Chapter III: 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

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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.

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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!

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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.

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_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!

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_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.

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_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.

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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!

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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!

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_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.

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_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!

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_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.

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_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.

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_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.

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_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.

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_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.

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_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!

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_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.

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_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.

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_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!

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_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.

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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.

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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!

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_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.

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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.

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_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.

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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!

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_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.

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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!"

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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.

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_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?

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_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.

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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.

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_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!

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PART II.

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