On went the child, and as she went, Within the Baron's hall,

Were hung up helm and mail and sword,
To rust upon the wall.

On went she, and the poets sung
No longer war's acclaim,
But holy hymns of love and joy,

To hail her as she came.

On went she, like an angel good;
With bounding steps she went,
Day after day, until she came
To the great Conqueror's tent.
There sat he, a strong man of blood,
Steel-mailed and scarfed with blue,
Poring o'er charts of distant lands,
For new lands to subdue.

Beside him stood the gentle child;
And now he traced with care,
Measuring from river unto sea,
A fertile region fair.

""Tis a good land," said Marien,
"From river unto sea;
And there a quiet people dwell,
Who never heard of thee.

"They feed their flocks and herds in peace; The fruitful vine they till;

The quiet homes their fathers built
They and their children fill.

"Even now their happy children's joy
Thee and thy will condemn ;
Wherefore should'st thou possess that land?
God gave it unto them!"

Into her face the proud man looked,
Amazed at what he heard;

Then turned unto his charts again,
And answered never a word.

Another land among the hills

He measured with his eye; ""Tis a stern land," said Marien,

"A land of liberty!

"There fled the Christians in old time,
And built their churches there;
The bells upon the sabbath morn
Call all that land to prayer.

"Would'st thou God's people tribulate? A cursed thing it were

To make that Christian land of love
A bloody sepulchre!"

The proud man turned him round about
And fiercely gazed at her.

"Rivers of blood have flowed for thee!" Unblenching Marien said,

"And many a Christian land hast thou With Christian blood made red.

"Up, sin no more! "Tis coming now,
The day thou canst not flee,
When all the thousands thou hast slain
God will require of thee!

"Thou man of blood, repent, repent,
Repent whilst yet thou may,
And store up deeds of love and peace
Against that awful day!"

Up from his seat the conqueror rose,
And paced the uneasy tent,
And ground his teeth and groaned aloud,
As one that doth repent,

Forth from the tent sped Marien ;
And many a summer's day
Throughout a blessed land of peace
She journeyed on her way.

PART V.

At length after long travel past,
She came as it grew late,
Along a beaten road, that led
To a vast city gate.

A vast and populous city, where
Rose dome, and tower, and spire,
And many a gilded pinnacle,
Far-seen, as the bright sunset fell,
Like glittering points of fire.

A city vast and populous,
Whose thronging multitude
Sent forth a sound afar-off heard,
Strong as the ocean-flood.

A strong, deep sound of many sounds,
Toil, pleasure, pain, delight,

And traffic, myriad-wheeled, whose din
Ceased not by day or night.
And through the city gate a throng
Passed ever, never spent ;
A busy mingling human tide

Of those who came and went.

"T was a proud city and a rich;

A city fair and old;

Filled with the world's most costly things,

Of precious stones and gold;
Of silks, fine woods, and spiceries;
And all that's bought and sold.
Thither came homeless Marien,
Came there as it grew late,
Foot-sore and weary, friendless, poor,
Unto the city gate.

There found her a poor carpenter
Returning from his trade,
And he, with pitying countenance,
Her weary form surveyed.

"Come!" said he, "thou unto my house,

Shalt go and of my bread,
And of my cup, thou shalt partake;
Shalt bide with me!" and as he spake
Her weary steps he led.

Unto an humble place that stood

'Mong dwellings of the poor

He brought her; bade her welcome thrice Unto his lowly door.

The good-wife met her with like cheer,

46

And though our fare is scant,

Fear not," she said, "whilst we have food
It is not thou shalt want!"

So dwelt she with this humble pair
In the great city, cherished so,
As parents cherish their first-born;
Nor would they let her go.

Thus for a year she dwelt with them;
And that while their abode

Was blessed exceedingly; their store
Grew daily, weekly, more and more;
And peace so multiplied around,
The very hearth seemed holy ground,
As if once more on earth was found
The Paradise of God.

"T was she that blessed the bread they ate,
"T was she soothed all their cares;
They knew not that they entertained
An angel unawares.

With simple hearts that had no guile
They of the Saviour heard;
And, weeping tears of joyful faith,
Believed and blessed each word.
No more they marvelled how their board
With plenteous food was spread;
Five barley loaves dispensed by Christ
The famished thousands fed.

With love that would not be repressed,
Their kindling bosoms burned,
And 'mong their neighbours poor they went
To teach what they had learned.
To teach how Christ unto the poor,
The sinner vile, was sent;

How Mary washed his feet with tears,
And wiped them with her golden hairs,
A weeping penitent.

And how the sinful woman stood

Unjudged before his face;
How the poor prodigal sped back
Repentant to his place;

How to the thief upon the cross

He said, thou art forgiven,
And thou shalt be with me this day,
In the paradise of Heaven.

So preached the carpenter; and men
Turned from their evil ways,

And Christian prayer was heard around,
And Christian hymns of praise.

Strange seemed these things; and to the rich,

And to the proud, 't was told,

How many of the meaner sort

Lived like the saints of old.

