The Purgatory of St. Patrick | Page 7

a very holy matron,?Underneath whose rule I hardly?Had completed one brief lustrum --?Five short years had scarce departed --?Five bright circles of the sun?Wheeling round on golden axles,?Twelve high zodiac signs illuming?And one earthly sphere, when happened?Through me an event that showed?God's omnipotence and marvels;?Since of weakest instruments?God makes use of, to enhance his?Majesty the more, to show?That for what men think the grandest?And most strange effects, to Him?Should alone the praise be granted.--?It so happened, and Heaven knoweth?That it is not pride, but rather?Pure religious zeal, that men?Should know how the Lord hath acted,?Makes me tell it, that one day?To my doors a blind man rambled,?Gormas was his name, who said,?"God who sends me here commands thee?In His name to give me sight;"?I, obedient to the mandate,?Made at once the sign of the cross?On his sightless eyes, that started?Into life and light once more?From their state of utter darkness.?At another time when heaven,?Muffled in the thickest, blackest?Clouds, made war upon the world,?Hurling at it lightning lances?Of white snow, which fell so thickly?On a mountain, that soon after?They being melted by the sun,?So filled up our streets and alleys,?So inundated our houses,?That amid the wild waves stranded?They were ships of bricks and stones,?Barks of cement and of plaster.?Who before saw waves on mountains??Who 'mid woods saw ships at anchor??I the sign of the cross then made?On the waters, and in accents,?In a tone of grave emotion,?In God's name the waves commanded?To retire: they turned that moment?And left dry the lands they ravaged.?Oh, great God! who will not praise Thee??Who will not confess Thee Master?--?Other wonders I could tell you,?But my modesty throws shackles?On my tongue, makes mute my voice,?And my lips seals up and fastens.?I grew up, in fine, inclined?Less to arms than to the marvels?Knowledge can reveal: I gave me?Almost wholly up to master?Sacred Science, to the reading?Of the Lives of Saints, a practice?Which doth teach us faith, hope, zeal,?Charity and Christian manners.?In these studies thus immersed,?I one day approached the margin?Of the sea with some young friends,?Fellow-students and companions,?When a bark drew nigh, from which?Suddenly out-leaping landed?Armed men, fierce pirates they,?Who these seas, these islands, ravaged;?We at once were captives made,?And in order not to hazard?Losing us their prey, they sailed?Out to sea with swelling canvas.?Of this daring pirate boat?Philip de Roqui was the captain,?In whose breast, for his destruction,?Pride, the poisonous weed, was planted.?He the Irish seas and coast?Having thus for some days ravaged,?Taking property and life,?Pillaging our homes and hamlets;?But myself alone reserved?To be offered as a vassal,?As a slave to thee, O king!?In thy presence as he fancied.?Oh! how ignorant is man,?When of God's wise laws regardless,?When, without consulting Him,?He his future projects planneth!?Philip well, at sea might say so;?Since to-day, in sight of land here,?Heaven the while being all serene,?Mild the air, the water tranquil,?In an instant, in a moment,?He beheld his proud hopes blasted.?In the hollow-breasted waves?Roared the wind, the sea grew maddened,?Billows upon billows rolled?Mountain high, and wildly dashed them?Wet against the sun, as if?They its light would quench and darken.?The poop-lantern of our ship?Seemed a comet most erratic --?Seemed a moving exhalation,?Or a star from space outstarted;?At another time it touched?The profoundest deep sea-caverns,?Or the treacherous sands whereon?Ran the stately ship and parted.?Then the fatal waves became?Monuments of alabaster,?Tombs of coral and of pearl.?I (and why this boon was granted?Unto me by Heaven I know not,?Being so useless), with expanded?Arms, struck out, but not alone?My own life to save, nay rather?In the attempt to save this brave?Young man here, that life to barter;?For I know not by what secret?Instinct towards him I'm attracted;?And I think he yet will pay me?Back this debt with interest added.?Finally, through Heaven's great pity?We at length have happily landed,?Where my misery may expect it,?Or my better fate may grant it;?Since we are your slaves and servants,?That being moved by our disasters,?That being softened by our weeping,?Our sore plight may melt your hardness,?Our affliction force your kindness,?And our very pains command you.***
[footnote] * The asonante in a -- e, or their vocal equivalents, commences here, and is continued to the commencement of the speech of Enius, when it changes to the asonante in e -- e, which is kept up through the remainder of the Scene, and to the end of Scene III.
[footnote] ** "Empthor" -- see note on this name.
[footnote] *** See note for some extracts from Montalvan's "Vida y Purgaterio de San Patricio".
KING. Silence, miserable Christian,?For my very soul seems fastened?On thy words, compelling me,?How I know not, to regard thee?With strange reverence and fear,?Thinking thou must be that vassal --?That poor slave whom in my dream?I beheld outbreathing flashes,?Saw outflashing living fire,?In whose flame, so lithe and lambent,?My Polonia and my Lesbia?Like poor moths were burned to ashes.
PATRICK. Know, the flame that from my