Part 11 (2/2)

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.

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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.

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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.

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_Turris Eburnea._

XXIV.

This scheme of worlds, which vast we call, Is only vast compared with man: Compared with G.o.d, the One yet All, Its greatness dwindles to a span.

A Lily with its isles of buds Asleep on some unmeasured sea:-- O G.o.d, the starry mult.i.tudes, What are they more than this to Thee?

Yet girt by Nature's petty pale Each tenant holds the place a.s.signed To each in Being's awful scale:-- The last of creatures leaves behind

The abyss of nothingness: the first Into the abyss of G.o.dhead peers; Waiting that vision which shall burst In glory on the eternal years.

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Tower of our Hope! through thee we climb Finite creation's topmost stair; Through thee from Sion's height sublime Towards G.o.d we gaze through purer air.

Infinite distance still divides Created from Creative Power; But all which intercepts and hides Lies dwarfed by that surpa.s.sing Tower!

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