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 a.s.sures us it is May.

Ah, tell me! in the heavenlier sphere Must all of earth have pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed.

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 G.o.d; So pined, from earth's enthralments free, To bathe her wholly in the flood Of G.o.d'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 pa.s.sed, 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d 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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x.x.x.

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 sh.o.r.e.

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._

x.x.xI.

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, "Pa.s.sed not the Infant, Herod's dread,-- "Pa.s.sed not the Infant through your land?