All that He wills is right, and doubt not thou,
Howe'er our feeble scope of sight
May fail us now,

His righteous will in all things must be done.
My blessing be upon thee, O my son !

VII.

THE SWERGA.

1.

THEN in the Ship of Heaven, Ereenia laid
The waking, wondering Maid;

The Ship of Heaven, instinct with thought, display'd
Its living sail, and glides along the sky.
On either side in wavy tide,

The clouds of morn along its path divide;
The Winds who swept in wild career on high,
Before its presence check their charmed force;
The Winds that loitering lagg'd along their course,
Around the living Bark enamour'd play,
Swell underneath the sail, and sing before its way.

2.

That Bark, in shape, was like the furrow'd shell
Wherein the Sea-Nymphs to their parent-King,
On festal day, their duteous offerings bring.
Its hue?... Go watch the last green light
Ere Evening yields the western sky to Night;
Or fix upon the Sun thy strenuous sight
Till thou hast reach'd its orb of chrysolite.
The sail from end to end display'd

An Angel's head, with visual eye, Through trackless space, directs its chosen way; Nor aid of wing, nor foot, nor fin,

Requires to voyage o'er the obedient sky. Smooth as the swan when not a breeze at even Disturbs the surface of the silver stream, Through air and sunshine sails the Ship of Heaven.

3.

Recumbent there the Maiden glides along
On her aërial way,

How swift she feels not, though the swiftest wind
Had flagg'd in flight behind.
Motionless as a sleeping babe she lay,
And all serene in mind,

Feeling no fear; for that etherial air
With such new life and joyance fill'd her heart,
Fear could not enter there;

For sure she deem'd her mortal part was o'er,
And she was sailing to the heavenly shore;
And that angelic form, who moved beside,
Was some good Spirit sent to be her guide.

4.

Daughter of Earth! therein thou deem'st aright;
And never yet did form more beautiful,
In dreams of night descending from on high,
Bless the religious Virgin's gifted sight,
Nor like a vision of delight,

Rise on the raptured Poet's inward eye.
Of human form divine was he,

The immortal Youth of Heaven who floated by,

Even such as that divinest form shall be
In those blest stages of our onward race,
When no infirmity,

Low thought, nor base desire, nor wasting care,
Deface the semblance of our heavenly sire.

5.

The wings of Eagle or of Cherubim
Had seem'd unworthy him;

Angelic power and dignity and grace
Were in his glorious pennons; from the neck
Down to the ankle reach'd their swelling web
Richer than robes of Tyrian die, that deck
Imperial Majesty:

Their colour like the winter's moonless sky, When all the stars of midnight's canopy Shine forth; or like the azure deep at noon, Reflecting back to heaven a brighter blue. Such was their tint when closed, but when outspread, The permeating light

Shed through their substance thin a varying hue; Now bright as when the rose,

Beauteous as fragrant, gives to scent and sight
A like delight; now like the juice that flows
From Douro's generous vine;

Or ruby when with deepest red it glows;
Or as the morning clouds refulgent shine,
When, at forthcoming of the Lord of Day,
The Orient, like a shrine,

Kindles as it receives the rising ray,
And heralding his way,

Proclaims the presence of the Power divine.

6.

Thus glorious were the wings
Of that celestial Spirit, as he went
Disporting through his native element.
Nor these alone

The gorgeous beauties that they gave to view; Through the broad membrane branched a pliant bone, Spreading like fibres from their parent stem, Its veins like interwoven silver shone, Or as the chaster hue

Of pearls that grace some Sultan's diadem. Now with slow stroke and strong behold him smite The buoyant air, and now in gentler flight, On motionless wing expanded, shoot along.

7.

Through air and sunshine sails the Ship of Heaven;
Far far beneath them lies

The gross and heavy atmosphere of earth;
And with the Swerga gales,

The Maid of mortal birth

'At every breath a new delight inhales. And now toward its port the Ship of Heaven, Swift as a falling meteor, shapes its flight, Yet gently as the dews of night that gem, And do not bend the hare-bell's slenderest stem. Daughter of Earth, Ereenia cried, alight; This is thy place of rest, the Swerga this, Lo, here my Bower of bliss!

8.

He furl'd his azure wings, which round him fold Graceful as robes of Grecian chief of old.