PR 2111 
 .A32 
 1907 
 Copy 1 
 
 I i 
 
 fe 
 
 % 
 
Class. f&3C\l\ 
 Book . Jkh7> 
 
 Coipgiii N° \?><s\ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE PEARL 
 
THE PEARL 
 
 
 AN ANONYMOUS ENGLISH POEM 
 OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY 
 
 RENDERED IN PROSE BY 
 
 CHARLES G. OSGOOD, JR., PH.D. 
 
 . PRECEPTOR IN ENGLISH 
 
 IN PRINCETON 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 1907 
 
. ft »* 
 
 Two G- 
 AS& d_' XXC., No, 
 
 ■ 
 
Her gracious beauty, from our sight 
 Transported far, on high is beaming now 
 With spiritual radiance so divine, 
 That all the heaven doth shine 
 With love's own light, to which the angels bow, 
 Wondering with their calm eyes profound and clear, 
 To see such gentle grace sprung from our mortal sphere. 
 
 — Dante, New Life, 
 
 Translated by Theodore Martin. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 In preparing this version of the Pearl, I have 
 tried to save as much as I could of the ori- 
 ginal, both in letter and in spirit, in detail 
 and in larger effect, avoiding as much as 
 possible an affectation of false quaintness 
 that often mars the interpretation of such a 
 text. The music of the poem — almost its 
 finest charm — cannot awaken even a faint 
 echo in a tongue whose pitch and quality 
 have been so altered by time. Yet its melody 
 may in some measure be reproduced by any 
 one who will take the trouble of a littie prac- 
 tice in reading the Middle English aloud. 
 
 In text and interpretation my edition of 
 the poem has been the basis of this render- 
 ing. The design on the cover is adapted 
 from illuminated letters in the unique manu- 
 script at the British Museum, photographic 
 vii 
 
PREFACE 
 
 reproductions of which may be seen in the 
 university libraries at Princeton and Yale. 
 
 To my friend and colleague, Professor 
 John Duncan Spaeth, I am indebted for a 
 minute examination of my rendering; his 
 good taste and scholarship have given inval- 
 uable help in the task of revision. Professor 
 Lane Cooper has very kindly read the proof. 
 
 C.G. 0.,Jr. 
 
 Princeton University, 
 March 19, 1907. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The Pearl, whatever its faults, is full of 
 beauty in form and spirit. At first reading, 
 the course of the poem is likely to seem in- 
 terrupted with dull digressions, out of pro- 
 portion to the rest. But, if it is viewed as a 
 whole, its various parts sink into a right and 
 helpful relation to each other. First, there 
 sounds prophetically, but faintly, the note 
 of peace and triumph which later brings the 
 poem to its final cadence. Then begins the 
 prelude, wherein is shown the agonizing 
 conflict of grief and doubt that raged in 
 the poet's heart after the loss of his Pearl. 
 Through the deep sleep that at length comes 
 to his exhausted body and soul the poem 
 issues into the first of its three great phases. 
 The poet is almost dazed with the bright- 
 ness of the strange land in which he awakes; 
 ix 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 gradually his mind begins to comprehend its 
 surroundings, and he starts to range among 
 the endless beauties of the place ; more and 
 more eagerly he goes forward, until at the 
 shining brink of Paradise he pauses, strain- 
 ing his heart after the joys of the fairer land 
 beyond. And here, without warning, his 
 eyes fall upon his Pearl in all the bright 
 glory of the heavenly life, yet sweet and 
 maidenly in her graciousness towards him. 
 A moment of humbled embarrassment, then 
 of ecstatic joy, and he thinks : ' Here is the 
 solution of all my troubles ; there is nothing 
 left to dread, and everything to enjoy in this 
 dearest of all companionships. ' And he cries 
 aloud to her in anticipation. 
 
 But tenderly and gravely she rebukes 
 him ; such delights go not with his condition 
 of sin and mortality. At once the old war in 
 his soul springs up with new fury. ' God is 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 unfair. There is nothing but misery in the 
 world for me and all men. I cannot endure 
 it ! ' Then more like a mother than a child, 
 mingling transcendent pity with sternness, 
 as did Beatrice when she melted the soul of 
 her lover to contrition and obedience, the 
 Pearl shows this sorrow-broken man how 
 his trouble may become not an instrument 
 of self-destruction, such as he is making it, 
 but the very voice of God, quieting his soul, 
 and revealing to him the vision of endless 
 peace. 
 
 6 And what,' he asks, 'is the nature of 
 that peace which she has found? ' First, she 
 explains, it lies in the acceptance of God's 
 way as not only inevitable, but kindest and 
 best. Second, in unfailing gratitude for his 
 goodness as a friend. Third, in utter free- 
 dom from the spirit of selfish competition, 
 that we may enjoy pure delight in the 
 xi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 happiness of our fellows. But all this is in- 
 comprehensible to one whose emotional ex- 
 periences have been self-centred, and whose 
 habit of mind, owing to his scholastic train- 
 ing, has been, after the manner of his times, 
 formal and rationalistic. The maiden at first, 
 therefore, concedes somewhat to his demand 
 for logical proof; but with every point and 
 sentence she mingles suggestions of feeling 
 and Tightness of heart, which slowly and 
 subtly convince him, as he listens to her de- 
 scription of the blessed life. Less and less 
 resistant, and more and more eager his 
 questions become, until, at last, the need of 
 question, and proof, and sympathy, is done 
 away, and he is ready to behold with his 
 own eyes the Beatific Vision. 
 
 In the glory that then bursts upon his 
 sight he hardly misses his Pearl, who has 
 now withdrawn from him. Before him un- 
 xii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 fold in order the splendors of the Heavenly 
 City, surpassing in beauty and number the 
 imagination of man, and beyond the power 
 of his unaided sense to receive. Then, as 
 in the earlier part of his dream all the joys 
 of the Earthly Paradise were consummate 
 in the visitation of the Pearl, so here through 
 the higher glories of the Heavenly Paradise 
 the poem rises to the apotheosis of the re- 
 deemed, of Christ the Lamb that was slain, 
 and of his Bride rejoicing with perfect joy. 
 Unutterable then the brightness, the purity, 
 the adoration, the far-reaching sound of 
 angels' song; ineffable the tenderness, the 
 pity, the triumph of Christ himself; for ever 
 happy and secure the Pearl in the fullness 
 of eternal life. Beside himself with ecstasy, 
 driven by one last selfish impulse, the poet 
 forgets for an instant all that his visitant has 
 taught him, and tries with hasty force to 
 xiii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 seize more than God has given him. A sud- 
 den shock of blindness and insensibility, and 
 he gropes slowly back to his earthly life. 
 
 For a moment he finds himself in the 
 midst of his old sorrow, but only for a mo- 
 ment. Through his experience of the vision 
 he has been born into a new life of peace, 
 and service, and patient looking- forward to 
 the dear and unbroken companionship that 
 awaits him in the life to come. 
 
 In many ways the Pearl is like one of the 
 old churches of its time. The lines of its 
 structure are simple, direct, and perceptible. 
 Part is closely related to part ; there is rise, 
 climax, and fall ; and all parts unite in the 
 consistent setting-forth of a single idea and 
 emotion. 
 
 But lest its structure be too apparent, its 
 lines too severe, its unity too uncompromis- 
 ing, it is overgrown and softened with a pro- 
 xiv 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 fusion of beauties in detail — leaves, flowers, 
 fruit, birds, jewels, landscape, parables, 
 pictures, and the splendors of the Apoca- 
 lypse, wrought in living form and luminous 
 color. Sometimes they are heaped up in ex- 
 cess, and threaten to hide the main purpose 
 of the poem with their luxuriance ; again 
 they subside, and the mind is left free to 
 contemplate the sublimer and more austere 
 aspects of the theme. 
 
