Cheap forms, and common hues, 'tis true,
Through the bright shower-drop meet his view:
The colouring may be of this earth;
The lustre comes of heavenly birth.
FOREST LEAVES IN AUTUMN.
BY KEBLE.
RED o'er the forest peers the setting sun,
The line of yellow light dies fast away
That crown'd the eastern copse: and chill and dun
Falls on the moor the brief November day.
Now the tir'd hunter winds a parting note,
And Echo bids good-night from every glade;
Yet wait awhile, and see the calm leaves float
Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.
How like decaying life they seem to glide!
And yet no second spring have they in store,
But where they fall forgotten to abide,
Is all their portion, and they ask no more.
Soon o'er their heads blithe April airs shall sing,
A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold,
The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring,
And all be vernal rapture as of old.
Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie,
In all the world of busy life around
No thought of them; in all the bounteous sky
No drop, for them, of kindly influence found.
Man's portion is to die and rise again-
Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part
With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain,
As his when Eden held his virgin heart.
And haply half unblam'd his murmuring voice
Might sound in Heaven, where all his second life
Only the first renew'd-the heathen's choice,
A round of listless joy and weary strife.
For dreary were this earth, if earth were all,
Though brighten'd oft by dear affection's kiss ;-
Who for the spangles wears the funeral pall?
But catch a gleam beyond it, and 'tis bliss.
Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart,
Whether slow creeping on cold earth, or borne
On lofty steed, or loftier prow, we dart
O'er wave or field: yet breezes laugh to scorn
Our puny speed, and birds, and clouds in heaven,
And fish, like living shafts that pierce the main,
And stars that shoot through freezing air at even-
Who but would follow, might he break his chain?
And thou shalt break it soon; the grovelling worm
Shall find its wings, and soar as fast and free
As his transfigur'd Lord with lightning form
And snowy vest-such grace He won for thee, When from the grave He sprung at dawn of morn, And led through boundless air thy conquering road, Leaving a glorious track, where saints new-born Might fearless follow to their blest abode.
But first, by many a stern and fiery blast
The world's rude furnace must thy blood refine,
And many a gale of keenest woe be pass'd,
Till every pulse beat true to airs divine,
Till every limb obey the mounting soul,
The mounting soul, the call by Jesus given.
He who the stormy heart can so control,
The laggard body soon will waft to Heaven.
SAW ye the bright-eyed stately child,
With sunny locks so soft and wild,
How in a moment round the room
His keen eye glanced, then into gloom
Retired, as they who suffer wrong
Where most assured they look and long; Heard ye the quick appeal, half in dim fear, In anger half, My mother is not here!"
Perchance some burthened heart was nigh,
To echo back that yearning cry
In deeper chords, than may be known
To the dull outward ear alone.
What if our English air be stirr'd
With sighs from saintly bosoms heard,
Or penitents to leaning angels dear,-
"Our own, our only Mother is not here!"
The murmurings of that boyish heart, They hush with many a faltering art : Soon o'er the islands of the West, The weary sun shall sink to rest; The rose tints fade, that gradual now Are climbing Ben-y-Vear's green brow; Soon o'er the Loch the twilight stars will peer, Then shalt thou feel thy soul's desire is here.
Lightly they soothe the fair fond boy;
Nor is there not a hope and joy
For spirits that half orphaned roam;
Forlorn in their far island home;
Oft, as in penance lowly bow'd,
Prayer like a gentle evening cloud
Enfolds them, through the mists they seem to trace
By shadowy gleams a Royal Mother's face.
The Holy Church is at their side,
Not in her robes a glorious bride;
As Sister named of Mercy mild,
At midnight by a fever'd child,
Might watch, and to the dim eye seem
A white-robed angel in a dream :
Such may the presence
of the Spouse appear
To tender trembling hearts, so faint, so dear.
The Babe for that sweet Vision's sake,
Courts longer trance, afraid to wake e;
And we for love would fain be still,
Though in dim faith, if so He will.
And wills He not? Are not His signs
Around us oft as day declines?
Fails He to bless or home or choral throng,
Where true hearts breathe His Mother's evensong?
Mother of God, O not in vain,
We learn'd of old Thy lowly strain;
Fain in thy shadow would we rest,
And kneel with thee, and call thee blest;
With thee would magnify the Lord;
And if thou art not here adored,
Yet seek we day by day the love and fear
Which brings thee with all saints near and more
What glory thou above hast won,
By special grace of Thy dear Son,
We see not yet nor dare espy
Thy crowned form with open eye.
Rather beside the manger meek,
Thee bending with veiled brow we seek; Or where the Angel in the Thrice Great Name Hailed thee, and Jesus to thy bosom came.
Yearly since then with bitterer cry
Man hath assail'd the throne on high,
And sin and hate more fiercely striven
To mar the league 'twixt Earth and Heaven;
But the dread tie that pardoning hour,
Made fast in Mary's awful bower,
Hath mightier prov'd to bind than we to break,
None may that work undo, that Flesh unmake.
Thenceforth, whom thousand worlds adore,
He calls thee Mother evermore;
Angel nor Saint His face may see
Apart from what He took from thee;
How may we choose but name thy name
Echoing below their high acclaim
In Holy Creeds? since earthly song and prayer
Must keep faint time to the dread Anthems there.
How but in love on thine own days,
Thou blissful one, upon thee gaze?
Nay every day, each suppliant hour,
Where'er we kneel, in aisle or bower,
Thy glories we may greet unblam'd,
Nor shun the lays by Seraphs framed.
Hail, Mary, full of grace! O welcome sweets,
Which daily in all lands all saints repeat;
Fair greeting with our matin vows,
Paid duly to th' Enthroned Spouse.
His Church and Bride, here and on high,
Figured in her deep purity,
|