Around that grave ere long Their own were ranged. That plague which smote the sire Spared not his sons. With ministering hand From pallet still to pallet passed the boy, Now from the dark spring wafting colder draught, Now moistening fevered lips, or on the brow Spreading the new-bathed cincture. Him alone The infection reached not. When the last was gone He felt as though the earth, man's race--yea, God Himself--were dead. Around he gazed, and spake, 'Why then do I remain?' From hill to hill (The monks on reverend offices intent) All solitary oft that boy repaired, From each in turn forth gazing, fain to learn If friend were t'wards him nighing. Many a hearth More late, bereavement's earlier anguish healed, Welcomed the creature: many a mother held The milk-bowl to his mouth, in both hands stayed, With smile the deeper for the draught prolonged, And lodged, as he departed, in his hand Her latest crust. With children of his age Seldom he played. That convent gave him rest; Nor lost he aught, surviving thus his friends, Since childhood's sacred innocence he kept, While life remained, unspotted. When mature Five years he lived there monk, and reverence drew To that high convent through his saintly ways; Then died. Within that cirque of thirty graves They laid him, close to Cedd. In later years, Because they ne'er could learn his name or race, Nor yet forget his gentle looks, the name Of Deodatus graved they on his tomb. _KING OSWALD OF NORTHUMBRIA, OR THE BRITON'S REVENGE._ Northumbria having been subdued by Pagan Mercia, Oswald raises there again the Christian standard. Penda wages war against him, in alliance with Cadwallon, a Cambrian prince who hates the Saxon conquerors the more bitterly when become Christians. Encouraged by St. Columba in a vision, Oswald with a small force vanquishes the hosts of Cadwallon, who is slain. He sends to Iona for monks of St. Columba's order, converts his country to the Faith, and dies for her. The earlier British race expiates its evil revenge.