University of Virginia Library

DRAMATIC PIECES. ODES. POEMS

DRAMA ANGELICUM:

A MASQUE OF ANGELS BEFORE OUR LADY IN THE TEMPLE.

PRELUDE.

An open Court in the Temple of Jerusalem surrounded by cloisters of white marble. In the centre a fountain playing. On the left, resting against a pillar, the Blessed Virgin Mary, as a child, fast asleep; at her side vases containing rose-trees in bloom, and delicate aromatic plants. Angels around keeping watch. Dawn slowly breaks. Distant chant of Priests.
ITHURIEL.(Chief of the Angelic Guard).
Comrades, our sacred charge,
Who all night long upon this marble pavement,
Like a pale lily bent, was pouring forth
Her most ambrosial sighs into the ear
Of her eternal Father, now at length
Has yielded her young nature to repose.
Morning returns emblazoning with gold
Yon eastern pinnacle. The hideous storm
Raised by the vagrant spirits of the night,
Which seem'd to shake this temple to its base,
Is past;—no cloud appears;
And through the spicy air softly diffused
A halcyon calm is basking, as becomes
This day of our young Queen's Nativity,
The seventh in its order since she came
Immaculate into a world defiled.
A day it is well worthy of observance
Now as in after-time; and our custom
Has been to celebrate it hitherto
With song and festal show, in entertainment
Of this dear Maid. Now, therefore, Azael,
Most bright deviser of our pageantries,
Say, what new mystery hast thou prepared
For this auspicious morn, which thrills the world
With life, and joy, and glad expectancy?
Last year thine art was most felicitous,
Bringing before our eyes, as I remember,
The happy pastoral times; and setting forth,
With infinite delight to this fair soul,
As in a drama, Abraham's sacrifice
Of Isaac on the holy Mount of Vision,
Timely averted by an angel's hand.

AZAEL.
Dread Lord, our mystery of to-day attempts
After the manner of a sacred masque,
To represent by aid of a Procession,
In contrast with unhappy Eva's fall,
The glories of this heaven-created Child;
Personifying the early Patriarchs,
As we remember each in face and garb,
While journeying on his earthly pilgrimage,
Now in the groves of Paradise at rest.
These, as they pass, in turn will homage pay
To this new blossom of their ancient tree;
Felicitating in triumphant strains
The birthday morn of Her, in whom alone
The hope of poor mortality is hid.
All was prepared, and we were busy choosing
Last night our parts, when of a sudden leapt
The tempest down, and summon'd us away
To the defence of this all-sacred head,
From the satanic crew that strove so hard
To sweep into the bottomless abyss
Our Temple and its Treasure.

ITHURIEL.
It was well.
First among all our duties was enjoin'd us,
By Michael the Archangel, our high Prince,
Ever by day and night with heedful watch
To guard this paragon of innocence
From her innumerable relentless foes
Headed by false apostate Lucifer.
This task ye well perform'd, Angelic powers:
Exultingly I mark'd each several deed,
While Hell in vain before your serried front
Its nether depth upheaved. Now, therefore, go,
Ye who this entertainment have in charge,
And what remains complete with diligence;
For I expect some princely visitors
With the first slanting sunbeam, in high state
Coming from bright Italia, to salute
The Queen of Sion, and perchance to stay
As your spectators. We, who here remain,
Will sing meanwhile in this fair sleeper's ear
Our birthday song of gratulation,
Blending and parting in alternate strains.

[Exeunt Azael and Companions.
Enter Herald, with a banner inscribed Roma and surmounted by a golden eagle.
HERALD.
Most mighty Prince!
Foremost among the Chivalry of Heaven!
Know that the Angels of Italia,
With their high Potentate the Guardian
Of world-subjecting Rome, moved by report
Of Palestine's new wonder, have arrived;
And crave permission of thee to behold
The world's young joy.

ITHURIEL.
They are most welcome here.

Enter, in glistening apparel, the Tutelary Angels of Rome and other Italian Cities.
TUTELARY ANGEL OF ROME
(kneeling to Mary).
Hail thou, of love and fear and holy hope
Mother that art to be! Hail, woman blest
Above all women! Mightier than all
Before or after thee! Effulgent Mirror
Wholly untouch'd by breath of primal sin!
Brightness of light eternal! within whom
Nothing defiled hath place. All beautiful!
Lovelier than Cherubim or Seraphim!
Surpassing all th' Angelic Hierarchies
Temple and throne of blazing Deity!
Praise, lustre, excellence, of humankind!
Through whom celestial dove-like peace returns
To the long-ruffled and disordered world!
Who shalt on earth ineffably conceive
The Lord of Heav'n. Hail, living Fount of Life!
From whom the Maker of the Universe,
The Father's consubstantial Word and Son,
Shall into His eternal Person take
Perfect humanity, thenceforth to be
Inseparably His for evermore;
So with a new regenerated race
To fill our vacant thrones! Virgin august!
As yet amid celestial sovereignties
Only by dim anticipation known,
But now, in thy predestinated time,
Beginning partially to be reveal'd!
[Laying his crown at her feet
Never again since I have Mary seen
Shall glitter on this humbled brow of mine
Great Rome's imperial diadem; hers it is,
And mine by right no more. Accept it then,
Dear unexampled glory of the world!
Unworthy to adorn thy sacred head,
Hardly deserving at thy feet a place.

ITHURIEL.
Most noble Potentate, in the behalf
Of this fair Daughter of Jerusalem
And Queen of holy Sion, we accept
Your loving worship; and the time shall be
When Mary to your Rome a hundredfold
This homage shall repay; if but aright
I read the course of ages faintly traced
In prophecy, or by conjecture weigh'd.
And now, in grateful token of our thanks,
I bid you to a Pageant, each and all,
Prepared amongst us in a simple fashion
For the diversion of this royal Child;
Which presently commencing will conclude
As we expect, ere the meridian sun
Lies mirror'd on your Adriatic wave.

ANGEL OF ROME.
We count ourselves most fortunate; already
Fame of your Mysteries hath reached our ear.

AZAEL
(re-entering).
All is complete, my Prince: we do but wait
For your commands.

ITHURIEL.
Begin then, Azael;
While in their chalices are sparkling yet
The dewdrops of the morn.

AZAEL.
Please you that we
Awake our Lady first?

