Volume 3 — From Once a Week. THE KING AND THE BISHOP.

Before Roskilde's sacred fane, (The first the land has known.) Attended by his courtier train, And decked, as on his throne, In costly raiment, glittering gay Beneath the noon-day sun; All fresh and fair, as though the day Had seen no slaughter done-- {529} As though the all-beholding eye Of that Omniscient Deity, Whom, turning from the downward way His heathen fathers trod, He guided by a purer ray, Hath chosen for his God-- Had seen no darker, dreader sight, Twixt yester morn and yester night, Beheld by his approving eye, Who, now, would draw his altar nigh; Ay, fresh and fair as to his soul No taint of blood did cling, As though in heart and conscience whole, Stands Swend, the warrior-king. On his, as on a maiden's cheek, (Though bearded and a knight,) The royal hues of Denmark speak [Footnote 97]-- The crimson and the white; But mark ye how the angry hue Keeps deepening, as he stands, And mark ye, too, the courtly crew, With lifted eyes and hands!

Across the portal, low and wide, A slender bar from side to side. The bishop's staff is seen; And holding it, with reverent hands And head erect, the prelate stands, A man of stately mien. "Go back!" he cries, and fronts the king. Whilst clear and bold his accents ring Throughout the sacred fane-- And Echo seems their sound to bring Triumphant back again-- "Go back, nor dare, with impious tread, Into the presence pure and dread. Thy guilty soul to bring, Impenitent--O thou, who art A murderer, though a king!" A murmur, deepening to a roar, 'Mid those who were clust'ring round the door: A few disjointed but eager words-- A sudden glimmer of naked swords; And the bishop raised his longing eyes, In speechless praise, to the distant skies; {530} For he thought his labor would soon be o'er. And his bark at rest, on the peaceful shore; And he pictured the crown, the martyrs wear, Floating slowly down, on the voiceless air; Till he almost fancied he felt its weight On his brows--as he stood, and blessed his fate. With a calm, sweet smile on his face, he bowed His reverend head to the raging crowd-- (Oh! the sight was fair to see!) And "Strike!" he cried, whilst they held their breath. To hear his words; "For I fear not death For him who has died for me!" King Swend looked up, with an angry glare, At the dauntless prelate, who braved him there, Though he deemed his hour near; And he saw, with one glance of his eagle eye. That that beaming smile and that bearing high Were never the mask of fear! Right against might had won the day;-- And he bade them sheathe their swords; then turned, Whilst an angry spot on his cheek still burned, From the house of God away. Ere the hour had winged its flight, once more, Behold! there stood, at the temple door, A suppliant form, with its head bowed down. And ashes were there, for the kingly crown; And the costly robes, which had made erewhile So gallant a show in the sunbeams' smile. Had been cast aside, ere its glow was spent, For the sackcloth worn by the penitent! The bishop came down the crowded nave; His smile was bright, though his face was grave, He paused at the portal, and raised his eyes. Yet another time to those sapphire skies, But he thought not now, that the look he cast To that radiant heaven would be his last; And he thanked his Master again--but not For the martyrdom that should bless his lot; For the close to the day of life, whose sun Was to set in blood, on his rest was won: Far other than this was his theme of praise, As he murmured: "O thou, in thy works and ways As wonderful now as when Israel went Through the sea, which is Pharaoh's monument: Though I pictured death in the flashing steel, And I looked for the glory it should reveal, Yet oh! if it be, as it seems to be, Thy will, that I stay to glorify thee, To add to thy jewels, one by one; Then, Father in heaven, that will be done!" {531} Then on the monarch's humbled brow The kiss of peace he pressed. And led him, as a brother, now, A little from the rest-- "Here, as is meet, thy penance do, And as thy penitence is true, So God will make it light! Then mayst thou work with me, that thus The light that he hath given us May rise on Denmark's night!" M. T. F.