LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, ap JTiac Copyright No. Shell—ill?" '2 /*^B- Ch UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. PASSION FLOWERS BY FATHER EDMUND OF THE HEART OF MARY, C.P. [benjamin D J HILL] Author of " A Short Cut to the True Church ; or, The Fact and the Word " NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO BENZIGER BROTHERS PRINTERS TO THE HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE TWO COPIES RECEIVED 2507 Copyright, 1898, By BENZIGER BROTHERS. 12- 3 Yfffo PREFACE Twenty years ago I published a small vol- ume of " Poems, Devotional and Occasional. " Friends to whom they are familiar have been joined by readers of the Ave Maria, as also by litterateurs of well-merited reputation, in urging me to bring out a fresh collection. After much delay (for my life is a busy one), I am complying with this request. The poems above mentioned will be found in the present collection, but many of them revised and im- proved : and some will appear in each of the three sections, or volumes, into which this new issue is divided. I am printing but one volume at a time. The first is entitled " Passion Flowers," as con- sisting of lyrics and sonnets either in honor of Our Divine Lord's Passion, or connected with it or referring to it : together with a narrative poem in two parts — " St. Hermenegild : a Passion Flower of Spain." 5 6 Preface The second volume will be called " Mariae Corolla" — that is, "A Wreath for Mary"; and will contain pieces either directly or indi- rectly in honor of Our Blessed Lady. My reason for choosing the Latin title will be given in an introduction to the book itself. The third volume will comprise " Poems of Affection and Friendship." Perhaps it will have a classic title, like its predecessor. Under the head of " Friendship " will be found " Let- ters to An Old Chum," and pieces of a humor- ous kind. I am well aware that the literary path I have chosen is not one that leads to popularity — in the wider sense of the term. It would, doubt- less, have been more " worldly wise " — and, certainly, very much easier — to fall into line with the revived Pagan morality and the worse than Pagan scepticism of the day. If " I wish," as Wordsworth said of himself, " to be consid- ered as a teacher, or as nothing," why not pose as an agnostic or a pantheist ? Why not dress up the " creed of despair " in a new and fasci- nating garb — as certain novelists have done ? Preface 7 Because, by God's grace and undeserved mercy, I believe in Him ; and in the truths of Chris- tianity as revealed by Him ; and in the Catholic Apostolic Roman Church as the only historical and logical Christianity. I therefore humbly offer to this Church whatever I have been able to produce with the talent committed to my charge. I aspire to teach with lyre and lute, as well as from the pulpit or with pen of sol- emn prose. And having made poetry a study for thirty years, I ought to know the difference between mere religious verse and the beauties of our holy Faith set forth in poetic raiment. If I have a model at all, it is dear old Horace — faultless master of poetic form. There is neither affectation nor obscurity in him. Those were not considered charms in the age of classic lore. Accuracy and strength were the combi- nation that made golden Greek and golden Latin. To be sure, we find " bold construc- tions " in Sophocles and in Horace : a fact which makes these authors the best test of scholarship. But they never aimed at appear- 8 Preface ance of depth by concealing, instead of express- ing, their thought. Again, I acknowledge, of course, the influence of Tennyson, who triumphantly established his right to introduce a new school of English poetry. He, like Horace, is a master of schol- arly diction ; and, in a word, the most perfect of English poets. He has been even called " faultless to a fault." Yet he does not escape occasional obscurity — the result of excessive subjectivism. Some of his imitators take this blemish for a beauty. I trust that I am not among them. Byron and Moore, the idols of my youth, are certainly far from being models of style, by reason of their inaccuracy — defect of scholarly diction : but the strength of the one and the simplicity of the other have never been sur- passed, if equalled ; and their influence abides with the mind that has loved and studied them. In the present volume, to some extent, but more in the second and third, their influence — particularly that of Byron — will be recog- nized, no doubt. And I am not at all ashamed of it. Preface 9 I must add a few words about the sonnet — a form of composition to which I am very partial. When I began to write " quatorzains," I did not know that the sonnet of Petrarch set up for being the only correct one. I have adhered to that form in my " Sonnets on the Way of the Cross," which I deem my best work in the present volume ; but have not kept exclusively to it since, and do not mean to do so in the future. I believe the English language impor- tant enough to have a sonnet of its own. The Shakspearian form is duly recognized. But Wordsworth is incomparably the greatest com- poser of the sonnet that our literature can boast of; and he varies not only the " minor system," but often the " major " too, and in a way that suits the genius of the English language. So, too, with Keats, that young giant of song, whose sonnets are among our very finest. I am quite content, then, to err in such company — if error there be in my theory. In closing this long preface, I beg to ac- knowledge the kindness of the editors of the io Preface Ave Maria, the Catholic World, Donahoe's Mag- azine, the Messenger of the Sacred Heart, the Rosary Magazine, and the Poor Souls' Advocate, in allowing me to reprint poems contributed to their pages. The great majority of pieces now collected, and which were not collected in 1877, have appeared in the Ave Maria. Some, how- ever, are now published for the first time : notably, " St. Hermenegild." St. Mary's Retreat, Dunkirk, N.Y. Feast of St. Rose of Lima, 1897. CONTENTS Part I From 1866 to 1878 PAGE LOVE'S PRISONER 1 7 ST. MARY MAGDALEN OF PAZZI TO THE SACRED HEART l8 OUR BETHLEHEM 20 OUR EPIPHANY .21 ST. JOSEPH'S MONTH 21 THE PASSION 22 THE FEAST OF THE CROWN OF THORNS . . 24 TO THE FIVE WOUNDS 2$ THE STATIONS OF THE CROSS .... 26 "THOU ART GONE UP ON HIGH" . . 3! HYMN 32 ORDINATUS 34 "SICUT MAGISTER EJUS" 35 TO ST. MARY MAGDALEN 35 FOR THE GIFT OF TEARS 36 "JUXTA CRUCEM" 38 II 12 Contents PAGE TRANSPLANTED 39 A MEMORY 4° TO A LADY . 4 1 TO THE SAME 43 VEILED 44 TO ST. MATTHIAS 45 IN RETREAT 46 TURN FOR TURN 48 Part II From 1878 to 1897 VOCATION 51 NOVICE • 52 PROFESSED 54 THREE DAYS . . . ' . . . • 5 6 SONNETS ON THE WAY OF THE CROSS . . 60 TO ST. JOHN . . . . . • .8l EASTER 82 "THE LAST HOUR" 86 " RUNNING WATERS " &7 MATER DOLOROSA 89 SEPTEMBER 90 AD MARIAM PRO MARIA . . . . • 9 2 TO MONICA 93 Contents 1 3 PAGE TO MARGARET ....... 94 SOUTHWARD . 97 TO A WIDOWED MOTHER: ON THE DEATH OF HER ONLY DAUGHTER, AGED SEVEN . . 99 TO A. W IOI WHY GOD LOVES US I04 A BIRTHDAY GREETING. TO S. M. B. . . I06 TO TERESA LUCY: ON HER BIRTHDAY . . 107 TO LUCY TERESA : ON HER TWENTY-FIRST BIRTH- DAY I08 SURSUM CORDA IIO TO MOTHER MARY XAVIER THERESA: ON HER GOLDEN JUBILEE 112 TO ERIN . .114 IN HONOR OF A GOLDEN WEDDING . . . 117 HAUD FRUSTRA Il8 A THOUGHT FOR OCTOBER . . . . 119 A THOUGHT FOR NOVEMBER . . . . 120 THE LAW OF LIBERTY 122 GOD LOVED IN NATURE 1 29 A THOUGHT FOR TRINITY SUNDAY . . . 1 30 TO NATURE 131 CHOICE IN NO CHOICE . 133 SUGGESTED BY A CASCADE .... I34 AN EARNEST ....... I36 1 4 Contents SAINT HERMENEGILD A Passion Flower of Spain PAGE PART I 147 PART II I7S PART I From 1866 to 1878 LOVE'S PRISONER "DEPOSING in His altar-home — Imprison'd there for love of me — My Spouse awaits me ; and I come To visit Him awhile, and be A solace to His loneliness — If aught in me can make it less. But is He lonely ? Bend not here Adoring angels, as on high ? Ah, yes : but yet, when we appear, A softer glory floods His eye. 'Tis earth's frail child He longs to see ; And thus He is alone — for me ! His Heart, how piningly it aches With love unheeded, love despised ! O happy soul, that comes and takes The gift as something to be prized : The lavish graces it receives From that full breast its prayer relieves ! 17 1 8 St. Mary Magdalen of Pa^i Then, best of lovers, I'll draw near Each day to minister relief. For tho' the thought of year on year Of sin should make me die of grief, Yet day by day my God I see " Sick and in prison " — all for me ! 1866.1 ST. MARY MAGDALEN OF PAZZI TO THE SACRED HEART < ' I say, my Jesus, Thou art mad with love ! I say so, and shall always say so." — St. Mary Magdalen of Pazzi. TTEART of hearts, a love is Thine Madly tender, blindly true ! Love in vastness so divine, In excess so human too ! Seems it more a burning grief — Pining, aching for relief. Seems Thou dost not, canst not live, Save to sue us for Thy rest : While the all that we can give 1 The year of the author's conversion to the Faith. St. Mary Magdalen of Pa^i 19 Is as nothing at the best. Wondrous Lover ! shall I say Thou hast thrown Thyself away ? Drench'd with anguish — steep'd in woe — Thou must needs, insatiate still, Linger patiently below, Prison'd to Thy creatures' will : While the current of the days Murmurs insult more than praise ! Here I find Thee, hour by hour, Waiting in Thy altar-home, Full of mercy, full of power — Mutely waiting till we come : Waiting for a soul to bless — - Some poor sinner to caress. Forth, then, from the fragrant hush, Where I almost hear Thee beat, Bid a benediction gush — O'er me, thro' me, thrilling sweet ! Heart of Jesus, full of me, Fill mine — till it break with Thee ! Our Bethlehem OUR BETHLEHEM T3ETHLEHEM, House of Bread, 1 Of the Bread that came down from heaven. 2 " For the life of the world 'tis given : Eat of it," Jesus said. " Father," He bade us pray, " Give us this heavenly bread " (" Ours " we must call it, He said) : " Give us it day by day." Knelt in the midnight cave The shepherds and sages three, Theirs (do we envy ? ) to see The Bread which the Father gave. 3 We in the Faith's broad day Kneeling — nor once, but at will — Take of that Bread our fill, None " sent empty away." How should we envy them ? Yet as the grace, the shame, If but in boast we claim The goodlier Bethlehem. 1 The literal signification of Bethlehem. 2 St. John vi. 33, 51, 52. 3 Ibid. v. 3a. St. Joseph's Month 21 OUR EPIPHANY "\ X 7"HAT tho' we cannot, with the star-led kings, Adore the swaddled Babe of Bethlehem, Behold how sweetly Benediction brings A new Epiphany denied to them. The Mary Mystical 'tis ours to see Still from His crib the little Jesus take, And show Him to us on her altar-knee, And sing to Him to bless us for her sake. Shall we the while be kneeling giftless there? In loving faith a richer gold shall please ; A costlier incense in the humblest prayer; Nor less the myrrh of penitence than these. And there between us holy priesthood stands, Our own St. Joseph, with anointed hands. S ST. JOSEPH'S MONTH AINT of the Childhood and the Hidden Life, Why is it that thy month is always Lent ? 