Part 6

He is born to set us free, He is born our Lord to be, _Ex Maria Virgine_: The God, the Lord, by all adored for ever.

Let the bright red berries glow Everywhere in goodly show; _Christus natus hodie_: The Babe, the Son, the Holy One of Mary.

Christian men, rejoice and sing; ’Tis the birthday of a King, _Ex Maria Virgine_: The God, the Lord, by all adored for ever.

Night of sadness, Morn of gladness Evermore: Ever, ever, after many troubles sore, Morn of gladness, evermore and evermore.

Midnight scarcely passed and over, Drawing to this holy morn, Very early, very early Christ was born.

Sing out with bliss, His name is this— Emmanuel, As was foretold in days of old By Gabriel. J. M. NEALE

70. A CHRISTMAS CAROL

It chanced upon the merry merry Christmas eve I went sighing past the church across the moorland dreary— ‘Oh! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave, And the bells but mock the wailing round, they sing so cheery. How long, O Lord! how long before Thou come again? Still in cellar, and in garret, and on moorland dreary The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain, Till earth is sick of hope deferred, though Christmas bells be cheery.’

Then arose a joyous clamour from the wildfowl on the mere, Beneath the stars, across the snow, like clear bells ringing, And a voice within cried—‘Listen!—Christmas carols even here! Though thou be dumb, yet o’er their work the stars and snows are singing.

Blind! I live, I love, I reign; and all the nations through With the thunder of my judgements even now are ringing; Do thou fulfil thy work, but as yon wildfowl do, Thou wilt hear no less the wailing, yet hear through it angels singing.’ CHARLES KINGSLEY

71. A CHRISTMAS CAROL

In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, Nor earth sustain; Heaven and earth shall flee away When He comes to reign: In the bleak mid-winter A stable-place sufficed The Lord God Almighty Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him whom cherubim Worship night and day, A breastful of milk And a mangerful of hay; Enough for Him whom angels Fall down before, The ox and ass and camel Which adore.

Angels and archangels May have gathered there, Cherubim and seraphim Thronged the air: But only His mother, In her maiden bliss, Worshipped the Belovèd With a kiss.

What can I give Him, Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb, If I were a wise man I would do my part,— Yet what I can I give Him: Give my heart. CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

72. MASTERS, IN THIS HALL

To Bethlem did they go, the shepherds three; To Bethlem did they go, to see whe’r it were so or no, Whether Christ were born or no To set men free.

Masters, in this hall, Hear ye news to-day Brought over sea, And ever I you pray, Nowell! Nowell! Nowell! Nowell! Sing we clear! Holpen are all folk on earth, Born is God’s Son so dear.

Going over the hills Through the milk-white snow, Heard I ewes bleat While the wind did blow. Nowell, &c.

Shepherds many an one Sat among the sheep; No man spake more word Than they had been asleep. Nowell, &c.

Quoth I, ‘Fellows mine, Why this guise sit ye? Making but dull cheer, Shepherds though ye be?’ Nowell, &c.

‘Shepherds should of right Leap and dance and sing; Thus to see ye sit Is a right strange thing.’ Nowell, &c.

Quoth these fellows then, ‘To Bethlem town we go, To see a mighty Lord Lie in manger low.’ Nowell, &c.

‘How name ye this Lord, Shepherds?’ then said I. ‘Very God,’ they said, ‘Come from heaven high.’ Nowell, &c.

Then to Bethlem town We went two and two, And in a sorry place Heard the oxen low. Nowell, &c.

Therein did we see A sweet and goodly May, And a fair old man; Upon the straw she lay. Nowell, &c.

And a little Child On her arm had she; ‘Wot ye who This is?’ Said the hinds to me. Nowell, &c.

Ox and ass Him know, Kneeling on their knee: Wondrous joy had I This little Babe to see. Nowell, &c.