ITHURIEL.
Nay, as I think,
Better she slumber on; for much she needs,
After the rabid uproar of last night,
Some genial balm. Nor will your Spectacle
Less clearly pass before her inward gaze,
Than if those sacred eyelids had unclasp'd
Their golden fringe; finding an easy entrance,
Beneath the semblance of a mystic dream,
In that exact proportion best befitting
Her present grace and knowledge. Such the power
That to angelic ministries belongs.

[Exit Azael. The rest arrange themselves for the spectacle behind Our Lady.

THE MASQUE.

Enter, on the right, personated by Angels, the High-Priest and Priests of the Temple, with censers and silver trumpets, followed by Virgins of the Sanctuary with harps and tabrets. Advancing towards Our Lady all make solemn obeisance.
HIGH-PRIEST.
[Taking a thurible, he solemnly incenses Our Lady as she lies asleep; after which Priests and Virgins arrange themselves as chorus on the right side of the Court, facing Our Lady.

SCENE I.

The fountain ceases to play; and the Cloister at the end of the Court slowly parting exhibits, as on a stage, a melancholy prospect of rock and desert, veiled in mysterious gloom.
Enter Eve, personated by an angel, in a raiment of many colours, grace fully wrought of delicate furs and plumage.
EVE.
Adam, where art thou? O return, return.
Too long hast thou been absent from my side
Searching the wild for fruits so scanty here,
So plentiful in Eden's happy clime!
Adam, where art thou? Ah, in vain I call;
No voice responds; and o'er the hideous waste
Chaotic silence broods; save when a blast
Far pealing from the stormy clarions
Of sworded Cherubim, from earth to heaven
Reverberates our doom. O misery!
O misery of miseries,—to think,
But yesterday in Paradise! and now
Outcasts of nature, to the wrath exposed
Of all creation by our Fall aggrieved!
Nor less of furious demons raging round,
Unchain'd by our own act. But worse than all,
Far worse than outward elemental wrack,
Far worse than brutal or Satanic rage,
Is this conflicting storm I feel within,
Deep in my central being, such as never
I felt before in Paradisal days.
O loss supreme! O loss unutterable
Of grace divine, our Maker's noblest boon
To nature superadded! This departed,
I feel a very ruin of myself;
A strife of inward spiritual elements
Each furiously against the other turn'd,
And wrestling in the darken'd soul's abyss.
Ah, wilful and perverse! who, not content
With that unmerited beatitude
So freely by creative love bestow'd,
Ambitiously must lend an eager ear
To the deceiving Serpent; and partake
Of the forbidden tree; and break the law
Our Maker gave us; and prevail with Adam
To break it also; and had no touch of pity
For generations to be born of me,
Who through perpetual ages shall proclaim
Their Mother cursed among all womankind,
Partakers of her guilt and penalty.
[Casting herself on the sand.
O parent earth, receive me! Dust I am,
And into dust I must again return;
So runs the sentence. Oh, that here it might
Find its fulfilment—happier far to die
Now in Creation's morning, than live on
To be a fount of countless miseries
To countless beings through all future time!
So might the Lord another Eve create,
Another Eve far better than the first,
Far better and more wise; who should not sin
As the first sinn'd. So might the Lord from her
Ordain another race of humankind,
Not to be born in sin, as must be born
All who are born of me. Ah, what if this
Which now I feel,—this faintness stealing o'er me,—
Ah, what if this be death! O Adam, Adam!
Haste to thy dying spouse; make haste to speak
Forgiveness of the past, and to enfold
Thy partner in a last embrace of love.

[She sinks in a swoon, Solemn silence. Presently a soft Eolian melancholy music springs up, mingled with the distant moaning of wild-beasts, plaintive notes of birds, the sighing of winds, and other doleful sounds. After which Voices overhead, as in a colloquy.
FIRST VOICE.
Hark, how all creation moans
In a thousand piteous tones,
Wailing its untimely fall
From a state celestial!
See for sylvan lawns appear
Arid wastes of desert drear!
See the world a ruin lie,
All through Eve's apostasy!

SECOND VOICE.
Lord, how long shall be the time
Ere the guilt of Adam's crime
Shall from nature be removed
In the smile of Thy Beloved?
When shall justice dawn again?
When shall peace eternal reign?
When again on earth shall be
Truth and true felicity?

THIRD VOICE.
When his weakness man has shown
In his native strength alone;
When the world is worn and old;
When its faith is dead and cold;
When o'er sacred Carmel's head
Forty centuries have sped;
When a Virgin shall be born,
Like the rose without a thorn,
Wholly free from Adam's stain;—
Then shall justice dawn again;
Then again the waste shall bloom
As a lily from the tomb;
Heaven re-open in the skies,
Earth renew its Paradise.

[Eve slowly wakes; and gazing round with terror, sobs vehemently.
Enter the Archangel Gabriel, bearing an olive-branch and some fruits of the desert.
GABRIEL.
Hail, Mother of all ages! fontal source
Of humankind, who shall from thee become
A multitudinous river, surging on,
In ever-widening and majestic flood,
Into the ocean of eternity!
Weep not, O Eve!—I come to comfort thee.
In proof of which behold this olive-branch,
Earnest of peace restored, and brighter days.
Know that, among all miseries, despair
Closing the gate of mercy is the worst.
Rise, then, and be consoled; and eat of what
I bring thee. Little yet suspectest thou
How much thy natural frame has been impair'd,
Immortal once by grace, and with the help
Of life's immortal tree; but now, alas,
As left in its own native feebleness,
By slightest effort wearied; and throughout
Corruptible with latent germs of death.
These fruits, less exquisite indeed than those
Of Paradise, are yet, so mercy wills,
Best suited to repair thy wasted strength.

[He offers her fruit
EVE
(rising).
O thou, whose form,
So radiantly bright, proclaims thee one
Of Heav'n's high Princes, I would eat, but grief
Forbids me,—grief, and keen solicitude
For woe-worn Adam. At the break of dawn
He wander'd forth, leaving me strict command
Not to forsake the circuit of these rocks;
And now the evening shades are closing round
Without a sign of his desired return.
What if some beast have rent his tender flesh!
Or on his head the vivid thunderbolt
Have fallen unawares! or, sadder still,
What if in strong aversion he has left
His guilty Eve; and sought him out a nook
In some far region, there to pine and die
Safe from her hateful sight! Say, holy Angel,
If haply you have chanced to cross his path
Upon the borders of th' inclement waste?
For I am troubled at his lengthen'd stay.