 Then one may pass beyond the imme- 
 diate charm and emotion of the poem, and 
 look far along receding vistas of the ages out 
 of which it has grown. Its form is the form 
 that these ages have elaborated with slow 
 toil and experiment ; its beauties are drawn 
 from their rich and long-accumulated store ; 
 its thought was conceived and proved by 
 their bitter struggle, its feeling enriched 
 by their deep and manifold experience, its 
 xv 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 triumphant vision made real and glorified in 
 the blood of martyrs and saints. Thus one 
 is drawn back through light and shade, 
 through arch after arch of time, each grow- 
 ing more dim and withdrawn, until all loses 
 itself in the pure orient light from which it 
 first came. 
 
 Nor is the Pearl without traits of harsh 
 austerity. Stern and awful are the concep- 
 tions of God's justice and power that under- 
 lie the work. Besides, it opens shadowed 
 recesses of a struggling soul, unpenetrated 
 with light of heaven, and dismal with the 
 echoes of a bootless plaint. Here and there, 
 out of the gloom, grins the hideous face of 
 some past sin, some nameless fear, of depres- 
 sion, loneliness, and despair. Then comes a 
 stillness, and, after a space, there steals into 
 this dark solitude the sound of sweet uplifted 
 voices, as from a great distance. Then the 
 xvi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 mind is quieted, and led slowly out of itself 
 into the light, groping and reaching for- 
 ward, humbled, eager, raising itself higher 
 and higher, to look at last with opened eyes 
 upon the vision of sacrifice, and love, and 
 purity of them that dwell in the Kingdom 
 of Heaven. 
 
THE PEARL 
 
 O PEARL, delight of Christ the Prince ; 
 now safe, afar, in his clear regions of 
 pure shining gold ! 
 
 Truly no pearl of the Orient have I ever 
 found her peer in price — so round and ra- 
 diant and unchanging, so tender and slight 
 of form. At all times when I have appraised 
 bright gems, her I have set apart and alone. 
 But alas, one day I lost her; in an arbor 
 it was that she slipped from me, and fell 
 through the grass into the ground; and 
 now, as with a death- wound, I pine away in 
 the thrall of longing for the spotless Pearl 
 that was mine. Often, since there she sprang 
 from my reach, I have lingered in that place, 
 yearning for the happiness that erstwhile 
 was wont to banish my troubles and exalt 
 my blessed lot; her absence pierces my heart 
 1 
 
18-33 
 
 continually, and makes my breast ever swell 
 and burn in wretchedness. 
 
 But never seemed to me any song so sweet 
 as that which, on a day, in a quiet season, 
 came stealing upon me. Truly, one after an- 
 other, sad feelings welled up in my heart, 
 as I sat thinking of her bright color now 
 clad in clay. O earth, thou marrest a lovely 
 jewel — the Pearl that was spotless, and 
 mine own ! 
 
 Many a plant of spice must needs spring 
 and spread its leaves where such riches have 
 fallen to decay; flowers, yellow, and blue, 
 and red, there turn their faces all bright and 
 shining towards the sun ; no flower or fruit 
 can wither in that place, since my Pearl there 
 sank into the dark of the mold. Each spear 
 of grass springs from a lifeless seed, or else 
 there were no wheat to be gathered into 
 barns; of good ever each good cometh. 
 2 
 
34-51 
 
 Surely then from so fair a seed sweet spices 
 cannot fail to spring and grow — from that 
 precious Pearl so pure. 
 
 Into this place of which I speak — this 
 arbor green — I had gone one day, after my 
 wont. It was a high season in August, 1 
 when corn is cut with sickles keen. There 
 was a mound in the place where the Pearl 
 had fallen and rolled away from me ; upon 
 it fell shadows of flowers bright and sheen 
 — gilliflower, ginger, and gromwell, with 
 peonies scattered all about. And if the sight 
 was fair to behold, sweet too was the fra- 
 grance which rose thence, where dwells, as I 
 think, that adorable one, my precious, spot- 
 less Pearl. 
 
 Before that place I wrung my hands in 
 the clutches of freezing care. A sudden din 
 
 1 Probably the feast of the Assumption on the fif- 
 teenth of the month. 
 
 3 
 
52-68 
 
 of grief rose in my heart, though reason 
 tried to make peace therein. Wild forebod- 
 ings warred fiercely within my soul, and I 
 wailed aloud for my Pearl that was fast im- 
 prisoned in that place: and, though Christ 
 in his true compassion comforted me, yet 
 my wretched will toiled on in woe. At last I 
 fell upon the flowery turf, when suddenly 
 such sweet fragrance entered and filled my 
 brain that I sank into deep slumber, and 
 dreamed of my precious Pearl so pure. 
 
 Thence sprang my soul aloft while my 
 body lay at the grave-mound in dreams. 
 For in God's grace my soul set forth on a 
 strange journey to behold marvels. I knew 
 not where in the world it was ; I only saw that 
 I was brought into a place where great cliffs 
 stood cleaving together. Toward a forest I 
 took my way, where were seen rocks of rich- 
 4 
 
69-90 
 
 est hue. The light — the gleaming glory that 
 flashed from them might no man believe; 
 no fabric woven by men was ever half so 
 bright and rare. All the hillsides thereabout 
 were adorned with cliffs of clearest crystal, 
 and among them were shining groves with 
 boles as blue as inde. Like burnished silver 
 were the shifting leaves, quivering unnum- 
 bered on every branch, as gleams fell upon 
 them from the sky ; with splendid shimmer 
 all bright they shone. The gravel under foot 
 was precious orient pearl. Ah, dim and dark 
 are the very sun's beams beside all that 
 splendor ! 
 
 The glory of those fair hills made my 
 spirit forget all its woe; so fresh were the 
 odors from the fruits growing there that 
 they fully satisfied me, as it had been sweet 
 food. Birds of flaming colors, large and 
 small, flew about in the woodland there; but 
 
 5 
 
91-109 
 
 string of citole, or cithern-player, could ill 
 counterfeit their lively notes, as with flutter- 
 ing wings they sang together in sweet ac- 
 cord. Such joyous rapture could no man 
 attain as to hear their lovely song, and see 
 their bright array. 
 
 In like glory shone all that woodland 
 whithersoever fortune led me; no man that 
 beareth tongue is worthy to tell the glory 
 thereof. I walked on and on with untroubled 
 mind ; no hillside was so steep and high as 
 to threaten me with harm. The farther I 
 went through this woodland, the fairer grew 
 meadows and plants, spice-trees and pear- 
 trees, hedges and borders of brooks, and 
 bright rivers whose steep banks were as fine 
 threads of gold. 
 
 At length I came to a stream which ran 
 swiftly by its shore. Ah God, how rare its 
 beauty Those fair depths lay between ra- 
 6 
 
110-128 
 
 diant banks of bright beryl, and, flowing 
 sweetly, the water ran forth on its way with 
 a murmuring sound as of many voices. 
 At the bottom were glittering stones that 
 shimmered and glowed like a flash of light 
 through glass ; they were as stars in stream- 
 ing splendor that shine in the sky all a win- 
 ter's night, while men lie fast asleep. For 
 each pebble in those depths was either eme- 
 rald, or sapphire, or other precious gem, so 
 that the deep pools were all agleam of light, 
 so rare was their beauty. The fair glory of 
 hill and vale, of wood and water and sweet 
 meadows, caused bliss to spring anew within 
 me, and, quieting my grief, undid my an- 
 guish and healed my pain. Down along that 
 stream, as it flowed on in its might, I sped 
 in ecstasy that filled my mind brimful ; and 
 the farther I followed that watery vale, the 
 mightier the joy that urged my heart. For 
 7 
 
129-151 
 
 though fortune fareth whithersoever she 
 will, whether she send solace or sorrow, yet 
 the man to whom she inclines her favor 
 strives hard to win more and more. Happier 
 then my lot than I could ever tell, even in 
 much space ; for no mortal heart could hold 
 a tenth part of the glad rapture of that place. 
 Wherefore I thought Paradise lay over 
 against those broad-sloping shores, and that 
 the waters were but divisions between its 
 pleasant places. Over the river, somewhere 
 by hill or dale, must stand, I thought, that 
 heavenly city. But the water was deep, and 
 I dared not wade ; yet ever the more I longed 
 to behold it. Yes, more and more I yearned 
 to see what lay beyond the stream ; for if the 
 place where I walked was fair, how much 
 lovelier that farther shore ! All about I stum- 
 bled and looked, and tried hard to find a 
 fording-place, but the farther I went pick- 
 8 
 
152-172 
 
 ing my way along the shore, the more the 
 dangers there about me ; and yet it seemed 
 that I could not pause in dismay where joys 
 were so alluring. 
 
