PART II.

_Conservabat in Corde._

I.

As every change of April sky Is imaged in a placid brook, Her meditative memory Mirrored His every deed and look.

As suns through summer ether rolled Mature each growth the spring has wrought, So Love's strong day-star turned to gold Her harvests of quiescent thought.

Her soul was as a vase, and shone Translucent to an inner ray; Her Maker's finger wrote thereon A mystic Bible new each day.

Deep Heart! In all His sevenfold might The Paraclete with thee abode; And, sacramented there in light, Bore witness of the things of God.

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_Ascensio Domini_.

II.

Rejoice, O Earth, thy crown is won! Rejoice, rejoice, ye heavenly host! And thou, the Mother of the Son, Rejoice the first; rejoice the most!

Who captive led captivity-- From Hades' void circumference Who led the Patriarch Band on high, There rules, and sends us graces thence.

Rejoice, glad Earth, o'er winter's grave With altars wreathed and clarions blown; And thou, the Race Redeemed, outbrave The rites of nature with thine own!

Rejoice, O Mary! thou that long Didst lean thy breast upon the sword-- Sad nightingale, the Spirit's song That sang'st all night! He reigns, restored!

Rejoice! He goes, the Paraclete To send! Rejoice! He reigns on high! The sword lies broken at thy feet-- His triumph is thy victory!

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_Ascensio Domini._

III.

I take this reed--I know the hand That wields it must ere long be dust-- And write, upon the fleeting sand Each wind can shake, the words, "I trust."

And if that sand one day was stone And stood in courses near the sky, For towers by earthquake overthrown, Or mouldering piecemeal, what care I?

Things earthly perish: life to death And death to life in turn succeeds. The spirit never perisheth: The chrysalis its Psyche breeds.

True life alone is that which soars To Him who triumphed o'er the grave: With Him, on life's eternal shores, I trust one day a part to have.

Ah, hark! above the springing corn That chime; in every breeze it swells! Ye bells that wake the Ascension morn, Ye give us back our Paschal bells!

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_Elias._

IV.

O thou that rodest up the skies, Thy task fulfilled, on steeds of fire,-- That somewhere, sealed from mortal eyes, Some air immortal dost respire!

Thou that in heavenly beams enshrined, In quiet lulled of soul and flesh, With one great thought of God thy mind Dost everlastingly refresh!

Where art thou? age succeeds to age; Thou dost not hear their fret and jar: With thy celestial hermitage Successive winters wage not war.

Still as a corse with field-flowers strewn Thou liest; on God thine eyes are bent: And the fire-breathing stars alone Look in upon thy cloudy tent.

Behold, there is a debt to pay! Like Enoch, hid thou art on high: But both shall back return one day, To gaze once more on earth, and die.

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V.

Stronger and steadier every hour The pulses of the season's glee, As toward her zenith climbs that Power Which rules the purple revelry.

Trees, that from winter's grey eclipse Of late but pushed their topmost plume, Or felt with green-touched finger-tips For spring, their perfect robes assume.

Like one that reads, not one that spells, The unvarying rivulet onward runs: And bird to bird, from leafier cells, Sends forth more leisurely response.

Through the gorse covert bounds the deer:-- The gorse, whose latest splendours won Make all the fulgent wolds appear Bright as the pastures of the sun.

A balmier zephyr curls the wave; More purple flames o'er ocean dance; And the white breaker by the cave Falls with more cadenced resonance;

While, vague no more, the mountains stand With quivering line or hazy hue; But drawn with finer, firmer hand, And settling into deeper blue.

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_Speculum Justitiae._

VI.

Not in Himself the Eternal Word Lay hid upon creation's day: His Loveliness abroad He poured On all the worlds; and pours for aye.

Not in Himself the Incarnate Son, In whom Man's race is born again, His glory hides. The victory won, He rose to send His "Gifts on Men."

In sacraments--His dread behests; In Providence; in granted prayer; Before the time He manifests His glory, far as man may bear.

He shines not from a vault of gloom; The horizon vast His splendour paints: Both heaven and earth His beams illume; His light is glorious in His saints.

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He shines upon His Church--that Moon Who, in the watches of the night, Transmits to man the entrusted boon; A sister orb of sacred light.

And thou, pure mirror of His grace!-- As sun reflected in a sea-- So, Mary, feeblest eyes the face Of Him thou lovest discern in thee.

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_Munera._

VII.

Not for herself does Mary hold Among the saints that queenly throne, Her seat predestined from of old; But for the brethren of her Son.

