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.
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.
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!
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.