University of Virginia Library


58

A.

[The third row of the holy Breast-Plate stood]

The third row of the holy Breast-Plate stood
“Agate, and Ligure, and an Amethyst.”
Great Jewels, graven with the tribes of God,
Hallow my page! and thou, be thy brow kissed
By Seraphim, as I hang this above it;
Thy hands held up by Cherubim to pray;
Thy soul made sure that splendid spirits love it;
Thy feet set fast upon the blissful way!
For, though I bring thee hither but in fiction
“Ephod of blue and gold,” with mystic gem,
Let my verse pass, but be its benediction
Lasting, and crown thee like a diadem!
Since prayer fulfils itself which rises rightly
From lips by gentle love made true and sweet;
So, let these belted Agates glitter brightly;
As when Haroün cast beneath his feet

59

Coats of the camp, and donned white robe and mitre;
And round his waist the “curious girdle” tied;
And drew the thongs and gilded ouches tighter,
Hanging his breast-plate high—Oh, beautified
By wondrous work of “gold and blue and crimson,
On fine-twined cloth”—the gold beat out four-square
A span each way; and gold chains linked the rims on,
With fourfold ranks of jewellery set fair,—
First Sardius, Topaz, and the Jaspis green;
Next Smaragd, Sapphire, and an Adamant;
Third, Ligure, Agate, Amethyst were seen
Laid on chased beddings; and the fourth line burnt
With Beryl, Onyx, Chrysolite: each stone
Carved with a Tribal name! And he would go
Behind the Veil; where—shut from Earth, alone—
He saw and heard what Israel might not know;
For there the Ark was, and the Cherubim
Beat from pure gold, with golden pinions spread
Shading the Mercy-Seat. There God with him
Talked; and none other heard the dread words said.

60

But, if the days were evil—if the camp
Had sinned—the Agate changed its white to black;
Waned the green Smaragd like a dying lamp;
The Sapphire half its heavenly blue did lack!
Ah! if our gems of human love we bore
Behind that Veil, would many—any—keep
Their beauty of the laughing Day? Would more
Be dimmed, than brightened? See what legions weep
Of love-lorn maids for wooers proved untrue!
What cohorts of true wooers curse false maids!
Let us not enter in! Enough, if you
Are fair, and I your poet fond, who braids
These jewelled fancies for your hair! At last,
I think where Love has lived, it cannot die;
Its flame may wane, its lustrous light seem past,
But what once shone shines on eternally!
Yes! lift the Veil! In that dread darkness pray I
Heaven make your years all happy—till we know—
Th' Angelic peace compass and fill you—say I—
And God's love come when Earthly love must go!