Pure thoughts that make to God their quest, With her find footing o'er the clouds; Like those sea-crossing birds that rest A moment on the sighing shrouds.

In her our hearts, no longer nursed On dust, for spiritual beauty yearn; From her our instincts, as at first, An upward gravitation learn.

Her distance makes her not remote: For in true love's supernal sphere No more round self the affections float-- More near to God, to man more near.

In her, the weary warfare past, The port attained, the exile o'er, We see the Church's barque at last Close-anchored on the eternal shore!

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_Predestinata._

VIII.

Eternal Beauty, ere the spheres Had rolled from out the gulfs of night, Sparkled, through all the unnumbered years, Before the Eternal Father's sight.

Like objects seen by Man in dream, Or landscape glassed on morning mist, Before His eyes it hung--a gleam Flashed from the eternal Thought of Christ.

It stood the Archetype sublime Of that fair world of finite things Which, in the bands of Space and Time, Creation's glittering verge enrings.

Star-like within the depths serene Of that still vision, Mary, thou With Him, thy Son, of God wert seen Millenniums ere the lucid brow

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Of Eye o'er Eden founts had bent,-- Millenniums ere that second Fair With dust the hopes of man had blent, And stained the brightness once so fair.

Elect of Creatures! Man in thee Beholds that primal Beauty yet,-- Sees all that Man was formed to be,-- Sees all that Man can ne'er forget!

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IX.

Three worlds there are:--the first of Sense-- That sensuous earth which round us lies; The next of Faith's Intelligence; The third of Glory, in the skies.

The first is palpable, but base; The second heavenly, but obscure; The third is star-like in the face-- But ah! remote that world as pure!

Yet, glancing through our misty clime, Some sparkles from that loftier sphere Make way to earth;--then most what time The annual spring-flowers re-appear.

Amid the coarser needs of earth All shapes of brightness, what are they But wanderers, exiled from their birth, Or pledges of a happier day?

Yea, what is Beauty, judged aright, But some surpassing, transient gleam; Some smile from heaven, in waves of light, Rippling o'er life's distempered dream?

Or broken memories of that bliss Which rushed through first-born Nature's blood When He who ever was, and is, Looked down, and saw that all was good?

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X.

Alas! not only loveliest eyes, And brows with lordliest lustre bright, But Nature's self--her woods and skies-- The credulous heart can cheat or blight.

And why? Because the sin of man Twixt Fair and Good has made divorce; And stained, since Evil first began, That stream so heavenly at its source.

O perishable vales and groves! Your master was not made for you; Ye are but creatures: human loves Are to the great Creator due.

And yet, through Nature's symbols dim, There are with keener sight that pierce The outward husk, and reach to Him Whose garment is the universe.

For this to earth the Saviour came In flesh; in part for this He died; That man might have, in soul and frame, No faculty unsanctified.

That Fancy's self--so prompt to lead Through paths disastrous or defiled-- Upon the Tree of Life might feed; And Sense with Soul be reconciled.

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_Idolatria._

XI.

The fancy of an age gone by, When Fancy's self to earth declined, Still thirsting for Divinity, Yet still, through sense, to Godhead blind,

Poor mimic of that Truth of old, The patriarchs' hope--a faith revealed-- Compressed its God in mortal mould, The prisoner of Creation's field.

Nature and Nature's Lord were one! Then countless gods from cloud and stream Glanced forth; from sea, and moon, and sun: So ran the pantheistic dream.

And thus the All-Holy, thus the All-True, The One Supreme, the Good, the Just, Like mist was scattered, lost like dew, And vanished in the wayside dust.

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Mary! through thee the idols fell: When He the nations longed for [Footnote 1] came-- True God yet Man--with man to dwell, The phantoms hid their heads for shame.

[Footnote 1: "The Desire of the Nations."]

His place or thine removed, ere long The bards would push the sects aside; And lifted by the might of song Olympus stand re-edified.

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_Tota Pulchra._

XII.

A broken gleam on wave and flower-- A music that in utterance dies-- O Poets, and O Men! what more Is all that Beauty which ye prize?

And ah! how oft Corruption works Through that brief Beauty's force or wile! How oft a gloom eternal lurks Beneath an evanescent smile!

But thou, serene and smiling light Of every grace redeemed from Sense, In thee all harmonies unite That charm a pure Intelligence.

Whatever teaches mind or heart To God by loveliest types to mount, Mary, is thine. Of each true Art The parent art thou, and the fount.

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Those pictures, fair as moon or star, The ages dear to Faith brought forth, Formed but the illumined calendar Of her, that Church which knows thy worth.

