AN ENGLISH POET.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 2331, 18 June 1887, Page 6 (Supplement)

AN ENGLISH POET.

"The Last Crusade."—A Poem That Has Obtained Tame For its Author.

A NEW poet has appeared in England, who is spok&ii of 'as no mere rhymester, but one whose verse bet.rays the- genuine poetic faculty,, and developes both dignity and beauty of thought and expression. Alfred Hayes, M. A., of New College, has the honour of receiving high praise from the best critics and is the author of a'work entitled The Last Crusade." He is the son of a gentleman who' for many years held the position of Town Clerk of the borough of Wolverhampton. The lender of the " last crHsado" was Louis IX of France, a zealous, fanatic, holding in detestation all Jews and heretics. - For " the' good of his soul " he is a aid to have remitted, to his Christian subjects one third of all the'debts they o.wed the Jews. He fought, without success, the Mussulmans of Egypt and Palestine, and then, laying siege to Tunis, died : there of the plague. It is this ex-' 'pedition to Tunis which the new poet writes of as " The Last Crusade," and the king is depicted as a saint, " having the courage of King Arthur, the gentleness of Sir Lancelot and the piety of Sir Galahad." After the death of Louis, Prince Edward, gre a ,t nephew of the lion-hearted Richard, appears on the scene, collects, together all the cloister-knights of Palestine, and, in the name of Christ assaults the place (Nazareth), where the Saviour lived so long, and puts its inhabitants to death. The description of the scaling of Nazareth is painfully thrilling and strikingly dramatic. Following is a fine passage, which conveys to the mind some reflections suggested by the horrible deed: And never since the gentle eyes of Morn ~ Shrank from the first foul murder, rose the sun Upon a sadder sight. Christ's simple home, The chosen dwelling of the Son of Man Steeped in man's helpless blood; pure women slain And outraged in . the name of him who spake ; . ~ Compassion to the harlot; tender babes Strangled and quartered for His sake, who badei All men be mild as they; black pools of gore Blotting those streets, wherein his faultless feet Did pace for thirty years the lovely path Of meekness and divine obedience; '■ v Blood in the fountain where his thirst was quenched; /Blood on the lilies that he-loved so well And dowered with the jewel of His. words ; Blood on the matted fleeces of His lambs, Blood on the ruffled bosoms of His doves, And all for Him who is the Prince of ; Peace. 0 God ! —we fools of pride, and lust, and hate! Tyrants, ahd slaves of ignorance ! We stand Alone within the darkness, and put out . • Each man his fellow's dimly flickering light, . And think our own the one pure ray from heaven; , We gird us with the sword of self-esteem, Call it the sword of faith and so hew down Our brother's hard-wrought idol, while •we boast ■ - Our own an image of the Most High God; We rear fair altars to the Lord of Love, And every temple is a hold of hate Besieged with angry tongues ;we sign our ' ' babes With the deep symbol of self-sacrifice, And still the strong wage war upon the weak, : And the wide world is bathed in; harmless . blood, , And Time, is sick of carnage.; What ' avails ' • ' . .i. That rack and boot and thumbscrew pass : away, . , Kust in the hideous lumber of the past; , That never more the reek ot human flesh .Blackens the open forehead of the day ; ' That no young victim • whiter than her shroud,With bloodshot eyes.;'fixed widely upon' . naught, The funeral-candle trembling in her hand, Totters between the ranks of austere priests; ■ 1 1 1 '■ •Betieath the shadow of-the'crucifix, ' On to; her living..'grave same foul •• fiend . . Still lives,;but mantled in a siibtler garb ;. : Not striking, with the sudden, hand of force, Eiit slowly slaying with.the little stings Of rancour and the blight of social scorn ; Whilst oriti by one the beapon fires of old • Wheretiy our fathers steered, faint'out and ■ :i le&v'e/ t: " ; -Thedarkness closer, and no pilot's' Voice Rings through the gathering storms, and no :; new light Flashes across the bosom of tho deep, Nor need we one ; for those bright l.ighfcs:of eld That, seemed to man's young eyes reflected beams' From 1 some far heaven, were but the first faint streaks . Of that slow dawn noiw widening through the world, • Whose son is man himself : and' the same fire, • . ■ ■ Whose quick flame leapt to life in the warm heart Of Eastern sage and prophet, burnetii still, But kindling through a thousand thousand souls Where then it lit but one, What need of 'light ? There glows within the. of man, However smothered by the fogs of sin, The lights that never yet hath led astray, The light that was in' Christ, the light-of love.