This is Christ the Lord, Masters, be ye glad! Christmas is come in, And no folk should be sad. Nowell, &c. WILLIAM MORRIS

73. OUTLANDERS, WHENCE COME YE LAST?

Outlanders, whence come ye last? The snow in the street and the wind on the door. Through what green sea and great have ye passed? Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

From far away, O masters mine, The snow in the street and the wind on the door. We come to bear you goodly wine: Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

From far away we come to you, The snow in the street and the wind on the door. To tell of great tidings strange and true: Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

News, news of the Trinity, The snow in the street and the wind on the door. And Mary and Joseph from over the sea: Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

For as we wandered far and wide, The snow in the street and the wind on the door. What hap do ye deem there should us betide? Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

Under a bent when the night was deep, The snow in the street and the wind on the door. There lay three shepherds tending their sheep: Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

‘O ye shepherds, what have ye seen, The snow in the street and the wind on the door, To slay your sorrow and heal your teen?’ Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

‘In an ox-stall this night we saw, The snow in the street and the wind on the door, A Babe and a maid without a flaw.’ Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

‘There was an old man there beside, The snow in the street and the wind on the door, His hair was white and his hood was wide.’ Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

‘And as we gazed this thing upon, The snow in the street and the wind on the door, Those twain knelt down to the Little One.’ Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

‘And a marvellous song we straight did hear, The snow in the street and the wind on the door, That slew our sorrow and healed our care.’ Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

News of a fair and a marvellous thing, The snow in the street and the wind on the door. Nowell, nowell, nowell, we sing! Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor. WILLIAM MORRIS

74. SIR GALAHAD, A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY

It is the longest night in all the year, Near on the day when the Lord Christ was born; Six hours ago I came and sat down here, And ponder’d sadly, wearied and forlorn.

The winter wind that pass’d the chapel door, Sang out a moody tune, that went right well With mine own thoughts: I look’d down on the floor, Between my feet, until I heard a bell

Sound a long way off through the forest deep, And toll on steadily; a drowsiness Came on me, so that I fell half asleep, As I sat there not moving: less and less

I saw the melted snow that hung in beads Upon my steel shoes; less and less I saw Between the tiles the bunches of small weeds: Heartless and stupid, with no touch of awe

Upon me, half-shut eyes upon the ground, I thought; O Galahad! the days go by, Stop and cast up now that which you have found, So sorely you have wrought and painfully.

Night after night your horse treads down alone The sere damp fern, night after night you sit Holding the bridle like a man of stone, Dismal, unfriended, what thing comes of it.

And what if Palomydes also ride, And over many a mountain and bare heath Follow the questing beast with none beside? Is he not able still to hold his breath

With thoughts of Iseult? doth he not grow pale With weary striving, to seem best of all To her, ‘as she is best,’ he saith? to fail Is nothing to him, he can never fall.

For unto such a man love-sorrow is So dear a thing unto his constant heart, That even if he never win one kiss, Or touch from Iseult, it will never part.

And he will never know her to be worse Than in his happiest dreams he thinks she is: Good knight, and faithful, you have ’scaped the curse In wonderful-wise; you have great store of bliss.

Yea, what if Father Launcelot ride out, Can he not think of Guenevere’s arms, round, Warm and lithe, about his neck, and shout Till all the place grows joyful with the sound?

And when he lists can often see her face, And think, ‘Next month I kiss you, or next week, And still you think of me’: therefore the place Grows very pleasant, whatsoever he seek.

But me, who ride alone, some carle shall find Dead in my arms in the half-melted snow, When all unkindly with the shifting wind, The thaw comes on at Candlemas: I know

Indeed that they will say: ‘This Galahad If he had lived had been a right good knight; Ah! poor chaste body!’ but they will be glad, Not most alone, but all, when in their sight

That very evening in their scarlet sleeves The gay-dress’d minstrels sing; no maid will talk Of sitting on my tomb, until the leaves, Grown big upon the bushes of the walk,

East of the Palace-pleasaunce, make it hard To see the minster therefrom: well-a-day! Before the trees by autumn were well bared, I saw a damozel with gentle play,

Within that very walk say last farewell To her dear knight, just riding out to find (Why should I choke to say it?) the Sangreal, And their last kisses sunk into my mind,

Yea, for she stood lean’d forward on his breast, Rather, scarce stood; the back of one dear hand, That it might well be kiss’d, she held and press’d Against his lips; long time they stood there, fann’d

By gentle gusts of quiet frosty wind, Till Mador de la Porte a-going by, And my own horsehoofs roused them; they untwined, And parted like a dream. In this way I,

With steeply face bent to the chapel floor, Kept musing half asleep, till suddenly A sharp bell rang from close beside the door, And I leapt up when something pass’d me by,

Shrill ringing going with it, still half blind I stagger’d after, a great sense of awe At every step kept gathering on my mind, Thereat I have no marvel, for I saw

One sitting on the altar as a throne, Whose face no man could say he did not know, And though the bell still rang, he sat alone, With raiment half blood-red, half white as snow.

