ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS

The Virgin

OTHER! whose virgin bosom was uncrost

M With the least shade of thought to sin allied;

Woman! above all women glorified,

Our tainted nature's solitary boast;

Purer than foam on central ocean tost;
Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn
With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon
Before her wane begins on heaven's blue coast;
Thy Image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,
Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend,
As to a visible Power, in which did blend
All that was mixed and reconciled in Thee
Of mother's love with maiden purity,
Of high with low, celestial with terrene!

1821.

I

The Vision1

SAW the figure of a lovely Maid

Seated alone beneath a darksome tree,

Whose fondly-overhanging canopy

Set off her brightness with a pleasing shade.
No Spirit was she; that my heart betrayed,
For she was one I loved exceedingly;
But while I gazed in tender reverie

(Or was it sleep that with my Fancy played?)
The bright corporeal presence-form and face-
Remaining still distinct grew thin and rare,
Like sunny mist;-at length the golden hair,
Shape, limbs, and heavenly features, keeping pace
Each with the other in a lingering race

Of dissolution, melted into air.

1821.

Places of Worship

S star that shines dependent upon star

Is to the sky while we look up in love;
As to the deep fair ships which, though they move,
Seem fixed to eyes that watch them from afar ;
As to the sandy desert fountains are,

With palm-groves shaded at wide intervals,
Whose fruit around the sun-burnt Native falls

Of roving tired or desultory war

Such to this British Isle her christian Fanes,
Each linked to each for kindred services;

Her Spires, her Steeple-towers with glittering vanes
Far-kenned, her Chapels lurking among trees,
Where a few villagers on bended knees
Find solace which a busy world disdains.

1821.

F

Mutability

ROM low to high doth dissolution climb, And sink from high to low, along a scale Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail; A musical but melancholy chime,

Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,
Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.

Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear
The longest date do melt like frosty rime,
That in the morning whitened hill and plain
And is no more; drop like the tower sublime
Of yesterday, which royally did wear

His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain
Some casual shout that broke the silent air,
Or the unimaginable touch of Time.

1821.

Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge

AX not the royal Saint with vain expense,

TAX

With ill-matched aims the Architect who
planned-

Albeit labouring for a scanty band

Of white-robed Scholars only-this immense
And glorious Work of fine intelligence!

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely-calculated less or more;

So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense
These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof
Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells,
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells
Lingering and wandering on as loth to die;
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof
That they were born for immortality.

1821.

W

The Same

HAT awful perspective! while from our sight
With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide
Their Portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed
In the soft chequerings of a sleepy light.
Martyr, or King, or sainted Eremite,
Whoe'er ye be, that thus, yourselves unseen,
Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen,
Shine on, until ye fade with coming Night!—
But, from the arms of silence-list! O list!
The music bursteth into second life;
The notes luxuriate, every stone is kissed
By sound, or ghost of sound, in mazy strife;

Heart-thrilling strains, that cast, before the eye
Of the devout, a veil of ecstasy!

1821.

Continued

HEY dreamt not of a perishable home

TH

Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours of fear Or grovelling thought, to seek a refuge here; Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam; Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam Melts, if it cross the threshold; where the wreath Of awe-struck wisdom droops: or let my path Lead to that younger Pile, whose sky-like dome Hath typified by reach of daring art Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest, The silent Cross, among the stars shall spread As now, when She hath also seen her breast Filled with mementos, satiate with its part Of grateful England's overflowing Dead.

1821.

A

Memory

PEN-to register; a key

That winds through secret wards;

Are well assigned to Memory

By allegoric Bards.

As aptly, also, might be given

A Pencil to her hand;

That, softening objects, sometimes even

Outstrips the heart's demand;

That smoothes foregone distress, the lines

Of lingering care subdues,

Long-vanished happiness refines,

And clothes in brighter hues;

Yet, like a tool of Fancy, works
Those Spectres to dilate

That startle Conscience, as she lurks
Within her lonely seat.

O! that our lives, which flee so fast,
In purity were such,

That not an image of the past

Should fear that pencil's touch!

Retirement then might hourly look
Upon a soothing scene,

Age steal to his allotted nook
Contented and serene;

With heart as calm as lakes that sleep,
In frosty moonlight glistening;
Or mountain rivers, where they creep
Along a channel smooth and deep,
To their own far-off murmurs listening.

1823.

The Poetry of Quiet Things

N°

OT Love, not War, nor the tumultuous swell Of civil conflict, nor the wrecks of change, Nor Duty struggling with afflictions strangeNot these alone inspire the tuneful shell; But where untroubled peace and concord dwell, There also is the Muse not loth to range, Watching the twilight smoke of cot or grange, Skyward ascending from a woody dell. Meek aspirations please her, lone endeavour, And sage content, and placid melancholy; She loves to gaze upon a crystal riverDiaphanous because it travels slowly; Soft is the music that would charm for ever; The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.

1823.