University of Virginia Library

Now in their contemplation of the Grace
Which lifted Thee so far above thy race,
And set Thee, Lady, in ethereal light
On Thy Immaculate Conception's height,
'Twas wondrous how that Saintly Company
To Thy fair circlet turn'd admiringly,
Lost in adoring depths of joy divine,
To see the Heaven-created mystic Sign
Of that high Privilege ordain'd above
In preparation for Incarnate Love,
Inauguration of th' eternal plan
That links with God regenerated man!
Long was their gaze—one act of worship all,
Solemn, subdued, intense, ecstatical!
As though in that dear Mystery's abyss
Their meditation found such store of bliss,
That powerless th' attraction to dissever,
It there must dwell for ever and for ever!

Meanwhile o'er all around with deep'ning spell
A rapture of expectant silence fell,
If silence might be call'd what rather were
A sacred super-silence born of prayer;
A breath of Heaven; a Heaven-inbreathing power;
Such silence as befel in that half hour
Th' Apocalypse records—a blissful sea
Of imperturbable tranquillity
In-flowing broad and deep; whereon upborne
Our Euthanase beyond the gates of morn
Floated in spirit Heavenward;—when, lo!
A stir—a solemn movement to and fro;
And as in beauty peers the rising moon
Above the cedar-tops of Lebanon;
Or as the flowery exhalations glide
In balmy mist along by Carmel's side;
Or as in some fair garden of delights,
Full of entrancing sounds and scents and sights,
Forth from a lily-bank you should behold
A bird of Paradise its plumes unfold;
So from amidst her ring of virgins fair
Our Lady rose, an odoriferous air
Breathing around, and through the bending throng
Betwixt her two Apostles glides along
To th' Altar floor. There on th' Epistle side
Kneels in her beauty down the Heavenly Bride,
Fronting the Celebrant, and gives to sight
(Sideways she knelt, the Altar on her right,)
That type of absolute Virginity
Sedate in intellectual majesty,
Worshipp'd by all the Cherubim!—her face
In adoration rapt; a golden grace
Of lustrous locks upon her shoulders strown;
Her arms across her bosom meekly drawn,
As though in sweetness of humility
Herself resigning to the dignity
She might not shun—a Vision exquisite
Of perfect Maidenhood, wherein were met,
From touch of earth etherealised, refined,
As in some pure abstraction of the mind,
All honour, beauty, virtue, tenderness;
All wisdom, modesty, and graciousness;
All love, all joy, all truth and constancy,
Blended in calm repose and unity!
Such vision as to Raphael's longing eyes
Ne'er came in dreams of morn from Paradise;
Such vision as ne'er thrill'd Correggio,
Nor Guido, nor the blest Angelico;
Once only by Murillo caught in part,
And lost again, ere glowing from the heart
His canvas had received its image rare;
Though e'en as such it lives for ever there!

Thus as she knelt, the Celebrant divine
Down from the Altar took the mystic Sign
Of grace original and glory bright,
Inestimable Diadem of light;
And tracing with it in exultant wave
The Cross on high, first reverently gave
A Benediction round; then on the brow
So alabaster white upturn'd below,
The lovely Radiance laid. Forthwith a strain
Of jubilant hosannas bursts amain,
In acclamations glad; and from her knees
Uprising amidst heavenly harmonies,
Our Lady to her amethystine throne
Amidst her saintly splendours passes on;
And so with ceremonious rites complete
Assumes, endiadem'd, her glory-seat.

There as she sate enthroned triumphantly
In brightness of unblemish'd majesty,
Forth steps Britannia's kingly Confessor,
Who in his jewell'd hand resplendent bore
A Sceptre fair. Not half so fair the Rod
Of Aaron bloom'd before the Ark of God,
Discovering to enraptured Israel's sight
Its budding growth of almond-blossoms bright,
As this its opal stem exposed to view
Floriferous with gems of heavenly hue;
While at the top, in softly-feather'd rays,
The emblematic Dove its form displays.

This bearing then he knelt at Mary's feet;
And royally in words of homage meet
(So Euthanase or heard or seem'd to hear,
A mystery the whole to eye and ear),
Presented it. “O Virgin Glory, deign
To take this Sceptre of our Isle again:
For Thee reserved through melancholy years,
For Thee through martyrdoms of blood and tears,
Long under seas of persecution toss'd,
Obscure it lay, and seem'd for ever lost.
Now with the dawning of a better time,
Reflourishing more fair than at its prime,
Again returns, O Virgin Queen, to Thee
This symbol of thine early sovereignty!
Oh, take it back, and by its gentle sway
For happy days to come ordain the way.
Defend the Hierarchy; crush, subdue
The strength of Heresy; prepare anew
A people for the Lord, and by their aid
Illuminate the lands in darkness laid,
Till earth's far ends a thousandfold restore
For all that England lost to Heaven of yore!”