Not less doth Nature teach through thee That mystery hid in hues and lines: Who loves thee not hath lost the key To all her sanctuaries and shrines.

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_Stella Matutina._

XIII.

Shine out, O Star, and sing the praise Of that unrisen Sun whose glow Thus feeds thee with thine earlier rays-- The secret of thy song we know.

Thou sing'st that Sun of Righteousness, Sole light of this benighted globe, Whose beams, reflected, dressed and dress His Mother in her shining robe.

Pale Lily, pearled around with dew, Lift high that heaven-illumined vase, And sing the glories ever new Of her, God's chalice, "full of grace."

Cerulean Ocean, fringed with white, That wear'st her colours evermore, In all thy pureness, all thy might, Resound her name from shore to shore.

That fringe of foam, when drops the sun To-night, a sanguine stain shall wear:-- Thus Mary's heart had strength, alone, The passion of her Lord to share.

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_Janua Coeli._

XIV.

The night through yonder cloudy cleft, With many a lingering last regard, Withdraws--but slowly--and hath left Her mantle on the dewy sward.

The lawns with silver dews are strewn; The winds lie hushed in cave and tree; Nor stirs a flower, save one alone That bends beneath the earliest bee.

Peace over all the garden broods; Pathetic sweets the thickets throng; Like breath the vapour o'er the woods Ascends--dim woods without a song:

Or hangs, a shining, fleece-like mass O'er half yon lake that winds afar Among the forests, still as glass, The mirror of that Morning Star

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Which, halfway wandering from the sky, Amid the rose of morn delays And (large and less alternately) Bends down a lustrous, tearful gaze.

Mother and home of spirits blest! Bright gate of Heaven and golden bower! Thy best of blessings, love and rest, Depart not till on earth thou shower!

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XV.

If sense of Man's unworthiness With Nature's blameless looks at strife, Should wake with wakening May, and press New-born contentment out of life:

If thoughts of sable breed and blind Should stamp upon the springing flower, Or blacker memories haunt the mind As ravens haunt the ruined tower:--

O then how sweet in heart to breathe Those pure Judean gales once more; From Bethlehem's crib to Nazareth In heart to tread that Syrian shore!

To watch that star-like Infant bring To one of soul as clear and white May-lilies, fresh from Siloa's spring, Or Passion-flower with May-dews bright!

To follow, earlier yet, the feet Of her the "hilly land" who trod With true love's haste, intent to greet That aged saint beloved of God.

Before her, like a stream let loose, The long vale's flowerage, winding, ran: Nature resumed her Eden use; And Earth was reconciled with Man.

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_Causa Nostra Laetitiae._

XVI.

Whate'er is floral on the earth To thee, O Flower, of right belongs; Whate'er is musical in mirth, Whate'er is jubilant in songs.

Childhood and springtide never cease For him thy freshness keeps from stain: Dew-drenched for him, like Gideon's fleece, The dusty paths of life remain.

Spirit of Brightness and of Bliss! Thou threaten'st none! A sinless lure, Thy fragrance and thy gladsomeness Draw on to Christ; to Christ secure.

Hope, Hope is Strength! That joy of thine To us is Glory's earliest ray! Through Faith's dim air, O star benign, Look down, and light our onward way!

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_Stella Maris._

XVII.

I left at morn that blissful shore O'er which the fruit-bloom fluttered free; And sailed the wildering waters o'er, Till sunset streaked with blood the sea.

My sleep the hoarse sea-thunders broke, And sudden chill. Their feet foam-hid, Huge cliffs leaned out, through vapour-smoke, Like tower, and tomb, and pyramid.

In the black shadow, ghostly white The breaker raced o'er foaming shoals: From caverns of eternal night Came wailings, as of suffering souls.

Sudden, through clearing mists, the star Of ocean o'er the billow rose: Down dropped the elemental war; Tormented chaos found repose.

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Star of the ocean! dear art thou, Ah! not to earth and heaven alone: The suffering Church, when shines thy brow Upon her penance, stays her moan.

The Holy Souls draw in their breath; The sea of anguish rests in peace; And, from beyond the gates of death, Up swell the anthems of release.

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XVIII.

Blossom for ever, blossoming Rod! Thou did'st not blossom once to die: That Life which, issuing forth from God, Thy life enkindled, runs not dry.

Without a root in sin-stained earth, 'Twas thine to bud Salvation's flower. No single soul the Church brings forth But blooms from thee and is thy dower.

Rejoice, O Eve! thy promise waned; Transgression nipt thy flower with frost But, lo! a mother man hath gained Holier than she in Eden lost.

