University of Virginia Library

O thou dear gentle glory of the skies!
Fair Mother-Maid and Queen of Paradise!
Who ever wert so bountiful to me,
And art so high in grace and dignity
That to conceive Thee as Thou art indeed
Doth all our human intellect exceed!
Thus far an easy course my bark has steer'd;—
But now, the risk approaching which I fear'd
E'en from the first, I tremble with dismay
Lest I should aught of Thee unworthy say.
Ah then, I ask, dear Poetess divine,
By that melodious Canticle of thine
Whose words enchant the world, assist the need
Of him who writes, nor less of those who read,
That while of mystical realities
Dimly I sing beneath an earthly guise,
They of my parable may judge aright,
Nor of diviner sense oblivious quite
Haply a lower meaning take away,
Where I had aim'd a higher to convey.

Now gazing from the Western front around,
In silence of expectancy profound,
Upon the foliaged hills that facing rise,
Our Euthanase a lovely scene espies.
For where upon the left the rocks are piled
From ledge to ledge in woody medley wild,
Parting the copse a breadth of greenest glade
In ample and majestic sweep display'd
Gradual ascends, until its topmost height
Far up among the hills is lost to sight.
Along its either side, from end to end,
Tall May-trees in the pride of bloom extend,
Alternate pink and white, and form a screen
From blustering winds; within whose space serene
The busy sun-motes swarm upon the air,
As by instinctive force attracted there;
While all the smooth incline of verdant floor,
With buttercups besprinkled richly o'er,
Shows like a tapestry of gold and green
Laid for the solemn entry of a Queen!

Whereon the while his yearning vision fed
As on some avenue that Heavenward led,
A stair for visitant Archangels made,
An emerald stair with topazes inlaid,—
Along the slanting woods a flourish shrill
Of clarions rang, and from behind the hill,
Down the fair alley'd breadth of golden glade
Gaily advanced a glistening cavalcade.

Knights of St. John they seem'd, as might be guess'd
From the white Cross of Malta on their breast;
As three and three, in burnish'd armour bright,
With open casques that gave the face to sight,
With nodding plumes and swords that flash'd a flame,
Erect upon their prancing barbs they came,
The type authentical and pattern high
Of manhood, worth, and dauntless chivalry!
To pure virginity and honour vow'd,
Each in his mien a virgin honour show'd;
Each on his shield the badge of Mary bore;
Each on his lip a smile of triumph wore,
A smile sedate of triumph nobly gain'd,
Of triumph irreversibly obtain'd!
For now from Paynim wars return'd at last,
Their desperate Crusade for ever past,
They seem'd as those in saintly glory blest,
Who in their God of all in all possess'd,
No more of trials here and earthly pain
Can e'en the faint remembrance wake again!
Slowly they came amid the sunny gleam,
Soft as a breath and silent as a dream;
Then to the Abbey Church as near they drew
A blast upon their banner'd trumpets blew,
And wheeling right and left upon the green,
As guard of honour there await their Queen.

Whereat, as up the slope his glance again
The Monk directs, a venerable train
He sees with measured step advancing nigh,
Whose weeds of serge, whose scrip and rosary,
The bonnet gray betrick'd with scallop shells,
The girdle hung about with tinkling bells,
The naked feet, of penitence the sign,
The staff enwreathed with palm of Palestine,
Proclaim them to be Pilgrims from afar,
The Pilgrims of the Holy Sepulchre!
Ah me! what burdens in their time they bore
Of toil and stint and tribulation sore!
How rough, how perilous, had been the way!
How scant the rest, how weary the delay!
But now to Eden-land restored at last,
Their life-long pilgrimage for ever past,
Joy in their eye, and gladness in their song,
A vision of repose they came along;
And seem'd, all suffering forgotten quite
In the clear reflex of immortal light,
To find, oh, incommensurable gain!
A Heaven of bliss for every earthly pain.

Then over hill and woodland, vale and mead,
Began a new and fairer grace to spread;
More golden grew the light, more blue the sky,
On balmier wing the zephyr floated by;
And livelier still in leaf and budding spray
The secret pulse of nature seem'd to play,
As though some hidden elemental force
Were stirring at creation's inner source,
And with the beauty of their second birth
Clothing before their time the things of earth.
With thrilling heart he mark'd the change appear,
And knew that May's fair glory must be near!

“She comes, She comes!” cried Theodore, and lo!
Along the height a glancing to and fro
Of splendours soft; whence like a lovely thought
Into its shape from teeming fancies wrought;
Or some rich efflorescence of the morn;
Or incense, of the breathing meadows born;
Virgins behind and virgins on each side,
Appear'd the Eternal Spirit's Virgin Bride!
A form of light, a form of beauty fair,
Seated serene, in floods of golden hair,
Upon a milk-white steed of heavenly mould,
Such as the Saint of Patmos saw of old
Bearing victoriously upon his way
The Conqueror of death in dread array,
Amidst exulting wafts of saintly song,
Majestically sweet She came along,
In dawning youth, for so it seem'd to be,
Unless 'twere rather youth's eternity!
Above her queenly head with step sedate
Virgins support a canopy of state
Fluttering with doves, that like a halo play
Circling and crossing in the sunny ray;
While in advance two Princes, side by side,
Each with a pearly wand, the Pageant guide,
Each in himself a marvel to the gaze,
So dazzling in immortal glory's blaze!