How holy, blameless, were their lives;
And how poor craftsmen vile,
Amid their fellows, tool in hand,

The gospel preached the while.

"T was told of Marien; how she came
A wanderer none knew whence;
Friendless and poor, of mind mature,
A child in innocence;

As thus 't was told, some blessed God,
But others took offence.

"Why," said they, "should this simple child, These men of low degree,

Thus preach and practise? what new faith
Is there, or need there be?

"Bishops have taught a thousand years,

And learned men are they;

These are mad doctrines, false, unfit,
Devised to lead astray."

Therefore the simple people were
To a full synod brought,
To answer for their altered lives,

And for the faith they taught.

Much marvelled all those learned men
To see them fearless stand,
Calm, unabashed; with ready wit,
And language at command.
And to their taunts of low estate,

They answered, “let alone

All pride of rank; Christ chose the poor, To make his gospel known.

"And what are we?- Immortal souls,

For whom Christ's blood was shed;
Children of one great sire, with ye,
Co-heirs of Immortality;
Alike you both in birth and death;
Alone our lot so differeth,

As God shall judge the dead!"

Then were they questioned of old creeds;
By sophistries perplexed;

So that their artless lore might fail,
Their simple souls be vexed.

But they were steadfast in the faith
As taught the holy book;

And thence it was adjudged a crime
Upon its page to look.

And the grave synod rose in wrath,
And they were judged blasphemers dire,
And doomed, their daring heresies
To expiate in fire.

PART VI.

So perished for their faith in Christ,
This righteous couple; for their foes
Beseeching pardon; blessing God

That they were reckoned among those
Worthy to die for Christ, whose place
Is with the Holiest face to face.

Beside the pile stood Marien

Weeping sad human tears,

Yet strengthening, comforting the while,
And soothing all their fears.

And as she spoke, her countenance
With heavenly lustre beamed,
And all around her youthful form

Celestial beauty streamed.

Men looked on her with wondering awe,

As on an angel's face,

And pity, and love, and sweet remorse, In every heart had place.

Throughout the city rang the tale
Of this divinest child;
And for her sake unto her faith
Many were reconciled.
Unto the synod came these things;
And "here let her be brought,
To answer for herself," they said,
"And suffer as she ought."

As Christ among the doctors stood,
So she among these men,
Stern, rugged-browed, and deeply versed
In parchment and in pen;
Meekly she stood; when they reviled,
Reviling not again.

Yet with sweet words and argument,
Rather of love than lore,
She pleaded for the faith, as ne'er
Pled youthful tongue before.

All were amazed who heard her words;
And straightway spoke each one
Unto his neighbour, "Through this child
May mighty things be done!"
Then threatening words anon grew soft,
"And thou with us shalt go,"
They said, "and with the poor and vile,
No longer suffer woe.

"Thou shalt be clothed in purple robes,

In gold and linen fine;

Shalt eat the daintiest food; shalt drink The spirit-gladdening wine.

"And with us in proud palaces

A crownèd queen shalt be; Leave but these men, for they are poor,

And can do nought for thee!

"Behold the stake at which they burnThe iron-rack behold

Are these the men to make thee rich
With silver and with gold?
"Come with us, glorious Marien,
And in our places high,
We will exalt thee as a queen,
Will deck thee royally!"

"Nay," said sweet Marien, "as a queen It is not I may bide;

I am not won with power nor gold,
Nor aught of human pride.
"Who clothes the lilies of the field,

Will clothe me, even as they;
Who hears the ravens when they cry,
Will feed me day by day!"

But still the tempters kept with her;
And "Come away," they said,
And she unto a sumptuous dome
With royal pomp was led.

They showed her all that palace proud;

They showed her store of gold; They told her of a hundred realms,

And wealth a hundred-fold.

"And all this shall be thine," they said,

"All this be thine, and more, So thou wilt bind thyself to us,

And leave the weak and poor!

"Thou that art weak and poor thyself,
A crowned queen shalt be!"
Said Marien, "In the wilderness
The Tempter came, and he
Offered to Jesus Christ such gifts

As now ye offer me!"

Those rugged brows grew dark. "Come now
With us," they fiercely said,
"And see what never daylight saw,

The halls of dool and dread!"

Then unto chambers hidden, vast,
Mysterious, far from view,

They led her; there was set the rack,

The knotted cord, the screw,

And many a horrid instrument,

Whose dark ensanguined hue

Told of their purpose, "These," said they,
"Many strange wonders do!

"Look well; could'st thou endure these things?
Strong men have died ere now
Under their torment; men were they,
A little child art thou!"

Then Marien meekly answered, "What
God suffereth you to dare,
He, to whom darkness is as light,

Will strengthen me to bear!"

"Come onward yet," they said; and down
Damp, broken stairs they went;
Down, down to hidden vaults of stone,
Through vapours pestilent.

And then with sullen iron keys
They opened doors of stone;
And heavy chainèd captives there
They showed her, one by one.

