Sonnets and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

A wondrous pageant fills th' historic page,
Moving through every age—
The long procession of the Gods of Man—
Forms, which his young imagination shaped
And with rich legend draped,
To guide his steps, ere Science yet began
With searching gaze the outer world to scan,
And which, as thought and various knowledge grew,
He moulded oft afresh, or clothed in vesture new.

II

No human faith will we, with stupid pride,
Disparage or deride;
Each for our race some precious work has done—
Knit social bonds, or selfish will repress'd,
And calm'd the troubled breast.
But now their tasks are wrought, their courses run—
And they must fade and vanish, all save one;
Though some may linger long, as loth to part,
Familiars of the home—penates of the heart.

III

Our early sires, to whom small heritage
Came from a mother age,
By fancy and emotion wholly sway'd,
The likeness of their inner being found
In all they saw around.
The tree beneath whose boughs their childhood play'd,
The stream upon whose banks their youth had stray'd—
Not senseless things were these, but living powers
By fervid feeling stirr'd, with loves and hates like ours.

IV

Then sprang the thought—‘Those orbs that shine afar,
The Sun, the Moon, the star,
Must rule our lives, must send us good or ill.
Our days they gladden or illume our night,
Our fields they bless or blight.
How shall we learn to read their secret will,
Their ordinances rightly to fulfil?
Choose we some gifted men their names to praise,
To study their intents, their altar-stones to raise.’

V

So grew the faith that far-off heavenly powers
Govern'd this world of ours,
And quicken'd natural things that else were dead.
They, manlike beings of a mightier race,
By anger moved or grace,
On earthly issues sovereign influence shed,
Our projects thwarted or our wishes sped.
Priesthoods august arose to rule the lands,
And guide the wayward crowd by the divine commands.

VI

And soon, in visions of the sons of song,
A many-colour'd throng,
The Olympians shone; they loved the lyre and flute,
They heard, well-pleas'd, the din of martial strife,
The stir and stress of life.
And, ere Apollo's music yet was mute,
Follow'd a graver train in soberer suit,
Awakening deeper moods of reverent awe,
And bending Roman pride to the behests of law.

VII

One people ruled the world; the Imperial peace
Bade sterile conflicts cease;
But its own gods each nation worshipp'd still.
‘These various faiths,’ the nobler instincts cried,
‘Do but our hearts divide.
We want one righteous Power, one sovereign will,
To judge for all alike our good and ill.
And oh! for one who mortal weakness knows,
And having learn'd to weep, can feel for human woes.’

VIII

Treading a path of suffering and of shame,
The Man of Sorrows came.
Around him rose strong faith and purpose high,
And noble spirits welcomed pain and loss,
Might they but bear his cross,
Nay—for the love of him rejoiced to die;
Because, 'twas said, he left his native sky,
And his pure soul a free-will offering gave,
The ruin'd race of men to succour and to save.

IX

But not in him they found their surest stay,
For, when they knelt to pray,
They trembled, mindful of his judgment seat,
And, inly conscious of his broken laws,
Ask'd—‘Who will plead our cause?
Is not his Mother tender-soul'd and sweet?
Oh! let us haste to kiss her blessed feet!
If stern the Judge, the mother-maid is mild;
She will assuage the wrath of her almighty child.’

X

And so, beside the throne of Sire and Son,
In mystic union One—
Mother and Bride of Heaven, the Virgin stands;
She, Star of hope, the heavy-laden cheers,
She dries the mourner's tears.
Wherever sufferers pined in Christian lands,
To her for help they raised their suppliant hands;
High saints, great bards, did homage at her shrine,
And artists loved to paint her human face divine.

XI

Long by the chosen spirits of the West
The Eastern maid was bless'd
As type supreme of tenderest womanhood.
In her ideal nature they combined
Whate'er in human kind
Inspired their love or won their gratitude—
All that they knew of bountiful and good,
All that in Woman's gentler breast began
And by contagion sweet pass'd to the soul of man.

XII

And now that riper thought has purged our eyes,
In her we recognise
A beautiful, though faint, prefigurement
Of Thee, Humanity! in these last days
Giv'n to our longing gaze—
Great Being, in whose soul are truly blent
All gifts to her by pious fancy lent.
Each dear addition link'd to Mary's name—
Star, Refuge, Fount of grace—thine own may better claim.

XIII

To power, controll'd by law and led by love,
Not seated far above
In the blank sky where comes no voice of prayer,
But here incarnate, blessed one! in Thee—
We bow the adoring knee.
Grateful we own Thy fond maternal care,
And view with trustful hope the promise fair
Which, bright'ning now, will shine on human souls
Long as through gladden'd space, Thy planet-dwelling rolls.

XIV

So let the mighty organ shed around
Its stormy waves of sound,
And be the solemn silver trumpets blown,
And let ten thousand hearts and voices raise
The anthem-note of praise;
For on this day, by bard and sage foreshown,
The Woman-spirit mounts th' eternal throne.
Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates,
And let Her enter in, whose reign all earth awaits.