Part 25

XXIII

The godless drove unto a goal Was worse than vile defeat. Did vengeance prick Count Louis’ soul They dressed him luscious meat.

XXIV

Worms will the faithless find their lies In the close treasure-chest. Without a God no day can rise, Though it should slay our best.

XXV

The Crown it furled a draggled flag, It sheathed a broken blade. Behold its triumph in the hag That lives with looks decayed!

XXVI

And lo, the man of oaken head, Of soldier’s honour bare, He fled his land, but most he fled His Lady’s frigid stare.

XXVII

Judged by the issue we discern God’s blessing, and the bane. Count Louis’ dust would fill an urn, His deeds are waving grain.

XXVIII

And she that helped to slay, yet bade To spare the fated man, Great were her errors, but she had Great heart, Archduchess Anne.

THE SONG OF THEODOLINDA

QUEEN Theodolind has built In the earth a furnace-bed: There the Traitor Nail that spilt Blood of the anointed Head, Red of heat, resolves in shame: White of heat, awakes to flame. Beat, beat! white of heat, Red of heat, beat, beat!

Mark the skeleton of fire Lightening from its thunder-roof: So comes this that saw expire Him we love, for our behoof! Red of heat, O white of heat, This from off the Cross we greet.

III

Brown-cowled hammermen around Nerve their naked arms to strike Death with Resurrection crowned, Each upon that cruel spike. Red of heat the furnace leaps, White of heat transfigured sleeps.

Hard against the furnace core Holds the Queen her streaming eyes: Lo! that thing of piteous gore In the lap of radiance lies, Red of heat, as when He takes, White of heat, whom earth forsakes.

Forth with it, and crushing ring Iron hymns, for men to hear Echoes of the deeds that sting Earth into its graves, and fear! Red of heat, He maketh thus, White of heat, a crown of us.

This that killed Thee, kissed Thee, Lord! Touched Thee, and we touch it: dear, Dark it is; adored, abhorred: Vilest, yet most sainted here. Red of heat, O white of heat, In it hell and heaven meet.

VII

I behold our morning day When they chased Him out with rods Up to where this traitor lay Thirsting; and the blood was God’s! Red of heat, it shall be pressed, White of heat, once on my breast!

VIII

Quick! the reptile in me shrieks, Not the soul. Again; the Cross Burn there. Oh! this pain it wreaks Rapture is: pain is not loss. Red of heat, the tooth of Death, White of heat, has caught my breath.

Brand me, bite me, bitter thing! Thus He felt, and thus I am One with Him in suffering, One with Him in bliss, the Lamb. Red of heat, O white of heat, Thus is bitterness made sweet.

Now am I, who bear that stamp Scorched in me, the living sign Sole on earth—the lighted lamp Of the dreadful Day divine. White of heat, beat on it fast! Red of heat, its shape has passed.

Out in angry sparks they fly, They that sentenced Him to bleed: Pontius and his troop: they die, Damned for ever for the deed! White of heat in vain they soar: Red of heat they strew the floor.

XII