 Then a strange thing befell me, that 
 stirred my mind more deeply still. For 
 greater wonder than ever seized me, as I 
 saw beyond that pleasant stream a cliff of 
 crystal all refulgent, that shot forth many 
 a dazzling ray. At its base there sat a child, 
 a gentle maiden full debonaire, in raiment 
 all gleaming white. I knew her well, for I 
 had seen her aforetime. Like glistening gold 
 which men cut into fine threads, so shone 
 that radiant one at the cliff's base. From 
 my distance I gazed at her, and the longer I 
 looked, the more came I to know her; and 
 still as I searched her fair face, and scanned 
 her lovely form, such transporting glory fell 
 upon my sense as I had never known. A 
 9 
 
173-191 
 
 glad desire to call her pursued me — but 
 confusion dealt my heart a sudden blow ; so 
 strange it was to see her in that place, that 
 my sense was stricken and wellnigh stunned 
 at the sight. 
 
 Then lifted she her fair brow, her face 
 white as smooth ivory, and it stung my 
 heart with wild dismay ever deeper and 
 deeper the longer I gazed. Great fear rose 
 within me in spite of myself. I stood utterly 
 still, and dared not cry out; with eyes wide 
 open and mouth fast shut, I was as quiet 
 as hawk in hall. I thought this apparition 
 something spectral, and feared what might 
 come of it — that she whom I there descried 
 might escape before I could call aloud and 
 stop her. Then she, the sweetly radiant, 
 pure and unspotted, so soft, so slight, so 
 fair and winsomely slender — that precious 
 one all dight in pearls — arose in her royal 
 10 
 
192-214 
 
 array. Pearls of kingly price might one then 
 have seen by God's grace, when, fresh as 
 a fleur-de-lis, she stepped forth down the 
 shore. All gleaming white was her robe of 
 fine linen, open at the sides, and purfled with 
 the loveliest margery-pearls, as I guess, that 
 I ever beheld; long were her sleeve-laps, I 
 wot, and adorned round about with pearls 
 in double border. Her kirtle showed beneath 
 of the same bright stuff, all set about with 
 precious pearls. A rich crown of margery- 
 pearls unmingled with gems of any other 
 kind this maiden wore; high-pinnacled it 
 was, all of clear white pearls wrought in fig- 
 ures of flowers. No fillet nor braid she wore 
 besides, but the folds of her hair fell loose 
 about her. Sober and demure was her face 
 — fit for duke or earl; her hue was paler 
 than ivory. Her hair glistened like bright 
 shorn gold, as it lay loose and light upon 
 11 
 
215-235 
 
 her shoulders. Yet her color was deep, 
 wanting not the adornment of the precious 
 pearls in broidery all about. Every hem — 
 at the wrists, the sides, and the openings — 
 was edged and pointed with white pearls 
 only, and all her vesture was lustrous white. 
 One marvelous pearl without blemish was 
 set secure in the midst of her breast; a 
 man's mind would be sadly baffled ere he 
 could measure the full beauty of that gem. 
 No tongue, I think, could utter the sweet 
 tale of that vision — so fair, so bright, so 
 pure was the precious pearl there set. 
 
 All thus adorned in pearls that dear one 
 beyond the stream came down the opposite 
 shore. From here to Greece there was no 
 happier man than I when she had reached 
 the brink ; nearer was she to me than aunt 
 or niece, wherefore my joy was greater than 
 ever. Then this peerless one made as if to 
 12 
 
236-254 
 
 speak, for, bowing low in sweet womanly 
 grace, she lightly caught off her crown 
 of rich treasure, and blithely greeted me. 
 Happy was I that was born to speak with 
 that fair one in her array of pearls ! 
 
 4 O Pearl, all dight in pearls,' said I, 'art 
 thou mine own, my Pearl, that I have be- 
 wailed and mourned in night and solitude? 
 Great yearning have I suffered for thee in 
 secret since thou didst slip away from me 
 into the grass. Gloomy, wasted, nigh spent 
 with pain am I, while thou, unracked with 
 strife, hast fallen upon a pleasant life in the 
 home-land of Paradise. What fortune has 
 brought my jewel hither, and cast me into 
 grief and bondage? For, since we were sep- 
 arated and torn asunder, I have been but a 
 wretched jeweler. ' 
 
 Then that jewel, all arrayed in precious 
 gems, lifted her face, raised to me her blue 
 13 
 
255-275 
 
 eyes, set on again her crown of orient pearl, 
 and at length said gravely: ' Sir, ill have you 
 heeded your own words when you say that 
 your Pearl is utterly lost, which is now so 
 fair enclosed here in a coffer — I mean this 
 garden bright and lovely — here to dwell for 
 ever and make merry, where sin and mourn- 
 ing draw not nigh. This place were indeed 
 a treasury for thee, if thou wert truly a noble 
 jeweler. But, gentle sir, if thou must wil- 
 fully lose thy joy for a mere gem that was 
 dear, methinks thou art given over to mad 
 intent, and troublest thyself about a trifle. 
 What thou hast lost was only a rose that 
 flowered and faded according to its kind; 
 but now by nature of the chest that secur- 
 eth it, it proveth a pearl of price. If thou 
 hast called thy good fortune a thief, which 
 manifestly hath made for thee something 
 out of thy nothing, then dost thou reproach 
 14 
 
 
276-294 
 
 the .very remedy of thine ill; thou art no 
 grateful jeweler. ' 
 
 A very jewel was then this visitant to me, 
 and jewels were her gentle words. 
 
 ' Indeed,' said I, ' my dear, blest child, now 
 dost thou unravel all my woe. I beseech thee, 
 pardon me, for I thought my Pearl was 
 gone forth from life. But, now that I have 
 found it, I shall make merry, and dwell with 
 k in woodlands sheen, praising my Lord 
 and his ways, who hath brought me hither 
 near unto such bliss. Now, were I only at 
 your side, beyond this water, so indeed were 
 my joy complete ! ' 
 
 Then answered this pure gem: 'Ah, 
 jeweler! Why must thou, and all men, be 
 for ever mad? Three words in a breath hast 
 thou spoken, and all three of them ill-con- 
 sidered ; thou knowest not in the least what 
 one of them does mean, and thy tongue doth 
 15 
 
295-313 
 
 outrun thy wit. Thou sayest that thou dost 
 think that I dwell here in this vale, because 
 forsooth thou canst see me here with thine 
 own eyes ; and again, thou sayest that in this 
 country thou art to dwell with me, yea, in 
 this very place ; and again, that thou shalt 
 pass over this water unhindered — a thing 
 that no man may lightly do. I hold him 
 undeserving who believes only what he sees 
 with his eyes; and he indeed is much to 
 blame, and wants true courtesy, who thinks 
 our Lord falsely uttered his loyal promise to 
 raise you up unto life, albeit fate hath com- 
 mitted your body unto death. Ye men turn 
 his words all awry, and believe nothing 
 unless ye see it ; it is a trait of pride ill-be- 
 coming every good man, to believe no tale 
 trustworthy unless his own poor reason can 
 prove it so. Rather judge for thyself whether 
 thou hast spoken wisely, considering what 
 16 
 
