Keats
The Eve of St. Mark
Upon a Sabbath-day it fell;
Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell,
That call'd the folk to evening prayer;
The city streets were clean and fair
From wholesome drench of April rains;
And, on the western window panes,
The chilly sunset faintly told
Of unmatured green vallies cold,
Of the green thorny bloomless hedge,
Of rivers new with spring-tide sedge, 10
Of primroses by shelter'd rills,
And daisies on the aguish hills.
Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell;
The silent streets were crowded well
With staid and pious companies,
Warm from their fire-side orat'ries;
And moving, with demurest air,
To even-song and vesper prayer.
Each arched porch, and entry low,
Was fill'd with patient folk and slow, 20
With whispers hush, and shuffling feet,
While play'd the organ loud and sweet.
The bells had ceased, the prayers begun,
And Bertha had not yet half done
A curious volume, patch'd and torn,
That all day long, from earliest morn,
Had taken captive her two eyes,
Among its golden broideries;
Perplex'd her with a thousand things, -
The stars of Heaven, and angels' wings, 30
Martyrs in a fiery blaze,
Azure saints in silver rays,
Aaron's breastplate, and the seven
Candlesticks John saw in Heaven,
The winged Lion of Saint Mark,
And the Covenantal Ark,
With its many mysteries,
Cherubim and golden mice.
Berta was a maiden fair,
Dwelling in the old Minster-square; 40
From her fire-side the could see,
Sidelong, its rich antiquity,
Far as the Bishop's garden-wall;
Where sycamores and elm-trees tall,
Full-leaved, the forest had outstript,
By no sharp north-wind ever nipt,
So shelter'd by the mighty pile.
Bertha arose, and read awhile,
With forehead 'gainst the window-pane.
Again she tried, and then again, 50
Until the dusk eve left her dark
Upon the legend of St. Mark.
From plaited lawn-frill, fine and thin,
She lifted up her foft warm chin,
With aching neck and swimming eyes,
And dazed with saintly imag'ries.
All was gloom, and silent all,
Save now and then the still foot-fall
Of one returning homewards late,
Past the echoing minster-gate. 60
The clamorous daws, that all the day
Above tree-tops and towers play,
Pair by pair had gone to rest,
Each in its ancient belfry-nest,
Where asleep they fall betimes,
To music of the drowsy chimes.
All was silent, all was gloom,
Abroad and in the homely room:
Down she sat, poor cheated soul!
And struck a lamp from the dismal coal; 70
Leaned forward, with bright drooping hair
And slant book, full against the glare.
Her shadow in uneasy guise,
Hover'd about, a giant size,
On ceiling-beam and old oak chair
The parrot's cage, and panel square;
And the warm angled winter screen,
On which were many monsters seen,
Call'd doves of Siam, Lima mice,
And legless birds of Paradise, 80
Macaw, and tender Av'davat,
And silken-furr'd Angora cat.
Untired she read, her shadow still
Glower'd about, as it would fill
The room with wildest forms and shades,
As though some ghostly queen of spades
Had come to mock behind her back,
And dance, and ruffle her garments black
Untired she read the legend page,
Of holy Mark, from youth to age, 90
On land, on sea, in pagan chains,
Rejoicing for his many pains.
Sometimes the learned eremite,
With golden star, or dagger bright,
Referr'd to pious poesies
Written in smallest crow-quill size
Beneath the text; and thus the rhyme
Was parcell'd out from time to time:
'Gif ye wol stonden hardie wight -
Amiddes of the blacke night - 100
Righte in the churche porch, pardie
Ye wol behold a companie
Appouchen thee full dolourouse
For sooth to sain from everich house
Be it in City or village
Wol come the Phantom and image
Of ilka gent and ilka carle
Whom cold� Death� hath in parle
And wol some day that very year
Touchen with foul� venime speare 110
And sadly do them all to die -
Hem all shalt thou see verilie -
And everichon shall by the[e] pass
All who must die that year Alas'
- "Als writith he of swevenis,
Men han beforne they wake in bliss,
Whanne that hir friendes thinke hem bound
In crimped shroude farre under grounde;
And how a litling child mote be
A saint er its nativitie, 120
Gif that the modre (God her blesse!)
Kepen in solitarinesse,
And kissen devoute the holy croce.
Of Goddes love, and Sathan's force, -
He writith; and thinges many mo:
Of swiche thinges I may not show.
Bot I must tellen verilie
Somdel of Saint� Cicilie,
And chieflie what he auctorethe
Of Saint� Mark�s life and dethe:" 130
At lenght her constant eyelids come
Upon the fervent martyrdom;
Then lastly to his holy shrine,
Exalt amid the tapers' shine
At Venice, -
________
Written 13 - 17 February 1819; the subject was probably suggested, like that of The Eve of St. Agnes, by Isabella Jones, whom Keats visited during that time.
Whoever watches all night by the church door on St. Mark's Eve, 24 April, is supposed to see the ghosts of those who are to die the next year.
The legend is given by Keats in the fake medieval language of the book which the heroine reads, but he never got beyond this point.
The poem is like a series of medieval pictures; as such, it was highly valued by the Pre-Raphaelite painters of the mid-nineteenth century.
l. 38. - "golden mice" - these were inside the Ark of the Covenant. I. Samuel. vi. 4. Bertha is reading a medieval illuminated manuscript, many of whose images Keats took from the painted glass east window of Stansted Chapel, which he had visited on 25 January 1819.
l. 79. - "Lima mice" - Lemur mice.
l. 81. - "Av'davat" - correctly, amadavat, an Indian song-bird. The creatures embroidered on Bertha's firescreen all come from the East, with the exception of Macaw, an American parrot.
________
Come back to the table of contents