GABRIEL.
But now I came upon him, as he sate,
His hands upon his forehead tightly clasp'd,
Beneath a solitary juniper,
On a high sandy hillock, gazing far
Across the plain in meditative mood,
And breathing forth his lamentable sighs
Upon th' unsympathising desert space,
In fond remembrance of lost Paradise.
Some comfort, as I think, I minister'd,
Bearer of welcome news; and have the same
For thee, when thou hast tasted of the fruit
He sends by me,—his poor love-offering,
Cull'd with laborious and painful search
From the rude bosom of the wilderness,
Not without wounds from many a prickly thorn.
Himself had come, but that his jaded limbs
Refused their task.

EVE
(eating of the fruit).
Thanks, heavenly messenger, for those dear words
That tell me Adam lives, and still can love
The guilty origin of all his ills.
And thanks again to Adam and to thee
For this repast, too good for fallen Eve.
Already, with no small surprise I feel
In body as in mind my strength revived.
And now, declare, I pray, what consolation
Is this thou bringest? How can comfort be,
Where all is gloom and blank despondency?

GABRIEL.

EVE.
O happiness!
Kind Angel, let us go without delay.
Lead on; I follow thee.

GABRIEL.
To Adam first
We bend our steps; he also is permitted
To see this blissful sight, that so your joy
United may be greater. Yet, O Eve,
When of these visionary scenes ye drink,
Deem not that ye behold the things themselves,
Or aught beside a semblance shadow'd forth
By angel ministries, beneath the veil
Of outward shapes; as suits your fallen state,
Whose now beclouded soul, enslaved to earth
By its own fatal and rebellious choice,
Its heavenly intuitions half-obscured,
Henceforth, so long as it inhabits flesh,
Must be content by earthly images
To picture to its gaze immortal things.
Nay Heav'n itself, could it be brought before
Your feeble vision, would perforce assume
The bulky outline of material forms,
Its essence pure escaping human reach.

[He leads Eve across the desert. As they advance, the sandy waste begins to assume a verdant tint, blue sky appears, and a balmy breeze springs up.
GABRIEL.
See, Eve, already how the wilderness
Is casting off its late funereal garb,
And all in vernal beauty decks itself—
Emblem of hope revived, and happier times.
Onward! the furthest spot to human speed
Is little distant if an Angel lead.

[Exeunt Gabriel and Eve.
A brilliant mirage rises at the end of the Court, representing, by way of drop-scene, Jerusalem and its Temple as in the age of Solomon; meanwhile the Chorus of Priests and Virgins sings alternately as follows:
PRIESTS.
On Sion's hill a Temple stands,
No toilsome work of human hands:
A Temple beauteous in design,
Replete with mysteries divine:
A Temple of eternal fame;
And Mary is its mystic name.

VIRGINS.
Or ere the skyey dome was rear'd;
Or ere the mountain-tops appear'd;
Or ere the raging sea was chain'd;
The Lord this Temple had ordain'd:
And its secure foundations laid
Before the Seraphim were made.

PRIESTS.
Deep in His counsels all divine,
In silence grew the lovely shrine;
In silence rear'd aloft its head,
And like the fragrant cedar spread,
That keeps from age to age its throne
Upon the heights of Lebanon.

VIRGINS.
What in the night of times gone by
Was ever in th' eternal Eye,
Now in the world's reviving morn
Begins on human sight to dawn;
Our hands have touch'd, our eyes behold,
This Temple of pellucid gold.

PRIESTS.
Still with the tide of onward time
Expanding in a growth sublime,
Soon shall its heritage extend
Throughout the world from end to end,
And gather into one embrace
The Jewish and the Gentile race.

VIRGINS.
Hail, sacrosanct intact abode
Created for Incarnate God!
Hail, shrine incomprehensible,
In which the Father's Word shall dwell!
Hail, Virgin, free from Adam's curse!
Hail, Temple of the universe!

PRIESTS.
Ah, could we but a moment spy,
Thy glorious inner Sanctuary;
What miracles would meet our gaze,
Exceeding all that earth displays!
Such as befit the Palace bright
Preparing for the Infinite.

VIRGINS.
Ah, could we view the altar fair,
That glistens so divinely there;
Could we but scent the incense sweet
That hovers round that mercy-seat;
Could we but hear the lovely song,
Which evermore those aisles prolong;—

PRIESTS AND VIRGINS TOGETHER.
Then should we all perforce avow
That Heav'n itself had come below;
In order that the Lord of grace
Might find on earth a fitting place
Whence—in depths of ruin hurl'd—
To reorganise the world!

SCENE II.

The mirage dissolving reveals a grassy terrace looking upon an open space, in the midst of which rises Mount Moria.
Enter the Archangel Gabriel, conducting Adam and Eve.
GABRIEL.
Lo, where it stands; the sacred table-land
And Mount of Vision promised to your gaze!
Behold its fair foundations lifted high
Upon the summits of the holy hills;
Figure of her, whose sanctity begins
Where others terminate. Behold, behold,
The Mount of mounts: Heav'n's sacred vestibule,
Jerusalem's fair seat in future days,
Predestined habitation of the Lord,
Where He shall dwell for ages, and well-pleased
Incense and holy sacrifice receive;
Umbrageous now, and in the glory clad
Of late creation; but in after-times,
When o'er the world a roaring flood has swept,
Far different to appear! There shall ye see,
Upon its verdant heaven-embracing floor,
Your Child in glory immarcessible
Sitting enthroned beneath the mystic shade
Of Life's ambrosial Tree—Mother elect
Of Life and all who live: and there shall view,
Before her with exultant pæans throng,
Gather'd from all the onward centuries,
The Patriarchal train, of which already
As hitherward we came, ye saw the skirts
Winding along the valley's further side;
And heard its herald note of victory
Peal from a thousand trumpets with a blast
That shook the realms of chaos and of night.
And now, farewell: henceforth ye need me not,
O fountain-heads august of all mankind!
Sufficient of yourselves to find the way.