314-333 
 
 words man ought to offer God. Thou sayest 
 thou art to dwell in this domain. Methinks 
 it first behooves thee to ask leave ; yet withal 
 thou mightest fail to gain it. Thou desirest 
 to cross this stream, but, ere that, thou must 
 change thy purpose; thy body shall first 
 sink all cold into the ground, since it was 
 forfeit in the garden of Paradise, in the 
 ill-keeping of our father Adam. Through 
 dreary death must each man be brought, ere 
 God will appoint him to cross this stream.' 
 ' Alas, then,' said I, ' if thou dost condemn 
 me to sorrow again, my sweet, I shall pine 
 away. Now that I have found what I had 
 lost, must I forego it again, even until I die? 
 Why must I find it, if only to lose it straight- 
 way? My precious Pearl doth me great pain ! 
 What profiteth treasure but to make a man 
 weep, if forthwith he must lose it with bitter 
 pangs? Nay, then, I care not whether I re- 
 17 
 
334-350 
 
 turn to earth, nor how far thence I am ban- 
 ished, if I am to have no part in my Pearl. 
 Ah, what may man expect on earth but un- 
 ceasing sorrow ! ' 
 
 Then said the maiden : ' So thou lookest 
 for naught but agony of grief? Why dost 
 thou so? By the clamor of his grief at tri- 
 fling losses, many a man oft foregoes the 
 greater benefits. It behooves thee better to 
 look after thine own welfare, and ever to 
 praise God, come weal, come woe; for re- 
 sentment profiteth thee not a straw. Let him 
 who must needs endure be not so impatient. 
 For though thou plunge like a wild doe, and 
 toss thy limbs about in frenzy, and utter thy 
 rage in shrieks, yet, when thou canst make 
 way no farther, to or fro, then must thou 
 still abide what he shall decree. The Lord 
 shall ordain and dispose all things, for he 
 will never turn one foot aside from the way. 
 18 
 
351-368 
 
 Though thou in thy sorrow be never glad 
 again, it availeth thee naught. Have done, 
 then, with thy strife, cease to contend, and 
 seek his compassion with all speed ; haply 
 thy prayer will lay hold on his pity, and 
 mercy will then show thee her power ; his 
 comfort may soothe thy suffering, and drive 
 thy lowering looks lightly away. For, in 
 failure or in fortune, in grief remembered 
 or forgotten, all things abide in him to de- 
 cree and ordain.' 
 
 Then said I to the maiden : ' O let not my 
 Lord be angry, though in my haste I rave, 
 and rush headlong in my talk! My heart 
 was all stricken and melted with my loss, like 
 water welling up and running forth from a 
 spring. But now I give myself up unto his 
 tender mercy. Chide me no longer with thy 
 dreadful words, my dearly beloved, though 
 19 
 
369-387 
 
 I speak idly, but tender me lovingly thy 
 comfort, thinking in pity of this — that thou 
 hast made reconciliation between me and 
 care — thou who wast erstwhile the root of 
 all my joy. My joy, and my grief too, hast 
 thou been, wherefore so much the louder 
 was my lament. For after thou wast with- 
 drawn from every danger of earthly life, I 
 knew not whither my Pearl was gone ; and 
 now that I see it again, my trouble has 
 ceased. If* when we parted, we were of one 
 mind, God forbid that we be at odds now, 
 since we meet so seldom by stock or stone. 
 And though you speak on full courteously, 
 I am but dust, and undone with sin. But the 
 mercy of Christ and Mary and John — these 
 shall be the root of all my joy. 
 
 ' 1 behold thee now entered into the life of 
 bliss, while I am all dejected and downcast. 
 Perhaps of this you take little heed, or of the 
 20 
 
388-408 
 
 burning wrongs that often fall to my lot. But 
 now that I am here in your very presence, I 
 would cease from dispute, and beseech you 
 to tell me willingly and earnestly what sort 
 of life ye lead early and late. For I am full 
 glad that your estate is indeed changed to one 
 of worship and good fortune ; it is the high- 
 road of all my joy, the root of all my peace. ' 
 ' Now joy betide thee, sir,' then said she 
 so fair of face and form ; ' and welcome here 
 both to rest and roam, for now are thy words 
 precious to me. Masterful heart and over- 
 weening pride, I assure thee, are bitterly 
 hated here ; yet my Lord loveth not to chide 
 in anger, for meek are all they that dwell 
 near him. And when thou shalt appear in 
 his holy place, be thou deep-devout in all 
 humility ; for my Lord the Lamb still loveth 
 such demeanor, and he is the root of all my 
 
 j°y- 
 
 21 
 
409-429 
 
 'A joyous life I lead, thou sayest true, 
 and wouldst learn the station thereof. Thou 
 knowest well that when thy Pearl fell away 
 from thee I was yet very young and of ten- 
 der years. Yet my Lord the Lamb by his 
 divine nature took me in marriage, and 
 crowned me his queen, to dwell in bliss 
 throughout the length of all days to come. 
 Moreover I am his love, established in his 
 full heritage, and am his and his alone. His 
 worth, his excellence, his high lineage, are 
 root and ground of all my joy . ' 
 
 'Ah blessed,' said I, 'if this be true, be 
 not angry, though the question I ask thee 
 be foolish and wrong. Art thou that queen 
 of blue heaven to whom all this world shall 
 do honor? We believe in Mary, Author of 
 Grace, who in maiden innocence bore a child. 
 What queen could take away her crown 
 from her, unless she passed her in good- 
 22 
 
430-448 
 
 liness? Nay, for that her sweetness is be- 
 yond all compare, we call her Phoenix of 
 Araby, that bird of blameless fashion, like 
 the Queen of Courtesy. ' 
 
 Then knelt the radiant one upon the 
 ground, and covered her face with the folds 
 of her garment, and prayed, saying : ' Hail 
 gracious Queen peerless Mother, all-glorious 
 Maiden, blessed Well-spring of every grace ! ' 
 
 Then she arose, and paused, and, after a 
 space, said tome:' Sir, many there are who 
 gain possessions here, and hold them fast, 
 but usurpers are there none in this place; the 
 Empress Mary holdeth all heaven and earth 
 and hell in her dominion, yet no one doth 
 she drive forth from his heritage, for she is 
 the Queen of Courtesy. The court of the 
 kingdom of the ever-living God hath of its 
 very essence this property: each one that 
 entereth therein is king or queen of the whole 
 23 
 
449-468 
 
 realm, nor shall any other dispossess such 
 an one, but each rejoiceth in the other's 
 possession, and would that her comrade's 
 crown were fivefold as rich, if such increase 
 were possible. But my Lady, of whom Jesus 
 was born, beareth rule full high above us 
 all ; yet that offendeth none of our company, 
 for she is the Queen of Courtesy. By the 
 Spirit of true courtesy, saith Saint Paul, we 
 are all members of Jesus Christ ; as head, 
 and leg, and arm, and nail, are all attached 
 to their proper body, faithful and true, so in 
 like manner is every Christian soul a proper 
 limb of the Master of Might. Therefore see 
 whether rancor or bitterness is fixed or 
 seated between thy members ; thy head har- 
 boreth not anger and resentment, though 
 arm or finger wear a ring; and with like 
 courtesy do we all bear ourselves in love and 
 joy towards king and queen among us.' 
 24 
 
469-489 
 
 ' Yea,' said I, ' I believe that courtesy and 
 all charitableness prevail among you ; but, 
 lest my words grieve you. . . . [If] thou ex- 
 altest thyself to heaven to become a queen 
 — thou who wert so young — what greater 
 honor can he achieve who has continued 
 faithful and strong in the world, and lived 
 in lifelong penance to purchase heavenly 
 bliss with torment of the flesh? What 
 greater worship could such an one attain 
 than to be crowned a king by courtesy? 
 This courtesy of which you speak is too 
 large of deed, if that be true which thou hast 
 said. Thou livedst not two years among our 
 folk on earth. Thou never knewest then how 
 to please God by deed or prayer, by Pater 
 Noster or Creed. And crowned a queen on 
 the first day after ! God help me, but I can- 
 not believe that he would turn aside so far 
 from the right. Indeed, dear maiden, the es- 
 25 
 
490-511 
 
 tate of a countess you might fairly hold in 
 heaven, or at least of a lady of less array ; 
 but a queen — nay, that is too much ! ' 
 
 Then said to me that adorable one : ' Of 
 his goodness there is no end. For all is jus- 
 tice which he ordereth, and he can do naught 
 but right, as saith Saint Matthew in the 
 Mass, in the true Gospel of Almighty God. 
 In a parable he frameth an image true and 
 exact, and likens it to bright heaven. "My 
 kingdom on high," he saith, "is like unto 
 a lord who had a vineyard. The end of the 
 year was at hand, and it was hard upon the 
 time to prepare the vineyard for winter. 
 Now all laborers know full well that time 
 of year. The lord rose early to hire laborers 
 into his vineyard, and among them found 
 some suited to his purpose. They enter into 
 agreement for a penny a day, and go forth, 
 and bend to their work, and travail sore ; 
 26 
 
512-528 
 
 they prune, and bind, and make everything 
 snug. 
 
 ' ' ' About the third hour the lord goeth 
 into the market, and findeth idle men stand- 
 ing there, and saith unto them : ' Why stand 
 ye idle? Know ye not that this day must 
 end?' 
 
 ' ' ' And they answered with one ac- 
 cord, murmuring: 'Ere the dawn came we 
 hither, here have we stood since the sun 
 rose, and yet no man hath commanded us 
 to work.' 
 
 Go into my vineyard, and do what 
 ye can,' said the lord, and made good his 
 command, saying, ' Whatsoever reasonable 
 hire be earned by nightfall I will pay you in 
 good faith.' 
 
 They went into his vineyard and 
 wrought, and all day the lord went his way, 
 bringing new men thither. At length this 
 27 
 
529-548 
 
 long-awaited day of toil was far spent. The 
 time of evensong was come, an hour before 
 sunset, and still he found strong men yet 
 idle ; and he said to them gravely : ' Why 
 stand ye idle this whole day long? ' 
 
 i ' ' They said that wages nowhere awaited 
 their toil. 
 
 ""Then go into my vineyard, young 
 yeomen ; there labor and do what ye can. ' 
 
 ' ' ' Soon all the world grew brown and 
 dark ; the sun had gone down and it waxed 
 late. Then bade he summon the workmen, 
 for the day was past. The lord was mindful 
 of the eventide, and called to his reeve, say- 
 ing: * Sirrah, now pay the servants; give 
 them the wages I owe them. And further, 
 that none may complain, set them all in a 
 row, and give to all alike a penny. Begin 
 with the last and lowest, until thou come to 
 the first.' 
 
 28 
 
549-568 
 
 ' ' ' Then the first began to murmur, and 
 say that they had travailed sore. 'These,' 
 said they, ' toiled but an hour; it seems right, 
 then, that we should receive more. We think 
 that we who have borne the heat of the day 
 have done greater service than those who 
 wrought not even two hours, and yet thou 
 dost make them equal unto us.' 
 
 ' "Then said the lord to one of them: 
 ' Friend, I would not have thee lose aught 
 by me. Take what is thine, and go thy way. 
 If I hired thee at a penny for the whole day's 
 work, why dost thou begin now to com- 
 plain? Was not thy covenant made for a 
 penny? Thou mayest plead for nothing be- 
 yond the covenant. Then why wilt thou ask 
 for more? Is it not my lawful privilege to do 
 whatsoever I will with mine own? Else is 
 thine eye bent on evil, but I am good and 
 defraud no man. " ' 
 
 29 
 
569-586 
 
 l And Christ saith: "So will I appoint 
 each man his portion — he that is last shall 
 be the first to eater, and the first shall be last, 
 be he never so swift of foot. Many are called, 
 though few be chosen unto the high places. 
 Thus each poor man beareth away his just 
 portion, though he hath come late, and is of 
 low degree." And, though his labor cease 
 with littie done, yet far more than his labor 
 availeth the mercy of God. Wherefore I 
 have here more joy and bliss and ladyship 
 and abundance of life than all men in the 
 world could win, if they sought payment 
 according to their works. Yet I have hardly 
 begun my labor, and it was already eventide 
 when I entered into the vineyard ; neverthe- 
 less my Lord at once took thought of my 
 hire, and I was forthwith paid in full. But 
 there were others who had labored longer, 
 who toiled and sweat long ere I began, but 
 30 
 
587-602 
 
 who have not yet got a tithe of their hire, 
 nor will they perhaps for a year to come. ' l 
 
 Then in all frankness I said : * To me thy 
 tale seems unreasonable. God's justice is 
 ever ready and alert, else Holy Writ is but a 
 fable. In the Psalter is a versicle that clearly 
 and openly declareth this truth : "Thou ren- 
 derest to every man according to his desert, 
 O high and all-disposing King." But if 
 thou, my child, come to thy reward before 
 him who abode steadfast the whole day 
 long, then he who hath done the less work 
 may win the greater reward, which means 
 that the less work a man does, the greater 
 his pay.' 2 
 
 Then answered that gentle one : ' Of less 
 and more in God's kingdom there is no 
 
 1 That is, who are older than I, and are still living on 
 earth. 
 
 2 A reductio ad absurdum, showing the poet's scho- 
 lastic training. 
 
 31 
 
603-620 
 
 hazard, for there every man is paid alike, 
 whether little or much seem his reward. Our 
 gentle Liege is no churl. Whether his deal- 
 ings be harsh or tender, he poureth out 
 gifts as lavishly as water runs from a moat, 
 or streams from a deep and never-failing 
 pool. Large is that man's exemption who 
 hath ever continued in fear before him that 
 giveth succor in the hour of temptation and 
 sin ; no joy shall be withheld from such an 
 one, for the grace of God is sufficient there- 
 unto. 
 
 ' But now thou wilt checkmate me by urg- 
 ing that I have here received my penny un- 
 justly. Thou sayest that I am come too late, 
 and am not worthy of so great a reward. 
 Where hast thou ever known a man who 
 abode at all times so holy in his prayer, that 
 he forfeited not in some way, at some time, 
 the guerdon of bright heaven? And still the 
 32 
 
621-641 
 
 older such men grew, the oftener did they 
 forsake the right, and do wrong. Then are 
 mercy and grace become their only guides, 
 for the grace of God is sufficient thereunto. 
 But grace enough, without works, have the 
 innocent. As soon as they are born, they de- 
 scend at once into the water of baptism, and 
 then are led into the vineyard. Anon the day, 
 shot through with darkness, boweth before 
 the power of Death. The gentle Lord then 
 payeth his laborers who did no wrong ere 
 they went forth from his vineyard. Long 
 have they abode there, and done his bidding; 
 why should he not give them their labor's 
 due, and grant them their pay in the very 
 hour of their passing? For his grace is suf- 
 ficient thereunto. We know full well that all 
 mankind was first fashioned for a life of per- 
 fect bliss, but our forefather forfeited it by 
 the apple of which he ate, and in that eating 
 33 
 
642-660 
 
 we were condemned to die in wretchedness 
 and banishment from bliss, and at length to 
 pass into the heat of hell, there to abide with- 
 out respite. But straightway there interposed 
 a healing remedy, for in that plight fair 
 streams of blood and water ran plenteously 
 down the rough cross, and God's grace was 
 sufficient. Abounding rose the tide of blood 
 and water from out the well of that great 
 wound ; the blood redeemed us from the bale 
 of hell, and delivered us from the second 
 death; and truly the water which followed 
 the sword with cruel edge is baptism, and 
 washeth away the fell guilt that Adam 
 brought upon us when he drowned us in 
 death. Now between us and bliss there is 
 no barrier in the round world which he hath 
 not withdrawn, and no access thereunto 
 which he hath not restored in blessed hour ; 
 whereunto God's grace is sufficient. He who 
 34 
 
661-681 
 
 hath sinned again may find grace enough, 
 if he truly repent, but he must crave such 
 grace with sorrow and contrition, and suffer 
 the penalty that goeth with true remorse. 
 But he that is wholly innocent shall be saved 
 by the justice of God that never can err. It 
 was never God's decree that the guiltless 
 should perish. The guilty man may indeed 
 attain contrition, and through mercy be 
 brought speedily unto grace; but he who 
 never turned aside unto wickedness, and is 
 in all things innocent — he is justly saved. 
 
 1 This one thing in truth I know of this 
 matter — it is meet and right that both or- 
 ders of men be saved : the penitent-righteous 
 man shall see his face, and the innocent also 
 shall come unto him. Thus saith the Psalter 
 in one place : "Lord, who shall ascend into 
 thy high hill, or stand in thy holy place?" 
 Nor is God slow to answer : ' ' He that work- 
 35 
 
682-699 
 
 eth not evil with his hands, that is both pure 
 and clean of heart, there shall his foot be 
 established for ever." In justice shall the 
 innocent be saved. 
 
 'But the righteous penitent shall also 
 draw near unto that fair mansion — he that 
 taketh not his life in vain, nor flattereth his 
 neighbor deceitfully. Of the man who is 
 thus righteous Solomon speaketh plainly, 
 declaring how gently our King received 
 him, and led his feet in the ways that are 
 straight, and showed him the kingdom of 
 God for a little space, as who would say : 
 ' ' Lo yon fair realm ! Thou mayest win it for 
 thine own, if thou be brave." But without 
 fear or danger of falsehood I say, in justice 
 ever shall the innocent be saved. 
 
 ' Of righteous men speaketh yet another 
 — David in the Psalter, if haply ye have 
 seen his words : ' ' Lord, draw not thy servant 
 36 
 
700-718 
 
 unto judgment, for in thy sight shall no man 
 living be justified." Wherefore, when thou 
 shalt come before that bar where all our 
 causes shall be tried, urge in thy defense thy 
 right of being received by these very words 
 that I have cited. But he that died the bloody 
 death on the cross, with hands grievously 
 pierced, grant that, when thou come to trial, 
 thou be acquitted by innocence, and not by 
 pleading. 
 
 4 Let him who can read aright consider 
 the Holy Book, and learn how Jesus walked 
 among people of old, and how men eagerly 
 brought their little ones unto him. With fair 
 words they besought him to touch their chil- 
 dren for the health and happiness that went 
 forth from him. Impatiently his disciples 
 charged them to let him be, and many were 
 kept back with their chiding. Then Jesus 
 said sweetly: "Nay, suffer the children to 
 37 
 
719-739 
 
 come unto me, since for such is prepared the 
 Kingdom of Heaven." Thus ever injustice 
 shall the innocent be saved. Then Jesus 
 called unto him a gentle child, and said 
 no man could win his kingdom unless he 
 should come thither as such an one ; else let 
 him never enter therein. Innocent, true, un- 
 defined, without spot or stain of polluting sin 
 — when such knock at the door, quickly 
 shall the bolt be drawn. Therein is bliss that 
 shall never end — such as the merchant 
 sought among goodly pearls, when he sold 
 all that he had, both wool and linen, to buy 
 himself a pearl without spot. " This spot- 
 less pearl which the merchant bought with 
 a great price — nay, with all his goods — is 
 like unto the Kingdom of bright Heaven " 
 — so spake the Father of earth and sea ; for 
 it is stainless pure and bright, and one per- 
 fect round, and glad of heart, and common 
 38 
 
740-758 
 
 to all the righteous. Lo, even in the centre 
 of my breast it abideth! My Lord, the 
 Lamb, who spent his blood, hath put it 
 there in token of peace. I rede thee, forsake 
 the mad world, and get for thyself this spot- 
 less pearl.' 
 
 'Ah Pearl so pure,' said I, 'arrayed in 
 fair pearls, wearing the pearl of great price, 
 who fashioned thy fair figure? Full skil- 
 ful was he that wrought thy vesture. Thy 
 beauty is not the mere gift of Nature ; from 
 Pygmalion came not thy bright color, nor 
 did Aristotle in all his books describe the 
 true quality of these thy attributes. Thy 
 color passes the fleur-de-lis ; thy demeanor 
 as of angels is so pure and gracious — ah, 
 tell me, bright creature, what station is held 
 by Pearl so rare?' 
 
 Then said she: 'My Lamb without 
 blemish, who excelleth all others, he, my 
 39 
 
759-777 
 
 dear Destiny, chose me for his mate, un- 
 worthy as I was ; a fitting time was set for 
 that union — the day when I departed from 
 your world of tears. He called me to share 
 his gentle condition, saying: "Come unto 
 me, my sweet love, for in thee is neither 
 spot nor stain." Then he clothed me in 
 strength and beauty, and washed my robes 
 in his blood, setting me in the place of 
 honor, and crowned me in pure virginity, 
 and arrayed me in spotless pearls.' 
 
 c Nay,' said I, 'thou spotless bride flam- 
 ing with light, clothed in royalty so rich and 
 free, of what nature is the Lamb that he 
 would take thee to his wife ? Hast thou in 
 truth mounted so high above all the rest to 
 live with him a life of such ladyship? So 
 many a fair one there is, the world over, that 
 hath endured long struggle for Christ ; and 
 if thou didst thrust out all those dear ones, 
 40 
 
778-797 
 
 and put down all others from that marriage, 
 save only thyself so strong and firm, then 
 art thou not immaculate only, but match- 
 less.' 
 
 Then said that lovely queen: 'Immac- 
 ulate, unblemished, and unspotted am I 
 indeed, and so may I aver in all seemliness; 
 but I said not ''matchless queen." We in 
 bliss are brides of the Lamb — one hundred 
 and forty [and four] thousand in all, as it 
 is written in the Apocalypse. Saint John saw 
 them all in a company on the Mount of 
 Sion, that fair height; the Apostle beheld 
 them in ghostly vision arrayed unto the 
 marriage, upon that hill which is the new 
 city of Jerusalem. Of this Jerusalem I now 
 come to speak. If thou wilt know his true 
 nature — my Lamb, my Lord, my precious 
 Jewel, my Joy, my Bliss, my fair Loved 
 One — hear what the prophet Isaiah spake 
 41 
 
798-817 
 
 of him, in pity at his sweet submission: 
 ' ' This glorious Innocent that was slain of 
 men, without taint of sin, was brought as a 
 sheep to the slaughter; and, as a lamb which 
 the shearer taketh in the field, so closed he 
 his mouth at every question, when the Jews 
 tried him in Jerusalem." 
 
 ' In Jerusalem was my Love slain and torn 
 by shameless ruffians. Full willing was he 
 to bear our sorrows, and he hath taken upon 
 himself our bitter griefs. With buffets was 
 his face all flayed, that had been so fair to 
 look upon. For our sin he set himself at 
 naught — he who had no sin that he could 
 call his own. For us he suffered himself to 
 be flayed, and bowed down, and stretched 
 upon the brutal cross, as meek as a lamb 
 that uttereth no plaint. For us he died in 
 Jerusalem. And when the good Saint John 
 was baptizing at Jerusalem, in Jordan, and 
 42 
 
818-839 
 
 in Galilee, his words accorded with Isaiah ; 
 for when Jesus drew near unto him he 
 spake of him this prophecy: "Behold the 
 Lamb of God, unchanging as the rock, that 
 taketh away the burden of sins which all 
 men have heaped upon themselves. As for 
 him, not one hath he wrought, yet upon 
 himself he hath taken them all. Who shall 
 declare his generation that died for us in 
 Jerusalem?" 
 
 ' Thus at Jerusalem, by true witness of 
 either prophet, my sweet Loved One was 
 twice likened to a Lamb in lowliness of mind 
 and manner. The third time also is duly set 
 down full clear in the Apocalypse. In the 
 midst of the throne, where the saints were 
 sitting, the Apostle John beheld him all un- 
 veiled, opening the book with great square 
 leaves, where the seven seals were set in 
 order ; and at that sight every creature in 
 43 
 
840-855 
 
 heaven, 1 in earth, and in hell, trembled with 
 fear. This Lamb of Jerusalem was without 
 sin or blemish; his only hue was shining 
 white, admitting neither spot nor stain, and 
 he was clothed in white wool rich and 
 flowing. 
 
 'Wherefore each soul that never knew 
 the taint of sin is an adorable wife unto the 
 Lamb. And though each day he fetcheth 
 hither a great number, yet there entereth 
 among us no rivalry nor strife, except that 
 we would that each one of our comrades 
 were five; the more the merrier, by the bless- 
 ing of God. Our love is one that doth thrive 
 in a great company, where honor grows 
 from more to more. Decrease of joy can no 
 one bring upon us who wear this pearl upon 
 our breasts, for they that bear the device of 
 
 1 The poet says 'Jerusalem,' that is, the New Jerusalem 
 or heaven; see Rev. 5.13. 
 
 44 
 
856-873 
 
 spotless pearls can utter no impure thing. 
 Though our bodies shrivel among clods of 
 clay, and though ye without rest cry out for 
 sorrow, yet we have perfect knowledge in 
 all things. Our dread of the bodily death 
 hath been realized ; the Lamb now maketh 
 us to rejoice, our care is done away, he ever 
 filleth our hearts with mirth at the heavenly 
 mass, each one's joy is perfect to the utter- 
 most, and no one's honor shall ever grow 
 less. 
 
 'But lest thou find my tale unseemly, 
 thus is it written in a place in the Apoca- 
 lypse: "I saw," saith John, "the Lamb 
 standing on Mount Sion in the fullness of 
 his strength, and with him were one hun- 
 dred and forty and four thousand virgins. 
 And in their foreheads I beheld written the 
 name of the Lamb, and of his Father. And 
 I heard then a voice from heaven like the 
 45 
 
. 874-893 
 
 voice of many waters rushing in a mighty 
 torrent; and, as thunder leaps among the 
 darkened tors, such, I ween, was this 
 sound of mingled voices. And though the 
 sound was sharp and loud, yet could I hear 
 them singing a melody new and strange, 
 and deliciously sweet it was to hearken 
 thereto. As the voice of harpers harping 
 with their harps, full clear was the new song 
 that they sang ; a sweet discourse of sound- 
 ing notes it was, as they took up the strains, 
 singing together in pure concent. Right be- 
 fore the throne of God, and the four beasts 
 that bow down unto him, and the elders so 
 grave of mien, they sang their song unceas- 
 ingly. Yet there was never a man of such 
 skill, for all the arts that he ever knew, that 
 could sing one note of that song, except this 
 company that folio weth the Lamb. For they 
 are redeemed and far removed from the 
 46 
 
894-914 
 
 earth, being the first fruits appointed unto 
 the gentle Lamb, and like unto him in the 
 light of their countenances; since naught 
 that they have suffered hath defiled their 
 tongues with falsehood or deceit." Nor can 
 that pure company be removed from its im- 
 maculate Lord even for ever.' 
 
 Then said I : ' Bear with my inquiry yet 
 a little while. Though I confront thee with 
 many questions, I ought not to tempt thy 
 true understanding who art elect unto 
 Christ's bridechamber. I am the while but 
 dust and muck, and thou a rose all fresh and 
 fair, dwelling here by this blessed hill where 
 the joy of life is unfailing. Yet, gracious 
 maiden, in whom simplicity abideth, I 
 would expressly ask of thee one thing ; and, 
 though I be as hasty as fire, nevertheless let 
 my prayer avail; bold and sincere is my 
 appeal, if haply thou seest a way to grant 
 47 
 
915-934 
 
 what I ask ; and, as thou art filled with glory 
 and free from corruption, withhold not this 
 boon from me in my sorrow. Have ye no 
 dwellings enclosed in castle- walls, no manor 
 where ye may assemble and live together? 
 Thou tellest me of Jerusalem rich and royal, 
 where David, the beloved one, was upon his 
 throne; yet not among these woods may 
 that fair city stand, but in Judea. And since 
 ye are in all things pure, so must your 
 dwelling-places be likewise without taint. 
 This spotless company of which thou hast 
 spoken, this throng of thousands, is so vast 
 a multitude, that ye must needs possess a 
 large city, for great is your number. Evil it 
 were if so fair a crowd of bright jewels must 
 lodge without its walls. If I see no building 
 hereabouts, as I tarry among these hills, 
 then I think ye must dwell alone and apart, 
 as ye gaze upon the glory of this lovely 
 48 
 
935-954 
 
 stream. But if elsewhere thou hast strong 
 mansions, bring me now to that bright cit- 
 adel.' 
 
 Then said this rare creature unto me: 
 ' That city of Judea that thou hast in mind 
 is the city that the Lamb did seek wherein 
 to suffer for man's sake. It is the old Je- 
 rusalem, for there the old guilt was done 
 away. But the new city that hath come 
 down to us of God's own sending — that is 
 the theme of the Apostle in the Apocalypse. 
 The Lamb, pure from every defiling spot, 
 hath conveyed thither his fair company. 
 And, as his flock needeth not earthly pin- 
 fold, so his city is without confine of earthly 
 moat. To speak exactly of these two cities, if 
 both are alike called Jerusalem, that name 
 should mean to you no more than City of 
 God, or Vision of Peace. In the one our peace 
 was made perfect, for there the Lamb chose 
 49 
 
955-972 
 
 to suffer in penal agony for us. In the other, 
 peace, and peace alone, is to be found, 
 which shall endure unbroken for ever. That 
 is the city to which we press forward from 
 the day that our flesh is laid down to decay. 
 There shall glory and bliss increase ever for 
 the company of them that are without 
 stain.' 
 
 Then said I to that lovely flower: ' Ah, 
 maiden pure, so meek and mild, bring me 
 now to that pleasant abode. ' 
 
 But she, so radiant, replied: 'Nay, for 
 God will not suffer it. Thou may est not 
 enter into his stronghold; but from the 
 Lamb, through his great loving-kindness, I 
 have won for thee a glimpse thereof. Thou 
 mayest behold that fair enclosure from with- 
 out, but not one foot within its walls mayest 
 thou go. Nay, thou couldst not walk in its 
 streets, unless thou wert wholly pure. If I am 
 50 
 
973-992 
 
 to reveal to thee this city, take now thy way 
 up toward this river's head, and I shall fol- 
 low along with thee on this side, till thou 
 gain a certain hill.' 
 
 Then would I tarry no longer, but stole 
 away among leafy, pleasant boughs, till I 
 spied a hill, and, as I hurried on, looked out 
 upon the city beyond the river, revealed at 
 a distance, shining with rays brighter than 
 the sun. In the Apocalypse is shown its 
 fashion, as there described by John the 
 Apostle. And as John beheld it with his 
 own eyes, in like manner saw I that city of 
 renown — Jerusalem so new, so royally ar- 
 rayed, as it was descended out of heaven. 
 
 The city was all of fine gold, bright, bur- 
 nished, and radiant, like clear shining glass, 
 and garnished beneath with precious gems. 
 In twelve steps up from the lowest base rose 
 
 51 
 
993-1016 
 
 twelve foundations of rich jointure, and 
 each tier was a separate stone. Thus splen- 
 didly doth John the Apostle describe this 
 very city in the book of his Vision. As he 
 there doth name these stones, so knew I 
 their names after his tale: jasper was the 
 name of the first that I discerned on the first 
 stage; it shone all green along the lowest 
 course ; sapphire filled the second step ; then 
 chalcedony without blemish shone pure and 
 pale in the third ; the fourth was emerald all 
 green; the fifth, sardonyx; then the ruby 
 hath the Apostle named sixth in order. 
 Thereto he added the chrysolite as the sev- 
 enth in the foundation; and the eighth, 
 beryl, clear and white ; the ninth, topaz 
 of twofold hue inlaid; tenth in order, the 
 chrysoprase; the eleventh is the precious 
 jacinth; the twelfth, the most precious of 
 all, is the purple amethyst blent with inde. 
 
 52 
 
1017-1036 
 
 Above these courses overhung the wall of 
 jasper clear as glass; I knew it by John's 
 story in the Apocalypse. 
 
 Still more did I see, as he hath set it forth. 
 These twelve steps were broad yet steep, 
 and above them stood the city, a perfect 
 square — in length, breadth, and height, all 
 fair and equal. The streets of gold were as 
 transparent glass ; the jasper walls gleamed 
 like amber ; the houses within were adorned 
 with all kinds of precious stones that could 
 be brought together. And each side of this 
 city stretched the space of twelve furlongs 
 ere it ended, in height, and length, and 
 breadth, just equal, for the Apostle saw it 
 measured. 
 
 Yet more did I see of what John hath 
 
 written. Each side of the city had three 
 
 gates, and thus I beheld twelve in order, the 
 
 portals o'erlaid with rich plates ; and each 
 
 53 
 
1037-1058 
 
 gate of a single margery-pearl that fadeth 
 never. Each one bore a name in writing, 
 which are the names of the children of Israel 
 in the order of their birth, beginning with 
 oldest. 
 
 Such light shone in all the streets that 
 they had no need of the sun, neither of the 
 moon. Sun nor moon wanted they; for surely 
 the very God was their bright lamp, and the 
 Lamb was their lantern, and through him 
 the whole city was filled with brightness. 
 Over wall and dwelling ran my eyes, for air 
 so subtle and clear could bar no light. The 
 high throne one might there behold sur- 
 rounded with all the array declared in the 
 words of John ; and the high God himself 
 was seated thereon. Forth out of the throne 
 there ran a river brighter than sun or moon. 
 Neither of these ever shone with light so 
 sweet as did that abounding flood, where it 
 54 
 
1059-1078 
 
 gushed forth from the ground. Swift did it 
 run on through every street, without any min- 
 gling of filth, or pollution, or slime. Church, 
 nor chapel, nor temple was ever set in that 
 place, but the Almighty was their proper 
 sanctuary, in which is still made anew the 
 sacrifice of the Lamb. The gates of the city 
 were never shut, but stood always open to- 
 ward every quarter. Therein entereth none 
 to take refuge who beareth any taint what- 
 soever. The moon could never share that 
 glory ; too spotty is her globe, too grim her 
 favor; and since there is no night there, 
 what need that the moon climb thither in 
 her course, or try to equal that supernal 
 light that shineth upon the river's brink? 
 The planets are in too poor a plight, and the 
 very sun himself is far too dim. On either 
 side of the water are trees all bright that bear 
 the twelve fruits of life full early ; and twelve 
 
 55 
 
1079-1100 
 
 times a year do they bring forth in their 
 vigor, and renew their fruit each month. 
 
 No heart of mortal man beneath the 
 moon could endure so great a marvel as 
 I beheld when I gazed upon that city, so 
 wondrous was its fashion. I stood as still as 
 a frightened quail at that strange and radi- 
 ant apparition; of neither rest nor travail 
 was I aware, so ravished was I with its pure 
 gleam. For I dare say in all surety that, if one 
 in the body had met that boon, though all 
 the learned men in the world had him in 
 cure, his life had been lost for ever. 
 
 And as the moon doth rise in mighty 
 splendor, ere the last day-gleam hath sunk 
 with the sun, so in wondrous manner I was 
 suddenly aware of a procession. This noble 
 city of glory and splendor was presently 
 filled with virgins all unsummoned, in the 
 same guise as was my blessed one that wore 
 56 
 
1101-1121 
 
 the crown; so crowned were they all alike 
 and appareled in pearls and robes of white ; 
 and in each one's breast fair bound was the 
 blessed pearl in great beauty. Joyfully they 
 walked together on the golden streets that 
 shone as glass; hundreds of thousands I 
 thought there were, and all alike in their liv- 
 eries. Hard was it to find the gladdest face 
 among them. Before them walked the Lamb 
 in state, having seven horns of bright red 
 gold ; like pearls of great price was his rai- 
 ment. Toward the throne they took their 
 way. And, though great was their number, 
 there was no crowding among them, but 
 mild as gentle maidens at mass, so walked 
 they forth in perfect joy. 
 
 The joy that awoke at the Lamb's forth- 
 coming was too great to tell. The elders, as 
 he drew near, fell prostrate at his feet. Le- 
 gions of angels, assembled there, scattered 
 57 
 
1122-1141 
 
 incense of sweet savor. Then the sounds of 
 praise and joy burst forth anew : all sang 
 together in honor of that bright Jewel ; and 
 the sound of voices which the angels of 
 heaven then uttered in their joy could have 
 struck down through earth into hell. Then 
 in sooth I conceived a great and glad desire 
 to praise the Lamb there in the midst of his 
 train, and delight filled my heart to tell of 
 him and his marvelous guise. Best was he, 
 and blithest, and worthiest of all that ever I 
 heard praised — so adorably white his rai- 
 ment, so simple his look, himself so gentle. 
 But a wound full wide and wet with blood 
 appeared close against his heart, torn 
 through his skin; and from his fair side 
 gushed his blood. Alas! thought I, who 
 wrought that mischief? What heart that 
 grief would not have burnt out, ere it had 
 found delight therein? Yet could no one 
 
 58 
 
1142-1159 
 
 doubt the Lamb's joy. For though he was 
 hurt and wounded, it appeared not in his 
 countenance, so full of light and gladness 
 and glory were his eyes. 
 
 I looked among his bright company, and 
 saw how abounding and filled they were 
 with eternal life. Then I found there my 
 little queen that I thought had stood near me 
 in the valley. Ah God, with many a sweet 
 sound did she make merry, so white among 
 her peers ! The sight of her made me think 
 in my ecstasy of wading the stream for my 
 love's desire. Delight filled eye and ear, and 
 my mortal mind dissolved in madness. 
 When I saw my wondrous child, I yearned 
 to be there with her, though she was with- 
 held from me beyond the water. I thought 
 nothing could hurt me by striking me a 
 blow and laming me. If no one could prevent 
 my plunging into the stream, I hoped to 
 59 
 
1160-1177 
 
 swim the interval in safety, though I should 
 die for it at last. 
 
 But from that sudden purpose I was 
 shaken, for when in my perversity, I would 
 have started forward into the water, back 
 was I called from my intent — it was not 
 my Prince's will. It pleased him not that 
 I rushed headlong over these wondrous 
 marches in so mad a plight. Though I was 
 rash and rude in my haste, yet quickly was 
 I stayed therein; for, as I hurried to the 
 brink, the start roused me from my dream. 
 
 Then I awoke in that pleasant arbor, and 
 my head was still laid upon the very hillock 
 where my Pearl had slipped from me into 
 the ground. And, as I stretched myself, I 
 became dazed with a great fear; and anon 
 with a deep sigh I said : ' Now let all things 
 be according to the Prince's pleasure. ' I was 
 ill pleased to be thrust out so suddenly from 
 60 
 
1178-1196 
 
 that beauteous region, with all its sights 
 vivid and fair; a heavy longing struck me 
 down into a swoon ; and thereafter I cried 
 out ruefully : ' O Pearl of rich renown, dear 
 to me is all that thou hast told in this true 
 vision. If it be a right and true report that 
 thou farest thus in a bright garland, then it 
 is well with me also here in this dungeon of 
 sorrow to know that thou art dwelling in the 
 Prince's favor.' 
 
 Had I always yielded to the Prince's 
 pleasure, and yearned for no more than was 
 given me, and kept myself in true intent as 
 the Pearl besought me, she that is now so 
 happy — had I been rather drawn to God's 
 presence than forced my way — then into 
 more of his mysteries I should have been 
 led. But a man would always seize greater 
 fortune than rightfully belongeth to him. 
 61 
 
1197-1212 
 
 Wherefore my joy was soon torn asunder, 
 and I was cast out from that country that 
 endureth for ever. Ah God, mad are they 
 that strive against thee, or try to resist thy 
 will! 
 
 To please the Prince and be at peace with 
 him is full easy for the good Christian. I 
 have found him, day and night, a God, a 
 Lord, a true Friend. Such as I have now 
 told was the fortune that befell me at this 
 mound, bowed in grief for my Pearl; and 
 straightway I gave her up unto God in 
 Christ's dear blessing and mine own — he 
 whom in the form of bread and wine the 
 priest showeth unto us each day. And now 
 may Christ our Prince grant that we become 
 servants of his own household, and precious 
 pearls to delight him ever. Amen. 
 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S • A 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 092 597 4 »