Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=456067" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Prophecy Of St. Oran: Part I</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Earth, earth on the mouth of Oran, that he may blab no more.' Gaelic Proverb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I.<br>THE storm had ceased to rave: subsiding slow<br>Lashed ocean heaved, and then lay calm and still;<br>From the clear North a little breeze did blow<br>Severing the clouds: high o'er a wooded hill<br>The slant sun hung intolerably bright,<br>And spanned the sea with a broad bridge of light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II.<br>Now St. Columba rose from where he sat<br>Among his monkish crew; and lifting high<br>His pale worn hands, his eagle glances met<br>The awful glory which suffused the sky.<br>As soars the lark, sweet singing from the sod,<br>So prayer is wafted from his soul to God.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III.<br>For they in their rude coracle that day<br>Shuddered had climbed the crests of mountainous wave,<br>To plunge down glassy walls of shifting spray,<br>From which death roared as from an open grave;<br>Till, the grim fury of the tempest o'er,<br>Bursts on their ravished sight an azure shore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV.<br>Ah! is this solid earth which meets their view,<br>Or some still cloud-land islanded on high?<br>Those crags are too aërially blue,<br>Too soft those mountains mingling with the sky,<br>And too ineffable their dewy gleam,<br>For aught but fabric of a fleeting dream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>V.<br>Entranced they gaze, and o'er the glimmering track<br>Of seething gold and foaming silver row:<br>Now to their left tower headlands, bare and black<br>And blasted, with grey centuries of snow,<br>Deep in whose echoing caves, with hollow sighs,<br>Monotonous seas for ever ebb and rise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VI.<br>Rounding these rocks, they glide into a deep<br>And tranquil bay, in whose translucent flood<br>The shadows of the azure mountains sleep:<br>High on a hill, amid green foliage, stood<br>A square and rough-hewn tower, whose time-bleached stone,<br>Like some red beacon, with the sunset shone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VII.<br>A few more vigorous strokes, and the sharp keel<br>Grates on the beach, on which, inclining low<br>Their tonsured heads, the monks adoring kneel;<br>While St. Columba, his pale face aglow<br>With outward light and inward, lifts on high<br>The Cross, swart outlined on the burning sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VIII.<br>Impassive, though in silent wonder, stood<br>The islesmen while these worshipped, on their shore,<br>A thorn-crowned figure nailed upon the wood,<br>From whose pierced side the dark blood seemed to pour;<br>While on the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost<br>They loudly called as brow and breast they crost.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IX.<br>Spoke now their Master, in a voice whose ring<br>Was like the west wind's in a twilight grove:<br>'Glad tidings to this sea-girt isle we bring,<br>Good tidings of our heavenly Father's love,<br>Who sent His only Son,--oh, marvellous<br>Deep love!--to die that He might ransom us.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>X.<br>'Come! listen to the story of our Lord!<br>Sweet Jesus Christ, a child of lowly birth,<br>Whom in the manger the wise kings adored,<br>For well they knew Him Lord of Heaven and Earth,<br>With myrrh and spice they journeyed from the far<br>Prophetic East, led by the Pilgrim Star:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XI.<br>'And when the star stood still, and mildly shone<br>Above a shed where lay the new-born child,<br>They hailed Him God's only-begotten Son,<br>Saviour of sinners and Redeemer mild;<br>Eve's promised seed, when she with streaming eyes<br>Saw the bright sword wave her from Paradise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XII.<br>'For we are children of a fallen race,<br>Our sins are grievous in the Father's sight,<br>Death was our doom, but that by heavenly grace<br>God sent His Son to be a steadfast light,<br>Which calmly shining o'er life's troubled wave,<br>The storm-tossed souls of erring men might save.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XIII.<br>'Go unto Him, all ye that toil and weep,<br>Ye that are weary with the long day's load;<br>He is the Shepherd watching o'er His sheep,<br>He leads His flock along the narrow road;<br>And when He hears the bleating lamb's alarm<br>He folds the weak one in His sheltering arm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XIV.<br>'Ah, tender Shepherd, who didst love us so,<br>Choosing to die that we Thy flock might live;<br>What bitter anguish, ah! what heavy woe<br>To think, O Lord! that mortal hands should give<br>This wound that cleaves Thy side, that mortal scorn<br>In mockery crowned Thee with the barren thorn!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XV.<br>Sad was Columba's face, his words were slow<br>As though reluctant to the piteous tale--<br>But now his eyes with sacred rapture glow,<br>And his wan features kindle, like a pale<br>Dissolving cloud through which the moon is shed:<br>He speaks of Christ re-risen from the dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XVI.