand voices shall demand The birthright of the Fatherland, If Eome dare lay her crimson'd hand On Truth's evangelist." There are haughty questionings and frowns, In proud, imperial hall ; There was jubilee in Vatican, And on the Quirinal ; And the ruddy wine- cup brimmeth o'er At many a festal board, Because Rome dreams her stubborn foe Hath pluck'd the arrow from his bow, And sheathed his daring sword. LAY OF THE WARTBURG. 81 There kneels an unknown captive Knight In a solitary tower ; And he rises up to trim his lamp At evening's shadowy hour. The dark pine-forests wave beneath, With hollow, troublous sighs ; And the old oaks gather up the sound, And send the moaning cadence round. And the ivied tower replies. A soldier of a mighty King To Him his knee hath bow'd, And the service of a duteous Knight Most loyally hath vow'd ; — ' 'Twas He who gave the hand its sword, And gave the breast its shield ; — A King whose foemen he hath braved, And glorious banner sternly waved In many a battle-field ! G 82 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. I ween men tliought it strange to see Such stalwart cavalier, (With hilted sword, and casque, and plume, And all a bold knight's gear). With studious brow, so lined with thought. And introverted eye, And hand endow'd with clerkly skill, Guiding with energetic will The movements of a vigorous quill. As hour by hour rolled by. Now swept he royal David's harp With firm, yet reverent hand. Making it vocal with the words Of his own Fatherland ; ^ — Now bade the Saxon's mother-tongue Proclaim, in household word, The high and holy doctrines taught. And glorious deeds of wonder wrought, By David's King and Lord. LAY OF THE WARTBURG. 83 The Slimmer came, with gifts to earth — Sunshine and balmy shower — Lengthening the ivy's muffling clasp Around the ancient tower ; And Autumn, with her ripening suns, Storm-clouds, and ruddy gleams, And mellow fruits, and garnered -sheaves, And sobbing winds, and rustling leaves, And flashing mountain-streams. " Rise up, Sir Knight ! I ween thy brow, With hard soul-conflicts lined. Will throb less hurriedly if fann'd By the cool forest-wind. Come forth, and join the jovial troop Who rise, with morrow's dawn. And leave the Wartburg's gloomy tower, The breezy woodland-paths to scour, With hawk, and hound, and horn !" - 84 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. * The jasper portals of the morn In silence backward roll'd, And pour'd upon the waking earth A flood of molten gold. The old oak doors in Wartbnrg tower Creak'd open, one by one ; The spurs are clattering in the yard, The heavy fastenings are unbarr'd, And the gates are backward thrown. There were noble knights and sturdy squires, With plumes and sheathed swords ; There were jagers, with their winding horns, And jests and wrangling words. LAY OF THE WARTBURG. 85 The Landgraf, with his massive curb, Bridled his chafing steed ; And the spicy " stirrup-cup" went round, And horse and rider, hawk and hound, The castle-gate have freed. 'Twas not to marshal feats of arms That the shrill clarion blew, But for the peaceful forest-chase — The wild-wood rendezvous ! And many a noble stag who browsed, That morn, in antler'd pride, Sobb'd out his life on upland fell, Or stood at bay in forest dell. Ere the loud bugle's winding swell Sounded at eventide. What rider and what gallant steed Were foremost in the chase, 86 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. And which excell'd in strength or sldll, 'Twere tedious to retrace. Down forest-glades — o'er upland steeps — They strove with will and might ; And the solemn wild-wood rang with glee, As shouted, loud and merrily — All — save the Wartburg Knight ! They marvell'd what might be his crest. And what his pedigree ; And yet they read upon his brow Truth, Trust, and Loyalty ! — A hand unused to rein a steed, Or wear a jewell'd ring. And yet an eye whose fii'e might grace The loftiest line, the proudest race, With a bold sparkle that might face Kaiser, or Pope, or King ! LAY OF THE WARTBURG. 87 'Twas plain to see that soul like his Breathed not her native air, Amid the death -wail and the shout, The tumult and the glare. Leagued with the strong against the weak, He sighed, and stood apart. Oh ! he could well-nigh bare his breast. Between oppressor and oppressed, And hug the bitter dart. Wlien the poor quarry wounded sank, And triumph-shouts rose high, He only saw, of sin and grief. The symboled mystery. And big tears, down his manly cheek. In heavy drops would roll : " Alas !" he sighed; " behold the way Sin's Antichrist doth still waylay. And hunt his feeble, trembling prey, The deathless human soul !" 88 LAYS OP THE REFORMATION. Anon, lie spied a leveret Entangled in a snare ; And then lie brake the subtle toils, And freed the trembling hare. He wrapped her softly in his cloak, With strangely gentle hands ; " Thus would I snatch from sin's control, Thus would I, ill love's mantle roll (Heaven grant me grace !) the fettered soul, And crush Rome's deadly bands ! " There were who list the strange Knight's words. And stopped, and looked aghast ; But others gave their steeds the spur. And bounded fleetly past : And others sent a jovial laugh Adowii the forest aisle ; But the Landgraf gave his plume a toss. And with young Johanu of the Schloss^ Exchanged a conscious smile. LAY OF THE WARTBURG. 89 Yet neither Joliann of the ScUoss, Nor yet the Landgraf guessed, What labouring thoughts are wrestling hard Within that true Knight's breast. His soul is gathering up her strength, His Master's cross to bear ; In -weakness — taking hold of might. In darkness — stretching forth to light, Watching for morning through the night. In the energy of prayer. He is learning how his Lord can work Without his feeble aid ; How, for Christ's glory, man's renown Must choose the valley's shade. He is hurried from the battle-field. And taught to sheathe his sword. For one brief space — one restless span, That the great work his voice began, Be not achieved by might of man, But by the Sjiit'ifs Word. 90 LAYS OF THE REFORMATION. Less need for Luther's rousing voice, By altar and by hearth, Soon as the Gospel's silver trump Christ's message soundeth forth ! Less need that Luther's urn of clay Truth's precious drops should pour, Soon as the living waters glide. Freely and full in native tide. By cot and cabin door. "When, from the Wartburg's Patmos shades, Christ's own true Knight shall come, "With the Saxon's Bible in his hand. For the Saxon's hearth and home ; "When God's own Gospel shall declare The strength of man as vain, The Spirit's sword of heavenly might Shall carve Truth's pathway through the fight. And out of darkness bringing light, The Lord alone shall reign ! NOTES. Note 1, page 82. " Now swept he royal David's harp "With fii-m, yet reverent hand, Making it vocal with the words Of his own Fatherland,'' &c. Luther's captivity in the Wartburg was an interval from personal action replete with the most important results to the dawning Reformation. " Before this time," writes Merle D'Aubign6, " Luther had translated some fragments of the Holy Scriptures. . . . These earlier es>