Old, white-haired men; men middle-aged,
That had been strong of limb;
But each, now pallid, hollow-eyed,
Like spectres worn and dim.
And many, as the dull door oped,

Ne'er lifted up the head;-
Heart-broken victims of long pain,
Whose very hope was dead.
Others with feverish restlessness
Sprang up, and with quick cry,
That thrilled the hearer to the soul,
Demanded liberty.

With bleeding heart went Marien on ;
And her conductors spake,
"These are our victims; these await
The rack, the cord, the stake.
"And as these are, so shalt thou be,
If thou our will gainsay;

Accept our service, pride, and power;
Or, on this very day,

Thy fainting soul with wine;
Eat and be glad; forget the past,
And make all pleasure thine!"
"Tempt me not!" said the feeble child,
"Take hence your spiced bowl;
Is't not enough to rack my limbs,

But you must vex my soul?
"Look at my flesh, which ye have torn;
Look at your bloody rack;-
Take hence your gifts, and let me go

To my own people back.

"To my own people let me go,
A bruised and broken reed;

I for your purpose am unmeet;
Let me go hence with speed."

So, in her weakness, prayed the child;
But those remorseless men,
More dead than living, bore her back
Unto their prison-den.

Into a noisome prison-house,
With iron-doors made fast,
'Mong felons and 'mong murderers,
Was gentle Marien cast.
Upon the hard, cold prison-floor
Sick unto death she lay,

As if God had forsaken her,

For many a weary day.

She thought of her sweet forest life,
And of those creatures small,
Weak, woodland creatures, tamed by love
That came unto her call.

She thought of him, the forest-lord,

And of the forest-grange; Of the delicious life she led,

With liberty to range.

And as she thought, even as a child's,

The ceaseless tears did flow,

For torturing pain and misery

Had brought her spirit low. When one from out the felon-band Came softly to her side,

And

"do not weep, thou little child!" With pitying voice, he cried. "At sight of thee, I know not why,

My softened heart doth burn, And the gone tenderness of youth Doth to my soul return.

"I think upon my early days,

Like unto days of heaven;
And I, that have not wept for years,
Even as a child, shed ceaseless tears,
And pray to be forgiven!"
"Blessèd be God!" said Marien,
And rose up from the floor;
"I was not hither brought in vain!
His mercy I adore,

Who out of darkness brought forth light!"

And thus she wept no more.

But ever of the Saviour taught;
How he came down to win,
With love, and suffering manifold,
The sinner from his sin.

How, not to kings and mighty men
He came, nor to the wise,
But to the thief and murderer,
And those whom men despise.

And how, throughout the host of heaven
Goes yet a louder praise

O'er one poor sinner who doth turn
From his unrighteous ways,
Than o'er a hundred godly men,
Who sin not all their days.
Thus with the felons she abode,
And that barred prison rude
Was as if angels dwelt therein,
And not fierce men of blood;
For God had her captivity

Turned into means of good.

Now all this while sweet Marien's friends,
Who in the town remained,

Of her took painful thought, resolved
Her freedom should be gained.

And at the last they compassed it,

With labour long and great;

And through the night they hurried her
Unto the city-gate.

There many a mother stood, and child,
Weeping with friendly woe,

Thus, thus to meet, as 'twere from death,
And then to bid her go.

To bid her go, whom so they loved,
Nor once more see her face;
To bid her go; to speed her forth
To some more friendly place.

Thus, amid blessings, prayers, and tears
About the break of day,
She left the city, praising God
For her release; and swiftly trod
Upon her unknown way.

PART VIII.

A BOW-SHOт from the city-gate
Turned Marien from the plain,
Intent by unfrequented ways
The mountain-land to gain.

With bounding step she onward went,
Over the moorland fells;

O'er fragrant tracks of purple thyme,
And crimson heather-bells.

Joyful in her release she went,

Still onward yet, and higher;

Up many a mossy, stony steep,

Through many a flock of mountain sheep,
By the hill-tarns so dark and deep,

As if she could not tire.

Onward and upward still she went
Among the breezy hills,
Singing for very joyfulness
Unto the singing rills.

The days of her captivity,

The days of fear and pain, Were past, and now through shade and shine She wandered free again.

Free, like the breezes of the hill,

Free, like the waters wild;
And in her fullness of delight,
Unceasingly from height to height
Went on the blessed child.

And ever when she needed food,
Some wanderer of the hill
Drew forth the morsel from his scrip,
And bade her eat her fill.

For He who fed by Cherith-brook
The prophet in his need,
Of this his wandering little one
Unceasingly had heed.

And ever when she needed rest,
Some little cove she found,
So green, so sheltered, and so still,
Upon the bosom of the hill,
As angels girt it round.
Thus hidden 'mong the quiet hills
Alone, yet wanting nought,
She dwelt secure, until her foes
For her no longer sought.

Then forth she journeyed. Soon the hills
Were of more smooth descent;
And downward now, and onward still,
Toward the sea she went.