[He vanishes.
ADAM.
How sudden was his parting! such the gift
Of incorporeal natures. Fare thee well,
Bright Messenger of peace! and bear aloft
To other worlds the tale of Adam's fall,
To be their warning through the tracts of time.
Come, Eve, rejoice with me in this fair scene.
O contrast exquisite
With that interminable desert waste
Which late we trod! Ah, what an odorous waft
Of Paradisal perfume hither steals
From shrubs innumerous, whose circlet fair
Encompasses as with a flowery belt
The Mount of God. O balm ineffable,
At which mine eyes, that seem'd as adamant,
In blissful tears dissolve! Hail, sacred hill!
Hail, second Eden, fairer than the first!
Be quick, my best beloved; let us press on,
And mount without delay yon gracious stair
Of Heaven-ascending heights, lest with a breath
The vision melt before our yearning eyes,
And leave us doubly desolate.

EVE.
Bethink thee,
My Adam, with what face can we appear
In that most holy vestibule, disrobed
As here we stand, of our first innocence?
Such is the fear that in my bosom thrills.

ADAM.
And rightly, had we no sure confidence
Elsewhere obtain'd. But, O my timorous Eve,
These honourable vestments clothing us,
So delicately wrought in fairest form
And exquisite variety of tint,
Lovely adornments from the loving hand
Of God Himself—what else are they but tokens
Exterior of a new interior grace,
Infused within us through the priceless merits
Of Him who is to come? In this array'd,
Though of ourselves most wholly miserable,
We have no cause for shame. Why, then, delay
His counsel to fulfil who brought us hither?

EVE.
Adam thy will is mine. Too much already
Has disobedience cost us. Lead thou on;
My heart is burning with desire to see
The sacred Virgin to be born of me.

[Exeunt Adam and Eve.
A mirage as before, representing Rome as in the age of Augustus.
PRIESTS.
Ere yet primeval Chaos reign'd;
Ere matter yet had form obtain'd;
Far in the Empyrean height
A vacant Throne of purest light
Aloft o'er worlds angelic raised
In solitary glory blazed.

VIRGINS.
The Seraphs, from the topmost tier
That girdles Heav'n's eternal sphere,
With awe the distant wonder eyed,
And vainly to interpret tried;
No creature worthy could they see
To sit in such high majesty.

PRIESTS.
But not in vain th' Eternal Mind
Hath its eternal scheme design'd;
Now, therefore, in the midst of years
This Child immaculate appears,
Worthy alone of all to fill
That Throne so inaccessible!

VIRGINS.
Hail, Mary, purest Gem of earth!
Hail, child of grace before thy birth!
Whose path from grace to grace ascends,
And in supremest glory ends.
Hail, Daughter of th' Eternal King,
From whom the Life of life shall spring!

PRIESTS.
O, how for thee the Angels sigh,
Eager to waft thee to the sky!
Too long to them the days appear
That yet detain thee captive here;
Where, quench'd in mists of earth below,
Thy rays of glory dimly glow.

VIRGINS.
Ascend, ascend, Imperial Queen!
Forsake this limitary scene;
Forsake this lower darksome place
Which guilt and misery deface:
A higher world invites thee on
To splendour and dominion!

PRIESTS AND VIRGINS TOGETHER.
Ascend, ascend, Imperial Queen!
Ascend, and plead the cause of men!
Ascend, and reign upon the Throne
Predestinated thine alone!
Ascend, where none before have trod!
Ascend, the Mother of thy God!

SCENE III.

Summit of the Mount of Vision, exhibiting a spacious flowery mead surrounded by cedars. In the midst, the Tree of Life; beneath which, personated by an angel, appears Mary, as a child, in a raiment of blue and gold, seated on a throne with steps of sapphire, crowned, and sceptre in hand.
Enter Adam and Eve.
EVE
(clasping Mary's feet.)
O most Immaculate Maid,
Virgin ineffable! Pure child of God!
Transcendent marvel of the universe!
Beauty and glory of the human race!
Effacing all the shame of womankind!
See at thy feet poor miserable Eve;
And hear the parents to their daughter sue
For pardon and for peace. O joy of joys!
Felicity unhoped! to see thy face,
Who shalt repair the ruin that I made;
Else irremediable. By Eva's crime
Came sin, came death, came deathly slavery
To Satan and to sin; but Eva's daughter,
Bridging the cruel gulf her mother made,
Opens to all mankind a second path
To Paradise and life's immortal Tree.
Hail, second Eve, far better than the first!
Hail, Virgin pre-elect! Virgin conceived
In Adam's nature, not in Adam's sin;
That so to all mankind thou mightest be
A new beginning of new life in Him
Who comes through thee for Adam to atone.
Hail, Archetype of all that loveliest is,
Sweetest, most perfect, best, and heav'nliest!
Of whom our Eden but a figure was.
Lily of incorruption! Life in death!
Abyss of grace! remember that from us
Thou didst that elemental substance take
Wherewith thou shalt—O marvel infinite!
The Incorporeal with corporeal clothe,
And on the uncreated Word bestow
A second nature's origin, so becoming
Mother of God, and Empress of the world!
Remember that to our sad fall thou owest
Thy peerless glory; and with gracious eye
Look down upon thy parents here before thee,
Here as they kneel, most lovely and beloved:
And stretch thy gentle hand, and wipe away
Their mournful tears; and lift them up again;
And whisper in their hearts eternal peace.

MARY
(rising, and kissing Eve on the forehead).
Hail, parents dear!
O weep no more, and cease your piteous sighs;
And praise with me the goodness of our God;
His heights unsearchable
Of wisdom and of love;
Who on His lowly handmaid gazed;
And her from empty nothing raised;
And chose her in His grace to be
Mother of Immortality;
Mother of His Eternal Son:
Not for her own sake alone,
But for the sake of you and all mankind;
For whom, in His omniscient mind,
Before the worlds were made, this mercy He design'd.
Who, pitying our first Parents' fall,
And in their fate the fate of all,
The penalty their guilt had earn'd
Hath into greater glory turn'd;
And deign'd to crush the serpent's head
Beneath a feeble maiden's tread.
Now therefore, parents dear,
Lament no more; but, with a joyful heart,
Ascend these steps, and sit beside your child;
And know that ye are here most opportunely,
To aid her in receiving with due grace
The glad Procession now upon its way;
Coming, with songs of triumph jubilant,
To offer thanks in Sion this fair morn
In homage of that love, which, in the depth
Of everlasting ages, fix'd on her
Its pitying gaze; and chose her from the mass
Of old corruption, and predestined her,
And called her in the plenitude of times,
To be the mother of the Son of God
In whom alone is all redemption found.

