The Saviour's happy light, Wherein at first was dight His boon of life and immortality, In desert ice of subtleties was spent Or drown'd in mists of childish wonderment, Fond fancies here, there false philosophy! And harsh the temper grew Of men with mind thus darken'd and astray; And scarce the boon of life could struggle through, For want of light which should the boon convey. Yet in this latter time The promise of the prime Seem'd to come true at last, O Abbey old! It seem'd, a child of light did bring the dower Foreshown thee in thy consecration-hour, And in thy courts his shining freight unroll'd: Bright wits, and instincts sure, And goodness warm, and truth without alloy, And temper sweet, and love of all things pure, And joy in light, and power to spread the joy. And on that countenance bright Shone oft so high a light, That to my mind there came how, long ago, Lay on the hearth, amid a fiery ring, The charm'd babe of the Eleusinian king--[34] His nurse, the Mighty Mother, will'd it so. Warm in her breast, by day, He slumber'd, and ambrosia balm'd the child; But all night long amid the flames he lay, Upon the hearth, and play'd with them, and smiled. But once, at midnight deep, His mother woke from sleep, And saw her babe amidst the fire, and scream'd. A sigh the Goddess gave, and with a frown Pluck'd from the fire the child, and laid him down; Then raised her face, and glory round her stream'd. The mourning-stole no more Mantled her form, no more her head was bow'd; But raiment of celestial sheen she wore, And beauty fill'd her, and she spake aloud:-- "O ignorant race of man! Achieve your good who can, If your own hands the good begun undo? Had human cry not marr'd the work divine, Immortal had I made this boy of mine; But now his head to death again is due And I have now no power Unto this pious household to repay Their kindness shown me in my wandering hour." --She spake, and from the portal pass'd away. The Boy his nurse forgot, And bore a mortal lot. Long since, his name is heard on earth no more. In some chance battle on Cithaeron-side The nursling of the Mighty Mother died, And went where all his fathers went before. --On thee too, in thy day Of childhood, Arthur! did some check have power, That, radiant though thou wert, thou couldst but stay, Bringer of heavenly light, a human hour?