Right so I fell upon the floor and knelt, Not as one kneels in church when mass is said, But in a heap, quite nerveless, for I felt The first time what a thing was perfect dread.

But mightily the gentle voice came down: ‘Rise up, and look and listen, Galahad, Good knight of God, for you will see no frown Upon my face; I came to make you glad.

‘For that you say that you are all alone, I will be with you always, and fear not You are uncared for, though no maiden moan Above your empty tomb; for Launcelot,

‘He in good time shall be my servant too, Meantime, take note whose sword first made him knight, And who has loved him alway, yea, and who Still trusts him alway, though in all men’s sight,

‘He is just what you know, O Galahad, This love is happy even as you say, But would you for a little time be glad, To make me sorry long day after day?

‘Her warm arms round his neck half throttle Me, The hot love-tears burn deep like spots of lead, Yea, and the years pass quick: right dismally Will Launcelot at one time hang his head;

‘Yea, old and shrivell’d he shall win my love. Poor Palomydes fretting out his soul! Not always is he able, son, to move His love, and do it honour: needs must roll

‘The proudest destrier sometimes in the dust, And then ’tis weary work; he strives beside Seem better than he is, so that his trust Is always on what chances may betide;

‘And so he wears away, my servant, too, When all these things are gone, and wretchedly He sits and longs to moan for Iseult, who Is no care now to Palomydes: see,

‘O good son Galahad, upon this day, Now even, all these things are on your side, But these you fight not for; look up, I say, And see how I can love you, for no pride

‘Closes your eyes, no vain lust keeps them down. See now you have ME always; following That holy vision, Galahad, go on, Until at last you come to Me to sing

‘In heaven always, and to walk around The garden where I am’: he ceased, my face And wretched body fell upon the ground; And when I look’d again, the holy place

Was empty; but right so the bell again Came to the chapel-door, there entered Two angels first, in white, without a stain, And scarlet wings, then after them a bed,

Four ladies bore, and set it down beneath The very altar-step, and while for fear I scarcely dared to move or draw my breath, Those holy ladies gently came a-near,

And quite unarm’d me, saying: ‘Galahad, Rest here a while and sleep, and take no thought Of any other thing than being glad; Hither the Sangreal will be shortly brought,

‘Yet must you sleep the while it stayeth here.’ Right so they went away, and I, being weary, Slept long and dream’d of heaven: the bell comes near, I doubt it grows to morning. Miserere!

[_Enter two angels in white, with scarlet wings; also, four ladies in gowns of red and green; also an angel, bearing in his hands a surcoat of white, with a red cross._]

_An Angel._

O servant of the high God, Galahad! Rise and be arm’d, the Sangreal is gone forth Through the great forest, and you must be had Unto the sea that lieth on the north:

There shall you find the wondrous ship wherein The spindles of King Solomon are laid, And the sword that no man draweth without sin, But if he be most pure: and there is stay’d,

Hard by, Sir Launcelot, whom you will meet In some short space upon that ship: first, though, Will come here presently that lady sweet, Sister of Percival, whom you well know,

And with her Bors and Percival: stand now, These ladies will to arm you.

_First Lady_ [_putting on the hauberke_]. Galahad, That I may stand so close beneath your brow, I, Margaret of Antioch, am glad.

_Second Lady_ [_girding him with the sword_]. That I may stand and touch you with my hand, O Galahad, I, Cecily, am glad.

_Third Lady_ [_buckling on the spurs_]. That I may kneel while up above you stand, And gaze at me, O holy Galahad,

I, Lucy, am most glad.

_Fourth Lady_ [_putting on the basnet_]. O gentle knight, That you bow down to us in reverence, We are most glad, I, Katherine, with delight Must needs fall trembling.

