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Title: May Carols

Author: Aubrey De Vere

Release Date: October 16, 2012 [EBook #41077]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAY CAROLS ***

Produced by Don Kostuch

[Transcriber's Notes:]
This text is derived from
http://archive.org/details/maycarolspoems00veregoog


Page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed in curly braces, e.g. {99}. They have been located where page breaks occurred in the original book.

Dedicated to Fr. Richard Trout who brings his love of Christ and the Virgin Mary to life in his preaching at Corpus Christi Parish. "Thanks for the homilies."
[End Transcriber's Notes:]

By the same Author.

I.
THE SEARCH AFTER PEOSERPINE, and
Other Poems. 12mo 7s. 6d.
J. H. and J. Parker, Oxford and London.

II.
POEMS (MISCELLANEOUS AND SACRED).
Fcap. 8vo 4s. 6d.
Burns and Lambert, London.

MAY CAROLS.

London:

Printed by Spottiswoode & Co
New-street Square.

MAY CAROLS.

by

AUBREY DE VERE.

LONDON:

LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, LONGMANS, & ROBERTS.

1857.

The right of translation is reserved.

TO

THE VERY REVEREND

HENRY EDWARD MANNING


THESE POEMS

ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

{v}

INTRODUCTION.

The wisdom of the Church, which consecrates the fleeting seasons of Time to the interests of Eternity, has dedicated the month of May (the birthday festival, as it were, of Creation) to her who was ever destined in the Divine Counsels to become the Mother of her Creator. It belongs to her, of course, as she is the representative of the Incarnation, and its practical exponent to a world but too apt to forget what it professes to hold. The following Poems, written in her honour, are an attempt to set forth, though but in mere outline, each of them some one of the great Ideas or essential Principles embodied in that all-embracing Mystery. On a topic so comprehensive, converse statements, at one time illustrating the highest excellence compatible with mere creaturely existence, at another, the infinite distance between the chief of creatures and the Creator, may seem, at first sight, and to some eyes, contradictory, although in reality, mutually correlative. On an attentive perusal, however, that harmony which exists among the many portions of a single mastering Truth, can hardly fail to appear—and with it the scope and aim of this Poem.

{vi}

With the meditative, descriptive pieces have been interspersed. They are an attempt towards a Christian rendering of external nature. Nature, like Art, needs to be spiritualised, unless it is to remain a fortress in the hands of an adverse Power. The visible world is a passive thing, which ever takes its meaning from something above itself. In Pagan times, it drew its interpretation from Pantheism; and to Pantheism—nay, to that Idolatry which is the popular application of Pantheism—it has still a secret, though restrained tendency, not betrayed by literature alone. A World without Divinity, Matter without Soul, is intolerable to the human mind. Yet, on the other hand, there is much in fallen human nature which shrinks from the sublime thought of a Creator, and rests on that of a sheathed Divinity diffused throughout the universe, its life, not its maker. Mere personified elements, the Wood-God and River-Nymph, captivate the fancy and do not over-awe the soul. For a bias so seductive, no cure is to be found save in authentic Christianity, the only practical Theism. The whole truth, on the long run, holds its own better than the half truth; and minds repelled by the thought of a God who stands afar off, and created the universe but to abandon it to general laws, fling themselves at the feet of a God made Man. In other words, {vii} the Incarnation is the Complement of Creation. In it is revealed the true nature of that link which binds together the visible and invisible worlds. When the "Word was made Flesh," a bridge was thrown across that gulf which had else for ever separated the Finite from the Infinite. The same high Truth which brings home to us the doctrine of a Creation, consecrates that Creation, reconstituting it into an Eden meet for an unfallen Adam and an unfallen Eve; nay, exalting it into a heavenly Jerusalem, the dwelling-place of the Lamb and of the Bride. It does this, in part, through symbols and associations founded on the all-cleansing Blood and the all-sanctifying Spirit—symbols and associations the reverse of those in which an Epicurean mythology took delight, and which the very superficial alone can confound with such. This is perhaps the aspect of Religion least above the level of Poetry.

As to its form, the present work belongs to the class of serial poems, a species of composition happily revived in recent times, as by Wordsworth, in his "Ecclesiastical Sketches," and "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty," by Landor, and, with preeminent success, by the author of "In Memoriam." It was in common use among our earlier poets, who derived it from Petrarch and the Italians. Most often the interest of such poems was of a personal sort, as in the serial sonnets of Shakespeare, Spenser, Sidney, Drummond, Daniel, and Drayton; as well as the "Aurora" of Lord {viii} Stirling, and the "Astrea" of Sir John Davies. Occasionally, it was of a more abstract character. In both cases, alike, advantage was derived from a method of writing which unites an indefinite degree of continuity with a somewhat lawless variety, and which gains in brevity by the omission of connecting bonds. In Herbert's "Temple," Vaughan's "Silex Scintillans," and the chief poems of Donne and Crashaw, the unity is but that of kindred thoughts, and a common subject, not of a complete design. Habington's "Castara," a noble work too little known, combines a personal with an abstract interest. In it many poems on religious and philosophical subjects are grouped for support round a single centre; that centre being the sustained homage paid by the poet to one not unworthy, apparently, of his reverence and love.

{ix}{x}{xi}{xii}

CONTENTS

PAGE

Prologue

xv

PART I.

Who feels not, when the Spring once more

3

Upon Thy face, O God, thy world

5

All but unutterable Name

6

Sancta Maria

7

Dei Genitrix

8

Virgo Virginum

9

Ascending from the convent-grates

11

Adolescentulae amaverunt te nimis

12

Mater Christi

13

Mater Christi

14

Mater Creatoris

15

Mater Salvatoris

16

Mater Dolorosa

17

Mater Dolorosa

18

Mater Admirabilis

19

Mater Amabilis

20

Mater Filii

21

Mater Divinae Gratiae

22

Mater Divinae Gratiae

23

When April's sudden sunset cold

24

As children when, with heavy tread

25

Mariae Cliens

26

Fest. Visitationis

28

Not yet, not yet! the Season sings

29

Fest. Nativitatis B.V.M.

30

The moon, ascending o'er a mass

32

A dream came to me while the night

33

Fest. Purificationis

34

Fest. Epiphaniae

35

The sunless day is sweeter yet

36

Legenda

37

PART II.

Conservabat in Corde

41

Ascensio Domini

42

Ascensio Domini

43

Elias

44

Stronger and steadier every hour

45

Speculum Justitiae

46

Munera

48

Predestinata

49

Three worlds there are:—the first of Sense—

51

Alas! not only loveliest eyes

52

Idolatria

53

Tota Pulchra

55

Stella Matutina

57

Janua Coeli

58

If sense of Man's unworthiness

60

Causa Nostra Laetitiae

61

Stella Maris

62

Blossom for ever, blossoming Rod!

64

Unica

65

Magnificat

66

Mystica

67

Expectatio

68

Still on the gracious work proceeds

70

Turris Eburnea

71

Who doubts that thou art finite? Who

73

They seek not; or amiss they seek

74

A sudden sun-burst in the woods

75

Dominica Pentecostes

76

Dominica Pentecostes

78

Turris Davidica

79

"Tu sola interemisti omnes Haereses"

80

PART III.

In vain thine altars do they heap

83

Babylon

84

The golden rains are dashed against

85

Sedes Sapientiae

86

Sedes Sapientiae

87

Here, in this paradise of light

88

Fest. B.V.M. de Monte Carmelo

89

Come from the midnight mountain tops

91

Advocata Nostra

92

Thronus Trinitatis

93

Cultus Sanctorum

94

Fest. S. S. Trinitatis

96

Where is the crocus now, that first

98

"Ad Nives"

99

Fest. Puritatis

101

Cloud-piercing Mountains! Chance and Change

103

Foederis Arca

104

Domus Aurea

105

Respexit Humilitatem

106

Respexit Humilitatem

107

"Sine Labe originali Concepta"

109

"Sine Labe originali Concepta"

110

Brow-bound with myrtle and with gold

111

Corpus Christi

112

Corpus Christi

114

Pleasant the swarm about the bough

115

Sing on, wide winds, your anthems vast

116

Coeli enarrant

117

Caro factus est

119

A woman "clothed with the sun"

121

No ray or all their silken sheen

122

Epilogue

125

{xv}

PROLOGUE.

  That sun-eyed Power which stands sublime

    Upon the rock that crowns our globe,

  Her feet on all the spoils of time,

    With light eternal on her robe,

  She, sovereign of the orb she guides,

    On Truth's broad sun may root a gaze

  That deepens, onward as she rides,

    And shrinks not from the fontal blaze:

  But they—her daughter Arts—must hide

    Within the cleft, content to see

  Dim skirts of glory waving wide,

    And steps of parting Deity.

'Tis theirs to watch Religion break

    In types from Nature's frown or smile,

  The legend rise from out the lake,

    The relic consecrate the isle.

  'Tis theirs to adumbrate and suggest;

    To point toward founts of buried lore;

  Leaving, in reverence, unexpressed

    What Man must know not, yet adore.

  For where her court true Wisdom keeps,

    'Mid loftier handmaids, one there stands

  Dark as the midnight's starry deeps,

    A Slave, gem-crowned, from Nubia's sands.

  O thou whose light is in thy heart

    Love-taught Submission! without thee

  Science may soar awhile; but Art

    Drifts barren o'er a shoreless sea.

{3}

MAY CAROLS

PART I.

I.

  Who feels not, when the Spring once more,

    Stepping o'er Winter's grave forlorn

  With winged feet, retreads the shore

    Of widowed Earth, his bosom burn?

  As ordered flower succeeds to flower,

    And May the ladder of her sweets

  Ascends, advancing hour by hour

    From scale to scale, what heart but beats?

  Some Presence veiled, in fields and groves,

    That mingles rapture with remorse;—

  Some buried joy beside us moves,

    And thrills the soul with such discourse

{4}

  As they, perchance, that wondering pair

    Who to Emmaus bent their way,

  Hearing, heard not. Like them our prayer

    We make:—"The night is near us . . Stay!"

  With Paschal chants the churches ring;

    Their echoes strike along the tombs;

  The birds their Hallelujahs sing;

    Each flower with floral incense fumes.

  Our long-lost Eden seems restored;

    As on we move with tearful eyes

  We feel through all the illumined sward

    Some upward-working Paradise.

{5}

II.

  Upon Thy face, O God, Thy world

    Looks ever up in love and awe;

  Thy stars, in circles onward hurled,

    Still weave the sacred chain of law.

  In alternating antiphons

    Stream sings to stream and sea to sea;

  And moons that set and sinking suns

    Obeisance make, O God, to Thee.

  The swallow, winter's rage o'erblown,

    Again, on warm May breezes borne,

  Revisiteth her haunts well-known;

    The lark is faithful to the morn.