“Of Albion and of Rome th' Apostles high!”
Thus Theodore, “twin Saints in majesty!
Augustin, who dissolved our pagan night!
And Philip, sweetest of the Saints in light,
Our Isle's new guest! Their Festal-day the same,
An equal place by Mary's side they claim
This happy morn. Oh, see how, zone in zone,
Their friendly aureoles blend themselves in one!”

“O lovely Pair! thus ever hand in hand
Lead on our sacred Lady through the land!”
The Priest rejoins. “But, dearest heart, declare,
Yon troop of virgins so surpassing fair,
That comes behind—by what exalted name
In England's sacred Chronicle of fame,
Must I to their high presence worship pay?”
“St. Ursula and her Companions they,”
He answered, “leaders in the glorious line
Of virgin Saints that Providence divine
To Britain lent; whom follow, side by side,
St. Hilda, Abbess; and St. Winifride
The rose of Wales, with more of like degree;
And last our Holy Children of Chaldee:
Oh, how their former lustre paling seems
Before a newer glory's brighter beams!”

Meanwhile, from either side the Western Gate,
Advancing in processionary state
With glad Magnificat, and tapers bright,
And fragrant incense-wreaths of snowy white,
The Abbey Monks in reverent order drawn
Had occupied the centre of the lawn;
And silent stood, their Abbot at their head
In amice, alb, and precious cope, array'd,
Bearing, irradiant in gems and gold,
A Crucifix most lovely to behold.
Whither, as nearer now our Lady drew,
All Paradise seem'd opening on the view.
Oh, vision exquisite! Oh, form and face
The very mould and utterance of grace!
Oh, head seraphical! oh, dovelike eyes!
Oh, bloom incarnadined in Heaven's own dyes!
Oh, mien all-gracious, blending into one
Meekness and most august dominion!
As on in flowing azure folds she came,
Borne on a wave of jubilant acclaim,
In maiden majesty! Ideal blest
Of all that highest genius ever guess'd!
Of all that e'er on contemplation's eye
In visions dawn'd of saintliest ecstasy!
So the Franciscan felt; and in the view
Was conscious of a grace divinely new:
He saw, he gazed, and ravish'd in the sight
Seem'd at the life-spring of immortal light
To quaff exuberant joy. Yet e'en with this
A vivid sense possess'd his heart's abyss,
That he of that magnificence so fair
But saw what his mortality could bear;
Its outer gloss alone to sight reveal'd,
The rest in its own majesty conceal'd!

Thus as She came with winning grace benign,
The Abbot our Redemption's loving sign
Upraised, and as mid-way upon the green
The Pageant stay'd, forthwith to our dear Queen
Presented it; which, after reverence due,
She kissing with a tenderness that drew
From Euthanase's eyes the startled tear,
Alighted soft as falling gossamer,
And through the traceried arch-way pass'd along
Into the Nave with all her virgin throng.

“O dear espousèd City of the skies!
My pilgrimage's hope and promised prize!
Are, then, my early fancies coming true,
And do I here indeed thy glories view?”
Thus Euthanase, as entering now again
Unnoticed in the rear of Mary's train,
His eyes a wondering glance, O Tintern, throw
Upon thy heights above and aisles below.
For all was changed.—A scene of ruin still,
But ruin by a grace ineffable
Transfigured, glorified!—As when a child
Across a picture faded and defiled
Rays from a prism sends; or, as the hand
Of poesy but waves its magic wand,
And common things are seen in beauty new;
Or as upon a pearly shell we view
Tracings in gold; or as the quarried stone
By vivid touches into outline grown
Gives forth, in perfect symmetry reveal'd,
The form of beauty it before conceal'd!
He felt the sacred spell, and silent stood
As one transfix'd. In such a glistening flood
The walls were bathed; each stone a living gem,
As though from Heaven the New Jerusalem
Had come, and mid the haunts of ruin green
Her clear foundations set, a sparkling sheen
Of jasper, emerald, and topaz bright,
Of jacinth, beryl, sapphire, chrysolite,
Till all was made divine! Nor wanted there
Such anthem as with Sion's City fair
Might well accord, from all the saintly throng
Rising in one full harmony of song:
“Hail, Mary, hail! conceived without a stain!
Come, Lady, come and in thy glory reign.
Virgin of God, receive the Crown of praise,
The Crown prepared thee from eternal days!”

So went the strain, as up the glittering aisle,
Gladness and benediction in her smile,
Our Lady pass'd amidst her maiden band
With those Apostles still on either hand,
To where, mid-way upon the velvet sward,
Fronting the choir, a faldstool stood prepared.
When, lo! the virgins who had charge beside
The Heaven's eternal and unsullied Bride,
Around her shoulders, as she knelt in prayer,
A mantle drew most excellently rare,
Ermine within, a mystic maze without
Of gold and divers colours interwrought;
With which no web of India might vie,
Nor finest leaf of Nature's 'broidery.
Not half so richly variegated o'er
The veil imperial that Esther wore,
When to the golden sceptre she drew nigh
To plead the cause of Judah doom'd to die;
Not half so exquisite that robe divine,
Of grace and second sanctity the sign,
Woven in beauty by the Lord of all
For our sweet Mother Eva at the Fall!

This, then, as round her gracious form they drew,
Forth from its folds of interchanging hue
Odours of sacred myrrh and cassia stole;
Which through the good Franciscan's secret soul
Piercing far deeper than the pores of sight,
So fill'd his inmost being with delight,
That in their spiritual effluence rare
He seem'd of other worlds to drink the air,
And to himself beneath its potent sway
Appear'd as one dissolving all away!