That was a call which ne'er was made in vain
Upon Loyola's sons. In Paraguay
Much of injustice had they to complain,
Much of neglect; but faithful labourers they
In the Lord's vineyard, there was no delay
When summon'd to his work. A little band
Of converts made them ready for the way;
Their spiritual father took a cross in hand
Then from this guilt, and not till then, wilt thou be | To be his staff, and forth they went to search the land.
Names which he loved, and things well worthy to be Hail, holiest Mary! Maid, and Mother undefiled.
And thus when exiled from the dear-loved scene,
In Proud Vienna he beguiled the pain
Of sad remembrance: and the Empress Queen,
That great Teresa, she did not disdain,
In gracious mood sometimes to entertain
Discourse with him both pleasurable and sage;
And sure a willing ear she well might deign
To one whose tales may equally engage
Blame as thou mayest the Papist's erring creed,
But not their salutary rite of even!
The prayers that from a pious soul proceed,
Though misdirected, reach the ear of Heaven.
Us unto whom a purer faith is given,
As our best birthright it behoves to hold
The precious charge. But, oh, beware the leaven
Which makes the heart of charity grow cold!
The wondering mind of youth, the thoughtful heart of We own one Shepherd, we shall be at last one fold.
Patience itself, that should the sovereign cure
For ills that touch ourselves alone, supply,
Lends little aid to one who must endure
This plague: the small tormentors fill the sky,
And swarm about their prey; there he must lie
And suffer while the hours of darkness wear;
At time he utters with a deep drawn sigh
Some name adored, in accents of despair
Breathed sorrowfully forth,half murmur and half prayer. Ever pour'd forth so wild a strain of melody.
Them thus pursuing where the track may lead,
A human voice arrests upon their way.
They stop, and thither whence the sounds proceed,
All eyes are turned in wonder,-not dismay,
For sure such sounds might charm all fear away.
No nightingale whose brooding mate is nigh,
From some sequestered bower at close of day,
No lark rejoicing in the orient sky
In joy had she begun the ambitious song,
With rapid interchange of sink and swell;
And sometimes high the note was raised, and long
Produced, with shake and effort sensible,
As if the voice exulted there to dwell;
But when she could no more that pitch sustain,
So thrillingly attuned the cadence fell,
That with the music of its dying strain
She moved herself to tears of pleasurable pain.
It may be deem'd some dim presage23 possess'd
The virgin's soul; that some mysterious sense
Of change to come, upon her mind impress'd,
Had then call'd forth, ere she departed thence,
A requiem to their days of innocence.
For what thou losest in thy native shade
There is one change alone that may compense,
O Mooma, innocent and simple maid,
Only one change, and it will not be long delay'd!
XLII.
When now the Father issued from the wood
Into that little glade in open sight,
Like one entranced, beholding him, she stood;
Yet had she more of wonder than affright,
Yet less of wonder than of dread delight,
When thus the actual vision came in view;
For instantly the maiden read aright
Wherefore he came; his garb and beard she knew; All that her mother heard had then indeed been true.
Nor was the Father filled with less surprise;
He too strange fancies well might entertain,
When this so fair a creature met his eyes.
He might have thought her not of mortal strain;
Rather, as bards of yore were wont to feign,
A nymph divine of Mondai's secret stream;
Or haply of Diana's woodland train:
For in her beauty Mooma such might seem, Being less a child of earth than like a poet's dream.
No art of barbarous ornament had scarr'd And stain'd her virgin limbs, or 'filed her face; Nor ever yet had evil passion marr'd In her sweet countenance the natural grace Of innocence and youth; nor was there trace Of sorrow, or of hardening want and care. Strange was it in this wild and savage place, Which seem'd to be for beasts a fitting lair, Thus to behold a maid so gentle and so fair.
Across her shoulders was a hammock flung,24
By night it was the maiden's bed, by day
Her ouly garment. Round her as it hung,
In short unequal folds of loose array,
The open meshes, when she moves, display
Her form. She stood with fix'd aud wondering eyes,
And trembling like a leaf upon the spray,
Even for excess of joy, with eager cries
She call'd her mother forth to share that glad surprise.
At that unwonted call with quickened pace
The matron hurried thither, half in fear.
How strange to Monnema a stranger's face!
How strange it was a stranger's voice to hear,
How strangely to her disaccustomed ear
Came even the accents of her native tongue!
But when she saw her countrymen appear,
Tears for that unexpected blessing sprung,
And once again she felt as if her heart were young.
XLVII.
Soon was her melancholy story told,
And glad consent unto that Father good
Was given, that they to join his happy fold
Would leave with him their forest solitude.
Why comes not now Yeruti from the wood?
Why tarrieth he so late this blessed day?
They long to see their joy in his renew'd,
And look impatiently toward his way,
And think they hear his step, and chide his long delay.
He comes at length, a happy man, to find
His only dream of hope fulfill'd at last.
The sunshine of his all-believing mind
There is no doubt or fear to overcast;
No chilling forethought checks his bliss; the past
Leaves no regret for him, and all to come
Is change and wonder and delight. How fast
Hath busy fancy conjured up a sum
Of joys unknown, whereof the expectance makes him
O happy day, the Messenger of Heaven
Hath found them in their lonely dwelling-place!
O happy day, to them it would be given
To share in that Eternal Mother's grace, And one day see in heaven her glorious face Where Angels round her mercy-throne adore! Now shall they mingle with the human race, Sequester'd from their fellow kind no more; O joy of joys supreme! O bliss for them in store!
Full of such hopes this night they lie them down, But not as they were wont, this night to rest. Their old tranquillity of heart is gone; The peace wherewith till now they have been blest Hath taken its departure. In the breast Fast following thoughts and busy fancies throng; Their sleep itself is feverish, and possest With dreams that to the wakeful mind belong; To Mooma and the youth then first the night seem'd long.
Day comes, and now a first and last farewell To that fair bower within their native wood, Their quiet nest till now. The bird may dwell Henceforth in safety there, and rear her brood, And beasts and reptiles undisturb'd intrude. Reckless of this, the simple tenants go, Emerging from their peaceful solitude, To mingle with the world,-but not to know Its crimes, nor to partake its cares, nor feel its woe.
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