22 The Passion What hadst thou with the Passion ? Mary- went To Calvary with Jesus ; but the knife Of that fierce sorrow was spared thee. Thy strife In anxious care and fostering patience spent: Now to a stable, now to Egypt sent, And then long years with humblest labor rife. But this thy portion of the coming Cross — Which o'er thy path its forward shadow threw. And is not ours like thine — to walk content In that long shadow, counting all things loss Save what for Jesus we endure or do ? — To teach us this thy month is always Lent. THE PASSION "\ "\ 7" AS ever tale of love like this ? The wooing of the Spouse of Blood Who came to wed us to His bliss In those eternal years with God. Those griefless years, those wantless years, He left them — -counting loss for gain — The Passion 23 To taste the luxury of tears, And revel in the wine of pain! 'Twas sin had ruixt the cup of woe From Adam pass'd to every lip : And none could shirk its brimming flow — For some a draught, for all a sip : When Jesus came, athirst to save; Nor sucked content a sinless breast; But grasped the fatal cup, and gave That Mother half, then drained the rest. Enough the milk without the wine. When first the new-born Infant smiled, 'Twas merit infinite, divine, To cleanse a thousand worlds defiled. But we must take of both. And how Could love look on, nor rush to share ? Or hear us moan : " Death's darkness now : And Thou, at least, wast never there " ? And so He drank our Marah dry : Then filled the cup with wine of heaven. 24 The Feast of the Crown of Thorns Who would not live — with Him to die ? Or not have sinned 1 — when so forgiven ? Lent, 1872. THE FEAST OF THE CROWN OF THORNS A/fY Thorn-crown'd King, Thy diadem Outshines the bard's, the hero's, wreath. The tangled gold, the ruby gem, How fair they glitter underneath ! And ah, those gems ! They flow — they fall ! The dust receives them ! Shall they lie Unheeded there ? O no ! They call Adoring legions from the sky. Yet not for Angels do they flow : For sinful men. " And one is mine, Dear Lord — my very own ? " . . . But lo ! His eyes reproach me : " All are thine." 1 This, of course, is in the sense of the Church's "O felix culpa ! O certe necessarium peccatum ! ' ' To the Five Wounds 25 TO THE FIVE WOUNDS r^\EAR Wounds, it is not mine to see you bleed As Magdalen saw you. Where He reigns above You shine in glory. Yet, in very deed, Remain, as then, five rosy mouths — to plead With Him for mercy, and with me for love. " Behold upon My Hands I have graven thee ! " 1 Indelibly, my King. How sweet the thought ! Thou canst not look on these but reading me : Thy Father there, Thy Mother too, must see What less my sins than Thy dear love have wrought. Yea, Lord, and on Thy Feet — those blessed Feet Where Magdalen's pure tears and kisses fell. Ah, could mine own that homage now repeat Of wordless thankfulness — if such were meet For sinner rescued from a lower hell ! And on Thy Side, my Jesus — ay, Thy Heart ! And deepest there. Right to the centre went 1 Is. xlix. 16. 26 The Stations of the Cross The soldier's spear : to show, with cunning art, How Thy love giveth not itself in part, But all, my God ! — with naught but all con- tent. Sweet Wounds, then, home me ! Hide me evermore From sin and self! I ask to live and die Hidden in you ; for there is all my store Of wisdom as of merit. Other lore Than that you teach shall pass unheeded by. THE STATIONS OF THE CROSS i ,r ~PIS thou, my cruel heart, but thou Hast wrought the doom thou weepest now. 'Tis thou hast shouted, " Let Him die ! " — Thy every sin a " Crucify ! " " I die," He murmurs, " die for thee : Then sin no more : live true for Me." ii Why choose a death of fierce delay To agonize Thy life away ? The Stations of the Cross 27 And why do Thy embraces greet The cross as if Thou deem'st it sweet ? Thou dost ! A sateless love, we know, Must ever glut itself on woe. in Thou fallest — all too weak ! The might That bears creation's infinite As tho' its myriad worlds were none, Has sunk beneath the sins of one ! Ye ruthless stones, thou heedless sod, How can ye wound your prostrate God ? IV They raise Him up, and goad Him on ; When lo, the Mother meets the Son ! How heart rends heart, as eye to eye Darts the mute anguish of reply ! Sweet Lady, traitor tho' I be, Yet let me follow Him with thee ! The soldiers fear to see Him die Too soon for cross and Calvary ; And the Cyrenian, captive made, Reluctant lends his timely aid. 28 The Stations of the Cross happy Simon, didst thou know ! Give me the load thou scornest so ! VI Who calls that face unlovely now, For furrowed cheek and thorn-pierced brow? To me it never seemed so fair ; For when was love so written there? Kind Veronica, get me grace To keep, like thee, that pictured face ! l VII Again He falls ! again they deal Their ruffian blows — those hearts of steel ! He hails His Mother; and the throng Slink back, to let her pass along. She kneels to soothe Him and caress, And rage grows dumb at Her distress. VIII The tender women mourn His fate, With Mary's grief compassionate. How blest such mourners, He has said : They shall indeed be comforted. 1 Our Lord left the impression of His face on St. Veronica's cloth. This relic of the Passion is still preserved in Rome. The Stations of the Cross 29 And He, in turn, has tears for them — Daughters of lost Jerusalem. IX And yet another fall ! Ah, why ? 'Tis my repeated perfidy. O Jesus, I but live in vain If only to be false again ! O Mary, grant me, I implore, To die this hour, or sin no more ! x The Way, the lingering Way, is past, And Calvary's top is gained at last. With gall the soldiers mock His thirst, Then strip Him, in their glee accurst. Descend, ye Angels ! round Him flame, And with your pinions veil His shame ! XI Ah see, they stretch Him on the wood : The blunt nails spurt the Precious Blood ! Nor His alone their every sting ; For Mary hears the hammers ring. Lord, let that sound my music be When the death-hour shall strike for me ! 30 The Stations of the Cross XII A horror wraps the earth and sky While three long times go darkly by. And now, " 'Tis finished ! " Jesus cries And awfully the God-Man dies. My heart, canst thou survive content ? Behold, the very rocks are rent ! XIII Desolate Mother, clasping there Thy lifeless Son, yet hear my prayer ! Tho' never was a grief like thine, And never was a guilt like mine, Still should I not be dear to thee When He thou lovest died for me ? XIV His lovers lay Him in the tomb, And leave Him to its peaceful gloom. Thou sleepest, Lord, Thy labor done ; For me — for all — redemption won : And I, in turn, as dead would be, And buried to all else but Thee. Lent, 1870. " Thou art gone up on High " 3 1 "THOU ART GONE UP ON HIGH"* "£^ONE UP ! " But whither ? To a star ? Some orb that seems a point of light, Or one too infinitely far For our fond gaze beneath the night ? Some fairer world, to which our own, With all its vastness, is a grain ? Is't there the God-Man sets his throne — Fit centre of a boundless reign ? Let science coldly sweep away A fancied Eden here and there From out the starry space, and say 'Tis all brute matter — crude and bare : Or stern philosophy demand " May not yon myriad orbs we ken Be but a pinch of golden sand To stretch the narrow minds of men ? " — Yet faith makes answer, meekly bold: " Narrow to me your widest lore — Without the blessed truth I hold That God is Man for evermore. 1 " Ascendisti in altum." — Ps. lxvii. 3 2 Hymn " He came to wed our life to His : As Man was born, and died, and rose: And in His victor Flesh it is Our hopes of Paradise repose. " He wore it thro' the sweet delay That kept Him with His dear ones yet ; Nor put it from Him on the day He pass'd from topmost Olivet. u Then still He wears it in the skies — Matter in space. And when the cloud Receiv'd Him from the gazers' eyes — Before their brimming hearts allowed " That they had lost Him — swift as thought, He reach'd the bright elysian home His own primeval word had wrought, New Eden for the race to come." HYMN 1 IVTOT ours to ask Thee " What is truth ? " For here it shines the light of light : 1 Written to be sung at the meetings of a " Christian Doctrine Society" under the patronage of St. Paul. Hymn 33 And all may see it, age or youth, Who will but leave the outer night. 'Tis ours to tread, not seek the way That brightens to the perfect day. 1 But this we ask Thee, dearest Lord : Let faith, so precious, feed and grow; And make our lives the more accord With fear and love, the more we know : For thus, too, shall we point the way That brightens to the perfect day. Nor have we learnt it save to teach : It is for others we are wise : The humblest has a charge to preach Thy kingdom in a nation's eyes : A nation groping for the way That brightens to the perfect day. O thou, our Patron, great St. Paul, Apostle of the West ! to thee We boldly come, and fondly call, As children at a father's knee : Come thou, and with us lead the way That brightens to the perfect day ! 1 Prov. iv. 18. 34 Ordinatus ORDINATUS '"THE priest, " another Christ " 1 is he, And plights the Church his marriage vows : Thenceforth in every soul to see A daughter, sister, spouse. Then let him wear the triple cord Of father's, brother's, husband's care : In this partaking with His Lord What Angels cannot share. O sweet new love ! O strong new wine ! O taste of Pentecostal fire ! Inebriate me, draught divine, With Calvary's desire ! " I thirst ! " He cried. The dregs were drained But still " I thirst ! " His dying cry. While one ungarner'd soul remained, The cup too soon was dry. >t-« oil to Hnne* Yet what if / be crucified And scoffing fiends, when all is done, Make darkness round me, and deride That not a soul is won ? 1 " Sacerdos alter Christus." — St. Bernard. To St. Magdalen 35 God reaps from very loss a gain ; And darkness here is light above. Nor ever did and died in vain Who did and died for love. 1871. "SICUT MAGISTER EJUS" 1 HPHE Priest must bear the Master's cross Of all men most, and take his part In hours of failure and of loss Like those which wrung the Sacred Heart. Yet, doubly sure, are others given, Of such sweet comfort, it is worth The rest to know them: as, in heaven, A moment compensates for earth. TO ST. MARY MAGDALEN ' 1VTID the white spouses of the Sacred Heart, After its Queen, the nearest, dearest thou : 1 "It is enough for the disciple that he be as his Master." — St. Matt. x. 25. 36 For the Gift of Tears Yet the aureola around thy brow Is not the virgins' — thine a throne apart. Nor yet, my Saint, does faith-illumined art Thy hand with palm of martyrdom endow : And when thy hair is all it will allow Of glory to thy head, we do not start. O more than virgin in thy penitent love ! And more than martyr in thy passionate woe ! Who knelt not with thee on the gory sod, How should they now sit throned with thee above ? Or where the crown our worship could be- stow Like that long gold which wiped the feet of God ? 1872. * FOR THE GIFT OF TEARS TV /TY Magdalen, my own dear Saint, Could I but weep my past away Like thee at Jesus' feet, the day He cleansed thy bosom of its taint ! It is not, Sister, that I doubt Forgiveness. He is all too sweet. For the Gift of Tears 37 Had I too bathed and kissed His feet, And heard Him say 'twas blotted out, I scarce were more assur'd than now : For grace on grace has bid me cease From Tearfulness, and "go in peace," With youth renewed in heart and brow. Yet, by that fire of deathless love, Which, kindled at His glance and word, Consumed thee for thy Saviour Lord, As burn the Seraphim above: By all His tenderness, and those Divinely-human looks and ways : The thrilling sweetness of His praise, The joy of mutual repose : By all the darkness and the scorn Of those three hours beneath His cross : By all thy share in Mary's loss, And, happier, in her Easter morn : Get me the precious gift of tears, To flow perennial as thine ! Thy prayer, dear Saint, shall make them mine, And wreathe with gems my rescued years. 38 " Juxta Crucem" "JUXTA CRUCEM" « T\E AR Lord," we say, " could we have stood With Thy sweet Mother and St. John Beside Thy Cross ; or knelt and clung (Heedless what ruffian eyes look'd on) With Magdalen's wild grief, and flung Our arms about th' ensanguined wood ! " . . . But have we not the Crucified Among us, " even at the door " ? Whom else behold we day by day In the sore-burden'd, patient poor ? And where disease makes want its prey, Can we not stand that cross beside ? O blest vocation, theirs who come, At chosen duty's high behest, To soothe the squalid couch of pain With pledges of a better rest Than all earth's wealth can give or gain, And whispers of eternal home ! Never so near Our Lord as then, We touch His wounds — more heaPd than healing : Transplanted 39 Never so close to Mary's Heart, Hear too for us its throbs appealing : And when for other scenes we part, It is with John and Magdalen. TRANSPLANTED "\ \ THO says she has wither'd, that little white VV rose? She has been but removed from the valley of tears To a garden afar, where her loveliness glows Begemm'd with the grace-dew of virginal years. I knew we should lose her. The dear Sacred Heart Has a nook in earth's valley for flowerets so rare ; And keeps them awhile in safe shelter, apart From the wind and the rain, from the dust and the glare ; But all to transplant them when fairest they bloom, 4© A Memory When most we shall miss them. And this, that our love May be haunted the more by the fadeless perfume They have left us to breathe of the Eden above. Farewell, happy maiden ! Our weariest hours May gather a share of thy perfect repose. And fragrantly still with the Lord of the flowers Thou wilt plead for thy lov'd ones — our little St. Rose ! A MEMORY T LITTLE took her for a wife. She seem'd to stand, with maiden grace, Half eager, half averse, to face The stern realities of life. But when her tale of bitter wrong Had pierced me (tho' her words were few), I read her as myself, and knew How old the heart with such a song. To a Lady 41 And yet not quench'd its vital youth, Or blighted with a hopeless doom. " A flower," I said, " reserv'd to bloom In sunshine of the future truth. " She droops, nigh broken, in the night — So burden'd with the rain of woe : But each big drop gives purer glow, And gems her for the dawning light." TO A LADY ON THE DEATH OF HER SISTER T_JER death is as of one I knew. Nor only that a friend's distress Is mine. Your sister, could I less Than picture her another you ? She led, you say, an angel's life Ere ever the dividing vows Had wed her to the Virgins' Spouse And seal'd her for the higher strife. A chosen soul, then, from her birth ; Predestined to the perfect flower: 42 To a Lady First gather' d for the convent-bower, Now for a garden not of earth. You know it, lady; and the sense Forbids the natural tear to flow, Unless a joy be with its woe To give it thankful eloquence. Nor have you lost her. Veil'd before, And cloister' d in a distant home, She now is free again to come And linger near you evermore : And shield you in a thousand ways, And guide your path, and plead your cause For so the beatific laws Of heaven work their Maker's praise. And this I wish you, dearest friend : To catch her mantle with its fold Of fragrance and its clasp of gold, And wear it to as sweet an end. 1869. To the Same 43 TO THE SAME 1V/TY wish is granted. You have caught Your sister's mantle, as I prayed : Nor any friend is happier made Than he who weaves this tribute thought. This Mary takes " the better part " ; And walks secure in her retreat, Where softly falls about her feet The shadow of the Sacred Heart : A shadow and a sunshine too — A light, a fragrance, and a rest: A peace like that which keeps the blest, And "inly kisses thro' and thro'." Ah, joy ! The Heart that loves her best Is hers — forever hers. The Spouse She chooses for her maiden vows The truest is and worthiest. And since her hand in thine was given, Sweet Mother, whisper to thy Son To set the jewel He has won Luminous in His crown in heaven. 1870. 44 Veiled VEILED i "Dilectus meus mihi, et ego Illi." — Cant. ii. 16. TVTO bridegroom mine of change and death: My orange-flowers shall never fade. Immortal dews will gem the wreath When crowns of earth have all decayed. No bride am I that plights her troth With touch of doubt, or trust too fond ; And risks the present, wisely loath To search too far the veil'd beyond. To me 'tis but the past is veiled — The world that mocks with joys that fleet ; The " Egypt " that so long has failed To make its " troubled waters " 2 sweet : The world with all its sins and cares, Its sorrows gained and graces lost ; The garden of a thousand snares, The barren field of blight and frost. But shines the future clear as truth : — A few swift years of prayer and peace, 1 Written, at the same lady's request, for the occasion of her taking the veil. 2 Jer. ii. 18. To St, Matthias 45 Where hearts may know perennial youth, And virtues evermore increase : And then my Lord, my only love, Shall come, and lift the veil, and say: " Arise, all fair, my spouse, my dove ! The rain is over — haste away ! "The rain is o'er, the winter gone, 1 That sun and summer seem'd to thee. If sweet the toilsome journey done, How sweeter now thy rest shall be ! " April, 1 87 1. ♦ TO ST. MATTHIAS TYEAR Saint, thy feast reminds me that to-day, Nine years ago, I knelt to Mother Rome, To be taken to her bosom — the true home Found late, yet timely (nor in vain, I pray). Chosen, perchance (if 'tis not rash to say — If ever undeserv'd such graces come) — Chosen, like thee, to fill the place of some 1 Cant. ii. 10, 1 1. 46 In Retreat Ingrate who had thrown his childhood's faith away : Nay, called to share the Apostolic gift Of priesthood with thyself: I boldly claim Thee patron. Deign be with me when I lift My hands to bless, my voice to guide or blame : Nor let the old enemy, who thought to sift 1 The Twelve as wheat, bring me to Judas' shame. 1875. IN RETREAT " "DREAK, my heart, and let me die ! Burst with sorrow, drown with love ! Lord, if Thou the boon deny, Thou wilt not the wish reprove. Whence that burning, piercing ray, Seem'd to reach me from the light Where behind the veil 'tis day — Where the Blessed walk in sight ? 1 St. Luke xxii. 31. In Retreat 47 Thine, 'twas Thine, O Sacred Heart ! Mercy-sent, that I might see Something of the all Thou art, Something of the naught in me. Ah, I saw Thy patient love Watching o'er me year on year; Guarding, guiding, move for move — Always faithful, always near ! Saw this self — how weak, how base ! — Still go sinning, blundering on : Thankless with its waste of grace, Wearied with the little done. Then I murmur'd : " O my King, What are all my acts of will ? Each best effort can but bring Failure and confusion still ! "This poor heart, which ought to burn, Smoulders feebly; yet may dare Offer Thine one last return — One fond, fierce, atoning prayer ? " Let it break this very hour — - Burst with sorrow, drown with love ! For if Thou withhold Thy power, Thou wilt not the wish reprove." • • 48 Turn for Turn Past that moment : but, as fall Mothers' whispers, answer' d He : "Daily die 1 — with thy St. Paul: Die to self, and live to Me." Lake George, September, 1877. TURN FOR TURN JESUS, my King, I have crucified Thee : Now it is Thy turn to crucify me. Make Thou the cross — be it only like Thine: Mix Thou the gall — so Thy love be the wine. Shrink not to strip me — of all but Thy grace. Stretch me out well, till I fit in Thy place. Here are my hands (felon hands !) and my feet : Drive home the nails, Lord : the pain shall be sweet. Raise me, and take me not down till I die. Only let Mary, my Mother, stand by. Last, let the spear while I live do its part : — Right thro' the heart, my King — right thro' the heart ! September, 1878. 1 1 Cor. xv. 31. PART II From 1878 to 1897 VOCATION FEAST OF THE ASSUMPTION 1878 I HPHRICE sacred feast, thrice dear for ever- more ! The day my Queen ascended to her throne (Those long, long years of weary waiting o'er), To reign for us — our Mother still, our own : The day my sister stood beside the Font, In her eleventh summer, to be born Of water and the Spirit (she is wont To keep it as her truer natal morn) : And now the day when, robed in bridal white, She plighted troth to Him she would espouse. And happy I was there to hear her plight That trustful earnest of the lifelong vows. Ay, and to win, thro' her fond prayer, a grace Should draw me with her in the upward race. 11 Thro' her fond prayer. For, passing where she stood, 5i 52 Novice In veil and wreath, waiting the bishop's Mass (So pure she look'd, I scarcely dared intrude Upon her thought, yet could not help but pass), I heard my name. " Dear brother, if so true That graces ask'd at our prostration prayer 1 Are surely granted, tell me what for you ? " And I : " That our sweet Lady may declare Her will for me." For I had needed long Such token. And behold, the answer came — Came with the morrow ! But a touch, yet strong To kindle in my soul a new-born flame — Like that which burst in sacrificial blaze From the thick water at the sun's first rays. 2 NOVICE (~\ BLESSED Crucifix, you teach me this : How Jesus' dying love is best repaid. You bid me daily come and kneel to kiss Each Wound my sins have made. 1 The postulant for vestition (i.e. each candidate for the habit of religion) prostrates while a solemn litany is said. And this is believed to be a particularly "acceptable time." 2 2 Mach. i. 19-22. Novice 53 That so my heart may cherish deep within A tender memory full of gracious power — To keep me true, and shame me off from sin, And guide me hour by hour. How shall I dare to kiss those pierced Feet, And wander still, or choose again to stray ? How deem, with fools, perdition's path so sweet — The broad, smooth, hellward way ? Or how, in sensual sloth or base disgust, Turn from that other, which the worldling scorns ? Nor bless its very narrowness, and trust The hedge of saving thorns ? And those dear Hands — almighty, yet, for me, Nail'd helpless there ! Shall ever guilty deed Tempt mine again, and I, consenting, see The red gash freshly bleed ? Those Hands so full of merit and of grace, Shall mine not haste to gather while they may, The treasure which will bid me take my place Upon His right that day ? 