<br>He ceased, then cried: 'Glory unto the Lord<br>Whose mercy is as boundless as the sea;<br>Fruitful to-day makes He my feeble word,<br>For with faith's eye an ancient chief I see,<br>Whose bark o'er the blue deep is drawing nigh,<br>He comes to be baptised before he die.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XVII.<br>Scarce had he ended when towards the land<br>A wicker boat sped swiftly o'er the bay;<br>There by the Pictish chieftain, hand in hand,<br>Her golden locks entangled with his grey,<br>His grandchild sat, lit by the level rays;<br>The loveliest and the last of all her race.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XVIII.<br>They hailed the Chief as to a sea-worn stone<br>Two fishers bore him; and his muffled sense<br>Struggled with feeble eld to seize the tone<br>Of the Saint's voice, as he in words intense<br>Proclaimed the saving truth of gospel lore,<br>Then with his hands baptised the Chieftain hoar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XIX.<br>And when the holy dew had wet his brow,<br>And his wan lips tasted the sacrament,<br>His head against Columba's breast sank low,<br>And o'er his face a smile of rapt content<br>Played softly, smoothing out the lines of care<br>Which joy and grief and toil had planted there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XX.<br>Then on the spot where he has breathed his last<br>They lay him, letting dust to dust return;<br>Then one by one, as solemnly they cast<br>A little earth upon his grave, they turn<br>To the benighted heathen, look above,<br>And chaunt: 'His soul is God's, and God is love.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXI.<br>A piteous cry and terrible then rung<br>Even like a very echo to the word<br>Upon the startled hearers, whom it wrung<br>With answering grief, as when along the chord<br>Of palpitating harp the breezes sigh<br>Each string responsive wails in sympathy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXII.<br>A maiden with wild eyes and streaming hair<br>And features white with horror rose aghast,<br>Unconscious of the pitying people's stare,<br>And on the new-made grave herself she cast<br>In utter desolation, till her frame<br>Convulsed by sobs shook like a wind-blown flame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXIII.<br>'Oh father, father,' she at last made moan,<br>'My father's father, last of all our race,<br>Hast thou gone too, and left me here alone<br>So helpless as I am, so weak to face<br>The dreadful shifts of war with all its woes,<br>Cold, hunger, shame, fear of insulting foes.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXIV.<br>'Nay, child, blaspheme not in thine agony!<br>Art thou not in our heavenly Father's care?<br>He who upholds the everlasting sky<br>Throughout the ages, suffers not a hair<br>Of thine to fall but that it is His will;<br>Bless Him for joy, for sorrow bless Him still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXV.<br>'Yea! clasp thine unused hands in prayer, and lift<br>Thy still down-drooping eyes to Him above.<br>Is not the giver greater than His gift?<br>Must not His love contain all lesser love<br>Of father, mother, brother, husband, wife--<br>The Alpha He and Omega of life?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXVI.<br>Thus spake Columba, burning to allay<br>The pains of earthly love with saving truth;<br>But she, who deemed confusedly that they<br>With their sad rites had slain her sire, forsooth,<br>Was deaf to him, and ever made her moan,<br>'Hast thou gone too, and left me here alone!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXVII.<br>At last--when all his words and prayers had failed<br>To comfort or assuage the orphan's woe,<br>Who prostrate on the grave still wept and wailed,--<br>Columba muttered as he turned to go:<br>'Nay, sooner parley with the roaring main<br>Than with a woman maddening in her pain.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXVIII.<br>So thus they left her, as she would not come,<br>Left her to night and a few firstling stars<br>That here and there from the celestial dome<br>Peered brightly through the narrow cloudy bars,<br>As though some great white seraph's lidless eyes<br>Were looking down on her from Paradise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXIX.<br>But one there was who could not rest in peace,<br>For pity of that maiden's lonely pain!<br>Was there no balm in Gilead to appease<br>Her wounded spirit?--yea, might not he gain<br>That soul benighted to eternal bliss,<br>By teaching her God's love through grief like this?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXX.<br>Thus Oran mused, the youngest and most fair<br>Of that devoted zealous little band<br>That now for many a laborious year<br>Followed Columba's lead from land to land,<br>Daring the danger of the narrow seas<br>To plant the Cross among the Hebrides.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXXI.<br>Young, but most fervid of their brotherhood,<br>Fair Oran was, whose faith leaped like a sword<br>From out the sheath, and could not be subdued<br>When brandished in the service of the Lord,<br>To whom--as sparks leap upward from a fire--<br>His soaring thoughts incessantly aspire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXXII.<br>Yea, he must save her soul, that like a bark<br>Drifting without a rudder, rudely tossed<br>On life's rough sea, might founder in the dark,<br>In the abysm of hell engulfed and lost.<br>Thus musing, he retraced his steps once more<br>Towards the grave beside the sounding shore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXXIII.<br>'Arise, and let the dead bury their dead!'<br>He said to her still shedding stanchless tears.<br>Affrighted by his voice, she raised her head<br>With eyes dilated like a startled deer's;<br>With lovely, longing, melancholy eyes,<br>She looked up at him with a dumb surprise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXXIV.<br>'Come unto Jesus, He will give thee rest,'<br>Oran began, but stammered as he spoke:<br>Why throbbed his heart so loudly in his breast,<br>As if impatient of the heavy yoke<br>Of faith, that curbed desire as soon as born,<br>That nipped the rose, but left its piercing thorn?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXXV.<br>A moment has undone the work of years!<br>A single glance o'erthrown an austere saint!<br>And the clear faith, achieved with stripes and tears<br>And midnight fasts and vigils, now grows faint,<br>And like a star lost in the new-born light<br>Flickers awhile, then fades into the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXXVI.<br>Still Oran wrestles with the fiend within,<br>Striving to teach the gospel to the maid;<br>He tells her of man's fall through deadly sin,<br>And of the Saviour who our ransom paid:<br>She, with her eyes now bent upon the ground,<br>Listens like one by strong enchantment bound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXXVII.<br>It was a clear and cloudless summer night,<br>Stars without number clustered in the blue,<br>Some like mere sparks of evanescent light<br>Receding infinite from mortal view,<br>Some with a steadier lustre softly glow,<br>Like golden flames or silver flakes of snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXXVIII.<br>But lo! like some lost soul from heaven's height<br>Hurled headlong, shivering to its awful doom,<br>A wingèd star shoots dazzling through the night,<br>And vanishes in some stupendous gloom:<br>Thus once the brightest of the angels fell<br>Through yawning space into profoundest hell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXXIX.<br>And trembling for his own soul, Oran prayed:<br>'Oh blessed Virgin, whom the angelic quire<br>Rapturous adore! immaculate Mother-maid!<br>Pure Queen! make pure my heart of every fire<br>Which is not kindled on thy sacred shrine,<br>Of every thought not wholly, solely thine!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XL.<br>Even while suppliant's lips devoutly move,<br>A heavenly face, though not the Virgin's, filled<br>His eyes with beauty, and his heart with love,<br>Till with dread rapture all his pulses thrilled:<br>A face whose heavenly innocence might well<br>Eradicate the very thought of hell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XLI.<br>Perplexed, bewildered, breathless Oran stood,<br>Torn by the passions he had still suppressed<br>With macerations of the flesh and blood;<br>But now this idol which enthralled his breast<br>With subtle witchcraft, snake-like seemed to hiss,<br>'Thine immortality for one long kiss!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XLII.<br>'Get thee behind me, Satan!' wildly cries<br>The monk, and flees in horror from the place.<br>Did not the devil tempt him through those eyes<br>Burning like two fair lights in that fair face,<br>Till moth-like drawn in ever-narrowing rings<br>Towards the flame, his soul must scorch her wings?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XLIII.<br>Far o'er the moorland through the starlit night<br>He rushed, like one who flies in mortal fear<br>Of some dread enemy that dogs his flight,<br>And who, whate'er his speed, still draweth near:<br>Yea, though he shall outspeed the wingèd wind,<br>How fly the haunting thought of his own mind?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XLIV.<br>At last he knelt all breathless on the sod,<br>And gathered up his whole soul in one prayer,<br>Yea,--even as Jacob wrestled before God<br>While angels hovered on the heavenly stair,<br>He wrestled,--loudly calling on the Lord<br>To keep him from the sin his soul abhorred.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XLV.<br>When his long prayer was done, and the pale priest<br>Rose cold with clinging vapour, one by one<br>The flickering stars went out, and in the East<br>The dim air kindled with the coming sun,<br>While in illimitable sheer delight<br>The holy larks rose worshipping the light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mathilde+Blind">Mathilde Blind</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=456067" data-title="The Prophecy Of St. Oran: Part I de Mathilde Blind" data-description="'Earth, earth on the mouth of Oran, that he may blab no more.' Gaelic Proverb.


I.
THE storm had ceased to rave: subsiding slow
Lashed ocean heaved, and then lay calm and still;
From the clear North a little breeze did blow
Severing the clouds: h..."></div>
</div>
</div>