 | Under the dawn |  |
159
THE OLD AND THE NEW.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Henceforth Venus is pale,
And stripped is her snow-white mail;
As a sea-bird's her faint wail
Resounds thro' the mists of the shore.
Henceforth Venus is pale,
And stripped is her snow-white mail;
As a sea-bird's her faint wail
Resounds thro' the mists of the shore.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Out of the ashes of Rome
Rises a new tall dome;
The peoples shall make it their home,
Not wreathed with trophies of war.
Out of the ashes of Rome
Rises a new tall dome;
The peoples shall make it their home,
Not wreathed with trophies of war.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Trample the blossoms of Greece,
Their poets and heroes shall cease,
But praise we our Lord of Peace,
The deep-browed king we adore.
Trample the blossoms of Greece,
Their poets and heroes shall cease,
But praise we our Lord of Peace,
The deep-browed king we adore.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Watchers that tarried beheld,
On golden pinions impelled,
Christ's figure—death being quelled,
Quelled was their misery sore.
Watchers that tarried beheld,
On golden pinions impelled,
Christ's figure—death being quelled,
Quelled was their misery sore.
185
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Venus from out of the deep
Risen is, risen from sleep;
Take courage, ye that weep,
For her face shines over the shore.
Venus from out of the deep
Risen is, risen from sleep;
Take courage, ye that weep,
For her face shines over the shore.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Out of that Hebrew dead
Rises a banneret red;
The peoples have travailed and bled;
Our Mars shall initiate war.
Out of that Hebrew dead
Rises a banneret red;
The peoples have travailed and bled;
Our Mars shall initiate war.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Praise we rather our sages
Who inscribed fathomless pages
For a gift and a light to the ages;
Their calm-browed strength we adore.
Praise we rather our sages
Who inscribed fathomless pages
For a gift and a light to the ages;
Their calm-browed strength we adore.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Watchers that wait at the grave
Of our goddess, see plumes wave
In the mouth of that desolate cave;
And their souls are no more sore.
Watchers that wait at the grave
Of our goddess, see plumes wave
In the mouth of that desolate cave;
And their souls are no more sore.
186
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Praise we, in hymn and in song,
Jesus, his sword-arm strong;
Approach we, a jubilant throng,
Low bending Christ's altar before.
Praise we, in hymn and in song,
Jesus, his sword-arm strong;
Approach we, a jubilant throng,
Low bending Christ's altar before.
“Christ being raised dieth no more”—
The storm of the terror of God
As lightning leaps on the sod,
But he guides his lambs with a rod
Gentle, as ever of yore.
The storm of the terror of God
As lightning leaps on the sod,
But he guides his lambs with a rod
Gentle, as ever of yore.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
As a King, as a Monarch, He stands
On a golden throne; He disbands
Past sorrows and sins of the lands,
Peace, bounty, and love to outpour.
As a King, as a Monarch, He stands
On a golden throne; He disbands
Past sorrows and sins of the lands,
Peace, bounty, and love to outpour.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
What is beauty but clay,
Created but for a day,
In a feeble, mutable way?
Frail oaths their goddess swore.
What is beauty but clay,
Created but for a day,
In a feeble, mutable way?
Frail oaths their goddess swore.
187
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
From the snow-white calm of her breast
Flies healing for spirits opprest;
'Tis a home, a temple, a nest,
For nations homeless before.
From the snow-white calm of her breast
Flies healing for spirits opprest;
'Tis a home, a temple, a nest,
For nations homeless before.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Gone is the terror that slew,
And our Lady, alive and new,
Shines as a bird in the blue,
Shines, as she glistened of yore.
Gone is the terror that slew,
And our Lady, alive and new,
Shines as a bird in the blue,
Shines, as she glistened of yore.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Gleameth upon us the beauty
Of Venus, our joy and our booty
Spotless; hers is our duty,
And service of praise we outpour.
Gleameth upon us the beauty
Of Venus, our joy and our booty
Spotless; hers is our duty,
And service of praise we outpour.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Beauty is endless; Christ
With death-worms holds fair tryst;
Death's beetles his body enticed—
Now, where is that oath which he swore?
Beauty is endless; Christ
With death-worms holds fair tryst;
Death's beetles his body enticed—
Now, where is that oath which he swore?
188
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
He, the Lamb that was killed,
O'er tribes converted and thrilled
Shall rule; Death fled when he willed,
As a fawn at a lion's roar.
He, the Lamb that was killed,
O'er tribes converted and thrilled
Shall rule; Death fled when he willed,
As a fawn at a lion's roar.
“Christ being raised dieth no more”—
Shines the dawn of a year
Sinless, redemption is near;
For seasons hoary and drear,
Soft summer flames at the door.
Shines the dawn of a year
Sinless, redemption is near;
For seasons hoary and drear,
Soft summer flames at the door.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Zeus and Here are white
With extreme terror and affright;
As moons sink swallowed in night,
They sink; our Sun doth soar.
Zeus and Here are white
With extreme terror and affright;
As moons sink swallowed in night,
They sink; our Sun doth soar.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Fame is of little account,
To a lordlier life we mount,
To a crystal ceaseless fount,
All worldly yearning is o'er.
Fame is of little account,
To a lordlier life we mount,
To a crystal ceaseless fount,
All worldly yearning is o'er.
