Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV. 1876–79.
Queen Orraca and the Five Martyrs of Morocco
By Robert Southey (1774–1843)And taken staff in hand;
And never shall those Friars again
Hear Mass in Christian land.
To thank her and bless her then;
And Queen Orraca in tears
Knelt to the holy men.
We prophesy to you:
Hear us, in the name of God!
For time will prove them true:—
Christ hath vouchsafed it thus:
We shall shed our blood for Him
Who shed his blood for us.
Such being the will divine;
That Christians may behold and feel
Blessings at our shrine.
Our bodies shall draw nigh,
Who sees us first, the king or you,
That one that night must die.
For thy soul a Mass we will say,
Every day as long as we live,
And on thy dying day.”
Where she knelt on her knee;
And they departed to the land
Of the Moors beyond the sea.
What news of the Friars five?
Have they preached to the Miramamolin?
And are they still alive?”
They have run the race;
In robes of white they hold the palm
Before the Throne of Grace.
Their mangled bodies lie;
What Christian dared to bury them,
By the bloody Moors would die.”
Of the Martyrs five what news?
Doth the bloody Miramamolin
Their burial still refuse?”
The bloody Moor decreed;
That their dishonored bodies should
The dogs and vultures feed.
And the lightning of God flashed round;
Nor thing impure nor man impure
Could approach the holy ground.
The cruel Pagan’s mind:
Our brother Pedro brings them here,
In Coimbra to be shrined.”
Is dressed for the festival day;
All the people in Coimbra
Are dight in their richest array;
Doth merrily, merrily ring;
The clergy and the knights await
To go forth with the queen and the king.
We make the procession stay.”
“I beseech thee, King Affonso,
Go you alone to-day.
I am ill at heart also;
Go without me, King Affonso,
For I am too faint to go.”
All maladies can cure;
They will requite the charity
You showed them once, be sure.
You make the procession stay:
It were a scandal and a sin
To abide at home to-day.”
And forward then they go;
And over the long bridge they pass,
And up the long hill wind slow.
And do not wait for me:
To meet them close by Coimbra
It were discourtesy.
Till this sore pain be gone:
I will proceed the best I can;
But do you and your knights prick on.”
Faster than before;
The king and his knights have topped the hill,
And now they are seen no more.
A wild boar crossed the way:
“Follow him! follow him!” cried the king;
“We have time by the queen’s delay.”
Is King Affonso gone:
Slowly, slowly, but straight the while,
Queen Orraca is coming on.
Between the olive-trees;
Queen Orraca alighted then,
And fell upon her knees.
And next the relics passed:
Queen Orraca looked to see
The king and his knights come last.
At that she turned her face:
King Affonso and his knights came up,
All panting, from the chase.
Holy Martyrs five!” cried she:
“Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Virgin, pray for me!”
Many a heart was gay;
But the heaviest heart in Coimbra
Was that poor queen’s that day.
The sun hath sunk in the west;
All the people in Coimbra
Have betaken themselves to rest.
At midnight is awake,
Kneeling at the Martyrs’ shrine,
And praying for her sake.
Was still as still could be,
Into the church of Santa Cruz
Came a saintly company.
Poorly were they dight;
Each one girdled with a cord,
Like a Friar Minorite.
There flowed a heavenly light;
For each one was the blesséd soul
Of a Friar Minorite.
Among the beautiful band,
Five were there who each did bear
A palm-branch in his hand.
A living man was he;
And yet he shone the brightest
Of all the company.
Each one bowed his head;
And then with solemn voice they sung
The Service of the Dead.
The Father Confessor said;
“And for what happy soul sing ye
The Service of the Dead?”
The Martyrs five are we;
And this is our Father Francisco,
Among us bodily.
Our promise to the queen:
Go thou to King Affonso,
And say what thou hast seen.”
As the heavenly vision fled;
And the porter called to the Confessor
To tell him the queen was dead.