He ceased; but She a moment's space delay'd,
As one by hidden cause uncertain made,
A moment lifted an adoring eye
To gather inspiration from on high,
Then courteous bent, and with a smiling face,
Into her hand received the pledge of grace.

Whereof as Euthanase th' interior sense
Drank in with contemplative gaze intense,
The other thus: “Alas, that word of mine
Should interrupt, dear friend, thy joy divine!
But here the rite concludes. See all around
Stir of departure!” Saying this he wound
An arm in his; and with obeisance paid
To Heaven's encoronall'd and sceptred Maid,
Him lingering, and with all his spirit's might
Clinging to that fair Vision of delight,
Led out upon the mead.—The mounted sun
Full in its clear meridian brightness shone;
Yet dimmer all around the prospect lay
To eyes so late immersed in heavenly day,
Than when, O Tintern, o'er thine ivied walls
Through night's dim vault the trickling starlight falls!

But they by orchard sweet, and wicket door,
And cloister wall, the way they pass'd before,
Sped silent back; till on the river bank
Forth stepping, lo! before them, rank in rank
With harpers fill'd, a Roman galley rode,
Its beak directed down the ebbing flood.
Harpstrings and harps reflected in the stream,
Glister'd again, but so their golden gleam
To Euthanase as though the midnight moon
Upon thy bosom, Wye, were floating down!

To whom thus Theodore: “O, Ancients, say
To what sea-bordering shrine you speed your way?”
When one in answer: “To St. Tecla's Isle;
Ye also in our galley, if ye will.”
Thus as he spoke, the golden-crested prow
Up to the marge he urged, whereon they two
Were standing side by side; and entering straight
Downwards they thread the mazes intricate
Of sylvan waters fair. No faintest cloud
Obscured the sky, and on the moving flood
A summer sunshine lay; but all around
To Euthanase was still in twilight bound,
As when the pale Aurora's early ray
First trembling breaks along the edge of day!

Thus gliding down betwixt the wooded hills,
A tide of countless thoughts his bosom fills,
In ebb and flow; and mingling with them all
An inner sense of joy ecstatical,
To think our Lady took that Sceptre bright,
To think that England yet, in Hell's despite,
May live to God. But of the times and end,
Dubious: “Oh, say,” he cries, “celestial friend,
How shall it be, and when? So many years
Pass onward, and so distant still appears
Our boyhood's hope.” Then he: “Too oft the plan
Of loving grace is shorn by stubborn man
Of its full issue; yet of this be sure,
And in the happy prospect rest secure,
Again shall Britain in her greater part
Return to God, and welcome to her heart
The Faith so long abjured; so much to me
Cedmon disclosed in solemn prophecy,—
Cedmon, of Saxon minstrels first and best,
St. Hilda's poet-herdsman ever-blest!
For, seated lately on the sapphire skies
At watch with him, while underneath our eyes
This ocean gem its landscape fair unroll'd,
I ask'd of him to sing, as once of old
In Hilda's hall Creation's tale he sang
To wondering ears. And he at first began
As I desired; but, shifting by degrees,
His strain to England turn'd, and mysteries
Of England's coming time;—and I who heard,
Part understood, and part from part inferr'd,
And part in darkness left, as unto me
Inscrutable. But, oh! what times shall be,
If rightly I interpreted his song!
For of a change he sang, and troubles long;
Of clashing armaments, and carnage sore;
And horrid wars exceeding all before;
Famine and Pestilence, Invasion dire;
Cities far inland wrapt in hostile fire!
Democracy against a tottering throne
Breaking in seas of blood;—nor these alone,
But other evils born of social crime,
And battening on the miseries of the time!
Then—in the midst of all—when hope is fled,
And England bows to God her humbled head,
Comes Mercy from on high, and in her train
Come Order, Truth, and Liberty again;
Comes Justice, and time-honour'd majesty
Of sceptred kings!—But when a king shall be
Sprung from Victoria's imperial line,
Who for the Faith his sceptre shall resign,
And at his people's prayer the same resume
Purged from ancestral taint and clinging doom
Of heresy;—then, Britain, hail the time,
For then returns thy blissful golden prime;
Then long-expected Arthur reigns anew,
Thy Saint and King to come, who shall subdue
All hearts, and blend in unity again
The broken links of thy historic chain.
He to the See of Peter shall restore
The Isle of Saints, and closer than before
Their union knit. The Churches of the land,
The Minsters that in hoar oblivion stand,
The sacred Abbeys desolate so long,
He to the Faith with Sacrifice and song
Shall open; so re-opened to remain,
Until the Lord of glory comes again,
Peace and all plenty in his reign shall be;
And Arts unguess'd; and Science as a sea
Expanding wide, no more with Faith at war;
And Glory such as England never saw
At her superbest height; and exercise
Of Heaven-born Charity: and when he dies,
All Christendom shall canonise his name,
And place it in her topmost roll of fame.
But who shall live these miracles to see?—
Pray thou at least that of this Prophecy
God to our Isle more gracious than her meed
The evil part abridge, the happier speed!”

