FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. 209

"And what is there within that book
To win a child like thee?

Up! join thy mates, the singing-birds,
And frolic with the bee."

"Nay, sir, I cannot leave the book,
I love it more than play;
I've read all legends, but this one
Ne'er saw I till to-day.

"And there is something in this book
That makes all care begone;

And yet I weep, I know not why,
As I go reading on."

"Who art thou, child, that thou shouldst read A book with mickle heed?

Books are for clerks ; the king himself
Hath much ado - to read."

"My father is a forester,

A bowman keen and good;
He keeps the deer within their bounds,
And worketh in the wood.

"My mother died at Candlemas;
The flowers are all in blow
Upon her grave, at Allenby,
Down in the vale below."

N

210

FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF.

This said, unto her book she turned,
As steadfast as before;

"Nay," said the pilgrim, " nay, not yet,
And you must tell me more.

"Who was it taught you thus to read?' Ah, sir! it was my mother;

66

She taught me both to read and spell,
And so she taught my brother.

66

My brother dwelt at Allenby,
With the good monk alway;
And this new book he brought to me,
But only for one day.

"O, sir, it is a wondrous book,
Better than Charlemagne ;

And be you pleased to leave me now,
I'll read in it again."

"Nay, read to me," the pilgrim said;
And the little child went on
To read of Christ, as is set forth
In the Gospel of St. John.

On, on she read, and gentle tears
Adown her cheeks did glide;
The pilgrim sat with bended head,
And he wept by her side.

FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF.

―――――――

"I've heard," said he, "the Archbishop, –
I've heard the Pope, at Rome,
But never did their spoken words
Thus to my spirit come.

"The book, it is a blessed book,
Its name, what may it be?"
Said she, "They are the words of Christ
That I have read to thee,
Now done into the English tongue,
For folks unlearned as me."

"Give me the book, and let me read, -
My soul is strangely stirred;
They are such words of love and truth
As I ne'er before have heard."

The little girl gave up the book,

And the pilgrim, old and brown, With reverend lips did kiss the page, Then on the stone sat. down.

And aye he read page after page,
Page after page he turned;
And as he read their blessed words,
His heart within him burned.

Still, still the book the old man read,
As he would ne'er have done;
From the hour of noon he read the book
Until the set of sun.

211

212

FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF.

The little child, she brought him out
A cake of wheaten bread;
And it lay unbroken at eventide,
Nor did he raise his head.

Then came the sturdy forester

Along the homeward track,
Whistling aloud a hunting tune,

With a slain deer on his back.

Loud greeting gave the forester
Unto the pilgrim poor,-

The old man rose with thoughtful brow,
And entered at the door.

They two, they sat them down to meat,
And the pilgrim 'gan to tell

How he had eaten on Olivet,
And drank at Jacob's well.

And then he told him he had knelt
Where'er our Lord had prayed,
How he had in the garden been,

And the tomb where He was laid.

And then he turned unto the book,
And read in English plain,
How Christ had died on Calvary,
How he had risen again.

FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. 213

As water to the parchéd soil,
As to the hungry, bread,
So fell upon the woodman's soul
Each word the pilgrim read.

Thus, through the midnight did they read,
Until the dawn of day;

And then came in the woodman's son,
To fetch the book away.

All quick and troubled was his speech,
His face was pale with dread;
For he said the king had made a law
That the book should not be read;
For it was such a fearful heresy,

The holy Abbot said.

MARY HOWITT.