University of Virginia Library

MARIA VIRGO loq.

THE diamond shimmer of the dawn
Is faded out from hill and lawn;
And in the vanward of the day,
The bridal hours have cast away
Their virgin veils of gold and pearl.
Yonder the cuckoo pipes; the merle
Flutes on the blossomed figs, aglow
With bees, where, but an hour ago,
The nightingale did sit and sing,
That all the woods made echoing
Unto her soft complaining note;
There, in the dawn, with quivering throat,
She sat and sang of love and pain,
Till up the sun leapt and the plain
Surged of a sudden into red;
Then knew she that the night was dead
And flitted after with shy wing.

I know not what foreshadowing
Is on my sense; a haze of dreams
Hovers about my head: meseems,
The glamour of some grace to be,
Some strange fair fate encircleth me;
For, all about me, far and wide,
The workday world is glorified:
The common things of daily use,
Well-rope and bucket, cup and cruse,
Platter and trencher, wheel and loom,
Are lit with some unearthly bloom,
Some light of loveliness arcane,
That purges them of breach and stain
And as with a celestial birth
Blazons the creatures of the earth.
Some mystery haloes me, some sweet
Strange homage follows on my feet,
Whereof, meseems, all creatures wot
And I alone, I know it not.
Nay, in the wood-ways to and fro
Or in the meadows as I go,
The herbs, the lilies in the grass,
The leaves gaze at me, as I pass;
The meek sheep raise their eyes to mine;
The kidlings and the couchant kine
Lift up their heads to look on me:
The woodlands whisper, “This is she!”
The very birds break off their song,
As I go by, the meads along,
And follow me with wondering eyes.
The skylarks flutter from the skies,
To settle on my head and neck;
And in the ripples of the beck,
That prattles o'er the pebbles white,
Athwart the mosses, in the light
Lythe waftings of the upland breeze,
The winds that tremble through the trees,
The dove-notes in the olive-close,
I hear a murmur; “There she goes,
The maid of mystery, the rose
Of reverence without compare,
The happy heaven-affected fair!”

There breathe around me everywhere
Celestial savours in the air
And viewless hands about me are
Busied to fend and keep afar
Whatever is not wholly good.
I have no use of earthly food;
No mortal meats my needs suffice;
The herbs and fruits of Paradise
By messengers invisible
Are broughten to my virgin cell
And the clear streams of heaven, to still
My thirst, do well for me at will.
A breath of bliss, a light of love
Celestial, hovers me above;
The airs of heaven about me stray,
Encompassing me night and day.

I am fulfilled of heavenly things:
The shadow of angelic wings
Is to my couch a canopy;
And as awake anights I lie,
I see the birds of heaven fleet
Across the skies and hear the beat
Of plume and pinion on the air.
So filled I am with visions fair
And votive fantasies that nought
Of otherwhat is in my thought.
I have no care to mark the flight
Of this our world of day and night.
The seasons' lapse uneath I note,
The ripening plums, the blossomed lote,
The flush of dawn, the shadows' fall:
My dreams to me are all in all.
Yet more and more on me they press,
Till with their thronging rapturousness
My every thought and sense is thrilled,
My days and nights with visions filled
So sweet, so real, I can keep
Scant reckoning 'twixt wake and sleep
Nor know if I have lived or dreamed.
Nay, yestermorn at day, meseemed,
Whilst yet I slumbered in my bed,
When in the dawn the first faint red
Began upon the East to be,
The scent of lilies startled me
And opening my sleep-sealed eyes,
— Where, through the casement's space, the skies
Poured the pale opal light that brings
The chill and early day, — with wings,
Star-sprinkled, fleecy, snowy-white,
Half-folded, as a bird's from flight
New lit, and shape as 'twere one sweet
Soft flame of fire from head to feet, —
I saw the angel of the Lord:
Not that stern servant of His sword,
Michael, nor Raphaël, His rod,
But Gabriel, the Breath of God,
The holy bird, that on the height
Of heaven nesteth day and night,
The Faithful Spirit, that He chose
His messenger to be to those
Whom He on earth would fain rejoice,
His will incarnate, bodied voice.
Seven lilies in his hand he had,
So wonder-sweet of scent and glad
That whoso smelt thereof might not
Except rejoice: no garden-plot
On earth lent life unto the seven;
But in the garths they grew of heaven.

Then, looking on me with mild face,
“Hail, Mary,” said he, “great of grace!
The Lord Almighty is with thee.
Blesséd to all eternity,
Above all womankind, art thou,
O'er all that have been and are now,
O happy, heaven-accepted maid!”

Withal meseemed that not afraid
I was nor at the angel's sight
Or at the greatness of the light
Astonied, that about his face
And presence played and filled the place,
But troubled was in very deed
Anent the manner of his rede
Alone and filled with wonderment
Of what so strange a greeting meant
And what in fine should come of it.
But he, as if indeed forewit
He had of what was in my thought,
Straight, “Mary,” answered, “fear thou nought
Nor in my greeting deem of thee
Is aught against thy chastity.
Thou hast found favour with the Lord,
For that thou hast, of thine accord,
Of clean virginity made choice;
Wherefore I say to thee, Rejoice!
The Lord about thee and within
Is verily; and without sin,
Thou shalt conceive and bear a son,
Whose name shall be for benison
To all upon the earth that be.”