  The whirlwind, missioned with its wings

    To drown the fleet and fell the tower,

  Obeys thee as the bird that sings

    Her love-chant in a fleeting shower.

  Amid an ordered universe

    Man's spirit only dares rebel:—

  With light, O God, its darkness pierce!

    With love its raging chaos quell!

{6}

III.

  All but unutterable Name!

    Adorable, yet awful, sound!

  Thee can the sinful nations frame

    Save with their foreheads to the ground?

  Soul-searching and all-cleansing Fire!

    To see Thy countenance were to die:

  Yet how beyond the bound retire

    Of Thy serene immensity?

  Thou mov'st beside us, if the spot

    We change—a noteless, wandering tribe;

  The orbits of our life and thought

    In Thee their little arcs describe.

  In the dead calm, at cool of day,

    We hear Thy voice, and turn, and flee:—

  Thy love outstrips us on our way:

    From Thee, O God, we fly—to Thee.

{7}

Sancta Maria.

IV.

  Mary! To thee the humble cry.

    What seek they? Gifts to Pride unknown.

  They seek thy help—to pass thee by:—

    They murmur, "Show us but thy Son."

  The childlike heart shall enter in;

    The virgin soul its God shall see:—

  Mother, and maiden pure from sin,

    Be thou the guide: the Way is He.

  The mystery high of God made Man

    Through thee to man is easier made:

  Pronounce the consonant who can

    Without the softer vowel's aid!

{8}

Dei Genitrix.

V.

  I see Him: on thy lap He lies

    'Mid that Judaean stable's gloom:

  O sweet, O awful Sacrifice!

    He smiles in sleep, yet knows His doom.

  Thou gav'st Him life! But was not this

    That life which knows no parting breath?

  Unmeasured life? unwaning bliss

    Dread Priestess, lo! thou gav'st Him death!

  Beneath the tree thy mother stood:

    Beneath the cross thou too shalt stand:—

  O Tree of Life! O bleeding Rood!

    Thy shadow stretches far its hand.

  That God who made the sun and moon

    In swaddling bands lies dumb and bound!—

  Love's Captive! darker prison soon

    Awaits Thee in the garden ground.

  He wakens. Paradise looks forth

    Beyond the portals of the grave.

  Life, life thou gavest! life to Earth,

    Not Him. Thine Infant dies to save.

{9}

Virgo Virginum.

VI.

  When from their lurking place the Voice

    Of God dragged forth that fallen pair,

  Still seemed the garden to rejoice;

   The sinless Eden still was fair.

  They, they alone, whose light of grace

    But late made Paradise look dim,

  Stood now, a blot upon its face,

    Before their God; nor gazed on Him.

  They glanced not up; or they had seen

    In that severe, death-dooming eye

  Unutterable depths serene

    Of sadly-piercing sympathy.

  Not them alone that Eye beheld,

    But, by their side, that other Twain,

  In whom the race whose doom was knelled

    Once more should rise; once more should reign.

{10}

  It saw that Infant crowned with blood;—

    And her from whose predestined breast

  That Infant ruled the worlds. She stood,

    Her foot upon the serpent's crest!

  Voice of primeval prophecy!

    She who makes glad whatever heart

  Adores her Son and Saviour, she

    In thee, that hour, possessed a part!

{11}

VII.

  Ascending from the convent-grates,

    The children mount the woodland vale.

'Tis May-Day Eve; and Hesper waits

    To light them, while the western gale

  Blows softly on their bannered line:

    And, lo! down all the mountain stairs

  The shepherd children come to join

    The convent children at their prayers.

  They meet before Our Lady's fane:

    On yonder central rock it stands,

  Uplifting, ne'er invoked in vain,

    That cross which blesses all the lands.

  Before the porch the flowers are flung;

    The lamp hangs glittering 'neath the Rood;

  The "Maris Stella" hymn is sung;

    Their chant each morn to be renewed.

  Ah! if a secular muse might dare,

    Far off, the children's song to catch;

  To echo back, or burthen bear!—

    As fitly might she hope to match

  The linnet's note as theirs, 'tis true:

    Yet, now and then, that borrowed tone,

  Like sunbeams flashed on pine or yew,

    Might shoot a sweetness through her own!

{12}

Adolescentulae amaverunt te nimis.

VIII.

  "Behold! the wintry rains are past;

    The airs of midnight hurt no more:

  The young maids love thee. Come at last:

    Thou lingerest at the garden-door.

  "Blow over all the garden; blow,

    Thou wind that breathest of the south,

  Through all the alleys winding low,

    With dewy wing and honeyed mouth.

  "But wheresoever thou wanderest, shape

    Thy music ever to one Name:—

  Thou too, clear stream, to cave and cape

    Be sure thou whisper of the same.

  "By every isle and bower of musk

    Thy crystal clasps, as on it curls,

  We charge thee, breathe it to the dusk;

    We charge thee, grave it in thy pearls."

  The stream obeyed. That Name he bore

    Far out above the moon-lit tide.

  The breeze obeyed. He breathed it o'er

    The unforgetting pines; and died.

{13}

Mater Christi.

IX.

  Daily beneath His mother's eyes

    Her Lamb matured His lowliness:

  Twas hers the lovely Sacrifice

    With fillet and with flower to dress.

  Beside His little cross He knelt;

    With human-heavenly lips He prayed:

  His Will within her will she felt;

    And yet His Will her will obeyed.

  Gethsemané! when day is done

    Thy flowers with falling dews are wet:

  Her tears fell never; for the sun

    Those tears that brightened never set.

  The house was silent as that shrine

    The priest but entered once a year.

  There shone His emblem. Light Divine!

    Thy presence and Thy power was here!

{14}

Mater Christi.

X.

  He willed to lack; He willed to bear;

    He willed by suffering to be schooled;

  He willed the chains of flesh to wear:

    Yet from her arms the worlds He ruled.

  As tapers 'mid the noontide glow

    With merged yet separate radiance burn,

  With human taste and touch, even so,

    The things He knew He willed to learn.

  He sat beside the lowly door:

    His homeless eyes appeared to trace

  In evening skies remembered lore,

    And shadows of His Father's face.

  One only knew Him. She alone

    Who nightly to His cradle crept,

  And lying like the moonbeam prone,

    Worshipped her Maker as He slept.

{15}

Mater Creatoris.

XI.

  Bud forth a Saviour, Earth! fulfil

    Thy first of functions, ever new!

  Balm-dropping heaven, for aye distil

    Thy grace like manna or like dew!

  "To us, this day, a Child is born.'"

    Heaven knows not mere historic facts:—

  Celestial mysteries, night and morn,

    Live on in ever-present Acts.

  Calvary's dread Victim in the skies

    On God's great altar rests even now:

  The Pentecostal glory lies

    For ever round the Church's brow.

  From Son and Father, He, the Lord

    Of Love and Life, proceeds alway:

  Upon the first creative word

    Creation, trembling, hangs for aye.

  Nor less ineffably renewed

    Than when on earth the tie began,

  Is that mysterious Motherhood

    Which re-creates the worlds and man.

{16}

Mater Salvatoris.

XII.

  O Heart with His in just accord!

    O Soul His echo, tone for tone!

  O Spirit that heard, and kept His word!

    O Countenance moulded like His own!

  Behold, she seemed on Earth to dwell;

    But, hid in light, alone she sat

  Beneath the Throne ineffable,

    Chanting her clear Magnificat.

  Fed from the boundless heart of God,

    The joy within her rose more high

  And all her being overflowed,

    Until the awful hour was nigh.

  Then, then, there crept her spirit o'er

    The shadow of that pain world-wide

  Whereof her Son the substance bore:—

    Him offering, half in Him she died;

  Standing like that strange Moon, whereon

    The mask of Earth lies dim and dead,

  An orb of glory, shadow-strewn,

    Yet girdled with a luminous thread.

{17}

Mater Dolorosa.

XIII.

  She stood: she sank not. Slowly fell

    Adown the Cross the atoning blood.

  In agony ineffable

    She offered still His own to God.

  No pang of His her bosom spared;

    She felt in Him its several power.

  But she in heart His Priesthood shared:

    She offered Sacrifice that hour.

  "Behold thy Son!" Ah, last bequest!

    It breathed His last farewell! The sword

  Predicted pierced that hour her breast.

    She stood: she answered not a word.

  His own in John He gave. She wore

    Thenceforth the Mother-crown of Earth.

  O Eve! thy sentence too she bore;

    Like thee in sorrow she brought forth.

{18}

Mater Dolorosa.

XIV.

  From her He passed: yet still with her

    The endless thought of Him found rest;

  A sad but sacred branch of myrrh

    For ever folded in her breast.

  A Boreal winter void of light—

    So seemed her widowed days forlorn:

  She slept; but in her breast all night

    Her heart lay waking till the morn.

  Sad flowers on Calvary that grew;—

    Sad fruits that ripened from the Cross;—

  These were the only joys she knew:

    Yet all but these she counted loss.

  Love strong as Death! She lived through thee

    That mystic life whose every breath

  From Life's low harpstring amorously

    Draws out the sweetened name of Death.

  Love stronger far than Death or Life!

    Thy martyrdom was o'er at last

  Her eyelids drooped; and without strife

    To Him she loved her spirit passed.

{19}

Mater Admirabilis.

XV.

  O Mother-Maid! to none save thee

    Belongs in full a Parent's name;

  So fruitful thy Virginity,

    Thy Motherhood so pure from blame!

  All other parents, what are they?

    Thy types. In them thou stood'st rehearsed,

  (As they in bird, and bud, and spray).

    Thine Antitype? The Eternal First!

  Prime Parent He: and next Him thou!

    Overshadowed by the Father's Might,

  Thy "Fiat" was thy bridal vow;

    Thine offspring He, the "Light of Light."

  Her Son Thou wert: her Son Thou art,

    O Christ! Her substance fed Thy growth:—

  She shaped Thee in her virgin heart,

    Thy Mother and Thy Father both!

{20}

Mater Amabilis.

XVI.

  Mother of Love! Thy love to Him

    Cherub and seraph can but guess:—

  A mother sees its image dim

    In her own breathless tenderness.

  That infant touch none else could feel

    Vibrates like light through all her sense:

  Far off she hears his cry: her zeal

    With lions fights in his defence.

  Unmarked his youth goes by: his hair

    Still smooths she down, still strokes apart:

  The first white thread that meets her there

    Glides, like a dagger, through her heart.

  Men praise him: on her matron cheek

    There dawns once more a maiden red.

  Of war, of battle-fields they speak:

    She sees once more his father dead.

  In sickness—half in sleep—she hears

    His foot, ere yet that foot is nigh:

  Wakes with a smile; and scarcely fears,

    If he but clasp her hand, to die.

