The Christian Scholar :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thou Maid of maids, Diana, the goddess whom he fears,
Unto thee Hippolytus this flowery chaplet bears;—
“From meadows where no shepherd his flock a-field e'er drove,
From where no woodman's hatchet hath woke the echoing grove,
Where o'er the unshorn meadow the wild bee passes free,
Where by her river-haunts dwells virgin Modesty;
Where he who knoweth nothing the wisdom of the schools
Beareth in a virgin heart the fairest of all rules;
To him 'tis given all freely to cull those self-sown flowers,
But evil men must touch not pure Nature's sacred bowers.
This to his virgin mistress a virgin hand doth bear,
A wreath of unsoil'd flowers to deck her golden hair;
For such alone of mortals can unto her draw nigh,
And with that guardian Goddess hold solemn converse high.

217

He ever hears the voice of his own virgin Queen,
He hears what others hear not, and sees her though unseen;
He holds his virgin purpose in freedom unbeguiled,
To age and death advancing in innocence a child.”

Chaste Hippolytus thus spake upon the Attic stage,
And worthy were the story of Christian pilgrimage,
Though hated by the many the tale is half divine,
And his death not all unmeet 'mong martyrdoms to shine.
'Mid Nature's hid recesses, 'mid unshorn meads and woods,
Where broods an unseen Presence o'er sacred solitudes;
Where stars are wildly silent in watches of the night,
And the virgin moon comes forth all like a vestal white;
When awful hangs the stillness upon the earth and sky,
Man's spirit longs to mingle with purer things on high.

218

When wean'd from earthly longings it hears the voice of God,
Who in that solemn evening in Eden's garden trod.
It is an awful converse, it is a holy time,
When the soul awakes to wisdom majestic and sublime,
Like an effluence divine that rests on virgin youth,
Ere tainted breath hath passed on the mirror of its truth.

And well the tragic bard hath blended that high tale
With the Venus and her loves and Phædra waxing pale,
Incestuous passion mad upon her like a spell,
The scorpion that awakens with foretaste of its hell;
Things noblest thus shine forth by contrast base and vile,
The star for clouds seems fairer in its cærulean Isle.
Is this that gentle love-god of which the poets speak,
Which sheds light upon the eyes and bloom upon the cheek?
Is this that love of woman that like the evening star
Fills up the skies around us with tender thoughts from far?

219

Or is that fabled Venus upon her car of gold
But form'd of painted splendours which earth-born mists enfold?
What seems so fair to glisten is but a thundercloud,
And leaves a tale of vengeance that speaketh clear and loud.

What wish could parent cherish for most beloved child,
But to walk before his God a virgin undefiled?
While others train their children to graceful arts and dress,
And all the worldly ways that wait on loveliness;
That they in nuptial brightness might walk like ladies fair,
And in their hands bear garlands, and garlands in their hair,
To wed with wealth and station, and walk in high degree,
With Christ's own virgin poor lest they should number'd be;
Their first thoughts thus to marry or be in marriage given,
Their second for God's Church and for the things of Heaven.

220

Far other thoughts and training, my dearest child, be thine,
Rear'd in that low simplicity which nurtures faith divine;
A virgin through thy life, angel-like spirit blest,
The more to love thy Saviour and on His love to rest.

Not as the untaught Heathen the tragic buskin bore,
Conversing with the Goddess in woodland, grove, or shore:
But with those saintly spirits that wean'd their hopes from earth
That they might have in Heaven a yet more glorious birth:
With Daniel, man of loves, who saw beyond the tomb;
And John in trance beholding the Judgment yet to come;
And with good Ken, the Witness of this our later day,
From whom his Church hath learned her morn and evening lay.
There's found in life no sweetness like the awakening soul
Which to God's love in childhood devotes the being whole.

221

The bloom it has upon it is of eternal youth,
Though with the thorns encompass'd which shelter heavenly truth.
The spring it hath no fragrance which doth such freshness bear,
No sight or sound hath nature which can with it compare.
When Satan and the world our course aside have driven,
To that bright spot turns Memory as to a gleam of Heaven.

οισθ' ουν βροτοισιν ος καθεστηκεν νομος,
μισειν το σεμνον, και το μη πασιν φιλον.

lin. 92.