Thus as he spoke, there seem'd a rippling strange,
The prelude indistinct of coming change,
To flutter o'er our Euthanase's mind,
Breaking its mirror clear; as when a wind
Breathes o'er a lake which quiet hills enclose,
Disturbing from their picture-like repose
Its nether anti-type of earth and skies;
Conscious of which, “O Theodore,” he cries,
“Let us not part; but by the friendship fond
That made us one in boyhood's early bond,
If, as I guess, with those Three Children fair
To Glastonbury's courts you next repair,
Me also take.” A sudden half-drawn sigh,
Unless it were a zephyr whispering by,
Gave Theodore. “Ah, dearest,” he replied,
“Were mine the choice, nought should again divide
Our constant hearts; but, oh! it may not be,
If rightly bodes mine inward augury.
Yet fear thee not: for safe from every harm,
And lapp'd by mystic harpings in the calm
Of some deep-soothing and Elysian dream,
This bark shall bear thee up Sabrina's stream,
To Mary's Wood. There hands shall interlace,
And lift thee up, and softly to the place
Transport thee with melodious lullaby
Where first thou didst our pageantry espy.
Thus parting here, upon th' eternal shore
Soon meet we, brother best, to part no more!”

By this, through craggy clefts of woodland high,
Tracing the sinuous outlet of the Wye,
Past Chepstow they had sped; and now they steer
To Tecla's hallow'd Isle more slowly near,
When Theodore within a fond embrace
Enfolding fast his weeping Euthanase,
Ere yet th' approaching keel had grazed the strand,
Leap'd light ashore, and with a waving hand
Sign'd to proceed. The rowers straight obey,
And up the Severn waters turn their way.

But Euthanase;—upon the bark he stood
Irresolute, by tender thoughts subdued,
And gazed upon his friend;—so near to view,
And yet, oh, wonder strange! so distant too!
So near,—for scarce as yet a pebble's throw
Parts from the shore the slow-receding prow;
So far,—for in the flood that roll'd between
Eternity appear'd to intervene!
Transfix'd he gazed; his inmost vitals yearn;
He beckons to his beckoning friend in turn,
And forward strains. That instant from his hold
Dropp'd the white Lily with the crest of gold,
And on the dancing tide was borne away
Twinkling alternate with the twinkling spray!
He watch'd it drifting o'er the wavelets fleet;
He watch'd it—till it rested at the feet
Of Theodore, who stooping caught it up
And waved it thrice, and kiss'd its pearly cup,
And to his bosom the fair token drew
Expressively, and look'd a last adieu!

From morn to noon, from noon to twilight gray,
Calmly in Mary's Wood had sped the day,
Since first upon the old Franciscan's sight
Down the green alley stole that Vision bright;
No footfall there, nor busy sound had been,
To break the quiet of the sylvan scene.
On into eve the fading twilight wore;
Night follow'd, closing fast her ebon door;
Forth came the stars upon the deep'ning sky;
And hush'd was all the woodland symphony,
Save when the skirts of some low-trailing breeze
Just stirr'd the topmost summits of the trees,
Or from her secret arbour warbled clear
The bird of melody in midnight's ear.

But when again a new Aurora broke,
And all the sleeping grove to life awoke;
When the fresh diamonds bestrew'd the lawn,
And countless wood-notes welcomed in the dawn;
Then as the Monastery brothers go
In search of their dear Father to and fro,
So many hours now missing from his home
Since forth he took the blest Viaticum,
Lo! where, as centre of the winding ways,
A gray Druidic stone its form displays,
Him motionless upon his knees they spy,
Lost seemingly in some deep ecstasy.
Softly they step, as fearing to intrude
Too harshly on that sacred solitude;
Till, now more near, they find their Father dead,
The form indeed erect, the spirit fled!

There on the selfsame spot, where first he view'd
The golden-glistening Pageant of the Wood,
Supported by the stone, he rested still,
His rosary betwixt his fingers chill;
His arms across each other meekly press'd
Clasping the Sacred Presence to his breast;
Upon his face a smile most heavenly fair,
As having gain'd, according to his prayer,
That guerdon from the Majesty on high,
In Heaven's best time a happy death to die!