{21}

Mater Filii.

XVII.

  Others, the hours of youth gone by,

    A mother's hearth and home forsake;

  And, with the need, the filial tie

    Relaxes, though it does not break.

  But Thou wert born to be a Son.

    God's Son in heaven, Thy will was this,

  To pass the chain of Sonship on,

    And bind in one whatever is.

  Thou cam'st the Son of Man to be,

    That so Thy brethren too might bear

  Adoptive Sonship, and with Thee

    Thy Sire's eternal kingdom share.

  Transcendently the Son Thou art:

    In this mysterious bond entwine,

  As in a single, two-celled heart,

    Thy natures, human and divine.

{22}

Mater Divinae Gratiae.

XVIII.

  "They have no wine." The tender guest

    Was grieved their feast should lack for aught.

  He seemed to slight her mute request:

    Not less the grace she wished He wrought.

  O great in Love! O full of Grace!

    That winds in thee, a river broad,

  From Christ, with heaven-reflecting face,

    Gladdening the City of thy God:—

  Be this thy gift: that man henceforth

    No more should creep through life content

  (Draining the springs impure of earth)

    With life's material element.

  Let sacraments to sense succeed:

    Let nought be winning, nought be good

  Which fails of Him to speak, and bleed

    Once more with His all-cleansing blood!

{23}

Mater Divinae Gratiae.

XIX.

  The gifts a mother showers each day

    Upon her softly-clamorous brood:

  The gifts they value but for play,—

    The graver gifts of clothes and food,—

  Whence come they but from him who sows

    With harder hand, and reaps, the soil;

  The merit of his labouring brows,

    The guerdon of his manly toil?

  From Him the Grace: through her it stands

    Adjusted, meted, and applied;

  And ever, passing through her hands,

    Enriched it seems, and beautified.

  Love's mirror doubles Love's caress:

    Love's echo to Love's voice is true:—

  Their Sire the children love not less

    Because they clasp a Mother too.

{24}

XX.

  When April's sudden sunset cold

    Through boughs half-clothed with watery sheen

  Bursts on the high, new-cowslipped wold,

    And bathes a world half gold half green,

  Then shakes the illuminated air

    With din of birds; the vales far down

  Grow phosphorescent here and there;

    Forth flash the turrets of the town;

  Along the sky thin vapours scud;

    Bright zephyrs curl the choral main;

  The wild ebullience of the blood

    Rings joy-bells in the heart and brain:

  Yet in that music discords mix;

    The unbalanced lights like meteors play;

  And, tired of splendours that perplex,

    The dazzled spirit sighs for May.

{25}

XXI.

  As children when, with heavy tread,

    Men sad of face, unseen before,

  Have borne away their mother dead—

    So stand the nations thine no more.

  From room to room those children roam,

    Heart-stricken by the unwonted black:

  Their house no longer seems their home:

    They search; yet know not what they lack.

  Years pass: Self-Will and Passion strike

    Their roots more deeply day by day;

  Old servants weep; and "how unlike"

    Is all the tender neighbours say.

  And yet at moments, like a dream,

    A mother's image o'er them flits:

  Like her's their eyes a moment beam;

    The voice grows soft; the brow unknits.

  Such, Mary, are the realms once thine,

    That know no more thy golden reign.

  Hold forth from heaven thy Babe divine!

    O make thine orphans thine again!

{26}

Mariae Cliens.

XXII.

  A little longer on the earth

    That aged creature's eyes repose

  (Though half their light and all their mirth

    Are gone); and then for ever close.

  She thinks that something done long since

    Ill pleases God:—or why should He

  So long delay to take her hence

    Who waits His will so lovingly?

  Whene'er she hears the church-bells toll

    She lifts her head, though not her eyes,

  With wrinkled hands, but youthful soul,

    Counting her lip-worn rosaries.

  And many times the weight of years

    Falls from her in her waking dreams:

  A child her mother's voice she hears:

    To tend her father's steps she seems.

{27}

  Once more she hears the whispering rains

    On flowers and paths her childhood trod;

  And of things present nought remains

    Save the abiding sense of God.

  Mary! make smooth her downward way!

    Not dearer to the young thou art

  Than her. Make glad her latest May;

    And hold her, dying, on thy heart.

{28}

Fest. Visitationis.

XXIII.

  The hilly region crossed with haste,

    Its last dark ridge discerned no more,

  Bright as the bow that spans a waste

    She stood beside her Cousin's door;

  And spake:—that greeting came from God!

    Filled with the Spirit from on high

  Sublime the aged Mother stood,

    And cried aloud in prophecy,—

  "Soon as thy voice had touched mine ears

    The child in childless age conceived

  Leaped up for joy! Throughout all years

    Blessed the woman who believed."

  Type of Electing Love! 'tis thine

    To speak God's greeting from the skies!

  Thy voice we hear: thy Babe divine

    At once, like John, we recognise.

  Within our hearts the second birth

    Exults, though blind as yet and dumb.

  The child of Grace his hands puts forth,

    And prophesies of things to come.

{29}

XXIV.

  Not yet, not yet! the Season sings

    Not of fruition yet, but hope;

  Still holds aloft, like balanced wings,

    Her scales, and lets not either drop.

  The white ash, last year's skeleton,

    Still glares, uncheered by leaf or shoot,

  'Gainst azure heavens, and joy hath none

    In that fresh violet at her foot.

  Yet Nature's virginal suspense

    Is not forgetfulness nor sloth:

  Where'er we wander, soul and sense

    Discern a blindly working growth.

  Her throne once more the daisy takes,

    That white star of our dusky earth;

  And the sky-cloistered lark down-shakes

    Her passion of seraphic mirth.

  Twixt barren hills and clear cold skies

    She weaves, ascending high and higher,

  Songs florid as those traceries

    Which took, of old, their name from fire.

  Sing! thou that need'st no ardent clime

    To sun the sweetness from thy breast;

  And teach us those delights sublime

    Wherein ascetic spirits rest!

{30}

Fest Nativitatis B.V.M.

XXV.

  When thou wert born the murmuring world

    Boiled on, nor dreamed of things to be,

  From joy to sorrow madly whirled;—

    Despair disguised in revelry.

  A princess thou of David's line;

    The mother of the Prince of Peace;

  That hour no royal pomps were thine:

    The earth alone her boon increase.

  Before thee poured. September rolled

    Down all the vine-clad Syrian slopes

  Her breadths of purple and of gold;

    And birds sang loud from olive tops.

  Perhaps old foes, they knew not why,

    Relented. From a fount long sealed

  Tears rose, perhaps, to Pity's eye:

    Love-harvests crowned the barren field.

{31}

  The respirations of the year.

    At least, grew soft. O'er valleys wide

  Pine-roughened crags again shone clear;

    And the great Temple, far descried,

  To watchers, watching long in vain,

    To patriots grey, in bondage nursed,

  Flashed back their hope—"The Second Fane

    In glory shall surpass the First!"

{32}

XXVI.

  The moon, ascending o'er a mass

    Of tangled yew and sable pine,

  What sees she in yon watery glass?

    A tearful countenance divine.

  Far down, the winding hills between,

    A sea of vapour bends for miles,

  Unmoving. Here and there, dim-seen,

    The knolls above it rise like isles.

  The tall rock glimmers, spectre-white;

    The cedar in its sleep is stirred;

  At times the bat divides the night;

    At times the far-off flood is heard.

  Above, that shining blue!—below,

    That shining mist! O, not more pure

  Midwinter's landscape, robed in snow,

    And fringed with frosty garniture.

  The fragrance of the advancing year—

    That, that assures us it is May.

  Ah, tell me! in the heavenlier sphere

    Must all of earth have passed away?

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XXVII.

  A dream came to me while the night

    Thinned off before the breath of morn,

  Which filled my soul with such delight

    As hers who clasps a babe new-born.

  I saw—in countenance like a child—

    (Three years methought were hers, no more)

  That maid and mother undefiled

    The Saviour of the world who bore.

  A nun-like veil was o'er her thrown;

    Her locks by fillet-bands made fast,

  Swiftly she climbed the steps of stone;—

    Into the Temple swiftly passed.

  Not once she paused her breath to take;

    Not once cast back a homeward look:—

  As longs the hart his thirst to slake,

    When noontide rages, in the brook,

  So longed that child to live for God;

    So pined, from earth's enthralments free,

  To bathe her wholly in the flood

    Of God's abysmal purity!

  Anna and Joachim from far

    Their eyes on that white vision raised:

  And when, like caverned foam or star

    Cloud-hid, she vanished, still they gazed.

{34}

Fest. Purificationis.

XXVIII.

  Twelve years had passed, and, still a child,

    In brightness of the unblemished face,

  Once more she scaled those steps, and smiled

    On Him who slept in her embrace.

  As in she passed there fell a calm

    Around: each bosom slowly rose

  Like the long branches of the palm

    When under them the south wind blows.

  The scribe forgot his wordy lore;

    The chanted psalm was heard far off;

  Hushed was the clash of golden ore;

    And hushed the Sadducean scoff.

  Type of the Christian Church! 'twas thine

    To offer, first, to God that hour,

  Thy Son—the Sacrifice Divine,

    The Church's everlasting dower!

  Great Priestess! round that aureoled brow

    Which cloud or shadow ne'er had crossed,

  Began there not that hour to grow

    A milder dawn of Pentecost?

{35}

Fest. Epiphaniae.

XXIX.

  A veil is on the face of Truth:

    She prophesies behind a cloud;

  She ministers, in robes of ruth,

    Nocturnal rites, and disallowed.

  Eleusis hints, but dares not speak;

    The Orphic minstrelsies are dumb;

  Lost are the Sibyl's books, and weak

    Earth's olden faith in Him to come.

  But ah, but ah, that Orient Star!

    On straw-roofed shed and large-eyed kine

  It flashes, guiding from afar

    The Magians to the Child Divine.

  Gold, frankincense, and myrrh they bring—

    Love, Worship, Life severe and hard:

  Well pleased the symbol gifts the King

    Accepts; and Truth is their reward.

  Rejoice, O Sion, for thy night

    Is past: the Lord, thy Light, is born.

  The Gentiles shall behold thy light;

    The kings walk forward in thy morn.

{36}

XXX.

  The sunless day is sweeter yet

    Than when the golden sun-showers danced

  On bower new-glazed or rivulet;

    And Spring her banners first advanced.

  By wind unshaken hang in dream

    The wind-flowers o'er their dark green lair;

  And those thin poppy cups that seem

    Not bodied forms, but woven of air.

  Nor bird is heard; nor insect flits.

    A tear-drop glittering on her cheek,

  Composed but shadowed, Nature sits—

    Yon primrose not more staid and meek.

  The light of pensive hope unquenched

    On those pathetic brows and eyes,

  She sits, by silver dew-showers drenched,

    Through which the chill spring-odours rise.

  Was e'er on human countenance shed

    So sweet a sadness? Once: no more.

  Then when his charge the Patriarch led

    Dream-warned to Egypt's distant shore.

  Down on her Infant Mary gazed;

    Her face the angels marked with awe;

  Yet 'neath its dimness, undisplaced,

    Looked forth that smile the Magians saw.

{37}

Legenda.

XXXI.

  As, flying Herod, southward went

    That Child and Mother, unamazed,

  Into Egyptian banishment,

    The weeders left their work, and gazed.

  The bright One spake to them and said,

    "When Herod's messengers demand,

  "Passed not the Infant, Herod's dread,—

    "Passed not the Infant through your land?

  "Then shall ye answer make, and say,

    "Behold, since first the corn was green

  "No little Infant passed this way;

    "No little Infant we have seen."

  Earth heard; nor missed the Maid's intent—

    As on the Flower of Eden passed

  With Eden swiftness up she sent

    A sun-browned harvest ripening fast.

  By simplest words and sinless wheat

    The messengers rode back beguiled;

  And by that truthfullest deceit

    Which saved the little new-born Child!

{38} {39} {40} {41}

PART II.

Conservabat in Corde.

I.

  As every change of April sky

    Is imaged in a placid brook,

  Her meditative memory

    Mirrored His every deed and look.

  As suns through summer ether rolled

     Mature each growth the spring has wrought,

  So Love's strong day-star turned to gold

    Her harvests of quiescent thought.

  Her soul was as a vase, and shone

    Translucent to an inner ray;

  Her Maker's finger wrote thereon

    A mystic Bible new each day.

  Deep Heart! In all His sevenfold might

    The Paraclete with thee abode;

  And, sacramented there in light,

    Bore witness of the things of God.

{42}

Ascensio Domini.

II.

  Rejoice, O Earth, thy crown is won!

    Rejoice, rejoice, ye heavenly host!

  And thou, the Mother of the Son,

    Rejoice the first; rejoice the most!

  Who captive led captivity—

    From Hades' void circumference

  Who led the Patriarch Band on high,

    There rules, and sends us graces thence.

  Rejoice, glad Earth, o'er winter's grave

    With altars wreathed and clarions blown;

  And thou, the Race Redeemed, outbrave

    The rites of nature with thine own!

  Rejoice, O Mary! thou that long

    Didst lean thy breast upon the sword—

  Sad nightingale, the Spirit's song

    That sang'st all night! He reigns, restored!

  Rejoice! He goes, the Paraclete

    To send! Rejoice! He reigns on high!

  The sword lies broken at thy feet—

    His triumph is thy victory!

{43}

Ascensio Domini.

III.

  I take this reed—I know the hand

    That wields it must ere long be dust—

  And write, upon the fleeting sand

    Each wind can shake, the words, "I trust."

  And if that sand one day was stone

    And stood in courses near the sky,

  For towers by earthquake overthrown,

    Or mouldering piecemeal, what care I?

  Things earthly perish: life to death

    And death to life in turn succeeds.

  The spirit never perisheth:

    The chrysalis its Psyche breeds.

  True life alone is that which soars

    To Him who triumphed o'er the grave:

  With Him, on life's eternal shores,

    I trust one day a part to have.

  Ah, hark! above the springing corn

    That chime; in every breeze it swells!

  Ye bells that wake the Ascension morn,

    Ye give us back our Paschal bells!

{44}

Elias.

IV.

  O thou that rodest up the skies,

    Thy task fulfilled, on steeds of fire,—

  That somewhere, sealed from mortal eyes,

    Some air immortal dost respire!

  Thou that in heavenly beams enshrined,

    In quiet lulled of soul and flesh,

  With one great thought of God thy mind

    Dost everlastingly refresh!

  Where art thou? age succeeds to age;

    Thou dost not hear their fret and jar:

  With thy celestial hermitage

    Successive winters wage not war.

  Still as a corse with field-flowers strewn

    Thou liest; on God thine eyes are bent:

  And the fire-breathing stars alone

    Look in upon thy cloudy tent.

  Behold, there is a debt to pay!

    Like Enoch, hid thou art on high:

  But both shall back return one day,

    To gaze once more on earth, and die.

{45}

V.

  Stronger and steadier every hour

    The pulses of the season's glee,

  As toward her zenith climbs that Power

    Which rules the purple revelry.

  Trees, that from winter's grey eclipse

    Of late but pushed their topmost plume,

  Or felt with green-touched finger-tips

    For spring, their perfect robes assume.

  Like one that reads, not one that spells,

    The unvarying rivulet onward runs:

  And bird to bird, from leafier cells,

    Sends forth more leisurely response.

  Through the gorse covert bounds the deer:—

    The gorse, whose latest splendours won

  Make all the fulgent wolds appear

    Bright as the pastures of the sun.

  A balmier zephyr curls the wave;

    More purple flames o'er ocean dance;

  And the white breaker by the cave

    Falls with more cadenced resonance;

  While, vague no more, the mountains stand

    With quivering line or hazy hue;

  But drawn with finer, firmer hand,

    And settling into deeper blue.

{46}

Speculum Justitiae.

VI.

  Not in Himself the Eternal Word

    Lay hid upon creation's day:

  His Loveliness abroad He poured

    On all the worlds; and pours for aye.

  Not in Himself the Incarnate Son,

    In whom Man's race is born again,

  His glory hides. The victory won,

    He rose to send His "Gifts on Men."

  In sacraments—His dread behests;

    In Providence; in granted prayer;

  Before the time He manifests

    His glory, far as man may bear.

  He shines not from a vault of gloom;

    The horizon vast His splendour paints:

  Both heaven and earth His beams illume;

    His light is glorious in His saints.

{47}

  He shines upon His Church—that Moon

    Who, in the watches of the night,

  Transmits to man the entrusted boon;

    A sister orb of sacred light.

  And thou, pure mirror of His grace!—

    As sun reflected in a sea—

  So, Mary, feeblest eyes the face

    Of Him thou lovest discern in thee.

{48}

Munera.

VII.

  Not for herself does Mary hold

    Among the saints that queenly throne,

  Her seat predestined from of old;

    But for the brethren of her Son.

  Pure thoughts that make to God their quest,

    With her find footing o'er the clouds;

  Like those sea-crossing birds that rest

    A moment on the sighing shrouds.

  In her our hearts, no longer nursed

    On dust, for spiritual beauty yearn;

  From her our instincts, as at first,

    An upward gravitation learn.

  Her distance makes her not remote:

    For in true love's supernal sphere

  No more round self the affections float—

    More near to God, to man more near.

  In her, the weary warfare past,

    The port attained, the exile o'er,

  We see the Church's barque at last

    Close-anchored on the eternal shore!

{49}

Predestinata.

VIII.

  Eternal Beauty, ere the spheres

    Had rolled from out the gulfs of night,

  Sparkled, through all the unnumbered years,

    Before the Eternal Father's sight.

  Like objects seen by Man in dream,

    Or landscape glassed on morning mist,

  Before His eyes it hung—a gleam

    Flashed from the eternal Thought of Christ.

  It stood the Archetype sublime

    Of that fair world of finite things

  Which, in the bands of Space and Time,

    Creation's glittering verge enrings.

  Star-like within the depths serene

    Of that still vision, Mary, thou

  With Him, thy Son, of God wert seen

    Millenniums ere the lucid brow

{50}

  Of Eye o'er Eden founts had bent,—

    Millenniums ere that second Fair

  With dust the hopes of man had blent,

    And stained the brightness once so fair.

  Elect of Creatures! Man in thee

    Beholds that primal Beauty yet,—

  Sees all that Man was formed to be,—

    Sees all that Man can ne'er forget!

{51}

IX.

  Three worlds there are:—the first of Sense—

    That sensuous earth which round us lies;

  The next of Faith's Intelligence;

    The third of Glory, in the skies.

  The first is palpable, but base;

    The second heavenly, but obscure;

  The third is star-like in the face—

    But ah! remote that world as pure!

  Yet, glancing through our misty clime,

    Some sparkles from that loftier sphere

  Make way to earth;—then most what time

    The annual spring-flowers re-appear.

  Amid the coarser needs of earth

    All shapes of brightness, what are they

  But wanderers, exiled from their birth,

    Or pledges of a happier day?

  Yea, what is Beauty, judged aright,

    But some surpassing, transient gleam;

  Some smile from heaven, in waves of light,

    Rippling o'er life's distempered dream?

  Or broken memories of that bliss

    Which rushed through first-born Nature's blood

  When He who ever was, and is,

    Looked down, and saw that all was good?

{52}

X.

  Alas! not only loveliest eyes,

    And brows with lordliest lustre bright,

  But Nature's self—her woods and skies—

    The credulous heart can cheat or blight.

  And why? Because the sin of man

    Twixt Fair and Good has made divorce;

  And stained, since Evil first began,

    That stream so heavenly at its source.

  O perishable vales and groves!

    Your master was not made for you;

  Ye are but creatures: human loves

    Are to the great Creator due.

  And yet, through Nature's symbols dim,

    There are with keener sight that pierce

  The outward husk, and reach to Him

    Whose garment is the universe.

  For this to earth the Saviour came

    In flesh; in part for this He died;

  That man might have, in soul and frame,

    No faculty unsanctified.

  That Fancy's self—so prompt to lead

    Through paths disastrous or defiled—

  Upon the Tree of Life might feed;

    And Sense with Soul be reconciled.

{53}

Idolatria.

XI.

  The fancy of an age gone by,

    When Fancy's self to earth declined,

  Still thirsting for Divinity,

    Yet still, through sense, to Godhead blind,

  Poor mimic of that Truth of old,

    The patriarchs' hope—a faith revealed—

  Compressed its God in mortal mould,

    The prisoner of Creation's field.

  Nature and Nature's Lord were one!

    Then countless gods from cloud and stream

  Glanced forth; from sea, and moon, and sun:

    So ran the pantheistic dream.

  And thus the All-Holy, thus the All-True,

    The One Supreme, the Good, the Just,

  Like mist was scattered, lost like dew,

    And vanished in the wayside dust.

{54}

  Mary! through thee the idols fell:

    When He the nations longed for  [Footnote 1] came—

  True God yet Man—with man to dwell,

    The phantoms hid their heads for shame.

  [Footnote 1: "The Desire of the Nations."]

  His place or thine removed, ere long

    The bards would push the sects aside;

  And lifted by the might of song

    Olympus stand re-edified.

{55}

Tota Pulchra.

XII.

  A broken gleam on wave and flower—

    A music that in utterance dies—

  O Poets, and O Men! what more

    Is all that Beauty which ye prize?

  And ah! how oft Corruption works

    Through that brief Beauty's force or wile!

  How oft a gloom eternal lurks

    Beneath an evanescent smile!

  But thou, serene and smiling light

    Of every grace redeemed from Sense,

  In thee all harmonies unite

    That charm a pure Intelligence.

  Whatever teaches mind or heart

    To God by loveliest types to mount,

  Mary, is thine. Of each true Art

    The parent art thou, and the fount.

{56}

  Those pictures, fair as moon or star,

    The ages dear to Faith brought forth,

  Formed but the illumined calendar

    Of her, that Church which knows thy worth.

  Not less doth Nature teach through thee

    That mystery hid in hues and lines:

  Who loves thee not hath lost the key

    To all her sanctuaries and shrines.

{57}

Stella Matutina.

XIII.

  Shine out, O Star, and sing the praise

    Of that unrisen Sun whose glow

  Thus feeds thee with thine earlier rays—

    The secret of thy song we know.

  Thou sing'st that Sun of Righteousness,

    Sole light of this benighted globe,

  Whose beams, reflected, dressed and dress

    His Mother in her shining robe.

  Pale Lily, pearled around with dew,

    Lift high that heaven-illumined vase,

  And sing the glories ever new

    Of her, God's chalice, "full of grace."

  Cerulean Ocean, fringed with white,

    That wear'st her colours evermore,

  In all thy pureness, all thy might,

    Resound her name from shore to shore.

  That fringe of foam, when drops the sun

    To-night, a sanguine stain shall wear:—

  Thus Mary's heart had strength, alone,

    The passion of her Lord to share.

{58}

Janua Coeli.

XIV.

  The night through yonder cloudy cleft,

    With many a lingering last regard,

  Withdraws—but slowly—and hath left

    Her mantle on the dewy sward.

  The lawns with silver dews are strewn;

    The winds lie hushed in cave and tree;

  Nor stirs a flower, save one alone

    That bends beneath the earliest bee.

  Peace over all the garden broods;

    Pathetic sweets the thickets throng;

  Like breath the vapour o'er the woods

    Ascends—dim woods without a song:

  Or hangs, a shining, fleece-like mass

    O'er half yon lake that winds afar

  Among the forests, still as glass,

    The mirror of that Morning Star

{59}

  Which, halfway wandering from the sky,

    Amid the rose of morn delays

  And (large and less alternately)

    Bends down a lustrous, tearful gaze.

  Mother and home of spirits blest!

    Bright gate of Heaven and golden bower!

  Thy best of blessings, love and rest,

    Depart not till on earth thou shower!

{60}

XV.

  If sense of Man's unworthiness

    With Nature's blameless looks at strife,

  Should wake with wakening May, and press

    New-born contentment out of life:

  If thoughts of sable breed and blind

    Should stamp upon the springing flower,

  Or blacker memories haunt the mind

    As ravens haunt the ruined tower:—

  O then how sweet in heart to breathe

    Those pure Judean gales once more;

  From Bethlehem's crib to Nazareth

    In heart to tread that Syrian shore!

  To watch that star-like Infant bring

    To one of soul as clear and white

  May-lilies, fresh from Siloa's spring,

    Or Passion-flower with May-dews bright!

  To follow, earlier yet, the feet

    Of her the "hilly land" who trod

  With true love's haste, intent to greet

    That aged saint beloved of God.

  Before her, like a stream let loose,

    The long vale's flowerage, winding, ran:

  Nature resumed her Eden use;

    And Earth was reconciled with Man.

{61}

Causa Nostra Laetitiae.

XVI.

  Whate'er is floral on the earth

    To thee, O Flower, of right belongs;

  Whate'er is musical in mirth,

    Whate'er is jubilant in songs.

  Childhood and springtide never cease

    For him thy freshness keeps from stain:

  Dew-drenched for him, like Gideon's fleece,

    The dusty paths of life remain.

  Spirit of Brightness and of Bliss!

    Thou threaten'st none! A sinless lure,

  Thy fragrance and thy gladsomeness

    Draw on to Christ; to Christ secure.

  Hope, Hope is Strength! That joy of thine

    To us is Glory's earliest ray!

  Through Faith's dim air, O star benign,

    Look down, and light our onward way!

{62}

Stella Maris.

XVII.

  I left at morn that blissful shore

    O'er which the fruit-bloom fluttered free;

  And sailed the wildering waters o'er,

    Till sunset streaked with blood the sea.

  My sleep the hoarse sea-thunders broke,

    And sudden chill. Their feet foam-hid,

  Huge cliffs leaned out, through vapour-smoke,

    Like tower, and tomb, and pyramid.

  In the black shadow, ghostly white

    The breaker raced o'er foaming shoals:

  From caverns of eternal night

    Came wailings, as of suffering souls.

  Sudden, through clearing mists, the star

    Of ocean o'er the billow rose:

  Down dropped the elemental war;

    Tormented chaos found repose.

{63}

  Star of the ocean! dear art thou,

    Ah! not to earth and heaven alone:

  The suffering Church, when shines thy brow

    Upon her penance, stays her moan.

  The Holy Souls draw in their breath;

    The sea of anguish rests in peace;

  And, from beyond the gates of death,

    Up swell the anthems of release.

{64}

XVIII.

  Blossom for ever, blossoming Rod!

    Thou did'st not blossom once to die:

  That Life which, issuing forth from God,

    Thy life enkindled, runs not dry.

  Without a root in sin-stained earth,

    'Twas thine to bud Salvation's flower.

  No single soul the Church brings forth

    But blooms from thee and is thy dower.

  Rejoice, O Eve! thy promise waned;

    Transgression nipt thy flower with frost

  But, lo! a mother man hath gained

    Holier than she in Eden lost.

{65}

Unica.

XIX.

  While all the breathless woods aloof

    Lie hush'd in noontide's deep repose,

  That dove, sun-warmed on yonder roof,

    With what a grave content she coos!

  One note for her! Deep streams run smooth

    The ecstatic song of transience tells.

  O what a depth of loving truth

    In thy divine contentment dwells!

  All day, with down-dropt lids, I sat,

    In trance; the present scene forgone.

  When Hesper rose, on Ararat,

    Methought, not English hills, he shone.

  Back to the ark, the waters o'er,

    The primal dove pursued her flight:

  A branch of that blest tree she bore

    Which feeds the Church with holy light.

  I heard her rustling through the air

    With sliding plume—no sound beside,

  Save the sea-sobbings everywhere,

    And sighs of that subsiding tide.

{66}

Magnificat.

XX.

  She took the timbrel, as the tide

    Rushed, refluent, up the Red Sea shore:

  "The Lord hath triumphed," she cried:

    Her song rang out above the roar

  Of lustral waves that, wall to wall,

    Fell back upon the host abhorred:

  Above the gloomy watery pall,

    As eagles soar, her anthem soared.

  Miriam, rejoice! a mightier far

    Than thou, one day shall sing with thee!

  Who rises, brightening like a star

    Above yon bright baptismal sea?

  That harp which David touched who rears

    Heaven-high above those waters wide?

  The Prophet-Queen! Throughout all years

    She sings the Triumph of the Bride!

{67}

Mystica.

XXI.

  As pebbles flung for sport, that leap

    Along the superficial tide,

  But enter not those chambers deep

    Wherein the beds of pearl abide;

  Such those light minds that, grazing, spurn

    The surface text of Sacred Lore,

  Yet ne'er its deeper sense discern,

    Its hails of mystery ne'er explore.

  Ah! not for such the unvalued gems;

    The priceless pearls of Truth they miss:

  Not theirs the starry diadems

    That light God's temple in the abyss!

  Ah! not for such to gaze on her

    That moves through all that empire pale;

  At every shrine doth minister,

    Yet never drops her vestal veil.

  "The letter kills." Make pure thy Will;

    So shalt thou pierce the Text's disguise:

  Till then, revere the veil that still

    Hides truth from truth-affronting eyes.

{68}

Expectatio.

XXII.

  A sweet exhaustion seems to hold

    In spells of calm the shrouded eve:

  The gorse itself a beamless gold

    Puts forth:—yet nothing seems to grieve.

  The dewy chaplets hang on air;

    The willowy fields are silver-grey;

  Sad odours wander here and there;—

    And yet we feel that it is May.

  Relaxed, and with a broken flow,

    From dripping bowers low carols swell

  In mellower, glassier tones, as though

    They mounted through a bubbling well.

  The crimson orchis scarce sustains

    Upon its drenched and drooping spire

  The burden of the warm soft rains;

    The purple hills grow nigh and nigher.

{69}

  Nature, suspending lovely toils,

    On expectations lovelier broods,

  Listening, with lifted hand, while coils

    The flooded rivulet through the woods.

  She sees, drawn out in vision clear,

    A world with summer radiance drest,

  And all the glories of that year

    Which sleeps within her virgin breast.

{70}

XXIII.

  Still on the gracious work proceeds;—

    The good, great tidings preached anew

  Yearly to green enfranchised meads,

    And fire-topped woodlands flushed with dew.

  Yon cavern's mouth we scarce can see;

    Yon rock in gathering bloom lies meshed;

  And all the wood-anatomy

    In thickening leaves is over-fleshed.

  That hermit oak which frowned so long

    Upon the spring with barren spleen,

  Yields to the holy Siren's song,

    And bends above her goblet green.

  Young maples, late with gold embossed,—

    Lucidities of sun-pierced limes,

  No more surprise us—merged and lost

    Like prelude notes in deepening chimes.

  Disordered beauties and detached

    Demand no more a separate place:

  The abrupt, the startling, the unmatched,

    Submit to graduated grace;

  While upward from the ocean's marge

    The year ascends with statelier tread

  To where the sun his golden targe

    Finds, setting, on yon mountain's head.

{71}

Turris Eburnea.

XXIV.

  This scheme of worlds, which vast we call,

    Is only vast compared with man:

  Compared with God, the One yet All,

    Its greatness dwindles to a span.

  A Lily with its isles of buds

    Asleep on some unmeasured sea:—

  O God, the starry multitudes,

    What are they more than this to Thee?

  Yet girt by Nature's petty pale

    Each tenant holds the place assigned

  To each in Being's awful scale:—

    The last of creatures leaves behind

  The abyss of nothingness: the first

    Into the abyss of Godhead peers;

  Waiting that vision which shall burst

    In glory on the eternal years.

{72}

  Tower of our Hope! through thee we climb

    Finite creation's topmost stair;

  Through thee from Sion's height sublime

    Towards God we gaze through purer air.

  Infinite distance still divides

    Created from Creative Power;

  But all which intercepts and hides

    Lies dwarfed by that surpassing Tower!