54 Professed And last, the dearest Wound of all, which laid The still'd Heart open to the core, to show That it had burst with very love and paid Its uttermost of woe ! Shall I, then, coldly view that open Side, Nor take the sheltering home it fain would give — Like the ark's door of mercy, standing wide, That all may pass and live ? Love calls for love. Ah, where is mine, if He, This Prince of lovers, woo me with such pain To live for Him as He has died for me — And sue me but in vain ? 1879. PROFESSED r\ CRUCIFIX, the book of books thy name? Thou tellest of a King who left His throne To seek a death of agony and shame For love of me — to win me for His own. Professed 55 His love, the thorns have writ it on His Brow, The scourges on His Body — ah, how plain ! Yet seems it I am only learning now To read a story conn'd and conn'd again. A silent wooer, He : His master-art A ruddy mouth in Foot or Side or Hand : Five eloquent Wounds, which utter from His Heart A voice all hearts were made to understand. But now from out these Wound-Mouths seems to well A strange new music, thrilling through and through : As if my soul had never caught the spell Of half they say, tho' owning all for true. Then is it that divinest charm of love — That freshness, evermore like morning new — Which waits to crown our brimming cup above, Yet drops us here some foretaste of its dew ? Or what the cause of this new meaning found In tale so old ? Ah yes, it is, in part, $6 Three Days That nameless charm : but more, that I am bound In closer ties to each dear Sacred Heart. " Christo confixus cruci " x — nail for nail : By three strong vows death-wedded to my Lord. And by the fourth 2 — of faithful tender wail — Transfixus? too, with Mary's very sword. Sacred Heart Retreat, Louisville, Ky., September, 1880. THREE DAYS 1 ENTRANCE '"PHY faith, St. Helena, be mine to-day ! Like thee I come to seek and find the Cross : 1 Gal. ii. 19. "I am fastened with Christ to the Cross." 2 The Passionists take a Fourth Vow — of promoting devotion to the Passion. 3 " Transpierced." Our Lady's Dolors at the foot of the Cross are called by the Church her " Transfixion." Three Days 57 For me the true one, as I dare believe. Small care was thine what prudent folk might say Of toil and treasure spent on likely loss, All for a dream — not sent thee to deceive. Such dream be mine. A greater Queen than thou — The Empress-Mother of the Lord of all — Bids even me ascend the Mount of Myrrh, The Hill of Incense, 1 to the very brow ! Ah, could she let me heed a fancied call, When well she knows I climb for love of her? May 3, 1879. II VESTITION " The dream holds true," I murmur'd, quite at rest, Kneeling a postulant at Vesper choir Before our Lady's altar, to be clad, As our Saint Paul was, in the sable vest 1 "I will go unto the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of incense." — First antiphon at Lauds, Office of Seven Dolors. 58 Three Days Which she wore first, 1 and he at her desire — Himself a dreamer the wise world calls mad. It was the farewell even-song of May — Feast of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart : Her choice I knew — too precious to be lost. Ay, and, of course — for me — a Saturday (That day of mercies on my life's strange chart) ; And Vigil of divinest Pentecost. And first they clothed me with the garb which mourns So faithfully our Saviour's rueful death : Then on my shoulder the symbolic cross, And on my head they placed the crown of thorns : Bidding me take one long prayer-wafting breath, Then up the steep, to win by happy loss. May 31, 1879. 1 Our Lady appeared to him wearing the habit. Three Days 59 in PROFESSION " The dream holds true," I murmur'd, full of peace, 1 As prostrate at the altar's foot I lay, While one in stole funereal o'er me read The Passion from Saint John. How sweetly cease All fears in those who seek but to obey, And, deaf to self, ask only to be led ! Then, kneeling with my hands in his who gave The habit, I pronounced the holy vows Which wed me to Religion — and to this Stern family, that ever, blithely brave, Sings to the Church the wooing of her Spouse : Recounts the Sweat of Blood, the Traitor's Kiss, The clotted Scourges, the thorn-woven Crown, The carried Cross, and all the dolorous Way: The following Mother, too, with sinless Heart 6o Sonnets on the Way of the Cross Sword-riven ; the three dark hours ; the taking down ; The Tomb ; and desolation's woe, that lay Heaviest of all — for He no more had part. And I have pledged me to join chorus well, Hymning this sweeter tale of truer love Than ever poet feign'd. O Mother mine, Thy bosom be my school ! There let me dwell, To catch the mystic moanings of the dove — 1 Faint-echoed in all other souls from thine. June I, 1880. SONNETS ON THE WAY OF THE CROSS T 1 IS I have sinn'd, and Thou art doom'd to die : Thy death my life ! . . . What answer shall I make? 1 A principal reason why the Church is called a "dove" in the Canticles is because of her sympathy with the Passion of her Spouse. Our Lady, then, as the type of the Church, is also the "dove," by reason of her Com- Passion, her Dolors. Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 61 But this : that what Thou givest I will take — Take and go free ? . . . What life, then, Lord, have I Apart from Thine ? What easeful liberty, Thou standing here a captive for my sake ? If erst I dreamt of such, now, wide awake, I find my only freedom not to fly. My King, let me die with Thee — die to all I lived for once without Thee. Let me taste Thy chalice with Saint John, Thy Passion share With Magdalen. For Thou hast deigned to call My fickle soul to gird her loins in haste And march with those who boldly, sternly dare ! II The Cross ! . . . A slave's death for the King of kings ! . . . Ay, but that King has made Himself a slave : 1 Thy slave, my soul — whom He has stoopt to save From feller servitude than clanks and clings 1 Phil. ii. 7. "Slave" is the accurate rendering of the word in both the Greek text and the Latin. 62 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross In convict chains, or tyrannously wrings The exile's heart by some Siberian grave : A bondage where the joys thou needs must crave Had been as far from hope as angel wings ! Slave of thy love, He takes the Cross : and see How tenderly He clasps it — like a spouse ! Then wilt not thou, in turn, accept, embrace, Here at His side, the cross He wills for thee ? No grievous yoke, but one His love allows — Proof of forgiving, pledge of crowning, grace ! in So weak, my King ! Almighty, yet so weak ! Then is it that our sins so heavily lay On One Who might have smiled them all away And left His justice not a claim to wreak ? Nor rather that, by this surpassing freak Of charity, Thy tender Heart would stay Our fainting souls and tottering steps, and say (As Thy Apostle learnt of Thee to speak) : " Is any weak, I not ? Shall any take Their cross to follow Me, and fall at the start, Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 63 Nor be in this like Me ? . . . Then, fear not blame. Be but content to suffer for My sake Each seeming failure — till thou win thy part In that rich glory which has crown'd My shame, IV His Mother comes to meet Him. O my Queen, Will any say thou comest late ? Not I. Since thou didst give Him up to go and die, All hast thou witnessed, tho' thyself unseen. Thy Heart has answer' d His with pangs as keen For every sting of scourge and thorn and lie, The " Ecce Homo ! " and the rabble's cry, And Pilate washing hands he could not clean. But now thy Jesus His triumphal way Begins, 'tis thine to meet Him with His load, And share it soul to soul, O brave and true ! And shall not «/*, in turn, who day by day Follow cross-laden, find upon the road, As surely waiting, our sweet Mother too ? v Right scornfully the forced Cyrenian lends The timely help we envy as we gaze : 64 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross But Jesus blesses him, and Mary prays ; And soon his will, no less than body, bends. Oh, how his heart now glows, as he befriends That beauteous Pair the sudden light arrays ! And on he plods, lost in a sweet amaze ; Till — all too short for him — the long march ends. My soul, behold thy perfect model here ! The cross thou needs must carry, wouldst thou live : But see, 'tis sharing in a task divine ! Thy Saviour goes before thee ; but so near, He asks the very aid Himself must give ! 'Tis His Cross thou art bearing — and He thine ! VI That Face ! Ah, who would know it for divine — The thorn-pierced brow, the furrow'd cheek, the eyes Blood-blinded ? Only hearts that faith makes wise. And such, dear Saint Veronica, was thine : Illumed to see the hidden Godhead shine, Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 65 And thus the tender ministry devise Which earn'd so well the picture's sweet sur- prise — A treasure for the nascent Church to shrine. Let me too, sister, keep that Face so fair. Pray it may haunt me with its pleading woe ! For when was love so eloquently writ ? But in my soul, my life — reflected there, In my fulfill'd vocation — let it show ; Abiding bright while earthly shadows flit ! VII A second fall, and heavier ! Pitiless sod, How canst thou wound thy Maker ? Harder still The hearts that love Him not, but set their will Averse, and sullenly spurn their Saviour-God ! Worse than those ruffian hands, with lash and rod, That strike His prostrate form — and send a thrill, Perchance, into some bosom, thence to fill With timely sorrow for a path long trod. 66 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross Ah, was it not, dear Lord, beholding these — The many who would turn their gaze away From Thee and Thy sweet Mother in your woe — That sank Thee to the earth ? And from Thy knees Thou beggest us to toil with Thee, and pray, And suffer on — tho' all the world should go. VIII Not all are hounding Him to death — of those Who seem the rabble. Some, of womankind, True to their gentler nature, call to mind His life of gracious wonders 'mid His foes ; And follow but to weep its thankless close To these He turns, as comforted to find Such mourners with His Mother, tho' so blind Their sorrow to their own, their children's, woes. Yea, " blessed they who mourn," as He hath said : Most blessed when their tears with Mary's flow For Jesus' bitter Passion. But in vain A shallow grief, which feels not why He bled. Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 6j In vain our pity, if we shrink to know Ourselves, our sins — their guilt, their debt of pain. IX And yet again Thou fallest — and so nigh The journey's end ! Ah, wouldst Thou not atone For our faint hearts — so niggard to Thine own — Who quail at crowning cost, and ofttimes fly The summit's edge, for all our climbing high? I ween 'tis this : and yet not this alone ; But Thy compassion too for nature's moan At sin's hard doom — necessity to die. Thyself wilt die ; and, dying, vanquish death : But first once more be proven very man By mortal dread. Lest, haply, we forget, As one by one is bidden yield his breath, How in dark fear Thy victory began — The cry, the sweat of blood, on Olivet. The wretches strip Him. Ruthlessly, rude hands tear 68 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross His garments, stubborn with the gory glue, From off the scourge-plough'd flesh — which bleeds anew, And quivers rawly to the lambent air. O " my Beloved, white and ruddy " 1 — fair Beyond all fairness — how Thy lovers rue To see that virginal Body meet the view Of brutal hate, the scorn of vulgar stare ! But Thou wilt have it — to avenge the blush Of outraged modesty for deeds of shame Since Eve's sin bred the sacrilege of vice : Nor lettest Thy astonish'd angels rush To guard and screen Thee with their swords of flame — For this would bar the second Paradise. Insatiate mockers ! With the wonted wine, And kindly numbing myrrh, 2 they mingle gall. 3 1 Cant. v. 10. 2 St. Mark xv. 23. 3 St. Matt, xxvii. 34. It was customary to give criminals before execution a drink of wine and myrrh : the wine being intended to stimulate their nerves, and the myrrh to diminish the sense of pain. Reading St. Matthew's account, we should infer that the gall was a cruel substitute for the myrrh : but St. Mark Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 69 And I, my King ! The offered cup I call Love and devotion in return for Thine — How bitter must it taste when I repine At some fresh cross, which harder seems than all; Or self dares count Thy least of wishes small, And Thou so thoughtful for the least of mine ! Then, here and now, Lord, as I pray Thee strip My foolish soul of each new-woven pride, And cut each tie which binds me not to Thee; Mix Thou this draught and press it to my lip : — The wine, Thy love ; the gall, all joys beside — Or woes, so Thou hast tasted them for me. XI His butchers stretch Him on the altar-wood — This meek, mute Lamb of God. And He obeys expressly mentions myrrh ; so that the mockery lay in mingling gall with the benignant draught. Moreover, it is significant that St. Mark does not say that our Saviour tasted the drink, whereas St. Matthew does. This shows that our Lord tasted the liquid for the gair s sake, and refused to drink further because He would not have His sense of suffering lessened. The prophecy of Psalm lxviii. 22 was fulfilled as to the "vinegar " when Jesus cried " I thirst ! " 70 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross As sweetly now as erst in infant days, When the new Mother by the manger stood : For thro' obedience comes redemption's good. Ah, She is standing here too : tho' with gaze Averse, yet listening as the hammer plays On each blunt nail that spurts the Precious Blood ! O Mother's Heart, I cannot ask to feel Those pangs of thine — which only do not slay Because Omnipotence holds thee to live on ! But there's a music in that ringing steel, Which make thou haunt me to my dying day — And most in death, when other sounds are gone ! Is it enough to hear those hammers ring ? Enough to know their music ? Love and faith Its burden. " See, He loves thee unto death — And this fierce, lingering death ! " the song they sing. Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 71 Then faith a loveless, love a faithless, thing, Which will not " glory in the Cross," — as saith The rapt Apostle 1 — scorning the false breath Of worldling homage with its Caesar-king ! Yea, and thrice blest — a wisdom not for all — Who wed them to the Cross, by triple vow, Espousing death in life, lest love should fail. 'Tis theirs to echo the deep heart of Paul With inmost symphony — as I do now: " Christo confixus cruci" 2 — nail for nail ! XII A nameless horror over earth and sky Creeps darkly. Nature shudders, and the sun Sickens unclouded — as his course were run For evermore, and he must gasp and die. On Calvary's dim summit, holding high Their burdens, loom three gibbets: and on one 1 Gal. vi. 14. 2 Gal. ii. 19, "I am fastened with Christ to the Cross." 72 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross Hangs the Man-God — His " Hour" at last begun : The Woman, Co-Redemptress, standing by. Nor she alone. The faithful John is there ; And Magdalen, abandoned to her woe, Kneels with white arms about her true Love's cross, Catching His Blood upon her golden hair. Queen-penitent, tho' other tears may flow, Who shares like thee the sinless Mother's loss ! With big, slow moments three dark hours suc- ceed : Three ages to those aching hearts and eyes That watch their dying God. The jeering cries Of jubilant hate His silence will not heed: But lo ! Himself has broken it, to plead "Father forgive them!": and the Mother sighs Her pardoning prayer with His : and mercy plies At awe-thrill'd breasts awaking to their need. Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 73 And one, at least, accepts the proffer'd grace With comforting quickness : even thou, blest Thief! Pledge that none need despair, however late. Yet let presumption fear that other's place, Who swells the bitter sea of Mary's grief, And dies at Jesus' side — a reprobate ! " Woman, mine hour is not yet come," He said At Cana's marriage-feast ; beholding there His own espousals with the Bride " all fair," 1 And what red dower the Mystic Vine must shed For Eucharistic banquet ere they wed : Yet granted the anticipating prayer, To show what advocate beyond compare Should one day stand us in a mother's stead. But now has come that Hour. Again He calls Her " Woman " — Second Eve. " Woman, behold ' Thy son ! " He says — my Church : the child no less Of thy Heart than of Mine. Creative falls 1 Cant. iv. 7. Of course, by the " Bride " I mean the Church. 74 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross That word. Henceforth her bosom can enfold Us all with true maternal tenderness. " Behold thy Mother ! " Words He might have said At Bethlehem, from the crib ; for she was then New Eve, and Mother of our Life : or when He rose, the deathless u first-fruits 1 of the dead " ; Or forth to Bethany His lov'd ones led 2 To watch the heavens receive Him out of ken. But no : He chose this Hour : and caused the pen Of him who heard to write what we have read. Yes, dearest Lord ! Our Mother was to be By Thy gift doubly ours. And Thou didst wait Till she had shared Thy Passion — -seen Thee prove Thy love for us, and proved her own for Thee To last excess : then solemnly instate The Queen of mercy in her realm of love. 1 I Cor. xv. 20. 2 St. Luke xxiv. 50. Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 75 " Amen, amen, I say to thee this day Shalt thou with me in Paradise repose.". . . Poor recompense, this garner'd one, for those Innumerous scorners in malign array Who forced His sweat of blood ! With fresh dismay He sees them now; and feels again the throes Of fruitless travail — keenest of all woes To love like His, and last to pass away. May well, then, from His soul's depths burst the cry, "My God, My God! Why hast forsaken me ? " Why left me helpless to my love's defeat ? O mystery of sin — unanswer'd " Why " ! But 'tis to let Him conquer we are free : Must else ourselves that bitter wail repeat. "I thirst ! " The same wild plaint. More souls to save ! Ay, more to suffer, could it rescue all ! . . . Alas, the vinegar mocks Him like the gall ! 76 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross " 'Tis finish'd ! " then. The cup His Father gave Is drain'd save death. (His Sabbath in the grave Awaits Him but as victor of its thrall.) Ah ! . . . awful voice ! Is it the judgment- call— That cowering earth shakes like a storm-caught wave ? . . . " Into Thy hands, O Father, I commend My spirit ! " Then the bow'd head yields the ghost. . . . Eternal God, life's Master, deigns to die ! O mourning universe, well mayst thou rend Thy hardest rocks ! But human hearts can boast A sterner adamant — and still defy ! His death our life. This many a gaping tomb Attests — disgorging its long-moulder'd prey. Old Adam's tomb is here, traditions say ; Beside it Eve's. I ween earth's second womb Issues each perfect form. And now the gloom Lifts softly, and the sun regains his ray : Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 77 While evening follows with a calmer sway Than ever reign'd since Eden ceased to bloom. Behold the Temple's veil is riven in twain ! Abides no more the Covenant of Fear. . . Hail, law of Love — New Testament of grace ! Let the insulting soldier thrust amain ! Thou touchest the true Door, thou magic spear ! . . . Hail, open'd Heart — our home, our hid- ing-place ! XIII Desolate Mother, sorrow's day has set For Him thou claspest there, but not for thee ! When thou hadst seen thy Jesus' soul go free, His body was to bear one outrage yet ; And thro' thy own heart went the spear that let The mingled stream gush forth. And now thy knee Supports that Form, all gently from the tree Down-taken; and, at last, thy lips have met Each Wound-mouth : how those cruel thorns still cling 78 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross Among the tangled, ruby-jewell'd gold ! While the deep lull within thee only wakes Thy memory the more to each quick sting; And woes o'er-past, renewing thus their hold, Deny the rest our worn-out anguish takes ! How readest thou, my Queen, that wondrous Book Thou bendest o'er, the while with precious nard Thou closest rift and gash ? Dost thou regard Our sins that scored the page ? Or rather look At love's sweet argument — His love Who took Their penance on Himself, nor deem'd it hard ? Let me not wrong thee. Nothing can retard Thy pardoning pity. There is not a nook In all thy bosom, where a moment lurks Of aught but love for sinners. Thou didst share His Passion for their sakes ; and didst be- come Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 79 Their Mother by thy throes. 'Tis this that works Within thee — the new mother's tender care That each child-soul shall find thy Heart a home. XIV And now the sad procession wends its way To Joseph's garden. As a maiden womb First held that Body, so a maiden tomb Receives it for the birth of Easter-day. Yes, dearest Mother, let His rich friends lay Thy treasure here, amid the vernal bloom, Which breathes of life, not death — of joy, not gloom : Fit rest for One who cannot know decay. Thine the last touch ; the last look thine. 'Tis o'er! Thou goest home with John and Magdalen : Two broken hearts; but not so lone as thine, Tho' strangers to thy peace — and evermore Forgetful of the promised morrow, when Their eyes shall greet again that Face divine. 80 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross Thyself "a garden enclosed," like that where lies Thy buried Love : yea, and " a fountain seal'd" 1 — Seal'd like His sepulchre. For unreveal'd Thy sorrow's depths — ev'n to the angel eyes That watch thy vigil for the Easter skies, And see thy soul a stainless light congeal'd. Yet mortal sight, by faith's anointing heal'd, Discerns the Spouse-Church — veil'd in mystic guise. We hail thee, " at the Cross thy station keep- ing," Our Priestess at the altar of all time — The Church at Mass. So here, in equal measure — Thy whole life centred where thy Lord is sleep- ing— Thou imagest the Church with trust sublime Guarding the Host, her tabernacled treas- ure. 1 Cant. iv. 12. To St. John 8 1 TO ST. JOHN T^O— D AY my task is ended ; and to-day, Virgin Apostle of the Sacred Heart, Thy octave closes. Ah, then, deign impart Thy blessing to these sonnets. Let me lay The poor fond tribute I have dared to pay At such a shrine, with weak, presuming art — Yet vow'd to traffic in this holy mart — In thy chaste hands ; and ask thee, if I may, To offer it to Her whom I too call My Queen and Mother. She will sweetly take The gift from thee, her first adopted son ; And then, in turn, present it — and with all Her Heart to Jesus : Who, for that love's sake, Will smile upon it as a thing well done. Octave of St. John the Evangelist, Jan. 3, 1882. 