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_Unica._

XIX.

While all the breathless woods aloof Lie hush'd in noontide's deep repose, That dove, sun-warmed on yonder roof, With what a grave content she coos!

One note for her! Deep streams run smooth The ecstatic song of transience tells. O what a depth of loving truth In thy divine contentment dwells!

All day, with down-dropt lids, I sat, In trance; the present scene forgone. When Hesper rose, on Ararat, Methought, not English hills, he shone.

Back to the ark, the waters o'er, The primal dove pursued her flight: A branch of that blest tree she bore Which feeds the Church with holy light.

I heard her rustling through the air With sliding plume--no sound beside, Save the sea-sobbings everywhere, And sighs of that subsiding tide.

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_Magnificat._

XX.

She took the timbrel, as the tide Rushed, refluent, up the Red Sea shore: "The Lord hath triumphed," she cried: Her song rang out above the roar

Of lustral waves that, wall to wall, Fell back upon the host abhorred: Above the gloomy watery pall, As eagles soar, her anthem soared.

Miriam, rejoice! a mightier far Than thou, one day shall sing with thee! Who rises, brightening like a star Above yon bright baptismal sea?

That harp which David touched who rears Heaven-high above those waters wide? The Prophet-Queen! Throughout all years She sings the Triumph of the Bride!

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_Mystica._

XXI.

As pebbles flung for sport, that leap Along the superficial tide, But enter not those chambers deep Wherein the beds of pearl abide;

Such those light minds that, grazing, spurn The surface text of Sacred Lore, Yet ne'er its deeper sense discern, Its hails of mystery ne'er explore.

Ah! not for such the unvalued gems; The priceless pearls of Truth they miss: Not theirs the starry diadems That light God's temple in the abyss!

Ah! not for such to gaze on her That moves through all that empire pale; At every shrine doth minister, Yet never drops her vestal veil.

"The letter kills." Make pure thy Will; So shalt thou pierce the Text's disguise: Till then, revere the veil that still Hides truth from truth-affronting eyes.

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_Expectatio._

XXII.

A sweet exhaustion seems to hold In spells of calm the shrouded eve: The gorse itself a beamless gold Puts forth:--yet nothing seems to grieve.

The dewy chaplets hang on air; The willowy fields are silver-grey; Sad odours wander here and there;-- And yet we feel that it is May.

Relaxed, and with a broken flow, From dripping bowers low carols swell In mellower, glassier tones, as though They mounted through a bubbling well.

The crimson orchis scarce sustains Upon its drenched and drooping spire The burden of the warm soft rains; The purple hills grow nigh and nigher.

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Nature, suspending lovely toils, On expectations lovelier broods, Listening, with lifted hand, while coils The flooded rivulet through the woods.

She sees, drawn out in vision clear, A world with summer radiance drest, And all the glories of that year Which sleeps within her virgin breast.

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XXIII.

Still on the gracious work proceeds;-- The good, great tidings preached anew Yearly to green enfranchised meads, And fire-topped woodlands flushed with dew.

Yon cavern's mouth we scarce can see; Yon rock in gathering bloom lies meshed; And all the wood-anatomy In thickening leaves is over-fleshed.

That hermit oak which frowned so long Upon the spring with barren spleen, Yields to the holy Siren's song, And bends above her goblet green.

Young maples, late with gold embossed,-- Lucidities of sun-pierced limes, No more surprise us--merged and lost Like prelude notes in deepening chimes.

Disordered beauties and detached Demand no more a separate place: The abrupt, the startling, the unmatched, Submit to graduated grace;

While upward from the ocean's marge The year ascends with statelier tread To where the sun his golden targe Finds, setting, on yon mountain's head.

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_Turris Eburnea._

XXIV.

This scheme of worlds, which vast we call, Is only vast compared with man: Compared with God, the One yet All, Its greatness dwindles to a span.

A Lily with its isles of buds Asleep on some unmeasured sea:-- O God, the starry multitudes, What are they more than this to Thee?

Yet girt by Nature's petty pale Each tenant holds the place assigned To each in Being's awful scale:-- The last of creatures leaves behind

The abyss of nothingness: the first Into the abyss of Godhead peers; Waiting that vision which shall burst In glory on the eternal years.

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Tower of our Hope! through thee we climb Finite creation's topmost stair; Through thee from Sion's height sublime Towards God we gaze through purer air.

Infinite distance still divides Created from Creative Power; But all which intercepts and hides Lies dwarfed by that surpassing Tower!

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XXV.

Who doubts that thou art finite? Who Is ignorant that from Godhead's height To what is loftiest here below The interval is infinite?

