  [The fires of Smithfield and the massacre of Bartholomew are truly events of little consequence in history, if they fail to convince us of the aggressive and unscrupulous policy of the Roman Catholic Church. The claim of the Pope, which never has undergone or can undergo any modification whatever, is nothing less than one of universal supremacy. That claim is asserted now as broadly and boldly as it was three hundred years ago; when, at the accession of Mary, Cardinal Pole was sent over as legate to England, for the reduction of that realm to the obedience of the See of Rome, and for the extirpation of heresy. It matters not what may have been the private character of the Cardinal. He has been represented as a man of mild nature, humane disposition, and averse to the infamous cruelties which were then perpetrated, the odium of which has been commonly thrown upon Bishops Gardiner and Bonner. This much at least is plain, that, whatever may have been his opinion as to the methods which were employed for the suppression of Protestantism, he did not deem it expedient to exercise his great power in mitigating the fury or tempering the cruelty of the persecution. He was a passive witness of the enormities, and allowed the mandates of the Church to supersede the dictates of humanity and the merciful teaching of the Saviour. The records of the reign of Mary ought, especially at the present time, to be studied by those who, in their zeal for toleration, forget that they have to contend with most bitter and uncompromising enemies. Not only the sufferings and fortitude of the martyrs, (among whom were numbered five bishops, and twenty-one clergymen of the Reformed faith of England,) but the charges on which they were condemned, and the noble testimony which they bore, will be found detailed in John Foxe's Acts and Monuments. Next to that of Archbishop Cranmer, the names of Latimer and Ridley can never be forgotten in this land, so long as the voice of Protestantism is heard against Papal superstition and supremacy. Political and ecclesiastical dominion are things inseparable from each other in the eye of Rome; and wherever she has succeeded in planting her foot, she has attempted to enforce spiritual submission, and to extinguish liberty of conscience, by the power of the secular arm. The following extract, from the work already referred to, narrates the close of the terrible tragedy which consigned two English prelates to the flames at Oxford:— "Then they brought a faggot, kindled with fire, and laid the same down at Dr Ridley's feet. To whom master Latimer spake in this manner: 'Be of good comfort, master Ridley, and play the man. We shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out.' "And so the fire being given unto them, when Dr Ridley saw the fire flaming up towards him, he cried with a wonderful loud voice, 'In manus tuas, Domine, com "But master Ridley, by reason of the evil making of the fire unto him, because the wooden faggots were laid about the gorse, and over-high built, the fire burned first beneath, being kept down by the wood; which when he felt, he desired them for Christ's sake to let the fire come unto him. Which when his brother-in-law heard, but not well understood, intending to rid him out of his pain (for the which cause he gave attendance,) as one in such sorrow not well advised what he did, heaped faggots upon him, so that he clean covered him, which made the fire more vehement beneath, that it burned clean all his nether parts, before it once touched the upper; and that made him leap up and down under the faggots, and often desire them to let the fire come unto him, saying, 'I cannot burn.' Which indeed appeared well; for, after his legs were consumed by reason of his struggling through the pain (whereof he had no release, but only his contentation in God,) he showed that side toward us clean, shirt and all untouched with flame. Yet in all this torment he forgot not to call unto God still, having in his mouth, 'Lord, have mercy upon me!' intermingling his cry, 'Let the fire come unto me: I cannot burn.' In which pangs he laboured till one of the standers-by with his bill pulled off the faggots above, and where he saw the fire flame up, he wrested himself unto that side. And when the flame touched the gunpowder, he was seen to stir no more, but burned on the other side, falling down at master Latimer's feet; which, some said, happened by reason that the chain loosed; others said, that he fell over the chain by reason of the poise of his body, and the weakness of the nether limbs. "Some said, that before he was like to fall from the stake, he desired them to hold him to it with their bills. However it was, surely it moved hundreds to tears, in beholding the horrible sight; for I think there was none that had not clean exiled all humanity and mercy, which would not have lamented to behold the fury of the fire so to rage upon their bodies."] I. 'Tis good to sing of champions old The honour and renown; To tell how truth and loyalty Have saved an earthly crown. But shame to us, if on the day When higher themes are given— When man's device and man's decree Usurp the word of Heaven— We dare forget the nobler names Of those who vanquished death, To keep unstained, from sire to son, Our freedom and our faith! II. We bend the knee and bow the head Upon the Christmas morn, In token that, for sinful men, The Saviour, Christ, was born. Nor less, unto the faithful heart, That time must hallowed be, On which our Lord and Master died In anguish on the tree; And Easter brings its holy hymn, Its triumph o'er the grave, When He, the dead, arose in might, Omnipotent to save. III. We worship as our fathers did, In this our English home, Not asking grace from mortal man Nor craving leave from Rome. Once more the warning note is heard, The hour of strife is