82 Easter EASTER i T3IGHT peacefully He rests: while vigilant hate Seals the great stone — as if, forsooth, to show More gloriously the triumph of its Foe ; And sets its valiant guard — to earn the fate Of bribing " sleeping witnesses " 1 too late. But is not love awake ? If, kindly slow, The Sabbath-hours glide softly o'er the woe Of hearts too crush'd — save one — to hope and wait; That One is watching — faithfully — alone : A tranced vigil : even thine, my Queen ! And sees thy soul His spirit move in light, From Abraham's Bosom thro' each dimmer zone Of Limbus ; till its beauty glads, I ween, Socrates', Plato's, Virgil's, 2 yearning sight. 1 St. Augustine. 2 Sister Catharine Emmerich saw our Lord descend into the lim- bus of the Pagans. I have been told also, by a well-informed theologian, that Plato appeared one day to some ancient writer who had been berating him for his errors, and said: "Why are you calling me such hard names ? When our Lord came down into the limbus of the Pagans, I was the first to greet Him, and He spoke Easter 83 11 The long night wanes. Dawn's first touch grays the East. At the seal'd sepulchre the watchmen pace Less sullenly — soon to quit the gloomy place ; And curse the craven fears of Scribe and Priest. But lo, this instant, while they guess it least, The tomb is empty ! On our Lady's face A glory falls. She wakes in the embrace Of Him Who brings her joy's eternal feast ! O recompense of sorrow ! Whose the lyre Shall worthily hymn that ecstasy of rest ? No strain of mortal bard ; nor ev'n the lays Which wing to God from each Angelic Choir : No, nor thy own full heart, O Mother blest ! But His alone thro' Whom is perfect praise. in And now the sun a blood-red shaft has thrown O'er doom'd Jerusalem. When lo, a light very kindly to me." In Montalembert's "Monks of the West," too, we have the beautiful story of the monk who prayed for Virgil, and presently heard a soft voice which bade him continue to pray, that they might one day "sing the mercies of God" together. 84 Easter Bursts sudden on the guards' astonished sight, From giant form to heathen creed unknown ! Earth quakes beneath his step : the great seal'd stone Rolls at his touch aside. So dazzling bright His face, the soldiers swoon in deadly fright; Then flee, and leave him calmly throned — alone. Prince 1 Michael this. And next, the Princes 2 twain, Gabriel and Raphael, take within the cave Their seat, to wait the Magdalen's brave quest. 3 But she will hear "Why weepest thou ? " in vain : And weeping linger by the empty grave, Till He is found — her love, her life, her rest. IV Many and sure the proofs which Jesus gave That He had " risen indeed " ; but one, to me, Dearest of all. He knew the times to be : And let His own Apostle doubt, to save 1 Dan. xii. I. 2 Ibid. x. 13. 3 St. John xx. I, II, 12, etc. Easter 85 Our tempted faith. 1 Ay, knew, too, we should crave, From very faith (else where our love ?), to see, natural Thomas, and to touch, with thee, That glorious Body, spoiler of the grave. And ah, He keeps the death-marks of His choice — Five shining Wounds — five rosy mouths, to plead With Him for mercy, and with us for love ! How safely we can trust their tender voice ! Yea, and that Mother who beheld them bleed Still reads us in them where she reigns above, v Bethink thee, thou that enviest these who saw Our risen King, what after-life they led : To self, to earth, to time, how truly dead — For they had died with Him. Their only law " Thy kingdom come " : in thought, word, act, to draw, As risen members of a risen Head, Their life from His. Ah, must it not have sped Full of deep peace and love's delicious awe ? 1 See St. Gregory's Homily on the Gospel for the Feast of St. Thomas (December 21) in the Roman Breviary. 86 "The Last Hour" But hast not thou died with Him ? Hast not been " Buried with Him by baptism into death " ? 1 How fareth, then, thy risen life ? 'Twill thrive As thou shalt " daily die " 2 to self and sin. " All for the Sacred Heart ! " its very breath — Their watchword who " in Christ are made alive." 3 "THE LAST HOUR" 4 " A LL for the Sacred Heart " — watchword ^ of Faith ! Ah, how we need it in these selfish days — We who can feel overcreeping earth's ways Chills from the vale of the shadow of death ! Low is our sun. 'Twill be setting full soon. Yet sweet and warm is its lingering light — There, on the hills ! . . . We can climb to that height ? . . . Winsomest hour, too, this late afternoon. 1 Rom. vi. 14. 2 1 Cor. xv. 31. 3 1 Cor. xv. Z2. 4 I St. John ii. 18. "Running Waters" 87 Ay, we must climb, would we breathe the pure air. Is it so hard to live nearer to Heaven ? Harder, methinks, to stay down unforgiven. On to those sunlit hills ! Jesus is there. Mary is calling us. Hark to Her song : " All for the Sacred Heart " — watchword of Hope! Joseph is near us, to help with the slope. What shall we fear, but to tarry too long ? Yea, " 'tis the last hour." The sun of our Faith Sets on a world that wills darkness for light. Souls that would live must ascend to a height Safe from the chills of the shadow of death. Valparaiso, Chile, Feast of the Sacred Heart, 1888. "RUNNING WATERS" 1 T KNOW five rivers, flowing night and day With swift and voiceful tide : Yet seen by faith; and only hearts that pray Can hear them as they glide. 1 "Cast thy bread upon the running waters." — Eccles. xi. 1. 88 "Running Waters" Rivers of souls. The first, of all that go Each hour to that wide sea — Of boundless happiness or shoreless woe — We call Eternity. And second, the poor souls in mortal sin : But ah, how vast a stream ! Its turbid waters rushing with a din Might wake the worldling's dream ! The narrow third — of all in God's dear grace — Runs purely, brightly, on : But oft, thro' rocks and bars that break its race, Finds passage hardly won. Full darkly the broad fourth. All souls without Their one true home, the Church. Jews, heathens, Turks : souls groping in their doubt, Or keen in earnest search : Some in their errors proudly self-contained; Some holding quite aloof In coldest apathy ; some, too, who have gained, Yet spurn, the clearest proof. Mater Dolorosa 89 Last, the fifth river : murmuring evermore The sweet-sad plaint of those Who, roll'd on fiery billows toward the shore, Pine for its blest repose. ****** What shall we do, then, who have hearts that pray ? There is a Heart which gave, Thro' Five glad Wounds, Its life-blood all away For every living wave Of these five streams. Then, daily let us take Drops of that Blood, and shed Them freely o'er the waters. Each will make Some passing ripple red. MATER DOLOROSA (~\ MY Queen, we find Thee fairest in Thy mortal days of moan : In the garment of Thy Dolors most our Mother, most our own ! Link'd with Thine, our pain and sorrow gain a beauty and a worth, 90 September Which, to faith's eye, make them precious — more than any joys of earth : Treasures we may bring to Jesus, rescued from life's waste and loss — Offer'd on Thy Heart's pure altar, as Thou standest by the Cross. SEPTEMBER HTHE month, my Queen, which brings thy natal day : And yet we give it to thy Dolors Seven ! And lo, the strains have scarcely died away Which hymn'd thy bright Assumption into heaven ! But ah, though sinless, thou wast born for woe : For deepest grief no less than highest joy ! And since God fashion'd woman's heart, we know, Stronger than man's — more pure from selPs alloy — September 9 1 He gave to thine a love beyond all love ; And, with it, strength for pain beyond all pain : That when thy destin'd Spouse, th' Almighty Dove, From thee, His own " seal'd fountain," free of stain, Should form for us our Jesus' Sacred Heart, That Heart might prove the duplicate of thine : Thy love, thy sorrow, for its chosen part ; And only more intense because divine. What marvel, then, that we, who sing this moon The Triumph of the Cross, beside it place Thy Seven Swords of woe — and this so soon After our gaze upon thine infant face ? Born to be our sweet Mother, we remember How dear it cost thee. Lovingly we see The mystic septem 1 in the year's September : For truly children of thy Dolors we. 1 Seven. September was the seventh month in the old Roman calendar. 92 Ad Mariam pro Maria AD MARIAM PRO MARIA i TV /[OTHER of Sorrows we still call thee, though In Paradise thou reignest, tasting naught But perfect joy. More comfort to our thought Thy mortal sympathy with pain and woe. Mother of Sorrows, it is mine to know One named from thee, of life so trial-fraught, Full sure am I of gracious purpose, wrought For some rare fruit the destined hour will show. But ah ! she needs thy tender help — the might Of thy true Heart to lean upon. I trust My sister to thy keeping. If she share Thy desolation when the shades of night Came down o'er silent Calvary, 'tis just She find thy bosom her one refuge there. n Keep her in thy Heart for Jesus, sweet my Mother, dear my love ! In thine inmost bosom cherish, safe for Him, this stricken dove. She, thy child, her soul would offer victim for a work like thine — To Monica 93 Sorrow's victim, grace-united with the Holocaust Divine : Yea, her body too is yielded gladly to the pain she braves : All to save an erring husband — win him to the faith that saves. O that faith ! How fair is sorrow Passion-color'd by its light ! Beauteous as the dawn of Easter when it broke thy vigil's night. And how merit-strong affliction, wedded to thy dying Son ! Every pang a plea availing, every woe a triumph won. Such was thy faith : such my sister's. Keep, then, keep this stricken dove In thine own inviolate bosom, dear my Mother, sweet my love ! TO MONICA 1 T THOUGHT to place you in the desolate 1 Heart 1 The " Maria " prayed for above. She has both names. 