O Mary! with that smile thrice-blest Upon their petulance look down;-- Their dull negation, cold protest-- Thy smile will melt away their frown!

Show them thy Son! That hour their heart Will beat and burn with love like thine; Grow large; and learn from thee that art Which communes best with things divine.

The man who grasps not what is best In creaturely existence, he Is narrowest in the brain; and least Can grasp the thought of Deity.

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XXVI.

They seek not; or amiss they seek;-- The cold slight heart and captious brain:-- To Love alone those instincts speak Whose challenge never yet was vain.

True Gate of Heaven! As light through glass, So He who never left the sky To this low earth was pleased to pass Through thine unstained Virginity.

Summed up in thee our hearts behold The glory of created things:-- From His, thy Son's, corporeal mould Looks forth the eternal King of Kings!

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XXVII.

A sudden sun-burst in the woods, But late sad Winter's palace dim! O'er quickening boughs and bursting buds Pacific glories shoot and swim.

As when some heart, grief-darkened long, Conclusive joy by force invades-- So swift the new-born splendours throng; Such lustre swallows up the shades.

The sun we see not; but his fires From stem to stem obliquely smite, Till all the forest aisle respires The golden-tongued and myriad light.

The caverns blacken as their brows With floral fire are fringed; but all Yon sombre vault of meeting boughs Turns to a golden fleece its pall,

As o'er it breeze-like music rolls. O Spring, thy limit-line is crossed! O Earth, some orb of singing Souls Brings down to thee _thy_ Pentecost!

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_Dominica Pentecostes._

XXVIII.

Clear as those silver trumps of old That woke Judea's jubilee; Strong as the breeze of morning, rolled O'er answering woodlands from the sea,

That matutinal anthem vast Which winds, like sunrise, round the globe, Following the sunrise, far and fast, And trampling on his fiery robe.

Once more the Pentecostal torch Lights on the courses of the year: The "upper chamber" of the Church Is thrilled once more with joy and fear.

Who lifts her brow from out the dust? Who fixes on a world restored A gaze like Eve's, but more august? Who bends it heaven-ward on her Lord?

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It is the Birthday of the Bride. The new begins; the ancient ends: From all the gates of Heaven flung wide The promised Paraclete descends.

He who o'er-shadowed Mary once O'ershades Humanity to-day; And bids her fruitful prove in sons Co-heritors with Christ for aye.

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_Dominica Pentecostes._

XXIX.

The Form decreed of tree and flower, The shape susceptible of life, Without the infused vivific Power, Were but a slumber or a strife.

He whom the plastic hand of God Himself created out of earth Remained a statue and a clod Till spirit infused to life gave birth.

So, till that hour, the Church. In Christ Her awful structure, nerve and bone, Though built, and shaped, and organised, Existed but in skeleton;

Till down on that predestined frame, Complete through all its sacred mould, The Pentecostal Spirit came,-- The self-same Spirit who of old

Creative o'er the waters moved. Thenceforth the Church, made One and Whole, Arose in Him, and lived, and loved-- His Temple she; and He her Soul.

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_Turris Davidica._

XXX.

The towered City loves thee well, Strong Tower of David's House! In thee She hails the unvanquished citadel That frowns o'er Error's subject sea.

With magic might that Tower repels A host that breaks where foe is none,-- No foe but statued Saints in cells High-ranged, and smiling in the sun.

There stands Augustin; Leo there; And Bernard, with a maiden face Like John's; and, strong at once and fair, That Spirit-Pythian, Athanase.

Upon thy star-surrounded height God's angel keepeth watch and ward; And sunrise flashes thence ere night Hath left dark street and dewy sward.

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_"Tu sola interemisti omnes Haereses."_

XXXI.

What tenderest hand uprears on high The standard of Incarnate God? Successive portents that deny Her Son, who tramples? She who trod

On Satan erst with starlike scorn! Ah! never Alp looked down through mist As she, that whiter star of morn, Through every cloud that darkens Christ!

Roll back the centuries:--who were those That, age by age, their Lord denied? Their seats they set with Mary's foes:-- They mocked the Mother as the Bride.

Of such was Arius; and of such He whom the Ephesian Sentence felled, [Footnote 2] Her Title triumphed. At the touch [Footnote 3] Of Truth the insurgent rout was quelled.

[Footnote 2: Nestorius.]

[Footnote 3: Dei-para.]

Back, back the hosts of Hell were driven As forth that sevenfold thunder rolled:-- And in the Church's mystic Heaven There was great silence as of old.

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MAY CAROLS.