Withal great wonderment on me
There fell to hear him speak so mild
And strange; and “How shall I with child
Be gotten, sir,” to him I said,
“And bear, that am a clean poor maid
Nor ever had with man to do?”
Whereat he looked on me anew
With shining face and said, “Fear not;
A child on thee shall be begot,
Withouten breach of maidenhead,
Of God, the Lord of quick and dead.”
And I, yet wondered more and more
At what he said, — for passing sore
And grievous to me to believe
It seemed, — “Sir, shall I then conceive
And by the Living God, indeed,
Without the addition of man's seed,
With child, as other women, go
And bear as they?” But he, “Not so,
O Mary! It with thee shall not
Be as of other women's lot:
Thou shalt with child, as I have said,
Be and bring forth, whilst yet a maid;
Yea, shalt give suck and yet remain
A maid with whom no man hath lain
Nor handled. For the Holy Spright
Shall come upon thee and alight;
The power of God Most High shall be
About and overshadow thee.
Since unto God, thou wottest well,
There nothing is impossible.
So, yet a maid, a son shalt thou
Bear, unto whom all knees shall bow.
Great, great and holy shall he be,
For he shall reign from sea to sea;
Yea, unto him the Lord shall give
His father David's throne; and live
And over Jacob's house hold sway
Shall he; nor of his kingdom aye
Shall be an ending. Wherewithal
The child's name Jesus shalt thou call,
For that his people, all as one,
He from their sins shall save; and Son
Shall he be hight of the Most High,
The One, the Living God.” And I,
“Behold the handmaid of the Lord!
Be it according to thy word.”

Therewith he stinted: then, with voice,
As 'twere a trumpet's sound, “Rejoice,
O thrice, o four times blesséd maid,
O happy child of Eve,” he said,
“In this thy favour without price!
For that the gates of paradise,
Erst for thy mother's sin shut to,
Through thee shall opened be anew
And barred by thee the gates of Hell,
That art the joy of Israël,
The glory of Jerusalem!”

Withal he kissed my kirtle's hem
And presently was gone from sight:
And I awoke and saw no wight;
But on the faldstool by my side
A pot of graven gold I spied,
Wherein seven golden lilies stood,
Whose savour was so glad and good
That all the chamber reeked of it,
And on the leaves did shine and sit
The sparkles yet of heaven's dew,
As stars they were; whereby I knew
That this which I had seen no dream
Had been indeed, as I did deem,
But Gabriel had stood me by
And brought me speech of God Most High.

But, see, the day draws on apace
And yonder, from the winnowing-place,
Methinks I hear the nearing sound
Of labourers' voices, homeward bound.
The time draws near the forenoon-meal,
And in the nook the spinning-wheel
Stands idle, idle yet the rock,
Whereon the purple, lock on lock,
Tarries the spinning, being meant,
When spun and weft, to ornament
The ark upon the festal day,
And fringed and knotted with orfray,
To deck the Mercy-Seat for Him
Who sits between the Cherubim.

Quick! In its place the spinning-wheel
I set and order pirn and reel;
Then, seated on the spinning-stool,
The treadle press and ply the spool.
The spindle swirls, the wheel runs round,
The place hums with the pleasant sound,
The trill and chirp of cheerful toil,
That solves the thought of stain and soil
And holds both soul and body sweet.
So, being stablished in my seat,
I ply my task with hands and feet
Nor from my labour slacken may
Until the darkening of the day.

But lo! what light is this that grows
And greatens round me, as there rose
The sun from out my window-sill?
What savours sweet are these that fill
My every sense with Heaven's airs?
What voices vie me round allwheres,
What smitten lutes that wane and swell,
Fulfilling all my virgin cell
With sights, scents, sounds past earth's device,
Airs, flames and flowers of Paradise?
And yet more lustrous than the light,
Rarer and greater of delight
Than all the sights and sounds and scents
That overflood my ravished sense,
And yet more glorious to behold,
A wonder-dove, with wings of gold
And feathers each a flowering flame,
With eyes as heaven from whence it came
Coerulean, and in its bill
An almond-spray, upon the sill
Is lighted down and with its gaze
Holds all my senses in amaze.
Then, as, with eyes that fear to lose
Some sight of splendour, if they close,
With ears attent and thought and brain,
Upon the miracle I strain,
Of wonder such fulfilled as fear
Forthcasteth all, a voice I hear,
(Though none but that bright bird is near),
Gracious and grave, — no mortal breath,
In this our world of life and death,
The lips e'er drew from which it came,
— That calleth on me by my name,
“Hail, Mary,” saying, “maiden bright!
Thou hast found favour in My sight.
Fear not, to all eternity
For God the Lord shall be with thee.”
And therewithal the wonder-dove
Wings up and hovering above
My head, sinks down upon my breast,
With folded plumes, as in a nest,
Fulfilling me with such a flood
Of rapture that, for ill and good,
My every thought, my every sense
Is bound and fettered with suspense:
Enforced I am to sit and wait,
Nor can I stir, the coming fate
To fend from me: I cannot say,
“Take, Lord, this cup from me away!”
Nay, all my sense strains rather out,
In ecstasy excluding doubt,
Toward that flowerage of fire,
That fount celestial of desire;
And with wide arms outstretched and eye
Brimmed with desireful tears, I cry,
“Thy handmaid, Lord, behold and see!
I give, I grant myself to Thee.”