[She embraces our first Parents; and taking them by the hand, makes them sit down on the uppermost step of the throne, Adam on her right, and Eve on her left.
A mirage, as before, representing Athens and sea-coast.

PRIESTS.
Hail, thou first-begotten Daughter
Of th' Almighty Father's love;
Temple of eternal glory,
Pure and spotless turtle-dove;
Mistress of the earth and skies,
Choicest bud of Paradise!

VIRGINS.
Hail to her, whose deep foundations
On the holy hills are laid;
Joy of endless generations,
Loved before the worlds were made;
Treasure of believing souls
While the wheel of ages rolls!

PRIESTS.
Garden of divinest odours;
Roseate shell of purest ray,
Where the priceless pearl of heaven
Waited its appointed day,
Nestling in repose sublime
Down beneath the wave of time!

VIRGINS.
Cloud of supramundane splendour,
Cloud, that in its awful womb
Bears the Father's hidden lightning,
Bears the thunderbolt of doom;
O'er the world in mighty power
Comes to shed the Spirit's shower!

PRIESTS.
Who can count the starry jewels
Set in Mary's crown of light?
Who can estimate her greatness?
Who can guess her glory's height?
What can measure its extent
Save the depth of God's descent?

VIRGINS.
Hail, O Queen of nature's kingdoms,
Queen of Angels, hail to thee!
Greater none have been before thee,
Greater none shall ever be:
Hail, divine Receptacle
Of th' Incomprehensible!

PRIESTS.
Thee the God of worlds foreseeing
In thy dignity supreme,
Loved thee, chose thee, gave thee being,
Set thee in salvation's scheme;
Then with all perfections deck'd,
As His Mother pre-elect.

VIRGINS.
Thine shall be a lot surpassing
All that is of glory known
In the earth or in the heavens,—
Thine, but not for thee alone;
God, in whom thy life began,
Made thee for Himself and man.

PRIESTS.
God and man in thee uniting,
Death in thee by life o'ercome;
Creature with Creator blending,
Man remoulded in thy womb;—
Such, O peerless Child, shall be
Thy prolific history.

VIRGINS.
Fount of wonders ever flowing!
Glory of the sea and sky!
How for thee th' eternal mansions
Waiting yearn and yearning sigh
Envying earth the moments slow
That detain thee here below.

PRIESTS.
Bird of Paradisal beauty,
Silver Dove with wings of gold,
Pity thy dear native Heaven,
And thy fragrant plumes unfold;
Quickly, quickly, speed thy flight
Up to crystal realms of light.

PRIESTS AND VIRGINS TOGETHER.
There for poor unhappy mortals
Thy immortal Son implore,
There in beatific glory
Reign with Him for evermore;
Through the ages all along
Theme of sempiternal song!

SCENE IV.

Summit of the Mount of Vision as before; Mary on her throne, with Adam and Eve on either side.
Peal of trumpets, and enter first part of Procession: Abel, bearing a lamb in his bosom; then Seth, Henoch with his Book, Mathusala, and other antediluvian Patriarchs, with long white beards; last of all Noe, walking as it were in the midst of a rainbow, and carrying a pattern of the Ark in gold, with a dove upon its roof. On arriving before the throne, the Procession stops.
HENOCH.
Hail, Desire of the first world!

THE REST.
Hail, Amaze of the ages to come!

NOE.

[Mary smiles a gracious assent; and giving her sceptre to Eve, rises and sings.

MARY'S SONG.

[The Procession moves on.
Peal of trumpets, and enter Melchisedech, gorgeously vested as High Priest and King of Salem, bearing a Paten and Chalice of gold; whom follows the Father of the Faithful, attended by Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph; then, between Aaron and their sister Mary, Moses, bearing the two tables of stone; after whom Josue and warriors, succeeded by Ruth and maidens as gleaners. Last of all King David as a shepherd-boy, with his harp.
MELCHISEDECH.
Hail, Queen of Salem!

THE REST.
Hail, Vision of peace!

DAVID
(accompanying himself on his harp).
[The Procession moves on.

Peal of trumpets, and enter King Ezechias, bearing a lily-like flower; succeeded by other Kings of Judah, all royally arrayed; after whom Judith and attendant women, with cymbals and timbrels, moving to a solemn measure.
EZECHIAS.
Hail, Glory of Jerusalem!

THE REST.
Hail, Delight of Israel!

JUDITH.
[The Procession moves on.

Peal of trumpets, and enter to martial music, with banners, escorted by troops of war diversly arrayed, Allegorical Personifications of the Four Great Empires, on triumphal Cars drawn by yoked lions, leopards, and other emblematic animals; then Isaias and the other Prophets; Daniel last, bearing a scroll in his hand.
ISAIAS.
Hail Virgin who shalt conceive! Alleluia.

THE REST.
And bear a Son. Alleluia.

DANIEL.

At the end of the procession appear, with palms in their hands, the Hermits of Mount Carmel, conducting six ethereal steeds, which draw after them the Car of Elias, marvellously glistering. Seated in the car is seen the Archangel Gabriel.

SONG OF THE HERMITS OF MOUNT CARMEL.

[On arriving in front of the throne, the Car stops.
GABRIEL
(descending).
O brighter than all brightness, living Altar
Of light's pure temple, Joy exuberant
Of all the patriarchs, Queen of Palestine,
And splendour of the New Jerusalem!
Know that in honour of thy birth this day
Thy loving Angels and true Guardians hold
In Paradise High Feast, which in their name
I supplicate thy sceptred majesty
With its imperial presence to adorn.
In hope whereof, this empyrean car
(Once only touch'd by mortal foot, what time
It bore Elias through the fields of space)
Attends thy bidding. See, its fiery steeds,
Already, of their happy task aware,
Curvet, impatient for their precious freight.

MARY.
My soul hath fainted for the living Courts
Of my eternal King. Most joyfully
I go with you; this only boon entreating,
That I may bring with me these sacred Parents
Here seated at my side.

GABRIEL.
Lady, not yet is it permitted them
To pass beyond this outer vestibule;
But when the long-desired Emmanuel,
Of them through Thee hereafter to be born,
In his atoning life-blood shall have paid
For Thee and them and all of human kind
Super-exceeding ransom on the Cross;
And re-estated all things in Himself,
Opening to life eterne the door long closed;
Then shalt Thou have thy will, O Heavenly Bride,
And see these Parents ever at thy side.

