Kindling shone out those Sciences, those Arts Pagan one time, now confessors white-robed; And all the holy City gave response, 'Deus illuminatio mea est.'[24] _THE BANQUET HALL OF WESSEX, OR THE KING WHO COULD SEE._ Kenwalk, King of Wessex, is a Pagan, but refuses to persecute Christians. He is dethroned by the Mercian King, and lives an exile in a Christian land. There he boasts that he never accords faith to what he hears, and believes only what he sees; yet, his eye being single, he sees daily more of the Truth. Wessex is delivered, and a great feast held at which the Pagan nobles, priests, and bards all conspire for the destruction of the Faith. Birinus, the bishop, having withstood them valiantly, Kenwalk declares himself a Christian. Birinus prophesies of England's greatest King. King Cynegils lay dead, who long and well Had judged the realm of Essex. By his bier The Christians standing smote their breasts, and said, 'Ill day for us:' but all about the house Clustering in smiling knots of twos and threes, The sons of Odin whispered, or with nods Gave glad assent. Christ's bishop sent from Rome, Birinus, to the king had preached for years The Joyous Tidings. Cynegils believed, And with him many; but the most refrained: With these was Kenwalk; and, his father dead, Kenwalk was king. A valiant man was he, A man of stubborn will, but yet at heart Magnanimous and just. To one who said, 'Strike, for thine hour is come!' the king new-crowned Made answer, 'Never! Each man choose his path! My father chose the Christian--Odin's I. I crossed my father oft a living man; I war not on him dead.' That giant hand Which spared Religion ruled in all beside: He harried forth the robbers from the woods, And wrecked the pirates' ships. He burned with fire A judge unjust, and thrice o'er Severn drave The invading Briton. Lastly, when he found That woman in his house intolerable, From bed and realm he hurled her forth, though crowned, Ensuing thence great peace. Not long that peace: The Mercian king, her brother, heard her tale With blackening brow. The shrill voice stayed at last, Doubly incensed the monarch made reply: 'Sister, I never loved you;--who could love? But him who spurned you from his realm I hate: Fear nought! your feast of vengeance shall be full!' He spake; then cried, 'To arms!' In either land, Like thunders low and far, or windless plunge Of waves on coasts long silent that proclaim, Though calm the sea for leagues, tempest far off That shoreward swells, thus day by day was heard The direful preparation for a war Destined no gladsome tournament to prove, But battle meet for ancient foes resolved