{73}

XXV.

  Who doubts that thou art finite? Who

    Is ignorant that from Godhead's height

  To what is loftiest here below

    The interval is infinite?

  O Mary! with that smile thrice-blest

    Upon their petulance look down;—

  Their dull negation, cold protest—

    Thy smile will melt away their frown!

  Show them thy Son! That hour their heart

    Will beat and burn with love like thine;

  Grow large; and learn from thee that art

    Which communes best with things divine.

  The man who grasps not what is best

    In creaturely existence, he

  Is narrowest in the brain; and least

    Can grasp the thought of Deity.

{74}

XXVI.

  They seek not; or amiss they seek;—

    The cold slight heart and captious brain:—

  To Love alone those instincts speak

    Whose challenge never yet was vain.

  True Gate of Heaven! As light through glass,

    So He who never left the sky

  To this low earth was pleased to pass

    Through thine unstained Virginity.

  Summed up in thee our hearts behold

    The glory of created things:—

  From His, thy Son's, corporeal mould

    Looks forth the eternal King of Kings!

{75}

XXVII.

  A sudden sun-burst in the woods,

    But late sad Winter's palace dim!

  O'er quickening boughs and bursting buds

    Pacific glories shoot and swim.

  As when some heart, grief-darkened long,

    Conclusive joy by force invades—

  So swift the new-born splendours throng;

    Such lustre swallows up the shades.

  The sun we see not; but his fires

    From stem to stem obliquely smite,

  Till all the forest aisle respires

    The golden-tongued and myriad light.

  The caverns blacken as their brows

    With floral fire are fringed; but all

  Yon sombre vault of meeting boughs

    Turns to a golden fleece its pall,

  As o'er it breeze-like music rolls.

    O Spring, thy limit-line is crossed!

  O Earth, some orb of singing Souls

    Brings down to thee thy Pentecost!

{76}

Dominica Pentecostes.

XXVIII.

  Clear as those silver trumps of old

    That woke Judea's jubilee;

  Strong as the breeze of morning, rolled

    O'er answering woodlands from the sea,

  That matutinal anthem vast

    Which winds, like sunrise, round the globe,

  Following the sunrise, far and fast,

    And trampling on his fiery robe.

  Once more the Pentecostal torch

    Lights on the courses of the year:

  The "upper chamber" of the Church

    Is thrilled once more with joy and fear.

  Who lifts her brow from out the dust?

    Who fixes on a world restored

  A gaze like Eve's, but more august?

    Who bends it heaven-ward on her Lord?

{77}

  It is the Birthday of the Bride.

    The new begins; the ancient ends:

  From all the gates of Heaven flung wide

    The promised Paraclete descends.

  He who o'er-shadowed Mary once

    O'ershades Humanity to-day;

  And bids her fruitful prove in sons

    Co-heritors with Christ for aye.

{78}

Dominica Pentecostes.

XXIX.

  The Form decreed of tree and flower,

    The shape susceptible of life,

  Without the infused vivific Power,

    Were but a slumber or a strife.

  He whom the plastic hand of God

    Himself created out of earth

  Remained a statue and a clod

    Till spirit infused to life gave birth.

  So, till that hour, the Church. In Christ

    Her awful structure, nerve and bone,

  Though built, and shaped, and organised,

    Existed but in skeleton;

  Till down on that predestined frame,

    Complete through all its sacred mould,

  The Pentecostal Spirit came,—

    The self-same Spirit who of old

  Creative o'er the waters moved.

    Thenceforth the Church, made One and Whole,

  Arose in Him, and lived, and loved—

    His Temple she; and He her Soul.

{79}

Turris Davidica.

XXX.

  The towered City loves thee well,

    Strong Tower of David's House! In thee

  She hails the unvanquished citadel

    That frowns o'er Error's subject sea.

  With magic might that Tower repels

    A host that breaks where foe is none,—

  No foe but statued Saints in cells

    High-ranged, and smiling in the sun.

  There stands Augustin; Leo there;

    And Bernard, with a maiden face

  Like John's; and, strong at once and fair,

    That Spirit-Pythian, Athanase.

  Upon thy star-surrounded height

    God's angel keepeth watch and ward;

  And sunrise flashes thence ere night

    Hath left dark street and dewy sward.

{80}

"Tu sola interemisti omnes Haereses."

XXXI.

  What tenderest hand uprears on high

    The standard of Incarnate God?

  Successive portents that deny

    Her Son, who tramples? She who trod

  On Satan erst with starlike scorn!

    Ah! never Alp looked down through mist

  As she, that whiter star of morn,

    Through every cloud that darkens Christ!

  Roll back the centuries:—who were those

    That, age by age, their Lord denied?

  Their seats they set with Mary's foes:—

    They mocked the Mother as the Bride.

  Of such was Arius; and of such

    He whom the Ephesian Sentence felled,   [Footnote 2]

  Her Title triumphed. At the touch   [Footnote 3]

    Of Truth the insurgent rout was quelled.

  [Footnote 2: Nestorius.]

  [Footnote 3: Dei-para.]

  Back, back the hosts of Hell were driven

    As forth that sevenfold thunder rolled:—

  And in the Church's mystic Heaven

    There was great silence as of old.

{81}

MAY CAROLS.

PART III.

{82} {83}

PART III.

I.

  In vain thine altars do they heap

    With blooms of violated May

  Who fail the words of Christ to keep;

    Thy Son who love not, nor obey.

  Their songs are as a serpent's hiss;

    Their praise a poniard's poisoned edge;

  Their offering taints, like Judas' kiss,

    Thy shrine; their vows are sacrilege.

  Sadly from such thy countenance turns:

    Thou canst not stretch thy Babe to such

  (Albeit for all thy pity yearns)

    As greet Him with a leper's touch.

  Who loveth thee must love thy Son.

    Weak Love grows strong thy smile beneath:

  But nothing comes from nothing; none

    Can reap Love's harvest out of Death.

{84}

Babylon.

II.

  The watchman watched along the walls:

    And lo! an hour or more ere light

  Loud rang his trumpet. From their halls

    The revellers rushed into the night.

  There hung a terror on the air;

    There moved a terror under ground;—

  The hostile hosts, heard everywhere,

    Within, without—were nowhere found.

  "The Christians to the lions! Ho!"—

    Alas! self-tortured crowds, let be!

  Let go your wrath; your fears let go:

    Ye gnaw the net, but cannot flee.

  Ye drank from out Orestes' cup;

    Orestes' Furies drave ye wild.

  Who conquers from on high? Look up!

    A Woman, holding forth a Child!

{85}

III.

  The golden rains are dashed against

    Those verdant walls of lime and beech

  With which our happy vale is fenced

    Against the north; yet cannot reach

  The stems that lift yon leafy crest

    High up above their dripping screen:

  The chestnut fans are downward pressed

    On banks of bluebell hid in green.

  White vapours float along the glen,

    Or rise from every sunny brake;—

  A pause amid the gusts—again

    The warm shower sings across the lake.

  Sing on, all-cordial showers, and bathe

    The deepest root of loftiest pine!

  The cowslip dimmed, the "primrose rathe"

    Refresh; and drench in nectarous wine

  Yon fruit-tree copse, all blossomed o'er

    With forest-foam and crimson snow—

  Behold! above it bursts once more

    The world-embracing, heavenly bow!

{86}

Sedes Sapientiae.

IV.

  O that the wordy war might cease!

    Self-sentenced Babel's strife of tongues!

  Loud rings the arena. Athletes, peace!

    Nor drown the wild-dove's Song of Songs.

  Alas, the wanderers feel their loss:

    With tears they seek—ah, seldom found—

  That peace whose volume is the Cross;

    That peace which leaves not holy ground.

  Mary, who loves true peace loves thee!

    A happy child, not taught of Scribes,

  He stands beside the Church's knee;

    From her the lore of Christ imbibes.

  Hourly he drinks it from her face:

    For there his eyes, he knows not how,

  The face of Him she loves can trace,

    And, crowned with thorns, the sovereign brow.

  "Behold! all colours blend in white!

    Behold! all Truths have root in Love!"

  So sings, half lost in light of light,

    Her Song of Songs the mystic Dove.

{87}

Sedes Sapientiae.

V.

  "Wisdom hath built herself a House,

    And hewn her out her pillars seven."   [Footnote 4]

  Her wine is mixed. Her guests are those

    Who share the harvest-home of heaven.

  [Footnote 4: Proverbs ix. 1.]

  Who guards the gates? The flaming sword

    Of Penance. Every way it turns:

  But healing from on high is poured

    On each that fire seraphic burns.

  The fruits upon her table piled

    Are gathered from the Tree of Life.

  Around are ranged the undefiled,

    And those that conquered in the strife.

  Who tends the guests? Who smiles away

    Sad memories? bids misgiving cease?

  A crowned one countenanced like the day—

    The Mother of the Prince of Peace.

{88}

VI.

  Here, in this paradise of light,

    Superfluous were both tree and grass:

  Enough to watch the sunbeams smite

    Yon white flower sole in the morass.

  From his cold nest the skylark springs;

    Sings, pauses, sings; shoots up anew;

  Attains his topmost height, and sings

    Quiescent in his vault of blue.

  With eyes half-closed I watch that lake

    Flashed from whose plane the sun-sparks fly,

  Like souls new-born that shoot and break

    From thy deep sea, Eternity!

  Ripplings of sunlight from the wave

    Ascend the white rock, high and higher;

  Soft gurglings fill the satiate cave;

    Soft airs amid the reeds expire.

  All round the lone and luminous meer

    The dark world stretches, far and free:

  That skylark's song alone I hear;

    That flashing wave alone I see.

  O myriad Earth! Where'er thy Word

     Makes way indeed into the soul,

  An answering echo there is stirred:—

    Of thee the part is as the whole.

{89}

Fest. B.V.M. de Monte Carmelo.

VII.

  Carmel, with Alp and Apennine,

    Low whispers in the wind that blows

  Beneath the Eastern stars, ere shine

    The lights of morning on their snows.

  Of thee, Elias, Carmel speaks,

    And that white cloud, so small at first,

  Thou saw'st approach the mountain peaks

    To quench a dying nation's thirst.

  On Carmel, like a sheathed sword,

    Thy monks abode till Jesus came;

  On Carmel then they served their Lord;—

    Then Carmel rang with Mary's name.

  Blow over all the garden; blow

    O'er all the garden of the West,

  Balm-breathing Orient! Whisper low

    The secret of thy spicy nest.

{90}

  "Who from the Desert upward moves

    Like cloud of incense onward borne?

  Who, moving, rests on Him she loves?

    Who mounts from regions of the Morn?