[Mary, with a tender smile of pity and hope embracing our First Parents, ascends the Car, which majestically moves forward, Adam and Eve gazing wistfully after her.
EVE.
Farewell, O bright Perfection! vain it were
To follow after thee. O Adam, mark
How o'er our Mount of Vision
Dim monitory clouds come stealing down;
And all its tinted glories pale away
So exquisite before. 'Tis time, methinks,
That we descend.

ADAM.
Yes, it is even so.
Dense and more dense the vapour gathers fast,
From th' upper air insensibly distill'd,
As 'twere a veil let down to segregate
From sublunary gaze immortal things.
Give me thy hand, O Eve, my sole beloved,
And ere within its folds voluminous
The storm our perilous descent obscure,
Leave we Moria's enigmatic hill,
Hereafter by the grace of our dear Heir
From Mary born, hoping to be received
Into the sacred Sion of the skies,
When turn'd in death to our original dust
Again from dust we rise, created new
For new and more divine felicity
(Such my reliance on redeeming love)
Than that by disobedience forfeited.
At present in the world our portion lies
There to toil on in faith and hopeful love
Through good and evil mingled; till at length
Our lifelong penance o'er we go our way
Into the place appointed; there to wait,
In patience of subdued expectancy,
The joyful coming of Salvation's Morn!

[They descend the hill.
The Masque over, the Cloister reunites as at first, the fountain in the Court begins again to play, and the Chorus of Priests and Virgins withdraws.
Enter Azael and Companions.

AZAEL
(kneeling to Ithuriel).
Mighty Prince, our task is o'er,
And from phantasy's domain,
Through the secret golden door,
Hither we return again;
And commend our pageantry
To this noble Company,
Ready to receive for it
Praise or blame as may befit.

ITHURIEL.
Rise, Azael, and for this your Mystery
Accept our general thanks to each and all;
Scarce could we deem it but a spectacle;
So true was each performer to his part;
So true your evanescent scenery
To nature's subtlest tints and lineaments.
See, even yet there lingers on the cheek
Of this fair sleeping Maid a roseate smile,
As from the fanning of the balmy wings
Of some inspiring vision, foretaste sweet
Of heavenly joys; such power your masque hath had:
Whereof that perfect soul, which evermore
Receives of all things in proportion due,
Admitted whatsoever for her state
Was most expedient.

ANGEL OF ROME.
We, Azael, too,
Render our grateful thanks; in sign of which
Accept this ring of purest chrysolite,
Which anciently on Numa's finger shone,
Numa, of early Rome pacific king.
And he, when in his cradle, so 'tis said
From the great Sibyl of Cumæan song
Received it as the heirloom of his race.
A royal province scarce could purchase it.

AZAEL.
Aught by thy hand bestow'd were high reward,
Most noble Potentate. Would that the work
Had equall'd but the will; then had there been
A spectacle more worthy the spectators.

ANGEL OF ROME
(to the Angels of Italy).
[The Angels of Italy kneel, two and two, before Mary, still asleep, and kiss her feet, singing meanwhile as follows:

ITHURIEL
(to the Angel of Rome).
Doubt not, imperial Chieftain, but our Lady
Will breathe her supplications to high Heav'n,
Omnipotential with the Omnipotent,
For every several object of your prayers.
And for thy comfort learn, that mighty Rome,
Now in the bonds of pagan darkness swathed,
Hereafter shall, in reverence to Mary
And Mary's Child, exceed your utmost hope.
A prophecy there is of ancient date,
Unbrokenly preserved from age to age
By this high Temple's angel guardians;—
That, in the times to come, this holy Salem
In ruins laid, must to a holier city
Give place, whose name is ‘Strength,’ prepared of old
Upon the bosom of th' eternal floods,
And lifted on a sevenfold mystic hill;
Which in its day predestined shall become
The hierarchic centre of the world,
(As to the Jews Jerusalem before)
Embracing in one faith, one polity,
Beneath one Head in Heaven, and one on earth
Pontifical, the whole of human kind;
With ordinances, priesthood, all things, new,
Promised through endless ages to endure.
This mystery to thy attentive mind
We here commit, in its most certain time
To be reveal'd before the universe
In sight of all. And now, if go ye must,
At least, in memory of your visit here,
Accept, celestial Princes, at our hands
These parting gifts; for thee, high Potentate,
This fair embroider'd piece, the priceless work
Of Mary's pearly fingers; which remember
To keep for happy Rome in after-days.
For thy companions here these flowers new cull'd,
[He plucks some flowers from the plants at Mary's side.
Children of Mary's care, and like herself
Of bloom and fragrance immarcessible,
So only they approach no mortal hand;
And if, as we entreat, ye shall appear
At our festivities another year,
There wait you other gifts more precious still,
So promises your own Ithuriel.
[The Angels of Rome and Italy withdraw.

THE MINSTER OF ELD.

PROLOGUE.

Minster of Eld! in thy sweet solemn shade
How pleasant is it thus apart to roam!
Here for myself a shelter I have made;
In thee my pilgrim spirit finds a home.
Hither withdrawing from the day's false glare,
From earthliness and all that breeds annoy,
She hath wrought out a resting-place from care,
And drinks unwatch'd from hidden fount of joy;
Oh, cruel world that would such happiness destroy!
For while in quiet thought I wander on,
These peaceful courts along,
Too oft its clangours sound
And jar the golden chords so finely strung
On which my soul had hung;
Then sinks the Minster in a depth profound,
And alone I seem to stand
On some disenchanted land,
Lost upon a desert drear,
All a blank to eye and ear,
Seeking ofttimes long in vain
Ere I can return again.
Ah me! what time hath pass'd
Since here I enter'd last!
Almost I seem a stranger here to be,
As though no right I had
Mine own dear shrine to see.
Oh, archetypal Place!
Pure mystery of space!
Which, as my glance around I throw,
Dost into clearer outline grow.
Oh, music that above me sweeps
Like anthem of uplifted deeps!
Oh, roof of roofs sublime,
Wrought in the world's young prime!
Oh, pillars firm, that seem
Vaster than thought may dream!
Oh, lights and shades that fall
So strange and mystical,
Crossing from wall to wall!
Oh, tints most rare!
Oh, gently-breathing air!
Oh, floor so green and fair!
Here let me dwell
Choosing some holy cell;
Here let me sit and sing to solemn chord
Thy works O loving Lord!
Joying to tell of Thee
Who madest all to be;
Joying with all creation to proclaim
The glories of Thy Name,
Great King of kings!
Lord of invisible things!
Lord of the starry skies, of earth and air and sea!