189
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Christ as a lamb shall flee
When his trembling gaze doth see
Our leopard's approaching knee;
When he hears her full throat roar.
Christ as a lamb shall flee
When his trembling gaze doth see
Our leopard's approaching knee;
When he hears her full throat roar.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Summer is in the smile
Of beauty; their swords do defile
Our goddess, their leaders beguile
Our people; Death treads at the door.
Summer is in the smile
Of beauty; their swords do defile
Our goddess, their leaders beguile
Our people; Death treads at the door.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
But for a season He
With red, vindictive knee,
Doth triumph violently;
For a time his red wings soar.
But for a season He
With red, vindictive knee,
Doth triumph violently;
For a time his red wings soar.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Sweet are the limbs of a girl,
Sweet is each golden curl
Her fingers lazily twirl,
And bosom her hands pass o'er.
Sweet are the limbs of a girl,
Sweet is each golden curl
Her fingers lazily twirl,
And bosom her hands pass o'er.
190
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Nymphs and goddesses nude
Are abolished, broken, subdued;
The unseemly shapes they viewed
We hurl in haste to the floor.
Nymphs and goddesses nude
Are abolished, broken, subdued;
The unseemly shapes they viewed
We hurl in haste to the floor.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Roses are but for an age
Thoughtless, we turn Time's page;
Heavenly flowers engage
Our vision—these Christ wore.
Roses are but for an age
Thoughtless, we turn Time's page;
Heavenly flowers engage
Our vision—these Christ wore.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Praise we Christ, who is strong,
And his sword, keen-edged, is long;
His heart is as sweet as a song,
And as soft as a kiss to the core.
Praise we Christ, who is strong,
And his sword, keen-edged, is long;
His heart is as sweet as a song,
And as soft as a kiss to the core.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Ours are the golden hills
Of Heaven, and amber rills
Whose bed no torrent fills,
And gifts from the heavenly store.
Ours are the golden hills
Of Heaven, and amber rills
Whose bed no torrent fills,
And gifts from the heavenly store.
191
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Kissed by the foam-flakes, our
Immaculate foam-born flower
Steps, under a foam-bell shower,
With white foot over the floor.
Kissed by the foam-flakes, our
Immaculate foam-born flower
Steps, under a foam-bell shower,
With white foot over the floor.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Nay! there is many a crown;
Fame puts smooth bay-leaves down;
The forehead that knows no frown
Love's earliest rose-buds wore.
Nay! there is many a crown;
Fame puts smooth bay-leaves down;
The forehead that knows no frown
Love's earliest rose-buds wore.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Truth! their masculine kiss
Is but as a serpent's hiss
By beauty's sweet-mouthed bliss—
Her mouth is sweet to the core.
Truth! their masculine kiss
Is but as a serpent's hiss
By beauty's sweet-mouthed bliss—
Her mouth is sweet to the core.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Ours are flowery glades
Upon earth, and cool, deep shades
Of beeches, and bright-browed maids—
All earth's kindly store.
Ours are flowery glades
Upon earth, and cool, deep shades
Of beeches, and bright-browed maids—
All earth's kindly store.
192
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
He is risen, and Summer, on wings
Rose-white, rises and sings;
All good gifts he brings,
All high hopes to the fore.
He is risen, and Summer, on wings
Rose-white, rises and sings;
All good gifts he brings,
All high hopes to the fore.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Surely Jehovah is here
In this peasant's figure austere;
To the Lord Judæa is dear,
And earth's plains snowy and hoar.
Surely Jehovah is here
In this peasant's figure austere;
To the Lord Judæa is dear,
And earth's plains snowy and hoar.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Listen! our sages speak
With rose-flushed, passionate cheek,
Yet are they gentle and meek,
Christ's sweet evangelists four.
Listen! our sages speak
With rose-flushed, passionate cheek,
Yet are they gentle and meek,
Christ's sweet evangelists four.
“Christ being raised, dieth no more”—
Surely we trust in the face
Of Jesus; our hands we place
Round the body that, by God's grace,
The spotless Virgin bore.
Surely we trust in the face
Of Jesus; our hands we place
Round the body that, by God's grace,
The spotless Virgin bore.
193
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
She is risen! Lady sweet,
Trample with pitiless feet
Our bodies; but, we entreat,
Bring lovely days to the fore.
She is risen! Lady sweet,
Trample with pitiless feet
Our bodies; but, we entreat,
Bring lovely days to the fore.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Beauty is in all places
And persons, and various races;
Sweet summer her white breast graces,
She crowneth the groves that are hoar.
Beauty is in all places
And persons, and various races;
Sweet summer her white breast graces,
She crowneth the groves that are hoar.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Beauty's evangelists fair
Are fire, and water, and air,
And this sweet earth; we are 'ware
Of these, her spirits four.
Beauty's evangelists fair
Are fire, and water, and air,
And this sweet earth; we are 'ware
Of these, her spirits four.
“Christ being dead, liveth no more”—
Safely we trust in thee;
For meadow, and mountain, and lea,
And blue, dim wastes of the sea,
Thine endless bosom bore.
Safely we trust in thee;
For meadow, and mountain, and lea,
And blue, dim wastes of the sea,
Thine endless bosom bore.
| Under the dawn | |