ON A PICTURE OF CHRIST BEARING THE CROSS. PAINTED BY VELASQUEZ.1 By the dark stillness brooding in the sky, Laid on thy drooping form and pale meek brow, I look'd once more, and, as the virtue shed Seem'd of the very soul's bright rising born, And upwards, through transparent darkness gleaming, Gazed, in mute reverence, woman's earnest eye, Lit, as a vase whence inward light is streaming, With quenchless faith, and deep love's fervency; Gathering, like incense round some dim-veil'd shrine, About the Form, so mournfully divine! 1 This picture is in the possession of the Viscount Harberton, Merrion Square, Dublin. Oh! let thine image, as e'en then it rose, Beyond the breath of human hope or fear! COMMUNINGS WITH THOUGHT. Could we but keep our spirits to that height, Byron. RETURN, my thoughts, come home! Ye wild and wing'd! what do ye o'er the deep? And wherefore thus th' abyss of time o'ersweep, As birds the ocean foam? Swifter than shooting star Swifter than glances of the northern light, Upspringing through the purple heaven of night, Hath been your course afar! Through the bright battle-clime, Where laurel boughs make dim the Grecian streams, Through the north's ancient halls, Where banners thrill'd of yore, where harp-strings rung, Through forests old and dim, Where o'er the leaves dread magic seems to brood, And sometimes on the haunted solitude Rises the pilgrim's hymn: Or where some fountain lies, With lotus-cups through orient spice-woods gleaming! There have ye been, ye wanderers! idly dreaming Of man's lost paradise! Return, my thoughts, return! Cares wait your presence in life's daily track, Oh no, return ye not! Still farther, loftier, let your soarings be! Go, seek the martyr's grave, 'Midst the old mountains, and the deserts vast; Or, through the ruin'd cities of the past, Follow the wise and brave! Go, visit cell and shrine! Where woman hath endured!-through wrong, through scorn, Uncheer'd by fame, yet silently upborne Go, shoot the gulf of death! Track the pure spirit where no chain can bind, Where the heart's boundless love its rest may find, Where the storm sends no breath! Higher, and yet more high! Shake off the cumbering chain which earth would lay On your victorious wings-mount, mount!--Your way Is through eternity! SONNETS, DEVOTIONAL AND MEMORIAL. I. THE SACRED HARP. How shall the harp of poesy regain That old victorious tone of prophet-years, A throne, the Ark's dread cherubim between, TO A FAMILY BIBLE. What household thoughts around thee, as their shrine, Each day were bent;-her accents, gravely mild, Breathed out thy lore: whilst I, a dreamy child, To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild, III. REPOSE OF A HOLY FAMILY. From an Old Italian Picture. Under a palm tree, by the green old Nile, Regal and still as everlasting things! Vain pomps! from Him, with that pure flowery cheek, O'er the whole world like vernal air shall spread! And bid all earthly Grandeurs cast the crown, Before the suffering and the lowly, down. IV. PICTURE OF THE INFANT CHRIST WITH FLOWERS. All the bright hues from eastern garlands glowing, Round the young Child luxuriantly are spread; |