On tower four-square and solid plants his spire,
And not on meads below, though gay with flowers,
On those four virtues God the fabric rears
Of virtues loftier yet--those three, heaven-born,
And pointing heavenward.
To those worlds unknown
Kenwalk ere long stood nigh. In three short months
The loveliest of those children, and last born,
Lay cold in death. Old nurses round her wailed:
The mighty heart of Kenwalk shook for dread
Entering the dim death-chamber. On a bier
The maiden lay, the cross upon her breast:
Beside her sat her mother, pale as she,
Yet calm as pale. When Kenwalk near her drew
She lifted from that bier a slender book
And read that record of the three days' dead
Raised by the Saviour from that death-cave sealed,
A living man. Once more she read those words,
'I am the Resurrection and the Life,'
Then added, low, with eyes up cast to heaven,
'With Him my child awaits me.' Kenwalk saw;
And, what he saw, believing, half believed--
Not more--the things he heard.
Yes, half believed;
Yet, call it obduracy, call it pride,
Call it self-fear, or fear of priestly craft,
He closed his ear against the Word Divine:
The thing he saw he trusted; nought beyond.
Three years went by. Once, when his friend had named
The Name all-blessed, Kenwalk frowned. Since then
That Name was named no more. O'er hill and dale
They chased the wild deer; on the billow breathed
Inspiring airs; in hall of joyance trod
The mazes of the dance. Then war broke out:
Reluctant long King Anna sought the field;
Hurled back aggression. Kenwalk, near him still,
Watched him with insight keener than his wont,
And, wondering, marked him least to pagans like
Inly, when like perforce in outward deed.
The battle frenzy took on him no hold:
Severe his countenance grew; austere and sad;
Fatal, not wrathful. Vicar stern he seemed
Of some dread, judgment-executing Power,
Against his yearnings; not despite his will.
Once, when above the faithless town far off
The retributive smoke leaped up to heaven,
He closed with iron hand on Kenwalk's arm
And slowly spake--a whisper heard afar--
'See you that town? Its judgment is upon it!
I gave it respite twice. This day its doom
Is irreversible.'