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Poems

By Henry Nutcombe Oxenham. Third Edition
Oxenham, Henry Nutcombe (1829-1888)
  
[dedication]

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[section]
 I. 
I. THE SENTENCE OF KAÏRES.
 II. 
II. THE FATE OF COLUMBUS.
 III. 
III. STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V. THE POET AND THE SAINT.
 VI. 
VI. THE LIFE-DIRGE OF EGYPT'S DEAD.
 VII. 
VII. FRIENDSHIP.
 VIII. 
VIII. THE PILGRIM BOAT ON THE RHINE.
 IX. 
IX. MAYENCE AT SUNSET.
 X. 
X. MECHLIN.
 XI. 
XI. ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE DOG.
 XII. 
XII. STRIFE AND PEACE.
 XIII. 
XIII. SOLITUDE.
 XIV. 
XIV. THE LEGEND OF ST. CATHARINE.
 XV. 
XV. THE VIRGIN MOTHER.
 XVI. 
XVI. THE VESPER-BELL.
 XVII. 
XVII. THE FUNERAL OF THE LAST OF THE STUARTS.
 XVIII. 
XVIII.
 XIX. 
XIX. TO MY BROTHER ON HIS FIFTH BIRTHDAY.
 XX. 
XX.
 XXI. 
XXI. TO MY SISTER.
 XXII. 
XXII. BEREAVEMENT.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. TRIAL.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. SEPARATION.
 XXV. 
XXV. DINAS EMLYN.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. THE THREE PEALS OF THE ANGELUS.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. TO A FRIEND LEAVING OXFORD.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. THE HEAVENLY STRANGER .
 XXIX. 
XXIX. THE HOLY ANGELS.
 XXX. 
XXX. IN TEMPORE VESPERI ERIT LUX.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. A CHANCE MEETING.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. THE MIDNIGHT MASS OF THE NATIVITY.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. THE MANGER OF THE HOLY NIGHT.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. THE CHILDREN'S HYMN.
 XXXV. 
XXXV. AN EASTER GREETING.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI. THE END OF MAN.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII. TO L. H. D.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII. A CHARACTER.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX. WAR PIECES, 1855.
 XL. 
XL. THE MARTYR BOY .
 XLI. 
XLI. THE CHILD-CHRIST ON THE CROSS.
 XLII. 
XLII. SNOWDONIA.
 XLIII. 
XLIII. EUCHARISTICA.
 XLIV. 
XLIV. MATER DOLOROSA.
 XLV. 
XLV. MATER CORONATA.
 XLVI. 
XLVI. BEATUS SIS, CARISSIME!
 XLVII. 
XLVII. THE MARTYRDOM AT CANTERBURY.
 XLVIII. 
XLVIII. FAREWELL TO HARROW.
 XLIX. 
XLIX. REQUIEM ÆTERNAM.
 L. 
L. MEDIÆVAL INFLUENCES.
 LI. 
LI. IN MEMORIAM C. H. C.

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92

XXXV. AN EASTER GREETING.

At the still matin hour
The guard of Pilate slept,
Sleepless with anguish in her lonely bower
The blessèd Mary wept.
At the still matin hour
A light from heaven hath shone;
The slumberers woke what time the seraph's power
Rolled back the sealèd stone.
Ere yet those slumberers woke,
Ere yet the angel came,
A vision blest on Mary's stillness broke,
A sweet voice breathed her name.
The forty hours are o'er,
The grave yields up its dead,
The Soul in Limbus tarries now no more,
Jesus hath risen and death is vanquishèd.
Sing, for the woman's Seed hath crushed the serpent's head.
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