SCENE I.

Nave of a vast Minster.

PILGRIM.
[He reads.
[He proceeds up the nave.

SHEPHERD BOY.
Nay, sir, not much
Myself, but not so far away there dwells
A Hermit of Mount Carmel, who can tell thee
All thou shalt choose to ask. If thou art thirsty,
Here is a most sweet spring; and I entreat thee
Take bread from my poor scrip. Oh, I have seen
Strange things upon the plain since I came hither
To keep this flock in charge. The Angel Choirs,
The same that sang in Bethlehem, oft I've heard
Singing o'erhead in the still moonlight hour.
If thou wilt go with me, I'll show the way
To where the Hermit lives. But I must call
My little sister first to take my place,
Now absent gathering anemones
To weave a necklace for some favourite
Among her lambkins. She will hasten back
Soon as she hears this pipe.

[He plays, and they proceed together.

SCENE II.

An open plain in the nave.

PILGRIM.
We have been stepping fast, and must have come
A league upon our way.

SHEPHERD BOY.
'Tis difficult,
I've noticed, to judge here of distances.
What seem'd remote but now being often found
At hand when least expected; what seem'd near
In turn far off; such mystery there is
In all that to this Minster appertains.

PILGRIM.
[Music.

SHEPHERD BOY.
There are strange harps,
Pendent at intervals by golden threads
Along the nave, whence spring these gracious sounds,
As it would seem, spontaneous. Come this way,
And I will show thee one. Lo! where it hangs;
Would it were near enough for thee to touch!

PILGRIM.
O beauteous Instrument! O Harp of eld!
What symmetry it hath, resembling those
Of th' ancient Druids! with a hoary moss
Of silver sprouting on its delicate frame!
But for the present mute!

SHEPHERD BOY.
It will begin
To sound again, if we but wait. I see
Already a vibration in the chords.

[It sounds, gradually increasing in depth and variety.
PILGRIM.
O miracle of tones!
O most divine capacity
In instrument so slight and delicate!
Or is it rather that the music flows
Not from the chords themselves, but from the stir
Which by some deep affinity they work
In the surrounding natural influences?
It must be so. For now it sounds afar,
Now near, now all around, in height and depth
Ascending and descending through the scales
Of such a multitudinous harmony,
As though within itself it did embrace
All the wide compass of creation's tones.
Now 'tis the tinkling of a shower—and now
The whistling wind—anon the solemn roll
Of mountain waves, changing by slow degrees
To muttering thunder. Oh, I could stay and listen
For ever to the ever-varying strain,
So jubilant awhile; and then so sad,
Enough to melt the very soul away
With its deep hidden pathos!

SHEPHERD BOY.
I have heard say,
The tones of jubilation are the praise
Which Nature pays her Lord; the sad her moans
For her own fall in Adam; mix'd with yearnings
For the great Day of Restitution,
When all things shall in Christ be made anew.
But see the spot where dwells the holy Hermit
I told thee of!

PILGRIM.
I see it:—a long range
Of curious cells scoop'd in the solid rock,
With immemorial ivy over-brow'd;
In front a sloping sward, on which appears
A broken altar of th' old Pagan time,
If right I guess.

SHEPHERD BOY.
Here, then, I leave thee, Pilgrim;
My task complete: God's blessing rest on thee!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

Front of a Hermitage. The Hermit is seen carving a Crucifix on the rock.

HERMIT.
Another touch might mar it. Holy Christ!
Who so for me didst die on Calvary,
Accept this poor memorial of Thy love,
Which here upon my knees I dedicate
To th' everlasting glory of Thy Name.

PILGRIM,
entering.

Forgive me, holy Hermit, breaking thus
Upon thy solitude. A shepherd boy
Guided me here to thee, as one who might
Resolve for me the meaning of this place.
[Observing the Crucifix.
O work of grace! What glorious majesty
Sits on the brow, with depth of patient grief
Divinely mingled! wonders have I seen
Of art, but none like this.

HERMIT.
No art is here
But that of love and contemplation;
A longer gaze would show thee sore defects
In what at present pleases. 'Tis the work
Of hands most rude and inexperienced.
But if concerning this our Minster here
Knowledge thou seek, I have some certain Rhymes
Which to the Pilgrims who go by this way
Sometimes I do impart; these will I gladly
Rehearse to thee, as best my memory serves;
We sitting by yon altar-step the while.

[They approach the altar.
PILGRIM.
This altar hath most excellent proportions,
Ionic in its style, and, as 'twould seem,
Of purest Parian. Pity that 'tis rent
As by some shock of sudden violence.
Its dedication still is legible
In Greek: ‘to the unknown god.’

HERMIT.
This neighbourhood
The Pagans of old time did much frequent,
Such as with hearts sincere, in nature's works
Felt after nature's omnipresent God,
If haply they might find Him. These were they
Who first began to scoop these hermitages.
This altar was their making. Here with rites
Of solemn patriarchal sacrifice,
Confused with errors of strange ignorance,
Did they adore the Almighty Architect,
Their God unknown, yearning for clearer light
Of Revelation's dawn, as yet withheld:
Later there came the Christian anchorites,
And multiplied the cells, as now you see.

PILGRIM.
And this deep-fissured rent;—how came it thus?

HERMIT.
It is believed that when our Saviour died,
That earthquake, which upheaved the sepulchres,
Ran also through this Minster in its course,
And, among other traces, left behind
This shatter'd altar.

PILGRIM
There is a pleasant moss
Upon this bank that faceth to the East;
Here let us sit. It hath grown visibly lighter
Since I was in the Minster, and the mist
Hath much dispersed. How most majestically
Doth yonder neighbouring pillar lift its height,
So vast it scarcely seems to be a pillar,
And in comparison those cells in the rock
Appear to be no bigger than the holes
Of the sand-martin! I saw Staffa once,
And marvell'd; but a thousand Staffas here,
Ascending from basaltic height to height,
Seem piled upon each other without end.
Yonder, across the plain, on the other side
Of the broad Nave, a solemn Porch appears,
Between which and the Transept I can count
The huge Titanic figured capitals
Of twenty several columns, peering forth
Through their thin strata of aërial cloud,
As in the Pyrenees the crested peaks
At morning-tide. But I am quite forgetting,
Lost in the mighty majesty around,
Thy promise, hoary-headed Solitary,
Me to instruct in its deep mysteries.

