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Robert Laurence Binyon - Santa Christina
Work rating: Low

At Tiro, in her father`s tower,
 The young Cristina had her bower,
 Over blue Bolsena`s lake,
 Where small frolic ripples break
 Under a grove of sycamore
 On the sandy eastern shore.
 There one clear May eve she sat
 Leaning over the rich mat
 Hung across the window--sill,
 While her doves with eager bill
 Fluttered round her for the grain
 In her spread hands; up again
 Now they soared through golden light,
 Radiant in a swerve of white,
 Round the trees, now scattering
 With a shiver of many a wing,
 Soft as snowy drops of foam
 Singly they alighted home,
 And swaying each a sheeny throat
 Crooned their comfortable note.

 On a sudden another sound
 Smote Cristina from the ground.
 Bending over, she espied
 Wretched ragged folk, who cried,
 Hoarsely: ``See, the doves are fed;
 We, men and women, have not bread.``
 While Cristina, with a shy,
 Courteous simplicity,
 Looked upon them, her young heart,
 New to sorrow, felt the dart
 Of pity pierce her body through,
 And she spoke: ``What must I do?``
 Then with a thought her bosom beat,
 And swift away on frightened feet
 To her father`s chapel, rich
 With images in carven niche,
 Breathless and bright--eyed she sped,
 Most in dread of her own dread,
 Traitor to her purpose; took
 The idols in her hands that shook
 And brought them gathered in her gown
 And from the window cast them down.
 The ragged people cried and snatched
 This broken treasure; then were matched
 Strange companions: here the bust
 Of gazing Jupiter august
 Weighed on a sore--blotched cripple; there
 Against a scullion`s clouted hair
 Apollo`s silver shoulder shone,
 While, near by, a withered crone
 Hugged into her bosom old
 Venus` arm and breast of gold.
 Mumbling o`er their spoils they went,
 A troop to stir the merriment
 Of gods; but sad Cristina sobbed.

 When the stately father robbed,
 Entering found his pagan shrine
 Emptied of its works divine,
 Each by a famous craftsman wrought,
 Chosen well and dearly bought,
 And suffered only to be scanned
 (With fond touches of the hand)
 By the nice appraising eye,
 Duke Urban cried a grievous cry:
 But when at last he understood
 The crime of his own flesh and blood,
 Grief was swallowed up in rage.
 ``Pest on this corrupted age!``
 He cried. ``This is this new god`s work.
 And now I find the venom lurk
 In my own child, in my own home!
 I am a citizen of Rome.
 She shall have justice: take her hence,
 And let my dungeon teach her sense.``
 Cristina weeping pleads the pain
 Of the famished folk; in vain!
 Straightway she is cast and bound
 In a dungeon underground.
 Three days went. ``Now bring her out,``
 Said Urban. Servants, much in doubt,
 Led her from the dungeon door,
 Much in doubt yet wondering more,
 For the damp and starving gloom
 Had but glorified her bloom,
 And her brow was brave, as she
 Stepped before her father: he
 With a sullen doubtful glance
 Some moments looked on her askance.
 ``Art thou taught?`` at last he said.
 Proud she lifted up her head.
 ``Father, if I wronged thee, thou
 Didst mar the face of mercy. Now,
 By God`s grace, thy cruel wrong
 Hath but made my soul more strong.
 I have suffered for thy pride:
 Let thy poor be satisfied.
 See, God stands upon my side!``
 Duke Urban flushed an angry hue.
 ``Wilt thou brave me to thy rue,
 Child?`` he cried. ``Since in thee still
 Some imp of evil works his will,
 Pricking thee outrageously,
 I will burn him out of thee.
 Go, build a furnace; bind her in,
 And let the flame purge out her sin.``
 All her women wept, implored,
 ``Ah, be merciful, dear lord!``
 But the more imperious came
 His answer: ``Cast her to the flame.``

 When that evening fell, a light
 Rose and shuddered up the night.
 On the reddened shore around
 Soldiers kept the fiery ground,
 Where amid the furnace stood
 Cristina: spite of hardihood,
 None but turned away his eye
 To see so sweet a creature die.
 Swifter roared the bright fire, dancing
 Madder, on their armour glancing,
 While the people kneeling wailed.
 Suddenly all faces paled.
 In their ears a clear voice sang.
 From amidst the fire it sprang
 Joyous; and the soldiers raised
 Their heads, and all the people gazed;
 There in the moving crimson core
 Of the flames that sound and soar,
 Coil and quiver, twist and spire,
 `Mid the insufferable fire,
 Like a breathing beauteous rose,
 Nay, like a precious vase that glows
 Outlined intense and clear and white,
 Absorbing all the burning light
 Into its tissue, through and through,
 To purify the shell--like hue,
 They behold Cristina stand,
 Lifting either little hand,
 And with parted lips, and eyes
 That the fierce flame glorifies,
 See her form transfigured shine
 Singing in that fiery shrine--
 An embodied rapture! Awe
 Fell upon all them that saw.
 The young voice melted in their ears,
 And beauty hushed them into tears.
 Heaven seemed opening on their sight
 To its inmost soul of light,
 And the daily world of woes
 Fell from off them, and they rose
 In a rapture: faces, turned
 Each unto his neighbour, burned,
 While they cried with voices full,
 ``A miracle, a miracle!``

