LV.
THE BIRTHPLACE.
I
There is a glory round the spot
Where first she saw the sun:
Though torrent-thick November rains
Along the footways run;
The middle air with vapours rife
And overhead be dun:—
Yet still a glory gilds the spot
Where first she saw the sun.
II
It was the springtime of the year:
And I believe it true
The dawn put on a richer glow,
The skies a sweeter blue:
And thro' the chamber window wide
A rosy radiance flew:—
The Angel Child your Mother bore,
If nurse's tale be true.
III
If nurse's tale be true, my love,
The Infant Angel grew:
And beauty came with golden locks
And cheeks of rosebud hue:
And from the sky ran tears and smiles,
And settled into You:—
Till childly Friendship bloom'd in Love,
And Love to Sorrow grew:—
IV
—But ceaseless thro' the changeful years
The tides of action flow:
While o'er the footways wealth and want
And youth and manhood go:
Nor of the chamber windows high,
Nor of the vision know:
But loving eyes gaze on their fill,
And ancient tears o'erflow.
V
So let the glory gild the spot
So sweet to sorrow's eye;
Tho' Spring be blotted from the year,
The promise from the sky:—
And I may view the Angel Maid,
But not without a sigh,
That Angels love their Heav'n too well
To think on such as I.