94 To Margaret Of Mary — when she held to it her Dead. " Yes, dearest Mother, keep her there" I said : u And make her very soul of thine a part ! " O fond forgetting ! For, in sooth, 'twas there I found you — there, at foot of the Cross, we met. Reminded now, how came I to forget ? Still, not in vain the oft and tender prayer, " Sweet Mother, keep her there ! " But now I say : " And me too with her, in the dolorous core Of thy pierced bosom, till I learn a lore Less hard now such a sister leads the way — " The lore which maketh saints — the love of all That self most shrinks from." Yea, for this we met. A lesson may I nevermore forget, Whatever hope recede or darkness fall ! Y TO MARGARET OU ask me for a poem, gentle maiden Then be yourself my theme. To Margaret 95 In those blue eyes — Twin lakes inviting summer skies — I read a soul with sacred sorrow laden ; Yet sunshined with a gleam Of hope that is no dream. A dream, were faith a dream and earth its ending : But never a dream, so long As God's dear grace Leaves evil chance no lurking-place; O'erruling, and to one sweet purpose blending, Life's joys and sorrows — strong To right each passing wrong. What to a heathen mind were ill-starr'd meet- ing— A freak of cruel fate — Has proofs for you Of hidden good, as clear and true As had you learnt them from an angel's greeting ! And if the light bids wait, God's time is never late. A Father's Hand till now has wisely guided : Not His to lead astray. O'er all the past — 96 To Margaret And most, when seem'd it overcast — A Mother's heart has tenderly presided. That Hand, that Heart we pray To shape your future way. And what if peace await you in the treasure Of high vocation stored ; And wonted price Demand — of costly sacrifice? Who, looking on the Crucifix, dares measure Love to that dying Lord, Like gold from miser's hoard ? Or shall we contemplate the sinless Mother Her post so staunchly keeping At Jesus' Cross, Nor see the gain of generous loss ? O privileged hearts — their joy beyond all other- Who sow with Mary weeping, 1 To share her Easter reaping ! Feast of St. Bartholomew, Aug. 24, 1 88a. 1 Ps. cxxv. 6. Southward 97 SOUTHWARD 1 "PROM round to round of bluest sea, While softest breezes fan the deck, I pass serene ; and little reck Of what the morrow's skies shall be. I pass content, tho', day by day, Two shores belov'd — a double home — Are left o'er ruthless leagues of foam ; And farther, farther drift away The forms more dear than any land — The beating hearts that love me well, And mourn with me the broken spell Of look, and word, and hand in hand. I pass content, for this I know : The will I follow is not mine, But one that speaks with voice divine, And calmly, wisely, bids me go. 11 And if, in priesthood's middle years, I quit old fields, familiar long, 98 Southward For new and strange — which seems a wrong To those who chide me thro* their tears : u Are we, then, such a fruitless toil ? " " Who wants you more than we who know ? " 'Tis only that I needs must sow Where the great Master turns the soil. And if again my native isle I leave afar, with kith and kin, Tho' new hope whispers, " Stay, and win These to the faith " — and sweet her smile : I yield them to a better care Than mine ; and place a proven trust, Which cannot crumble into dust While breathes on high that Mother's prayer. S.S. Pleiades, January, 1884. To a Widowed Mother 99 TO A WIDOWED MOTHER ON THE DEATH OF HER ONLY DAUGHTER, AGED SEVEN I T MOURN with you — but not your child : I weep with you — but not for her. How should I grieve that one so blest Has enter'd her eternal rest ? That one so sweet, so undefiled, Shall never walk with feet that err ? But you — weep on. A mother's tears Are sacred ever, nor can wrong The holiest dead. And well I know, Dear friend, how keen your bosom's woe. The sunshine of your widow'd years, You fondly hoped would cheer them long, Has vanish'd. Ay, 'tis saddest loss ! But God will make it greater gain. His grace was with you when you knew That she must go, yet, staunchly true To duty, took the proffer'd cross ; Then knelt beside the bed of pain ioo To a Widowed Mother No longer to avert death's stroke But rather woo its kind release. " O dearest Mother, ere I tell This decade, let my darling dwell In Heav'n with thee ! " . . . 'Twas heard. She woke To meet God's smile of perfect peace. ii An earnest of that peace was yours, Brave mother, as you bow'd and said " My God, I give Thee back my child ! " Ah, surely, then on you He smiled, And blest with purpose that endures Your upward yearning, sorrow-led, For nobler life. More grace and more Awaits, the promised crown to gem. What purifies like loving sorrow For faith's to-day and hope's to-morrow ? 'Twas Calvary brought our Queen a store Of richer joy than Bethlehem. Of richer joy. For Her true Heart, Thro' all its Dolors' wave on wave, Still sang " Magnificat ! " and still To A. W. 101 Rejoiced in God's exacting will ; Deserving thus Her royal part In Easter's triumph o'er the grave. And you, dear friend, ev'n here may know A foretaste of the bliss to come : Hold commune with your child, and prove A tender, ever-watchful love, Which will not fail, but daily grow — So you draw daily nearer Home. Buenos Ayres, Feast of St. James the Greater, 1885. TO A. W. /^O, happy friend : inhale once more An English summer's balmy breath. Queen May will welcome you ashore, And give you purest wine to drink — The sense of Home : — so sweet, you'll think Of Heaven's bright welcome after death. io2 To A. W. Ah, there our Patria — there is Home — That Heaven ! We can but journey here (In moments when the heart is lonely- How keenly felt this " exile only " !) However little we may roam From native land and all that's dear. In lonelier moments : ay, as when I stood but yester-afternoon To see you go : and once again, What time I hail'd the soaring moon That lit so well your Northward prow : And still — as I am musing now. ii " Forgive me, Lord," I said to-day, " That I have dared look o'er the sea Too fondly tow'rd my own dear land; And long'd for ev'n a passing stay With those whom I have left for Thee — With sister's kiss and brother's hand : " For here my place — to live or die. Thy work be done : Thy will be mine ! " And then I thought how you will think To A. W. 103 Of one who forms a golden link 'Twixt you and years of Southern sky ; Reminded, as you near the Line, How he, on deck one April night, First saw the Great Bear heave in sight, Then turn'd to where the Cross still shone ; And all that it had meant for him — And still might mean, tho' that was gone — Came o'er him till his eyes were dim : And sharp the struggle, wild the prayer : " Not back to exile ! I am free. So Thou but will it. Let me go To my America — for Thee ! A larger field to plough and sow, A richer soil, await me there." Then came the answer from within — The still, small voice, so wondrous strong : " Not vainly points yon starry Cross The only beacon, wouldst thou win Eternal gain by present loss ; And shortest route, tho' seeming long." ic>4 Why God Loves Us And so, dear friend, till night is o'er, The Cross your only light shall be : What tho' you find an earthly goal In some sweet haven of the soul Where circles the " inviolate sea " The freedom of our England's shore. 1 Buenos Ayres, April, 1885. WHY GOD LOVES US IV /TY sister said to me one day : " You talk of riddles now and then, Where simple faith suffices me. But here's a point beyond my ken, Which your philosophy may see : How God can love us ? Tell me, pray." " You wonder how He finds us fair — Is that your trouble ? " answer'd I. " Yes, that and more. How He can love Such nothings to His all ; and why, When we offend Him so, and prove So unresponsive, He can care 1 The lady has since become a Sister of Mercy in England. Why God Loves Us 105 " To sue us with His grace, as tho' He needed us," quoth she. And here Her eyes were filling from her heart. " It is a mystery deep and dear, That you would fathom. Yet, in part," I said, "'tis granted us to know. " God loves — in all that He has made — Himself. His beauty, wisdom, power, Shine in His works, or great or small : In sun and planet, bird and flower. Must He not prize, then, more than all, This soul of ours, whereon is laid " His very image, like a seal ? And if He ' sues us with His grace As tho' He needed us,' 'tis plain That, thankless as we are and base, His glory reaps the larger gain From working out our perfect weal. u So, let it pass fond reason's powers, How God can wisely love and well Such nothings : still, sweet sister mine, Our spirits may serenely dwell On one sure truth : — that love divine Loves for its own sake — not for ours." io6 A Birthday Greeting A BIRTHDAY GREETING TO S. M. B. "DERHAPS, dear friend, you murmur'd, as you woke, " Another year of weary, lonely life Begins ! Is this the last ? " And keen the strife For resignation under time's fresh stroke. But no : I hope a blither spirit spoke Within you; pointing upward to a height That needs but a little patient climbing — quite Accessible : while easier seem'd the yoke, Lighter the burden, which the unseen Love, Yet scarce believ'd, has laid on you. O trust That love ! But suffer with closed eyes its sway : And soon, true heart, the inexorable must Will vanish in the privilege of may y As on you journey to your crown above. Feb. 28, 1878. To Teresa Lucy 107 TO TERESA LUCY ON HER BIRTHDAY CALL'D you " Tessie with the earnest eyes " ; And when, to-day, I see an image fair >?*?' " That comes and goes like some remember'cTair Of sacred music, thus my thought replies : " May God's dear grace preserve her calm and wise Like those whose radiant names 'tis hers to share — Who made the Heavenward path their only care, Yet look'd not fondly for unclouded skies." Full happy years I wish you ; but implore The Saint whose truer natal feast we keep, That he, crown'd lover of the " precious Cross," 1 Your master prove in that sublimest lore Which lifts the soul from all that worldlings weep And turns to gold the very dust of loss. Feast of St. Andrew the Apostle, Nov. 30. 1 " Salve Crux pretiosa ! " etc. — Antiphon. 08 To Lucy Teresa TO LUCY TERESA ON HER TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY T UCY — 'tis a name of light, Softly, virginally bright ; Shining from a martyr's brow Down the ages like a star; With a glory wide and far, Yet as freshly risen now. Wear it, then, dear daughter mine, As a token grace has given — Of a call to live for Heaven, Witnessing 1 to Truth Divine : Praying still " Thy Kingdom come ! " In an age that will not pray — In an age that turns from light Back to worse than pagan night, Making life a martyrdom Would we " walk as in the day." With your Saint a martyr live : Show like her the perfect good Only Christian faith can give — Purest, noblest womanhood. 1 "Martyr" means "witness." To Lucy Teresa icq 11 Yes ; for you have passed to-day Into womanhood's domain. Girlhood now must drift away After childhood's sunny hours : Wait you now, for woman's powers, Deeper joy and higher pain. Ah, but fear not lest you meet More of bitter than of sweet ! Crosses to your lot must fall, And, it may be, weigh you down ; But the heaviest of them all Surest makes the promised crown. Lean on Jesus' Heart and Mary's : Theirs a love that never varies — Such a tender, patient love, Brooding o'er us from above, And in ways not understood Shaping all things into good. Let the holy Angels guide you, This their month: and one, you know, Tarries evermore beside you, Faithful friend in weal and woe. no Sursum Cor da Then, too, she whose hallow'd name Decks your birthday with its fame (And — devotion wisely shown — Dear Teresa, 'tis your own) ; She will join Saint Lucy's care : Ay, and something more than share — Feeding you from volumed store With a wealth of golden lore. Hear her speak, while yet she press'd Onward, upward, to her rest : — " Suffer naught to mar your peace : Tremble not at new or strange : All things earthly pass and cease : God alone will never change ! " Feast of St. Teresa, Oct. 15 th. SURSUM CORDA SAW her standing by his grave, The grave of him to whom she owes, Under God's grace, the faith that glows Within her bosom pure and brave. I Sursum Cor da in Four years had follow'd on his loss : Yet there in summer womanhood, Alone, and sweetly constant, stood The virgin wedded to the cross. But naught of sadness clouds her life. 