_Angel_ [_putting on the crossed surcoat_]. Galahad, we go hence,

For here, amid the straying of the snow, Come Percival’s sister, Bors, and Percival.

[_The four Ladies carry out the bed, and all go but Galahad._]

_Galahad._ How still and quiet everything seems now! They come, too, for I hear the horsehoofs fall.

[_Enter Sir Bors, Sir Percival, and his Sister._]

Fair friends and gentle lady, God you save! A many marvels have been here to-night; Tell me what news of Launcelot you have, And has God’s body ever been in sight?

_Sir Bors._ Why, as for seeing that same holy thing, As we were riding slowly side by side, An hour ago, we heard a sweet voice sing, And through the bare twigs saw a great light glide,

With many-colour’d raiment, but far off, And so pass’d quickly—from the court nought good; Poor merry Dinadan, that with jape and scoff Kept us all merry, in a little wood

Was found all hack’d and dead; Sir Lionel And Gauwaine have come back from the great quest, Just merely shamed; and Lauvaine, who loved well Your father Launcelot, at the king’s behest

Went out to seek him, but was almost slain, Perhaps is dead now; everywhere The knights come foil’d from the great quest; in vain, In vain they struggle for the vision fair. WILLIAM MORRIS

75. AISHAH SCHECHINAH

A shape, like folded light, embodied air, Yet wreath’d with flesh and warm; All that of heaven is feminine and fair, Moulded in visible form.

She stood, the Lady Schechinah of earth, A chancel for the sky; Where woke, to breath and beauty, God’s own birth For men to see Him by.

Round her, too pure to mingle with the day, Light, that was life, abode; Folded within her fibres meekly lay The link of boundless God.

So link’d, so blent, that when, with pulse fulfill’d, Moved but that infant hand, Far, far away, His conscious Godhead thrill’d, And stars might understand.

Lo! where they pause, with intergathering rest, The Threefold and the One! And lo! He binds them to her orient breast, His Manhood girded on.

The Zone, where two glad worlds for ever meet, Beneath that bosom ran: Deep in that womb, the conquering Paraclete Smote Godhead on to man!

Sole scene among the stars, where, yearning, glide The Threefold and the One: Her God upon her lap, the Virgin-Bride, Her Awful Child, her Son. R. S. HAWKER

76. KING ARTHUR’S WAES-HAEL

THE RUBRIC

When the brown bowl is filled for yule, let the dome or upper half be set on; then let the waes-haelers kneel one by one and draw up the wine with their reeds through the two bosses at the rim. Let one breath only be drawn by each of the morice for his waes-hael.

Waes-hael for knight and dame! O! merry be their dole; Drink-hael! in Jesu’s name We fill the tawny bowl; But cover down the curving crest, Mould of the Orient Lady’s breast.

Waes-hael! yet lift no lid: Drain ye the reeds for wine. Drink-hael! the milk was hid That soothed that Babe divine; Hushed, as this hollow channel flows, He drew the balsam from the rose.

Waes-hael! thus glowed the breast Where a God yearned to cling; Drink-hael! so Jesu pressed Life from its mystic spring; Then hush, and bend in reverent sign, And breathe the thrilling reeds for wine.

Waes-hael! in shadowy scene, Lo! Christmas children we; Drink-hael! behold we lean At a far Mother’s knee; To dream, that thus her bosom smiled, And learn the lip of Bethlehem’s Child. R. S. HAWKER

77. REGINA COELI

Say, did his Sisters wonder what could Joseph see In a mild, silent little Maid like thee? And was it awful, in that narrow house, With God for Babe and Spouse? Nay, like thy simple, female sort, each one Apt to find Him in Husband and in Son, Nothing to thee came strange in this. Thy wonder was but wondrous bliss: Wondrous, for, though True Virgin lives not but does know, (Howbeit none ever yet confess’d,) That God lies really in her breast, Of thine He made His special nest! And so All mothers worship little feet, And kiss the very ground they’ve trod; But, ah, thy little Baby sweet Who was indeed thy God. COVENTRY PATMORE

78. MARY MOTHER OF DIVINE GRACE, COMPARED TO THE AIR WE BREATHE