constant, yet with varying speeds, For ever acting in unbounded space? Some day perhaps pent man will learn to brave An alien atmosphere, and, from afar, Of weight and distance master, not the slave, Bring us new wisdom from some distant star. 

 

 

 Through the Centuries 

 While yet the Saxons ruled, a puissant Thane Made with his unkempt band of mounted spears A seizin of a hide of forest land Whereon he built a house of ample size, With dining-hall and bowers and sleeping-lofts, And stables shutting in a stone-paved yard: And round the whole he set a ponderous fence Of sharpened stakes fast bound with metal bands. And "Yan, the Wulf," for thus the Thane was known, Called the place "Wulfden" in his savage tongue. And here, year after year, he lived at ease, Oft making sallies for a cattle raid, Or fighting with some other such as he, To come back weary at the fall of night, Driving a herd before him, and his men Sweating beneath the spoil of plundered foes. Once as he sat at supper in his hall, Bemused with mead and satisfied with food, There came a wandering bedesman to his gate Craving permission "in Fayre Jesu's name" To build a church of stone within the shade Of his protection. And, in generous mood, The Thane gave gruff assent; and time slipped by. 

 Then William swept the land, and, to reward One of his knights, gave him the Wulf's demesne To hold in fee, and on the Saxon's land Arose a fortress with embattled walls, With donjon, keep and moat and tilting-yard, To hold in thraldom all the country-side. But still was left the little Saxon church, Unchanged save that the Norman owner gave New consecration in his patron's name, St. Martinus of Tours, a warrior saint Who guarded through the centuries his race. 

 Then in the War of Roses came the crash That brought extinction to the feudal name And desolation to its crumbling home. And yet, though scarred by time and gray with age, The little church of Saxon days remained The emblem of a never-dying faith. 

 The years rolled by and then there came a day Which gave a new possessor to the place, A nobleman in favour with that queen Who loved a witty tongue and ready sword When coupled with good looks and brave attire. He built a great Elizabethan pile, The ground-plan shaped to form the royal E, Conforming to the fashion of the times When loyalty spoke even from silent stone. And he, to please his lady's pious whim, (Though ten years wed, he called her Sweetheart still) 

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