  "Behold! The apple-tree beneath—

    There where of old thy Mother fell—

  I raised thee up. More strong than Death

    Is Love;—more strong than Death or Hell."  [Footnote 5]

  [Footnote 5: Cant. viii. 5.]

{91}

VIII.

  Come from the midnight mountain tops,

    The mountains where the panthers play:

  Descend; the veil of darkness drops;

    Come fair and fairer than the day!

  Our hearts are wounded with thine eyes:

    They character in words of light

  Thereon the mystery of the skies:

    The "Name o'er every name" they write.

  Come from thy Lebanonian peaks

    Whose sacerdotal cedars nod

  Above the world, when morning breaks—

    The Mountain of the House of God.

  The land thou lov'st—well is she!

    The ploughers on her back may plough;

  But in her vales upgrows the Tree

    Of Life, and binds the bleeding brow.

{92}

Advocata Nostra.

IX.

  I saw, in visions of the night,

    Creation like a sea outspread,

  With surf of stars and storm of light

    And movements manifold and dread.

  Then lo, within a Human Hand

    A Sceptre moved that storm above:

  Thereon, as on the golden wand

    Of kings new-crowned, there sat a Dove.

  Beneath her gracious weight inclined

    That Sceptre drooped. The waves had rest

  And Sceptre, Hand, and Dove were shrined

    Within a glassy ocean's breast.

  His Will it was that placed her there!

    He at whose word the tempests cease

  Upon that Sceptre planted fair

    That peace-bestowing type of Peace!

{93}

Thronus Trinitatis.

X.

  Each several Saint the Church reveres,

    What is he but an altar whence

  Some separate Virtue ministers

    To God a separate frankincense?

  Each beyond each, not made of hands,

    They rise, a ladder angel-trod:

  Star-bright the last and loftiest stands—

    That altar is the Throne of God.

  Lost in the uncreated light

    A Form all Human rests thereon:

  His shade from that surpassing height

    Beyond creation's verge is thrown.

  Him "Lord of lords, and King of kings,"

    The chorus of all worlds proclaim:—

  "He took from her," one angel sings

    At intervals, "His Human frame."

{94}

Cultus Sanctorum.

XI.

  He seemed to linger with them yet:

    But late ascended to the skies,

  They saw—ah, how could they forget?—

    The form they loved, the hands, the eyes.

  From anchored boat—in lane or field—

    He taught; He blessed, and brake the bread;

  The hungry filled; the afflicted healed;

    And wept, ere yet he raised, the dead.

  But when, like some supreme of hills,

    Whose feet shut out its summit's snow,

  That, hid no longer, heavenward swells

    As further from its base we go,

  Abroad His perfect Godhead shone,

    Each hour more plainly kenned on high,

  And clothed His Manhood with the sun,

    And, cleansing, hurt the adoring eye;

{95}

  Then fixed His Church a deepening gaze

    Upon His Saints. With Him they sate,

  And, burning in that Godhead's blaze,

    They seemed that Manhood to dilate.

  His were they: of His likeness each

    Had grace some fragment to present,

  And nearer brought to mortal reach

    Of Him some line or lineament.

{96}

Fest. S. S. Trinitatis.

XII.

  Fall back, all worlds, into the abyss,

    That man may contemplate once more

  That which He ever was Who is:—

    The Eternal Essence we adore.

  Angelic hierarchies! recede

    Beyond extinct creation's shade!

  What were ye at the first? Decreed:—

    Decreed, not fashioned; thought, not made!

  Like wind the untold Millenniums passed.

    Sole-throned He sat; yet not alone:

  Godhead in Godhead still was glassed;—

    The Spirit was breathed from Sire and Son.

  Prime Virgin, separate and sealed;

    Nor less of social love the root;

  Dimly in lowliest shapes revealed;

    Entire in every Attribute;—

{97}

  Thou liv'st in all things, and around;

    To Thee external is there nought;

  Thou of the boundless art the bound;

    And still Creation is Thy Thought.

  In vain, O God, our wings we spread;

    So distant art Thou—yet so nigh.

  Remains but this, when all is said,

    For Thee to live; in Thee to die.

{98}

XIII.

  Where is the crocus now, that first,

    When earth was dark and heaven was grey,

  A prothalamion flash, up-burst?

    Ah, then we deemed not of the May!

  The clear stream stagnates in its course;

    Narcissus droops in pallid gloom;

  Far off the hills of golden gorse

    A dusk Saturnian face assume.

  The seeded dandelion dim

    Casts loose its air-globe on the breeze;

  Along the grass the swallows skim;

    The cattle couch among the trees.

  Yet ever lordlier loveliness

    Succeeds to that which slips our hold:

  The thorn assumes her snowy dress;

    Laburnum bowers their robes of gold.

  Down waves successive of the year

    We drop; but drop once more to rise,

  With ampler view, as on we steer,

    Of lovelier lights and loftier skies.

{99}

"Ad Nives."

XIV.

  Before the morn began to break

    The bright One bent above that pair

  Whose childless vows aspired to take

    The mother of their Lord for heir.

  'Twas August: even in midnight shade

    The roofs were hot, and hot the street:—

  "Build me a fane," the vision said,

    "Where first your eyes the snow shall meet."   [Footnote 6]

  [Footnote 6: Santa Maria Maggiore, on

  the Esquiline, at Rome.]

  With snow the Esquiline was strewn

    At morn!—Fair Legend! who but thinks

  Of thee, when first the breezes blown

    From summer Alp to Alp he drinks?

  He stands: he hears the torrents dash:

    Slowly the vapours break; and lo!

  Through chasms of endless azure flash

    The peaks of everlasting snow.

{100}

  He stands; he listens; on his ear

    Swells softly forth some virgin hymn:

  The white procession windeth near,

    With glimmering lights in sunshine dim.

  Mother of Purity and Peace!

    They sing the Saviour's name and thine

  Clothe them for ever with the fleece

    Unspotted of thy Lamb Divine!

{101}

Fest. Puritatis.

XV.

  Far down the bird may sing of love;

    The honey-bearing blossom blow:

  But hail, ye hills that rise above

    The limit of perpetual snow!

  O Alpine City, with thy walls

    Of rock eterne and spires of ice,

  Where torrent still to torrent calls,

    And precipice to precipice;—

  How like that holier City thou,

    The heavenly Salem's earthly porch,

  Which rears among the stars her brow,

    And plants firm feet on earth—the Church!

  "Decaying, ne'er to be decayed,"

    Her woods, like thine, renew their youth:

  Her streams, in rocky arms embayed,

    Are clear as virtue, strong as truth.

{102}

  At times the lake may burst its dam;

    Black pine and rock the valley strew;

  But o'er the ruin soon the lamb

    Its flowery pasture crops anew.

  She, too, in regions near the sky

    Up-piles her cloistered snows, and thence

  Diffuses gales of purity

    O'er fields of consecrated sense.

  On those still heights a love-light glows

    The plains from them alone receive;—

  Not all the Lily! There thy Rose,

    O Mary, triumphs, morn and eve!

{103}

XVI.

  Cloud-piercing Mountains! Chance and Change

    More high than you their thrones advance.

  Self-vanquished Nature's rockiest range

    Gives way before them like the trance

  Of one that wakes. From morn to eve

    Through fissured clefts her mists make way;

  At Night's cold touch they freeze, and cleave

    Her crags; and, with a Titan's sway,

  Flake off and peel the rotting rocks,

    And heap the glacier tide below

  With isles of sand and floating blocks,

    As leaves on streams when tempests blow.

  Lo, thus the great decree all-just,

    O Earth, thy mountains hear; and learn

  From fire and frost its import—"dust

    Thou art; and shalt to dust return."

  He only is Who ever was;

    The All-measuring Mind; the Will Supreme.

  Rocks, mountains, worlds, like bubbles pass:

    God is; the things not God but seem.

{104}

Foederis Arca.

XVII.

  From end to end, O God, Thy Will

    With swift yet ordered might doth reach:

  Thy purposes their scope fulfil

    In sequence, resting each on each.

  In Thee is nothing sudden; nought

    From harmony and law that swerves:

  The orbits of Thine act and thought

    In soft succession wind their curves.

  O then with what a gradual care

    Must thou have shaped that sacred shrine,

  That Ark of grace, ordained to bear

    The burthen of the Babe divine!

  How many a gift within her breast

    Lay stored, for Him a couch to strew!

  How many a virtue lined His nest!

    How many a grace beside Him grew!

  Of love on love what sweet excess!

    How deep a faith! a hope how high!—

  Mary! on earth of thee we guess;

    But we shall see thee when we die!

{105}

Domus Aurea.

XVIII.

  She mused upon the Saints of old;

    Their toils, their pains, she longed to share

  Of Him she mused, the Child foretold;

    To Him her hands she stretched in prayer.

  No moment passed without its crown;

    And each new grace was used so well

  It drew some tenfold talent down,

    Some miracle on miracle.

  O golden House! O boundless store

    Of wealth by heavenly commerce won!

  When God Himself could give no more,

    He gave thee all; He gave His Son!

  Blessed the Mother of her Lord!

    And yet for this more blessed still,

  Because she heard and kept His Word—

    High servant of His sovereign Will!

{106}

Respexit Humilitatem.

XIX

  Not all thy purity, although

    The whitest moon that ever lit

  The peaks of Lebanonian snow

    Shone dusk and dim compared with it;—

  Not that great love of thine, whose beams

    Transcended in their virtuous heat

  Those suns which melt the ice-bound streams,

    And make earth's pulses newly beat:—

  It was not these that from the sky

    Drew down to thee the Eternal Word:

  He looked on thy humility;

    He knew thee, "Handmaid of thy Lord."

  Let no one claim with thee a part;

    Let no one, Mary, name thy name,

  While, aping God, upon his heart

    Pride sits, a demon robed in flame.

  Proud Vices, die! Where Sin has place

    Be Sin's familiar self-disgust.

  Proud Virtues, doubly die; that Grace

    At last may burgeon from your dust.

{107}

Respexit Humilitatem.

XX.

  Supreme among the things create

    Omnipotence revealed below,

  More swift than thought, more strong than fate,

    Such, such, Humility, art thou!

  All strength beside is weakness. Might

    Belongs to God: and they alone,

  Self-emptied souls and seeming-slight,

    Are filled with God and share his throne.

  O Mary! strong wert thou and meek;

    Thy meekness gave thee strength divine:

  Thyself in nothing didst thou seek;

    Therefore thy Maker made Him thine.

  Through Pride our parents disobeyed;

    Rebellious Sense avenged the crime:

  The soul, the body's captive made,

    Became the branded thrall of time.

{108}

  With barrenness the earth was cursed;

    Inviolate she brought forth no more

  Her fruits, nor freely as at first:—

    Thou cam'st, her Eden to restore!

