The Legend of Saint Pancratius [pp. 741-752]

THE LEGEND OF SAXINT P,4NCRATIUS.
O fair young love-for when could love show fairer?
O maids, should earthly love e'er house with you,
With love thus heavenly may that love be sharer;
Like this be cleansing, hallowing, self-less, true!
Thou too, O boy, love's guerdon hast not missed
Though young; by lips so pure so kindly kissed.
A youth he lay of fourteen years in seeming;
A lily by the tempest bent, not broken:
Round the lashed lids a smile divine was gleaming;
And if that mouth, so placid, could have spoken
Surely its speech had been: "Thank Heaven,'tis past!
The secret of the skies is mine at last."
Softly those maidens with their mother bore
Pancratius to that grove, and made his grave:
O'er his light limbs the radiant scarfs they wore
Softly they spread. Such wreaths as grace the brave
On him they strewed next morn, and buds of balm;
And by that grave planted the martyr's palm.
Near it the Roman Walls ascend, and Gate
Aurelian called of old, Pancratian now,
Honoring that youth who smiling met his fate
So soon, so gladly kept his baptism vow.
King Numa's "Faithfulness" in him was found;
Therefore old "Terminus" guards still that bound.
Some say that when that Gate to him was given
A mystery therein was signified:
Earth hath her " Holy City"; but in heaven
A holier waits us; one that aye shall bide:
Twelve gates it hath: each boasts high trust and fief:
The Gate of Martyrdom of these is chief.
Yea, and the Martyr is himself a gate,
Since through the fiery ether of his prayer
Which Vision blest kindles and doth dilate
Who strives for heaven finds help to enter there.
O Martyr young, by Death made glad and free,
In Death's dread hour pray well for mine and me!
[Sept.,
752