Volume I Part 30 (1/2)

The child spake n.o.bly: strange to hear, His infantine soft accents clear Charged with high meanings, did appear;

And fair to see, his form and face Winged out with whiteness and pure grace From the green darkness of the place.

Behind his head a palm-tree grew; An orient beam which pierced it through Transversely on his forehead drew

The figure of a palm-branch brown Traced on its brightness up and down In fine fair lines,--a shadow-crown:

Guido might paint his angels so-- A little angel, taught to go With holy words to saints below--

Such innocence of action yet Significance of object met In his whole bearing strong and sweet.

And all the children, the whole band, Did round in rosy reverence stand, Each with a palm-bough in his hand.

”And so he died,” I whispered. ”Nay, Not _so_,” the childish voice did say, ”That poet turned him first to pray

”In silence, and G.o.d heard the rest 'Twixt the sun's footsteps down the west.

Then he called one who loved him best,

”Yea, he called softly through the room (His voice was weak yet tender)--'Come,'

He said, 'come nearer! Let the bloom

”'Of Life grow over, undenied, This bridge of Death, which is not wide-- I shall be soon at the other side.

”'Come, kiss me!' So the one in truth Who loved him best,--in love, not ruth, Bowed down and kissed him mouth to mouth:

”And in that kiss of love was won Life's manumission. All was done: The mouth that kissed last, kissed _alone_.

”But in the former, confluent kiss, The same was sealed, I think, by His, To words of truth and uprightness.”

The child's voice trembled, his lips shook Like a rose leaning o'er a brook, Which vibrates though it is not struck.

”And who,” I asked, a little moved Yet curious-eyed, ”was this that loved And kissed him last, as it behoved?”

”_I_,” softly said the child; and then ”_I_,” said he louder, once again: ”His son, my rank is among men:

”And now that men exalt his name I come to gather palms with them, That holy love may hallow fame.

”He did not die alone, nor should His memory live so, 'mid these rude World-praisers--a worse solitude.

”Me, a voice calleth to that tomb Where these are strewing branch and bloom Saying, 'Come nearer:' and I come.

”Glory to G.o.d!” resumed he, And his eyes smiled for victory O'er their own tears which I could see