  Low breathes the wind upon the string;

    The harp, responsive, sounds in turn:

  Thus o'er thy Soul the Spirit's wing

    Creative passed; and Christ was born.

{109}

"Sine Labe originali Concepta."

XXI.

  Met in a point   [Footnote 7] the circles twain

    Of temporal and eternal things

  Embrace, close linked. Redemption's chain

    Drops thence to earth its myriad rings.

  [Footnote 7: The Incarnation.]

  In either circle, from of old,

    That point of meeting stood decreed;—

  Twin mysteries cast in one deep mould,

    "The Woman," and "the Woman's Seed."

  Mary, long ages ere thy birth

    Resplendent with Salvation's Sign,

  In thee a stainless hand the earth

    Put forth, to meet the Hand Divine!

  First trophy of all-conquering Grace,

    First victory of that Blood all pure,

  Of man's once fair but fallen race

    Thou stood'st, the monument secure.

  The Word made Flesh! the Way! the Door!

    The link that dust with Godhead blends!

  Through Him the worlds their God adore:—

    Through thee that God to man descends.

{110}

"Sine Labe originali Concepta."

XXII.

  A soul-like sound, subdued yet strong,

    A whispered music, mystery-rife,

  A sound like Eden airs among

    The branches of the Tree of Life—

  At first no more than this; at last

    The voice of every land and clime,

  It swept o'er Earth, a clarion blast:

    Earth heard, and shook with joy sublime.

  Mary! thy triumph was her own.

    In thee she saw her prime restored:

  She saw ascend a spotless Throne

    For Him, her Saviour, and her Lord.

  The Church had spoken. She that dwells

    Sun-clad with beatific light,

  From Truth's unvanquished citadels,

    From Sion's Apostolic height,

  Had stretched her sceptred hands, and pressed

    The seal of Faith, defined and known,

  Upon that Truth till then confessed

    By Love's instinctive sense alone.

{111}

XXIII.

  Brow-bound with myrtle and with gold,

    Spring, sacred now from blasts and blights,

  Lifts in a firm, untrembling hold

    Her chalice of fulfilled delights.

  Confirmed around her queenly lip

    The smile late wavering, on she moves;

  And seems through deepening tides to step

    Of steadier joys and larger loves.

  The stony Ash itself relents,

    Into the blue embrace of May

  Sinking, like old impenitents

    Heart-touched at last; and, far away,

  The long wave yearns along the coast

    With sob suppressed, like that which thrills

  (While o'er the altar mounts the Host)

    Some chapel on the Irish hills.

{112}

Corpus Christi.

XXIV.

  Rejoice, O Mary! and be glad,

    Thou Church triumphant here below!

  He cometh, in meekest emblems clad;

    Himself he cometh to bestow!

  That body which thou gav'st, O Earth,

    He giveth back—that Flesh, that Blood;

  Born of the Altar's mystic birth;

    At once thy Worship and thy Food.

  He who of old on Calvary bled

    On all thine altars lies to-day,

  A bloodless Sacrifice, but dread;

    The Lamb in heaven adored for aye.

  His Godhead on the Cross He veiled;

    His Manhood here He veileth too:

  But Faith has eagle eyes unsealed;

    And Love to Him she loves is true.

{113}

  "I will not leave you orphans. Lo!

    While lasts the world with you am I."

  Saviour! we see Thee not; but know,

    With burning hearts, that Thou art nigh!

  He comes! Blue Heaven, thine incense breathe

    O'er all the consecrated sod;

  And thou, O Earth, with flowers enwreathe

    The steps of thine advancing God!

{114}

Corpus Christi.

XXV.

  What music swells on every gale?

    What heavenly Herald rideth past?

  Vale sings to vale, "He comes; all hail!"

    Sea sighs to sea, "He comes at last."

  The Earth bursts forth in choral song;

    Aloft her "Lauda Sion" soars;

  Her myrtle boughs at once are flung

    Before a thousand Minster doors.

  Far on the white processions wind

    Through wood and plain and street and court

  The kings and prelates pace behind

    The King of kings in seemly sort.

  The incense floats on Grecian air;

    Old Carmel echoes back the chant;

  In every breeze the torches flare

    That curls the waves of the Levant.

  On Ramah's plain—in Bethlehem's bound—

    Is heard to-day a gladsome voice:

  "Rejoice," it cries, "the lost is found!

    With Mary's joy, O Earth, rejoice!"

{115}

XXVI.

  Pleasant the swarm about the bough;

    The meadow-whisper round the woods;

  And for their coolness pleasant now

    The murmur of the falling floods.

  Pleasant beneath the thorn to lie,

    And let a summer fancy loose;

  To hear the cuckoo's double cry;

    To make the noon-tide sloth's excuse.

  Panting, but pleased, the cattle stand

    Knee-deep in water-weed and sedge,

  And scarcely crop the greener band

    Of osiers round the river's edge.

  But hark! Far off the south wind sweeps

    The golden-foliaged groves among,

  Renewed or lulled, with rests and leaps—

    Ah! how it makes the spirit long

  To drop its earthly weight, and drift

    Like yon white cloud, on pinions free,

  Beyond that mountain's purple rift,

    And o'er that scintillating sea!

{116}

XXVII.

  Sing on, wide winds, your anthems vast!

    The ear is richer than the eye:

  Upon the eye no shape can cast

    Such impress of Infinity.

  And thou, my soul, thy wings of might

    Put forth:—thou too, one day shalt soar,

  And, onward borne in heavenward flight,

    The starry universe explore;

  Breasting that breeze which waves the bowers

    Of Heaven's bright forest never mute,

  Whereof perchance this earth of ours

    Is but the feeblest forest-fruit.

  "The Spirit bloweth where He wills"—

    Effluence of that Life Divine

  Which wakes the Universe, and stills,

    In Thy strong refluence make us Thine!

{117}

Coeli enarrant.

XXVIII.

  Sole Maker of the Worlds! They lay

    A barren blank, a void, a nought,

  Beyond the ken of solar ray

    Or reach of archangelic thought.

  Thou spak'st; and they were made! Forth sprang

    From every region of the abyss,

  Whose deeps, fire-clov'n, with anthems rang,

    The spheres new-born and numberless.

  Thou spak'st:—upon the winds were found

    The astonished Eagles. Awed and hushed

  Subsiding seas revered their bound;

    And the strong forests upward rushed.

  Before the Vision angels fell,

    As though the face of God they saw;

  And all the panting miracle

    Found rest within the arms of Law.

{118}

  Perfect, O God, Thy primal plan—

    That scheme frost-bound by Adam's sin:

  Create, within the heart of Man,

    Worlds meet for Thee; and dwell therein.

  From Thy bright realm of Sense and Nature,

    Which flowers enwreathe and stars begem,

  Shape Thou Thy Church; the crowned Creature;

    The Bride; the New Jerusalem!

{119}

Caro factus est.

XXIX.

  When from beneath the Almighty Hand

    The suns and systems rushed abroad,

  Like coursers which have burst their band,

    Or torrents when the ice is thawed;

  When round in luminous orbits flung

    The great stars gloried in their might;

  Still, still, a bridgeless gulf there hung

    'Twixt Finite things and Infinite.

  That crown of light creation wore

    Was edged with vast unmeasured black;

  And all of natural good she bore

    Confessed her supernatural lack.

  For what is Nature at the best?

    An arch suspended in its spring;

  An altar-step without a priest;

    A throne whereon there sits no king.

{120}

  As one stone-blind that fronts the morn,

    The world before her Maker stood,

  Uplifting suppliant hands forlorn—

    God's creature, yet how far from God!

  He came. That world His priestly robe;

    The Kingly Pontiff raised on high

  The worship of the starry globe:—

    The gulf was bridged, and God was nigh.

{121}

XXX.

  A woman "clothed with the sun,"   [Footnote 8]

    Yet fleeing from the Dragon's rage!—

  The strife in Eden-bowers begun

    Swells upward to the latest age.

  [Footnote 8: Rev. xii. 1.]

  That woman's Son is throned on high;

    The angelic hosts before Him bend:

  The sceptre of His empery

    Subdues the worlds from end to end.

  Yet still the sword goes through her heart,

    For still on earth His Church survives.

  In her that woman holds a part:

    In her she suffers, wakes, and strives.

  Around her head the stars are set;

    A dying moon beneath her wanes:

  But he that letteth still must let:

    The Power accurst awhile remains.

  Break up, strong Earth, thy stony floors,

    And snatch to penal caverns dun

  That Dragon from the pit that wars

    Against the woman and her Son!

{122}

XXXI.

  No ray of all their silken sheen

    The leaves first fledged have lost as yet

  Unfaded, near the advancing queen

    Of flowers, abides the violet.

  The rose succeeds—her month is come:—

    The flower with sacred passion red:

  She sings the praise of martyrdom,

    And Him for whom His martyrs bled.

  The perfect work of May is done:

    Hard by a new perfection waits:—

  The twain, a sister and a nun,

    A moment parley at the grates.

  The whiter Spirit turns in peace

    To hide her in the cloistral shade:—

  'Tis time that you should also cease,

    Slight carols in her honour made.

{123}

EPILOGUE.

{124} {125}

Epilogue

  Regent of Change, thou waning Moon,

    Whom they, the sons of night, adore,

  Her feet are on thee! Late or soon

    Heap up upon the expectant shore

  The tides of Man's Intelligence;

    Or backward to the blackening deep

  Remit them: Knowledge won from Sense

    But sleeps to wake, and wakes to sleep.

  Where are the hands that reared on high

    Heaven-threat'ning Babel? where the might

  Of them, that giant progeny,

    The Deluge dealt with? Lost in night.

  The child who knows his creed doth stretch

    A sceptred hand o'er Space, and hold

  The end of all those threads that catch

    In wisdom's net the starry fold.

  The Sabbath comes: the work-days six

    Of Time go by; meantime the key,

  O salutary crucifix,

    Of all the worlds, we clasp in thee.

{126}

  Truth deeplier felt by none than him  [Footnote 9]

    Who at the Alban mountain's foot,

  Wandering no more in shadows dim,

    Lay down, a lamb-like offering mute.

  [Footnote 9: Robert Isaak Wilberforce.]

  His mighty lore found rest at last

    In Faith, and woke in God. Ah, Friend!

  When life which is not Life is past,

    Pray that like thine may be my end.

  Thy fair large front; thine eyes' grave blue;

    Thine English ways so staid and plain;—

  Through native rosemaries and rue

    Memory creeps back to thee again.

  Beside thy dying bed were writ

    Some snatches of these random rhymes;

  Weak Song, how happy if with it

    Thy name should blend in after times.

Rome, April 27, 1857.

London:
Printed by Spottiswoode & Co.
New-street Square.

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