 Urban in his dark tower heard
 Trembling that exultant word.
 Rage by stabbing terror spurred
 Swelled his heart to madness. Straight
 With a torch from the open gate
 Striding he commanded: ``Curst
 Be this snake that I have nursed!
 She has witched to her desire
 A demon lover, a fiend of fire;
 Yet she shall not `scape me now.
 Ere another night, I vow,
 She shall die. With morning take
 And throw her deep into the lake.``

 Though men groaned and women shrieked
 At such cruel vengeance wreaked,
 None this old man`s rage gainsaid;
 For within their hearts they prayed
 Some new marvel should confound
       All his fury. Morning found,
 On the glimmering shore assembled,
 A great multitude that trembled
 Half with hope and half with fear,
 Hemmed behind the levelled spear
 Of armed ranks; and over all,
 Ringed by silent lances tall,
 In a high seat Urban sat,
 By threatening fingers pointed at,
 Motionless with eager frown
 And on the wide lake gazing down.
 Soon the sun`s uprising glowed
 Over the eastern hill, and showed,
 `Mid the waters that anew
 Shivered silvering into blue,
 A single boat; it brightly shone
 Where Cristina knelt thereon,
 And the hangman at her side
 Busy bending over tied
 Round her neck a great mill--stone;
 In the water she was thrown.
 Passionate arose the groan
 From those watchers, but as soon
 Changed into a paean`s tune;
 For she sank not, but was seen,
 Where death`s bubble should have been,
 Standing on the stone that bore
 Her bare feet floating toward the shore,
 With little tremblings at the knees
 As the buoyant, urging breeze
 Rocked her onward. With a shout
 Thronged the people, stretching out
 Eager arms, or under spears
 Thrust their heads with joyful tears,
 Clapped their hands and cried to see
 So magical a wonder. She,
 Simple in her loveliness,
 By one hand holding up her dress
 From the wave that washed its hem
 With white sparkle, seemed to them
 Fresh as Venus on her shell
 Borne o`er the blue Ionian swell.
 Round her head the soft--blown hair
 Played in sunny streams of air,
 Save one long tress on her breast
 That her clasping fingers pressed.
 In a dream she heard the cries,
 Saw the bright and crowding eyes
 Near and nearer; when a strong
 Sudden tumult rose; the throng
 Turned, and lo! on his high chair,
 `Mid the spearmen struggling there,
 Duke Urban with head fallen back
 And the full vein swollen black
 On his throat: his fingers tear
 At the suffocating fear
 That holds him by the panting heart
 Breathless, and his fixed eyes start,
 While the heaving hubbub round
 Rocks about him; in hoarse sound
 Of vengeance his death--gasp is drowned.

 But Cristina floating nigh
 When she saw this, piteously
 Bowed her gentle forehead low
 In her hands, and cried, ``Ah, woe
 On me and mine! O Lord of Peace,
 Now my wretchedness release!``
 Even as in despair she prayed,
 One that on the shore delayed
 At the crowd`s edge, watching all
 And doubtful what might yet befall,
 Scowled and said within his teeth,
 ``This witch--girl comes to be our death,``
 Strung his bow and spurred by fear
 Drew an arrow to his ear,
 And while still this fierce uproar
 Held the wild throng on the shore
 Sharp upon the tender throat
 The iron barb Cristina smote.
 Ere a man had turned to note,
 She was falling; ere a tongue
 Had one cry of warning rung,
 She had fallen, and the foam
 Tossing shoreward washed her home.
 As a sudden silence rushed
 Over lips in terror hushed,
 Rolled amid the shallow spray
 At their feet her body lay.

 Dark is the world to the weak will
 As to feet stumbling on a hill
 Benighted, when no stars appear.
 But as a star that beacons clear,
 O beauty of courage, thou dost shine
 On souls that falter and that pine.
 But most in bodies frail and young
 Is thy beauty seen and sung.
 There, like a fountain ever new,
 Thou dost scatter sunny dew,
 Troubling our self--bewildered night
 With simplicity of light.
 Therefore is Bolsena`s lake
 Dear for fair Cristina`s sake.
 Yea, the stone that bore her feet
 And still bears the footprint sweet,
 Housed in alabaster shrine
 Of carved work, as a thing divine,
 And by dead lips` kisses worn,
 Shall be kissed in sorrow`s scorn
 By lips of thousands yet unborn.
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