Part 5 (2/2)
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 pa.s.sion 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 surpa.s.s the First!”
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XXVI.
The moon, ascending o'er a ma.s.s Of tangled yew and sable pine, What sees she in yon watery gla.s.s?
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.
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