 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
THE MARTYRDOM.
ANGELS.
Bearing lilies in our bosom
Blessed Agnes, we have flown,
Missioned from the Heaven of Heavens
Unto thee and thee alone:
We are coming, we are flying,
To behold thy happy dying.
Blessed Agnes, we have flown,
Missioned from the Heaven of Heavens
Unto thee and thee alone:
We are coming, we are flying,
To behold thy happy dying.
AGNES.
Bearing lilies far before you,
Whose fresh odours backward blown
Light those smiles upon your faces
Mingling sweet breath with your own
Ye are coming, smoothly, slowly,
To the lowliest of the lowly.
Whose fresh odours backward blown
Light those smiles upon your faces
Mingling sweet breath with your own
Ye are coming, smoothly, slowly,
To the lowliest of the lowly.
ANGELS.
Unto us the boon was given—
One glad message, holy maid,
On the lips of two blest Spirits
Like an incense-grain was laid;
As it bears us on like lightning
Cloudy skies are round us bright'ning.
One glad message, holy maid,
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Like an incense-grain was laid;
As it bears us on like lightning
Cloudy skies are round us bright'ning.
AGNES.
I am here, a mortal maiden:
If our Father aught hath said
Let me hear His words and do them—
Ought I not to feel afraid
As ye come your shadows flinging
O'er a breast to meet them springing?
If our Father aught hath said
Let me hear His words and do them—
Ought I not to feel afraid
As ye come your shadows flinging
O'er a breast to meet them springing?
ANGELS.
Agnes, there is joy in Heaven!
Gladness like the day is flung
O'er the spaces never measured;
And from every angel's tongue
Swell those songs of impulse vernal
All whose echoes are eternal.
Gladness like the day is flung
O'er the spaces never measured;
And from every angel's tongue
Swell those songs of impulse vernal
All whose echoes are eternal.
Agnes, from the depth of Heaven
Joy is rising like a spring
Borne above its grassy margin
Borne in many a crystal ring;
Each o'er beds of wild flowers gliding,
Over each low murmurs sliding.
Joy is rising like a spring
Borne above its grassy margin
Borne in many a crystal ring;
Each o'er beds of wild flowers gliding,
Over each low murmurs sliding.
When a Christian lies expiring
Angel choirs, with plumes outspread,
Bend above his death-bed singing
That when Death's mild sleep is fled
There may be no harsh transition
While he greets the heavenly vision.
Angel choirs, with plumes outspread,
Bend above his death-bed singing
That when Death's mild sleep is fled
There may be no harsh transition
While he greets the heavenly vision.
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Am I dreaming, blessed angels?
Late ye floated two in one;
Now a thousand radiant Spirits
Round me weave a glistening zone,
Lilies as they wind, extending,
Roses with those lilies blending.
Late ye floated two in one;
Now a thousand radiant Spirits
Round me weave a glistening zone,
Lilies as they wind, extending,
Roses with those lilies blending.
See! the horizon's ring they circle!
Now they gird the zenith blue;
And now o'er every brake and billow
Float like mist, and flash like dew.
All the earth with life o'erflowing
Into heavenly shapes is growing!
Now they gird the zenith blue;
And now o'er every brake and billow
Float like mist, and flash like dew.
All the earth with life o'erflowing
Into heavenly shapes is growing!
They are rising: they are rising:
As they rise the veil is riven!
They are rising; I am rising:
Rising with them into heaven;
Rising with those shining legions
Into Life's eternal regions.
As they rise the veil is riven!
They are rising; I am rising:
Rising with them into heaven;
Rising with those shining legions
Into Life's eternal regions.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |