Classic Poem

Then over hill and vale and mead
Began a fairer grace to spread,
On balmier wing the breeze went by,
Purer the light, more blue the sky;
And livelier still in leaf and spray
The pulse of nature seemed to play,
As though some elemental force
Were stirring at creation's source,
And clothing with a second birth
Before their time the things of earth.
The twain observed the change appear,
And knew that May's fair Queen was near.
‘She comes,’ cried Athelstan; and lo,
Along the summit to and fro,
Soft as the summer lightning plays,
A splendour of ethereal rays
Begins—whence, like a lovely thought
Out of quick-teeming fancies wrought,
Or the efflorescence of the morn,
Or scent from breathing meadows borne,
Virgins behind and on each side,
Appears the Eternal Spirit's Bride.
A Form of Grace, seated serene
In fashion of a Pilgrim Queen
On palfrey white of heavenly mould,
Such as that steed the saint of old
At Patmos saw, with bated breath,
Bearing the Conqueror of death,
Amidst exulting wafts of song
Sublimely sweet she came along
In dawning youth, or rather say,
In youth's undawned eternity.
Above her fair imperial head,
As in a baldachin outspread,
Dovelings their silver wings unfold,
Their silver wings bedropped with gold,
And shoaling to the sunny light,
Cross and recross in circles bright,
While side by side, two sons of day
Herald the splendour on its way,
A marvel each to human gaze,
So bright in perfect glory's blaze.
‘England's and Rome's Apostles these,’
Whispered the youth, ‘twin-majesties—
Augustine, who dissolved our night,
And Philip, sweetest saint in light,
Our isle's new guest. Their day the same,
In Mary equal share they claim
This morn; Oh, see how zone in zone
Their friendly aureoles blend in one.’


Long was their gaze, one worship all
Solemn, subdued, ecstatical,
As finding such a store of bliss
In that dear mystery's abyss,
That powerless therefrom to sever,
It there must lose itself for ever.
From whence in turn such silence grew
And spread around, as never knew
Saint Francis' dear son in all
His life before; if we might call
Silence indeed, what rather were
A super-silence—spirit of prayer
Unbreathed—such silence as befel
In that half hour most mystical,
The Apocalypse records—a sea
Of imperturbed tranquillity
Inflowing broad—whereon upborne
His soul beyond the gates of morn
Was mounting heavenward, when lo,
A stir, a movement, to and fro;
And as in beauty peers the moon
Above the groves of Lebanon;
Or as the flowery odours glide
In balmy mist by Carmel's side;
Or as before your charmèd sight
In some fair garden of delight,
Forth from a lily bank should rise
The plumaged bird of Paradise;
So, from amidst her virgins fair
Our Lady rose, an odorous air
Breathing around, and through the throng
Of saintly splendours thrid along
To the altar floor. There at the side,
In beauty knelt the Heavenly Bride,
Her arms across her bosom drawn,
Her hair upon her shoulders strawn
(As wont in Coronation-rite).
Sideways she knelt, and gave to sight
That type of virgin excellency
And intellectual majesty
Which angels worship.
Vision sweet
Of perfect Maidenhood, where meet,
From every touch of earth refined,
As in the abstractions of the mind,
All that we can of virtue guess,
All wisdom, truth and holiness,
All joy, all love, all constancy,
Blended in heavenliest unity.
Such vision as on Dante's eyes
Ne'er beamed in his own Paradise;
Such as ne'er thrilled Correggio,
Nor e'en our blessed Angelico;
Once only, in his youth's fair morn,
To Raphael shown in dream of dawn
And caught upon his canvas rare
To live and glow immortal there.

Thus as she knelt, the Pontiff-Saint,
Serving as sacred celebrant,
From the altar took the mystic sign
Of grace original, gifts divine,
Puissance high and glory bright,
Unblemished diadem of light;
And with it in exultant wave,
Tracing the cross on high, first gave
A benison round; then, on the brow
So snowy fair upturned below
The radiance laid. Forthwith, a strain
Of acclamations bursts amain;
And our High Lady, from her knees
Rising, mid heavenly harmonies,
Straight to her amethystine throne
Amidst her virgins passèd on,
And so, with solemn rites complete,
Installed, assumes her glory-seat.

There as enthroned triumphantly,
She sat in beauty of majesty,
Lo, underneath the basement broad
A sky, as 'twere of opal showed,
Whereon it resting lay, as though
Self-poised in the empyrean blue,
Nor portion seemed to have at all
With this, our sublunary ball,
Save where its steps translucent shone,
Bridging the abyss. Up these anon,
Divested first of ermine fair
And England's proud regalia,
Ascends our Kingly Confessor,
Who in his hand resplendent bore
A sceptre, with whose worth might vie
No staff of earthly monarchy.
Not half so beauteous Aaron's rod,
Blooming before the ark of God,
Disclosed to raptured Israel's sight
Its growth of almond-blossoms bright,
As this its stem symmetric shows
Floriferous in varied hues;
While at the top in pearly rays,
The dove its mystic form displays.
This bearing then, at Mary's feet
He kneels, and thus with homage meet
(So heard our monk, or seemed to hear,
A marvel all to eye and ear)
Presents it: ‘Virgin-Glory, deign
Into thy hand to take again
This island's sceptre, thine before
In the Christ-loving days of yore;
For thee reserved through dismal years,
For thee, through blood and briny tears,
Long under seas of trouble tossed
It lay, and seemed for ever lost;
Now with the newly dawning time,
Reflourishing as in its prime
Again returns, Lady, to thee
The symbol of thy sovereignty.
Take it; and by its gentle sway
To better times ordain the way;
Defend the Faith, the strength subdue
Of heresy; prepare anew
A holy people, and by their aid
Illume the lands in darkness laid,
Till for what England lost of yore,
Earth's ends a hundred-fold restore.’

He ceased; but she awhile delayed,
As one who hidden secrets weighed;
Awhile with mute adoring eye
Sought inspiration from on high;
Then bends, and with a beaming face
Accepts the pledge of second grace.