The poetical works of Leigh Hunt :: :: University of Virginia Library

O love of thanks for gentle deeds,
O sympathy with lowly needs,
O claims of care, and balms of song,
I fear'd ye meant to do me wrong,
And let me fade with stifled heart,
Ere time and I had leave to part;
But waking lately in the morn,
Just as a golden day was born,
Lo the dull clouds, by sickness wrought,
Began to break on heights of thought,

305

And fresh from out the Muse's sky
Three visions of a Queen had I;
Three in auspicious link benign;
One dear, one gorgeous, one divine!
The first—(and let no spirit dare
That vision with my soul to share,
But such as know that angels spread
Their wings above a mother's bed)—
The first disclos'd her where she lay
In pillow'd ease, that blessed day,
Which just had made her pale with joy
Of the wish'd-for, princely boy,
Come to complete, and stamp with man,
The line which gentler grace began.
See, how they smooth her brows to rest,
Faint, meek, yet proud, and wholly blest;
And how she may not speak the while
But only sigh, and only smile,
And press his pressing hand who vies
In bliss with her beloved eyes.

Vanish'd that still and sacred room;
And round me, like a pomp in bloom,
Was a proud chapel, heavenly bright
With lucid glooms of painted light
Hushing the thought with holy story,
And flags that hung asleep in glory,
And scutcheons of emblazon bold,
The flowers of trees of memories old.
And living human flowers were there,
New colouring the angelic air;
Young beauties mix'd with warriors gray,
And choristers in lily array,
And princes, and the genial king
With the wise companioning,
And the mild manhood, by whose side
Walks daily forth his two years' bride,
And she herself, the rose of all,
Who wears the world's first coronal,—

306

She, lately in that bower of bliss,
How simple and how still to this!
Forever and anon there roll'd
The gusty organ manifold,
Like a golden gate of heaven
On its hinges angel-driven
To let through a storm and weight
Of its throne's consenting's state;
Till the dreadful grace withdrew
Into breath serene as dew,
Comforting the ascending hymn
With notes of softest seraphim.
Then was call on Jesus mild;
And in the midst that new-born child
Was laid within the lap of faith,
While his prayer the churchman saith,
And gifted with two loving names—
One the heir of warlike fames,
And one befitting sage new line
Against the world grow more benign.

Like a bubble, children-blown,
Then was all that splendour flown;
And in a window by the light
Of the gentle moon at night,
Talking with her love apart
And her own o'erflowing heart,
That queen and mother did I see
Too happy for tranquillity;
Too generous-happy to endure
The thought of all the woful poor
Who that same night laid down their heads
In mockeries of starving beds,
In cold, in wet, disease, despair,
In madness that will say no prayer;
With wailing infants, some; and some
By whom the little clay lies dumb;
And some, whom feeble love's excess,
Through terror, tempts to murderousness.

307

And at that thought the big drops rose
In pity for her people's woes;
And this glad mother and great queen
Weeping for the poor was seen,
And vowing in her princely will
That they should thrive and bless her still.

And of these three fair sights of mine,
That was the vision most divine.