HERMIT.

PILGRIM.
Thanks kind Interpreter; I now begin
Better to comprehend the great design
Unfolding all around: yet, oh, forgive,
If of yon Porch which in the distance shows
So vast and dim, unnoticed in thy Rhyme,
I dare to make of thee inquiry brief,
Touch'd with a strange and growing interest,
Whither it leads, what comes or goes thereby.

HERMIT.
Know, Pilgrim, then, besides the Western door
Thou sawest first, the Minster hath two gates,
Which, opening out upon th' unseen abyss,
Entrance the one, the other exit gives
To nature's forms. Within the Nave they stand,
Southward and Northward upon either side,
Facing each other, and to each its Porch
Attach'd, whereof the Southern one is named
The Porch of Life, for thereby entrance find
Organic things in their predestined mould
Into the world of sense; its opposite,
The Porch of Death, and thither all again
They tend; for, coming forth from the unknown,
And having wrought, each in its several shape,
Their task assign'd, straightway they onward go,
Absorb'd into their several elements,
(Save what of man substantially endures
Imperishable by divine decree)
Through Death's dread Portal to the gulf again.
Yonder it looms, so drear and shadowy,
On the left hand, before thy very gaze!

PILGRIM.
Ah! e'en from here
Methinks I feel its chilly influence.
And now, as I remember me again
Of that sharp fever which I had of late
Nigh unto death, and of the wanderings strange
Wherein my soul was borne;
Within myself I seem to recognise
That I to that same Porch
In spirit was led on
By Sickness, vision pale:
And in its solemn vestibule did stand,
And there half-open'd spied
The unrelenting door;
And felt the outer air from the abyss
Breathe coldly on my cheek;
And in the dimness saw,
Where all amid the ever-vanishing crowd
Death solitary sate, wrapt in his sable shroud.
Ah, then my step
Had all but slipp'd,
Its footing lost and gone,
And I unto myself had said:
‘The world's inhabitants
No more shall I behold,
Nor Nature's gladsome brow;’
But One to me did reach his hand,
And drew me back to light and life again,
That I might better serve him, so to win
His pardoning grace before I pass away.
Now of that other Porch,
The Porch of Life, I fain would something know,
For it I have not seen.

HERMIT.
Thou sawest it once
And passedst through it, but rememberest not,
For it was in thy new-born infancy;
A wondrous spot, the womb of all that lives.
Upon this Southern side its station is,
Beyond our present view:
No blasts of winter there
Chilling the air;
No darkness dwells, nor spectral forms are seen,
But evermore an atmosphere serene
Thrills on the sense; and a strange stir of joy
Admitting nought that grieves
Or genders any pain,
Prevails, as of unnumber'd opening leaves
In a warm hour of April sunshine coy,
After the falling rain;
While Hope for ever guards the gate,
And Angels of the Morn attendant wait.

PILGRIM.
O Hermit blest,
But I would yet one question ask,
If me thou wilt not chide.
Lo! now from Death's dread Gate
Granted for once reprieve,
Too certainly I know the day draws nigh
When I a second time must thither go,
And back return no more
To this terrestrial strand,
But onward wend across the solemn sea,
Whose other shore is our eternal land.
Then in the formless deep
Plunging without a hold
On aught to nature known,
What may my soul betide
Immortal borne along,
Ofttimes I shuddering meditate,
Conscious of ill-desert and fill'd with fears untold.
Oh, say, if there be not some other door
Whereby we may go forth
And find a surer way
Across the illimitable dim profound?

HERMIT.
Thou speakest well; such door indeed there is;
But in the Choir it stands,
Far distant from this spot,
Upon the further side of yonder screen,
Within the Lady Chapel, at the back
Of the High Altar. A postern-gate it is
Of pearly semblance, and once open'd leads
Right out upon the arch that Heavenward spans
Th' impalpable abyss.
But so withdrawn it lies,
That many pass thereby and see it not.
Moreover, though the door was in its place
Since first this Minster rose,
Yet only of late years
Hath it to human effort open been;
For ever since the Fall
Closed it remain'd by double bolts outside,
Which none might draw, there being no way thither
Save by a circuit long,
First through the Gate of Death,
And then all round, coasting the outer edge
Of the great Minster wall,
Till to the back ye came;
And this no man might do:
For each no sooner pass'd the gate of death
Than down at once he sank
In the sheer nameless deep,
Quite impotent upon the void to tread;
Therefore long time the pearly door was closed.
Yet by tradition in part,
In part by instinct, to lost Adam's race
The secret way was known,
And whitherward it led.
This prompted men to search,
And many were the schemes
Which fancy or philosophy devised,
Or round the gulf to pass and draw the bolts,
Or else the gate to force,
Or through the wall to cleave some other road.
But all in vain was tried;
To Heaven's high pinnacles no path was found,
Until Emmanuel came,
Predicted of our race,
Of Virgin Mother born,
Mighty in word and deed,
Prince and High-Priest and Sacrifice in one.
He of his own accord
Did through the grave and gate of death proceed,
And entering on the void,
Trod with firm foot th' unsearchable expanse,
As on the sea of Galilee before;
Till passing round, up to that door He came,
To th' hinder part, and there both bolts withdrew,
Opening the way of everlasting life
Thenceforth to mortal man!
Oh, day of victory!
How with triumphant notes
This Minster did resound!
What music then was heard through earth and Heaven!
Sweeter by far than at Creation's dawn,
When all the morning stars sang out for joy!

PILGRIM,
bowing his head.

All praise to Him who wrought this wondrous work,
At price of His own Blood! Oh, lead me on,
That I at once that heavenly door may see,
That arch may climb, and fleet away
From earth without delay
To the clear realms of immortality.

HERMIT.
Thy time is not as yet. The Lord hath work
For thee below. O Pilgrim, here we part;
But let these words sink in thine inmost heart:
If thou that door wouldst see
Unclose to thee,
Long must thou toil, and patient must thou be,
And bended oft thy knee;
Confiding still in nothing of thine own
But in the grace of thy dear God alone.

EPILOGUE.