| 158. Ethelwald  | 
            
              | {276} (From St. Bede's Metrical History of St.
                Cuthbert.)
 | 
            
              | BETWEEN two comrades dear,
 | 
            
              | Zealous and true as
                they, | 
            
              | Thou, prudent Ethelwald, didst bear | 
            
              | In that high home the
                sway. | 
            
              | A man, who ne'er, 'tis said,
 | 
            
              | Would of his graces
                tell, | 
            
              | Or with what arms he triumphèd | 
            
              | Over the Dragon fell. | 
            
              | So down to us hath come
 | 
            
              | A memorable word, | 
            
              | Which in unguarded season from | 
            
              | His blessed lips was
                heard. {277} | 
            
              | It chanced, that, as the Saint
 | 
            
              | Drank in with
                faithful ear | 
            
              | Of Angel tones the whispers faint, | 
            
              | Thus spoke a
                brother dear: | 
            
              | "Oh, why so many a pause,
 | 
            
              | Thwarting thy words'
                full stream, | 
            
              | Till her dark line Oblivion draws | 
            
              | Across the broken
                theme?" | 
            
              | He answered: "Till thou seal
 | 
            
              | To sounds of earth
                thine ear, | 
            
              | Sweet friend, be sure thou ne'er shalt feel | 
            
              | Angelic voices
                near." | 
            
              | But then the hermit blest
 | 
            
              | A sudden change
                came o'er; | 
            
              | He shudders, sobs, and smites his breast, | 
            
              | Is mute, then
                speaks once more: | 
            
              | "Oh, by the Name Most High,
 | 
            
              | What I have now let
                fall, | 
            
              | Hush, till I lay me down to die, | 
            
              | And go the way of
                all!" {278} | 
            
              | Thus did a Saint in fear
 | 
            
              | His gifts celestial
                hide; | 
            
              | Thus did an Angel standing near | 
            
              | Proclaim them far
                and wide. | 
            
              | Littlemore.
 1844.
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