Nor bird is heard; nor insect flits. A tear-drop glittering on her cheek, Composed but shadowed, Nature sits-- Yon primrose not more staid and meek. The light of pensive hope unquenched On those pathetic brows and eyes, She sits, by silver dew-showers drenched, Through which the chill spring-odours rise. Was e'er on human countenance shed So sweet a sadness? Once: no more. Then when his charge the Patriarch led Dream-warned to Egypt's distant shore. Down on her Infant Mary gazed; Her face the angels marked with awe; Yet 'neath its dimness, undisplaced, Looked forth that smile the Magians saw. {37} _Legenda._ XXXI. As, flying Herod, southward went That Child and Mother, unamazed, Into Egyptian banishment, The weeders left their work, and gazed. The bright One spake to them and said, "When Herod's messengers demand, "Passed not the Infant, Herod's dread,-- "Passed not the Infant through your land? "Then shall ye answer make, and say, "Behold, since first the corn was green "No little Infant passed this way; "No little Infant we have seen." Earth heard; nor missed the Maid's intent-- As on the Flower of Eden passed With Eden swiftness up she sent A sun-browned harvest ripening fast. By simplest words and sinless wheat The messengers rode back beguiled; And by that truthfullest deceit Which saved the little new-born Child! {38} PART II. {39}{40} {41} PART II. _Conservabat in Corde._ I. As every change of April sky Is imaged in a placid brook, Her meditative memory Mirrored His every deed and look. As suns through summer ether rolled Mature each growth the spring has wrought, So Love's strong day-star turned to gold Her harvests of quiescent thought. Her soul was as a vase, and shone Translucent to an inner ray; Her Maker's finger wrote thereon A mystic Bible new each day. Deep Heart! In all His sevenfold might The Paraclete with thee abode; And, sacramented there in light, Bore witness of the things of God. {42} _Ascensio Domini_. II. Rejoice, O Earth, thy crown is won! Rejoice, rejoice, ye heavenly host! And thou, the Mother of the Son, Rejoice the first; rejoice the most! Who captive led captivity-- From Hades' void circumference Who led the Patriarch Band on high, There rules, and sends us graces thence. Rejoice, glad Earth, o'er winter's grave With altars wreathed and clarions blown; And thou, the Race Redeemed, outbrave The rites of nature with thine own! Rejoice, O Mary! thou that long Didst lean thy breast upon the sword-- Sad nightingale, the Spirit's song That sang'st all night! He reigns, restored! Rejoice! He goes, the Paraclete To send! Rejoice! He reigns on high! The sword lies broken at thy feet-- His triumph is thy victory! {43} _Ascensio Domini._ III.