Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke

Coventry Patmore (1823–1896)

Extract from Tamerton Church-Tower

(IV. 7 and 8)

I MOUNTED, now, my patient nag,

And scaled the easy steep;

And soon beheld the quiet flag

On Lanson’s solemn Keep.

And now, whenas the waking lights

Bespake the valley’d Town,

A child o’ertook me, on the heights,

In cap and russet gown.

It was an alms-taught scholar trim,

Who, on her happy way,

Sang to herself the morrow’s hymn;

For this was Saturday.

“Saint Stephen, stoned, nor grieved nor groan’d:

’Twas all for his good gain;

For Christ him blest, till he confess’d

A sweet content in pain.

“Then Christ His cross is no way loss,

But even a present boon:

Of His dear blood fair shines a flood

On heaven’s eternal noon.”

My sight, once more, was dim for her

Who slept beneath the sea,

As on I sped, without the spur,

By homestead, heath, and lea.

O’erhead the perfect moon kept pace,

In meek and brilliant power,

And lit, ere long, the eastern face

Of Tamerton Church-tower.