Through Pride our parents disobeyed; Rebellious Sense avenged the crime: The soul, the body's captive made, Became the branded thrall of time. {108} With barrenness the earth was cursed; Inviolate she brought forth no more Her fruits, nor freely as at first:-- Thou cam'st, her Eden to restore! Low breathes the wind upon the string; The harp, responsive, sounds in turn: Thus o'er thy Soul the Spirit's wing Creative passed; and Christ was born. {109} _"Sine Labe originali Concepta."_ XXI. Met in a point [Footnote 7] the circles twain Of temporal and eternal things Embrace, close linked. Redemption's chain Drops thence to earth its myriad rings. [Footnote 7: The Incarnation.] In either circle, from of old, That point of meeting stood decreed;-- Twin mysteries cast in one deep mould, "The Woman," and "the Woman's Seed." Mary, long ages ere thy birth Resplendent with Salvation's Sign, In thee a stainless hand the earth Put forth, to meet the Hand Divine! First trophy of all-conquering Grace, First victory of that Blood all pure, Of man's once fair but fallen race Thou stood'st, the monument secure. The Word made Flesh! the Way! the Door! The link that dust with Godhead blends! Through Him the worlds their God adore:-- Through thee that God to man descends. {110} _"Sine Labe originali Concepta."_ XXII. A soul-like sound, subdued yet strong, A whispered music, mystery-rife, A sound like Eden airs among The branches of the Tree of Life-- At first no more than this; at last The voice of every land and clime, It swept o'er Earth, a clarion blast: Earth heard, and shook with joy sublime. Mary! thy triumph was her own. In thee she saw her prime restored: She saw ascend a spotless Throne For Him, her Saviour, and her Lord. The Church had spoken. She that dwells Sun-clad with beatific light, From Truth's unvanquished citadels, From Sion's Apostolic height, Had stretched her sceptred hands, and pressed The seal of Faith, defined and known, Upon that Truth till then confessed By Love's instinctive sense alone. {111} XXIII. Brow-bound with myrtle and with gold, Spring, sacred now from blasts and blights, Lifts in a firm, untrembling hold Her chalice of fulfilled delights. Confirmed around her queenly lip The smile late wavering, on she moves; And seems through deepening tides to step Of steadier joys and larger loves. The stony Ash itself relents, Into the blue embrace of May Sinking, like old impenitents Heart-touched at last; and, far away, The long wave yearns along the coast With sob suppressed, like that which thrills (While o'er the altar mounts the Host) Some chapel on the Irish hills. {112} _Corpus Christi._ XXIV.