Christmas in Legend and Story Part 12

With breaking sobs, with panting breath Christopher grasped a bent-held dune, Then with flung staff and as in death Forward he fell in a heavy swoon.

All night he lay in silence there, But safe from reach of surging tide: White angels had him in their care, Christ healed and watched him side by side.

When all the silver wings of dawn Had waved above the rose-flusht east, Christopher woke ... his dream was gone.

The angelic songs had ceased.

Was it a dream in very deed, He wondered, broken, trembling, dazed?

His staff he lifted from the mead And as an upright sapling raised.

Lo, it was as the monk had said-- If he would prove the vision true, His staff would blossom to its head With flowers of every lovely hue.

Christopher bowed: before his eyes Christ's love fulfilled the holy hour....

A south-wind blew, green leaves did rise And the staff bloomed a myriad flower!

Christopher bowed in holy prayer, While Christ's love fell like healing dew: G.o.d's father-hand was on him there: The peace of perfect peace he knew.

THE CROSS OF THE DUMB

_A Christmas on Iona, Long, Long Ago_

FIONA MACLEOD

One eve, when St. Columba strode In solemn mood along the sh.o.r.e, He met an angel on the road Who but a poor man's semblance bore.

He wondered much, the holy saint, What stranger sought the lonely isle, But seeing him weary and wan and faint St. Colum hailed him with a smile.

"Remote our lone Iona lies Here in the grey and windswept sea, And few are they whom my old eyes Behold as pilgrims bowing the knee....

"But welcome ... welcome ... stranger-guest, And come with me and you shall find A warm and deer-skinn'd cell for rest And at our board a welcome kind....

"Yet tell me ere the dune we cross How came you to this lonely land?

No curraghs in the tideway toss And none is beached upon the strand!"

The weary pilgrim raised his head And looked and smiled and said, "From far, My wandering feet have here been led By the glory of a s.h.i.+ning star...."

St. Colum gravely bowed, and said, "Enough, my friend, I ask no more; Doubtless some silence-vow was laid Upon thee, ere thou sought'st this sh.o.r.e:

"Now, come: and doff this raiment sad And those rough sandals from thy feet: The holy brethren will be glad To haven thee in our retreat."

Together past the praying cells And past the wattle-woven dome Whence rang the tremulous vesper bells St. Colum brought the stranger home.

From thyme-sweet pastures grey with dews The milch-cows came with swinging tails: And whirling high the wailing mews Screamed o'er the brothers at their pails.

A single spire of smoke arose, And hung, a phantom, in the cold: Three younger monks set forth to close The ewes and lambs within the fold.

The purple twilight stole above The grey-green dunes, the furrowed leas: And Dusk, with breast as of a dove, Brooded: and everywhere was peace.

Within the low refectory sate The little clan of holy folk: Then, while the brothers mused and ate, The wayfarer arose and spoke....

"O Colum of Iona-Isle, And ye who dwell in G.o.d's quiet place, Before I crossed your narrow kyle I looked in Heaven upon Christ's face."

Thereat St. Colum's startled glance Swept o'er the man so poorly clad, And all the brethren looked askance In fear the pilgrim-guest was mad.

"And, Colum of G.o.d's Church i' the sea And all ye Brothers of the Rood, The Lord Christ gave a dream to me And bade me bring it ye as food.

"Lift to the wandering cloud your eyes And let them scan the wandering Deep....

Hark ye not there the wandering sighs Of brethren ye as outcasts keep?"

Thereat the stranger bowed, and blessed; Then, grave and silent, sought his cell: St. Colum mused upon his guest, Dumb wonder on the others fell.

At dead of night the Abbot came To where the weary wayfarer slept: "Tell me," he said, "thy holy name..."

--No more, for on bowed knees he wept....

Great awe and wonder fell on him; His mind was like a lonely wild When suddenly is heard a hymn Sung by a little innocent child.

For now he knew their guest to be No man as he and his, but one Who in the Courts of Ecstasy Wors.h.i.+ps, flame-winged, the Eternal Son.

The poor bare cell was filled with light, That came from the swung moons the Seven Seraphim swing day and night Adown the infinite walls of Heaven.

But on the fern-wove mattress lay No weary guest. St. Colum kneeled, And found no trace; but, ashen-grey, Far off he heard glad anthems pealed.

At sunrise when the matins-bell Made a cold silvery music fall Through silence of each lonely cell And over every fold and stall,

St. Colum called his monks to come And follow him to where his hands Would raise the Great Cross of the Dumb Upon the Holy Island's sands....

"For I shall call from out the Deep And from the grey fields of the skies, The brethren we as outcasts keep, Our kindred of the dumb wild eyes....

"Behold, on this Christ's natal morn, G.o.d wills the widening of His laws, Another miracle to be born-- _For lo, our guest an Angel was_!...

"His Dream the Lord Christ gave to him To bring to us as Christ-Day food, That Dream shall rise a holy hymn And hang like a flower upon the Rood!..."

Thereat, while all with wonder stared St. Colum raised the Holy Tree: Then all with Christ-Day singing fared To where the last sands lipped the sea.

St. Colum raised his arms on high ...

"O ye, all creatures of the wing, Come here from out the fields o' the sky, Come, here and learn a wondrous thing!"

At that the wild clans of the air Came sweeping in a mist of wings-- Ospreys and fierce solanders there, Sea-swallows wheeling mazy rings,

The foam-white mew, the green-black scart, The famis.h.i.+ng hawk, the wailing tern, All birds from the sand-building mart To lonely bittern and heron....

St. Colum raised beseeching hands And blessed the pastures of the sea: "Come, all ye creatures, to the sands, Come and behold the Sacred Tree!"

At that the cold clans of the wave With spray and surge and splash appeared: Up from each wrack-strewn, lightless cave Dim day-struck eyes affrighted peered.

The pollacks came with rus.h.i.+ng haste, The great sea-cod, the speckled ba.s.s; Along the foaming tideway raced The herring-tribes like s.h.i.+mmering gla.s.s: