There, once more, O God, Thine eye was on me, or my hand Once more had missed the prize. Temptation now Whispered in softness, “Wisdom’s home is here: Here bide untroubled.” Almost I had fallen; But, by my side, in visions of the night, God’s angel, Victor, stood as one that hastes, On travel sped. Unnumbered missives lay Clasped in his hands. One stretched he forth, inscribed “The wail of Erin’s Children.” As I read The cry of babes, from Erin’s western coast And Fochlut’s forest, and the wintry sea, Shrilled o’er me, clamouring, “Holy youth, return! Walk then among us!” I could read no more.
Thenceforth rose up renewed mine old desire: My kinsfolk mocked me. “What! past woes too scant! Slave of four masters, and the best a churl! Thy Gospel they will trample under foot, And rend thee! Late to them Palladius preached: They drave him as a leper from their shores.” I stood in agony of staggering mind And warring wills. Then, lo! at dead of night I heard a mystic voice, till then unheard, I knew not if within me or close by That swelled in passionate pleading; nor the words Grasped I, so great they seemed and wonderful, Till sank that tempest to a whisper:—“He Who died for thee is He that in thee groans.” Then fell, methought, scales from mine inner eyes: Then saw I—terrible that sight, yet sweet— Within me saw a Man that in me prayed With groans unutterable. That Man was girt For mission far. My heart recalled that word, “The Spirit helpeth our infirmities; That which we lack we know not, but the Spirit Himself for us doth intercession make With groanings which may never be revealed.” That hour my vow was vowed; and he approved, My master and my guide. “But go,” he said, “First to that island in the Tyrrhene Sea, Where live the high Contemplatives to God: There learn perfection; there that Inner Life Win thou, God’s strength amid the world’s loud storm: Nor fear lest God should frown on such delay, For Heavenly Wisdom is compassionate: Slowly before man’s weakness moves it on; Softly: so moved of old the Wise Men’s Star, Which curbed its lightning ardours and forbore Honouring the pensive tread of hoary Eld, Honouring the burthened slave, the camel line Long-linked, with level head and foot that fell As though in sleep, printing the silent sands.” Thus, smiling, spake Germanus, large in lore.