near— What seeks he, with his mitred pomp, That rank Italian, here? What sought they in the former days, When last that mission came? The will, the craft, the creed of Rome Remain for aye the same! IV. Woe, woe to those who dared to dream That England might be free; That Papal power and Papal rule Were banished o'er the sea; That he who sate in Peter's chair, Had lost the will to harm, Was powerless as a withered crone Who works by spell and charm! Woe, woe to those who dared deny The Roman Pontiff's sway! His red right arm is bared in wrath, To smite, and burn, and slay! V. Light up, light up the ready fires! Sound trumpet, fife, and drum; Give welcome meet to him who brings The sovereign hests of Rome. No humble barefoot messenger— No sandalled monk is he; A stately priest—a Cardinal— Proclaims the Pope's decree. And see! upon her royal knees The Queen of England falls, In homage to a mightier Prince, Within her fathers' halls! VI. 'Tis done. Fair England! bow thy head, And mourn thy grievous sin! What though the Universal Church Will gladly let thee in? The stain is still upon thy brow, The guilt is on thy hand; For thou hast dared to worship God, Against the Pope's command. And thou hast scoffed at saint and shrine, Denied the Queen of heaven, And opened up with impious hands The Holy Book unshriven. VII. For this, and for thy stubborn will In daring to be free, A fearful penance must be done Ere guilt shall pass from thee. The prophets of the new-born faith, The leaders of the blind— Arise, and take them in the midst— Leave not a man behind! In London's streets and Oxford's courts A solemn fast proclaim, And let the sins of England's Church Be purged away by flame! VIII. In order long, the monkish throng Wind through the Oxford street, With up-drawn cowls, and folded hands, And slow and noiseless feet. Before their train the Crucifix Is borne in state on high, And banners with the Agnus wave, And crosiers glitter by: With spangled image, star-becrowned, And gilded pyx they come, To lay once more on English necks The hateful yoke of Rome. IX. The mail-clad vassels of the Church With men-at-arms are there, And England's banner overhead Floats proudly in the air. And England's bishops walk beneath— Ah me! that sight of woe! An old, old man, with tottering limbs And hair as white as snow. Another, yet in manhood's prime, The blameless and the brave— And must they pass, O cruel Rome, To yonder hideous grave? X. "Ay—for the Church reclaims her own; To her all power is given— The faggot and the sword on earth— The keys of hell and heaven. To sweep the heretics away, 'Tis thus the Church commands— What means that wailing in the crowd? Why wring they so their hands? Why do the idle women shriek— The men, why frown they so? Lift up the Host, and let them kneel, As onwards still we go." XI. The Host was raised—they knelt not yet— Nor English knee was bowed, Till Latimer and Ridley came, Each in his penance shroud. Then bent the throng on either side, Then knelt both sire and dame, And thousand voices, choked with sobs, Invoked the martyr's name. No chaunted hymn could drown the cry, No tramp, nor clash of steel— O England! in that piteous hour, Was this thy sole appeal? XII. What more? That cry arose on high; 'Twas heard, where all is calm, By Him who, for the martyr's pang, Vouchsafes the martyr's palm; By Him who needs no human arm To work his righteous will:— "The Lord is in his holy place, Let all the earth be still." They said it—they who gave the doom, In that most awful name— And if they spoke in blasphemy, So shall they die in shame! XIII. To death—to death! The stake is near, The faggots piled around; The men-at-arms have made their ring, The spearmen take their ground; The torches, reeking in the sun, Send up their heavy fume; And by the pile the torturer Is waiting for the doom. With earnest eye and steadfast step, Approach the martyr twain— "Our cross!" they said—then kissed the stake, And bowed them to the chain. XIV. Short be the pang!—Not yet, not yet! The Tempter lingers near— Rome parts not with her victims so; A Priest is at their ear. "Life—life, and pardon! say the word, Why still so stubborn be? Do homage to our Lord the Pope— One word, and you are free! O brothers! yield ye even now— Speak but a single name— Salvation lies not but with Rome; Why die in raging flame?" XV. Then out spoke aged Latimer:— "I tarry by the stake, Not trusting to my own weak heart, But for the Saviour's sake. Why speak of life or death to me, Whose days are but a span? Our crown is yonder—Ridley—see! Be strong, and play the man. God helping, such a torch this day We'll light on English land, That Rome and all her Cardinals Shall never quench the brand!" XVI. They died. O ask not how they died! May never witness tell, That once again on English ground Was wrought that deed of hell! The Consul, mad for Christian blood, Even in his deadliest rage, Was human when he opened up The famished lion's cage— More human far than they of Rome, Who claimed the Christian name, When those, the ministers of Christ, Were writhing in the flame! XVII. Harlot of Rome! and dost thou come With bland demeanour now? The bridal-smile upon thy lips, The flush upon thy brow— The cup of sorcery in thy hand, Still in the same array, As when our fathers in their wrath Dashed it and thee away? No! by the ashes of the saints, Who died beneath thy hand, Thou shalt not dare to claim as thine One foot of English land! XVIII. The echo of thy tread shall make The light still higher burn— A blaze shall rise from Cranmer's grave And martyred Ridley's urn! A blaze which they who own thy power Shall stand aghast to see, A blaze that in your infamy Shall show both them and thee! Yes! send thy Cardinals again— Once more array thy powers— Their watchword is, The Pope of Rome— The Word of God, be ours! W. I. |
|
