Part 6 (1/2)

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 s.h.i.+ning blue!--below, That s.h.i.+ning 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.