Long by his pupil craved, around his neck, He whispered: 'He who serveth Christ, his Lord, Must love his fellow-man.' As when a stream, The ice dissolved, grows audible once more, So came to him those words. They dragged him down: He knelt beside his wife, and beat his breast, And said, 'My sin, my sin!' Till earliest morn Glimmered through sleet that twain wept on, prayed on:-- Was it the rising sun that lit at last The fair face upward lifted;--kindled there A lovelier dawn than o'er it blushed when first Dropped on her bridegroom's breast? Aloud she cried: 'Our prayer is heard: our penitence finds grace:' Then added: 'Let it deepen till we die! A monastery build we on this grave: So from this grave, while fleet the years, that prayer Shall rise both day and night, till Christ returns To judge the world--a prayer for him who died; A prayer for one who sinned, but sins no more.' Where Gilling's long and lofty hill o'erlooks For leagues the forest-girdled plain, ere long A monastery stood. That self-same day In tears the penitential work began; In tears the sod was turned. The rugged brows Of March relaxed 'neath April's flying kiss: Again the violet rose, the thrush was loud; Mayday had come. Around that hallowed spot Full many a warrior met; some Christians vowed; Some muttering low of Odin. Near to these Stood one of lesser stature, keener eye, More fiery gesture. Splenetic, he marked, Christian albeit himself, those Christian walls By Saxon converts raised:--he was a Briton. Invisibly that morn a dusky crape O'erstretched the sky; and slowly swayed the bough Heavy with midnight rains. Through mist the woods Let out the witchery of their young fresh green Backed by the dusk of ruddy oaks that still Reserved at heart the old year's stubbornness, Yet blent it with that purple distance glimpsed Beyond the forest alleys. In a tent Finan sang Mass: his altar was that stone Which told where Oswin died. Before it knelt The king, the queen: alone their angels know Their thoughts that hour! The sacred rite complete, They raised their brows, and, hand-in-hand, made way To where, beyond the portal, shone blue skies, Nature's long-struggling smile at last divulged. The throng--with passion it had prayed for each-- Divided as they passed. In either face They saw the light of that conceded prayer, The peace of souls forgiven. From that day forth Hourly in Oswy's spirit soared more high The one true greatness. Flaming heats of soul, Through faith subjected to a law divine, Like fire, man's vassal, mastering iron ore, Learned their true work. The immeasurable strength Had found at once its master and its end, And, balanced thus while weighted, soared to God.