The Rose.

Betwene the Cytee and the Chirche of Bethlehem, is the felde Floridus,    that is to seyne, the feld florisched. For als moche as a fayre Mayden    was blamed with wrong and sclaundred, that sche hadde don fornicacioun, for whiche cause sche was demed to the dethe, and to be brent in that place, to the whiche sche was ladd. And as the fyre began to brenne about hire, she made hire preyeres to oure Lord, that als wissely as sche was not gylty of that synne, that he wold help hire, and make it to be knowen to alle men of his mercyfulle grace; and whanne she had thus seyd, sche entered into the fuyer, and anon was the fuyer quenched and oute, and the brondes that weren brennynge, becomen white Roseres, fulle of roses, and theise weren the first Roseres and roses, bothe white and rede, that evere ony man saughe.    And thus was this Maiden saved be the Grace of God.         'The Voiage and Travaile of Sir John Maundevile'.     THE ROSE.         Nay EDITH! spare the rose!--it lives--it lives,         It feels the noon-tide sun, and drinks refresh'd         The dews of night; let not thy gentle hand         Tear sunder its life-fibres and destroy         The sense of being!--why that infidel smile?         Come, I will bribe thee to be merciful,         And thou shall have a tale of other times,         For I am skill'd in legendary lore,         So thou wilt let it live. There was a time         Ere this, the freshest sweetest flower that blooms,         Bedeck'd the bowers of earth. Thou hast not heard         How first by miracle its fragrant leaves         Spread to the sun their blushing loveliness.         There dwelt at Bethlehem a Jewish maid         And Zillah was her name, so passing fair         That all Judea spake the damsel's praise.         He who had seen her eyes' dark radiance         How quick it spake the soul, and what a soul         Beam'd in its mild effulgence, woe was he!         For not in solitude, for not in crowds,         Might he escape remembrance, or avoid         Her imaged form that followed every where,         And fill'd the heart, and fix'd the absent eye.         Woe was he, for her bosom own'd no love         Save the strong ardours of religious zeal,         For Zillah on her God had centered all         Her spirit's deep affections. So for her         Her tribes-men sigh'd in vain, yet reverenced         The obdurate virtue that destroyed their hopes.         One man there was, a vain and wretched man,         Who saw, desired, despair'd, and hated her.         His sensual eye had gloated on her cheek         Even till the flush of angry modesty         Gave it new charms, and made him gloat the more.         She loath'd the man, for Hamuel's eye was bold,         And the strong workings of brute selfishness         Had moulded his broad features; and she fear'd         The bitterness of wounded vanity         That with a fiendish hue would overcast         His faint and lying smile. Nor vain her fear,         For Hamuel vowed revenge and laid a plot         Against her virgin fame. He spread abroad         Whispers that travel fast, and ill reports         That soon obtain belief; that Zillah's eye         When in the temple heaven-ward it was rais'd         Did swim with rapturous zeal, but there were those         Who had beheld the enthusiast's melting glance         With other feelings fill'd; that 'twas a task         Of easy sort to play the saint by day         Before the public eye, but that all eyes         Were closed at night; that Zillah's life was foul,         Yea forfeit to the law.                     Shame--shame to man         That he should trust so easily the tongue         That stabs another's fame! the ill report         Was heard, repeated, and believed,--and soon,         For Hamuel by most damned artifice         Produced such semblances of guilt, the Maid         Was judged to shameful death.                     Without the walls         There was a barren field; a place abhorr'd,         For it was there where wretched criminals         Were done to die; and there they built the stake,         And piled the fuel round, that should consume         The accused Maid, abandon'd, as it seem'd,         By God and man. The assembled Bethlemites         Beheld the scene, and when they saw the Maid         Bound to the stake, with what calm holiness         She lifted up her patient looks to Heaven,         They doubted of her guilt. With other thoughts         Stood Hamuel near the pile, him savage joy         Led thitherward, but now within his heart         Unwonted feelings stirr'd, and the first pangs         Of wakening guilt, anticipating Hell.         The eye of Zillah as it glanced around         Fell on the murderer once, but not in wrath;         And therefore like a dagger it had fallen,         Had struck into his soul a cureless wound.         Conscience! thou God within us! not in the hour         Of triumph, dost thou spare the guilty wretch,         Not in the hour of infamy and death         Forsake the virtuous! they draw near the stake--         And lo! the torch! hold hold your erring hands!         Yet quench the rising flames!--they rise! they spread!         They reach the suffering Maid! oh God protect         The innocent one!                 They rose, they spread, they raged--         The breath of God went forth; the ascending fire         Beneath its influence bent, and all its flames         In one long lightning flash collecting fierce,         Darted and blasted Hamuel--him alone.         Hark--what a fearful scream the multitude         Pour forth!--and yet more miracles! the stake         Buds out, and spreads its light green leaves and bowers         The innocent Maid, and roses bloom around,         Now first beheld since Paradise was lost,         And fill with Eden odours all the air.