'Tis full of brightness ; rich in power To comfort — and with larger dower Than had she prov'd a happy wife. Her faith begets an equal hope : A hope that sends its music forth Like that sweet singer of the North * Who warbles " on the sunrise slope." ii Not " better to have lov'd and lost Than never to have lov'd at all," If death could hold eternal thrall And mock us with a vanish'd ghost. But now that we may love and gain — May hold for aye, in death's despite (For this faith gives us with its light) — Our hearts need never love in vain. 1 Miss Katherine E. Conway, of Boston, author of "On the Sunrise Slope " and other graceful poems. ii2 To Mother Mary Xavier Theresa When human love leads up to God — As yours has led, O true and strong ! Let parting come : 'tis not for long. The mortal moulders in the sod \ But, soul with soul communing still, Each sunrise nearer brings the morn When rosy bliss without a thorn Shall crown our trust on Sion's hill. May, 1894. TO MOTHER MARY XAVIER THERESA ON HER GOLDEN JUBILEE 1 "T^WAS a jubilee day, our First Mother's First Daughter, When, setting your face tow'rd the Western afar, 1 Written for an address from the Sisters of Mercy, at Manches- ter, N. H. Mother Ward was Mother McAuley's first professed novice : and she volunteered, with six companions, to come out to the United States at the request of the bishop of Pittsburgh, Pa. To Mother Mary Xavier Theresa 1 1 3 You braved the long leagues of the storm- haunted water, To follow the shining of Mary the Star. On toil'd the good ship, bringing nearer each morrow Its message of mercy, its burden of love : Seven offerings of faith from the " Island of Sorrow " — A mystical band with the seal of the Dove. But you were the chief of that virginal Seven : And lo, when their feet touch'd America's shore, 'Twas the day your Saint Xavier had landed in Heaven ! And the blessing he gave you abides ever- more. 11 Again 'tis a Jubilee Day, dearest Mother ! Your daughters stand up in this home of the free, And bid to-day echo the joy of another, Which dawn'd ere you follow'd the Star of the sea. ii4 To Erin 'Twas the morn of your bridal. The troth you then plighted How faithfully kept, we your children attest. You may count us by scores : and we greet you, united With happier scores who have gone to their rest. This Jubilee Spousal — this calm Golden Wedding — Lights up like a sunset the grace-fruited past : And we hail in the peace its sweet radiance is shedding A pledge of the glory shall crown you at last. 1882. TO ERIN *"PHE Passion Flower of nations, thou, O Erin, Isle of Sorrow ! Yet ever shines about thy brow The light of Faith's to-morrow. To Erin 115 Where'er thine exiled children go, Heav'n smiles benignly o'er them ; Where'er they turn, in weal, in woe, The Cross leads on before them. O " Populus Apostolus " (As Rome's great Council call'd thee) ! 'Tis God's high purpose guides thee thus, His will that hath enthrall'd thee. 11 When Jesus died, His face was turn'd From Salem's thankless city ; While toward the West his bosom yearn'd With love's forgiving pity. From age to age before Him spread The future's wondrous story; His eyes each people's annals read — Its more of shame than glory. His Church would conquer far and wide, Yet oft the while defeated ; The scornful robber at His side Again, again repeated. n6 To Erin in He saw His Rome, from Satan reft, Her empire stronger, vaster, Than arms and cunning skill had weft For earth's now vanquish'd master. He saw new kingdoms rise and fall, Republics thrive and perish . . . But one dear spot from out them all A fonder love should cherish. A land by rough seas virgin-isled F th' North's half-mythic regions; Nor, like her sister shore, defiled By tramp of Caesar's legions. IV He call'd attendant angels three, And sent them swiftly winging O'er mount and vale and pleasant lea Where April green was springing. " Go, sow my Blood for after years — Seven drops of ruby treasure ; And gather from my Mother's tears Of pearls an equal measure. In Honor of a Golden Wedding 1 1 7 " Go, shed them o'er yon chosen soil : The Isle of Martyrs make it. My grace shall there find richest spoil; My mercy ne'er forsake it ! " IN HONOR OF A GOLDEN WEDDING A GOLDEN jubilee of wedded life ! O venerable pair, your plighted troth Hath borne the fruits (alas, too rare a growth !) Of charity and prayer and peaceful strife. A faithful husband, a devoted wife, Look back through fifty summers, and can say: " Ay, God did surely grant our marriage-day A blessing with unwonted favors rife. Of children nine, all live. And daughters twain Are vow'd to God in dear St. Joseph's band : No loss to mourn, but only priceless gain. While — prouder honor still — 'twas not in vain We ask'd that one among our sons might stand Before God's altar with anointed hand." n8 Hand Frustra HAUD FRUSTRA 1 " \l\ ^ King, now barren looks a life-long toil In Thy vast field of souls ! No sheaf appears — For all Thy promise that who sow in tears Shall reap in joy ! By far the larger spoil Is claim'd by those Thou settest us to foil — Who taunt us with what seem but wasted years ! Ah, make we our account with many fears, Poor stewards of Thy corn and wine and oil ! " 2 " Use well My grace to do thy little best. Not thine to answer further. Leave to Me Our seeming failure in the strife with sin. Some glorify My mercy, and the rest My justice. Work in peace. Enough for thee To know that My elect are gather' d in." 1 "Not in vain." 2 "A fructu frumenti, vini, et old sui : multiplicati sunt." — Ps. iv., Office of Compline. A Thought for October A THOUGHT FOR OCTOBER (~** OD'S own elect — we know not who they be ; Yet hour by hour He sees them gather'd in : Nor all from ways of peace and purity ; But more from devious paths, and some from haunts of sin. " From the four winds " His angels gather them : And if the many out of favor'd lands, That hail in Rome the New Jerusalem, And touch, for gifts of Heaven, her priests' anointed hands ; Yet not a few from homes of broken truth, Where Mother Church an alien must abide; And some from darken'd realms in very sooth, O'er which the Prince of Hell still lords it far and wide. O Precious Blood, Thou wast not shed in vain For these the number'd chosen ones. But we Must help Thy cause — with prayer and toil and pain, — And all the more that here we know not who they be. 1 20 A Thought for November Sweet Angels, teach us to be strong like you In patient waiting. This the month we give To your dear honor : skies of cloudless blue, That speak of Heav'n, and airs that make it joy to live. Ah, pray that while we value things of earth As symbol'd well in autumn's rich decay, Our hearts may wisely treasure at its worth Each act for love of souls, done, suffer'd, day by day ! A THOUGHT FOR NOVEMBER 1 1 f\ HOLY Souls, for whom we pray, Abide ye near, or far away ? At times we think you very far; As when we watch the evening star, And muse if some be prison'd there — If penal world can shine so fair : Or when, on some still, tender night, The very moonlight seems a wrong — Shed from an orb of wreck and blight, 1 First published in The Poor Souls* Advocate. A Thought for November 1 2 1 Where moaning ghosts must wander long O'er barren plain and airless height, Beneath extremes of fiercer hold Than tropic heat or polar cold. 11 Yet well I ween ye never leave This planet till the blissful hour When, durance o'er, ye cease to grieve And pass to realms of kingly power. But some beneath earth's surface keep Their darksome vigil ; others roam The desert sands, the wind-swept deep ; And some, more favor'd, haunt the home Their childhood loved, or where they died. Yet all are purged and purified By pains intense we cannot guess — Or searching, sacramental fire, Or darkness to which night were day : What tho' they be at peace no less, And gladly suffer while they pray — Their thought of thoughts, their one desire, To see the God in whom they live, The Infinite Beauty, and possess That All His Face alone can give. 122 The Law of Liberty THE LAW OF LIBERTY 1 i A H me, how very guileless once was I ! As good a child as ever said its prayers In blissful ignorance of by and by, Or prattled of its joys and wept its cares As though they were the great world's chief affairs. How black was then the whitest shade of wrong ! How base to fly a footstep on the stairs ! Ah, that first sense of guilt, so keen and strong — That instinct for God's rights — we strangle it ere long ! And wherefore ? To be free: free to enjoy — To follow our own bent. At first in things Of little harm and natural to a boy : But soon — it may be ere a dozen springs Have bloom'd the bower of innocence — there sings A bird that lures us with its magic lay, Or merely with the glitter of its wings, To chase it : and we ramble — on — away — Heedless of any voice that warns us not to stray. 1 St. James i. 25. The Law of Liberty 123 Or if not far we wander, but return While yet 'tis May, the virgin bower is gone. And oh, how seldom from our loss we learn A knowledge that would make us kings, if won. And wiser than the sated Solomon ! Far easier 'tis to wander soon again, And then more wildly, daringly, run on, All reckless of return — however plain Th' inevitable end, foreshown us pain by pain. 11 God and His rights grown irksome to our will, The rebel flesh bids intellect arise — Hurl doubts at faith — defy the threaten'd ill — Mock at the preacher — catch the gay replies Of older fools, and flaunt them in the eyes Of younger. And, if fires Lucretian glow Within us, " Alma Venus " takes the skies, Sole deity : " Foeda Superstitio " * Gulfing the rest, with all the nightmare realm below. 1 See the opening lines of Lucretius' great poem, "De Natura Rerum." 1 24 The Law of Liberty Thus burst our youthful fetters, are we free ? Have brain and heart the scope which man- hood craves ? Ay, free, forsooth, if so the ship at sea Sans chart or compass, scorning winds and waves ! Right gallantly our self-steer'd vessel braves A fogg'd horizon, or " an isle misdeem'd " ; But finds no shore — unless where lower slaves Than Circe's own (for there the beast but seetrid} x Invite us to despair of all we have fondly dream'd. And well for some if they but make that strand, And taste the cup Circaean. One I know Who deigns ev'n there to reach a rescue's hand, Which some have touch'd, as Mercy's annals show. But sullen pride, its own relentless foe, Drives on forever, like the Phantom Bark, Let tempest lash or gentlest breezes bjow. In vain the Sea Star beacons through the dark : In vain the red Cross gleams from Peter's saving Ark! 1 The enchantress gave her guests a drink which turned them into beasts. — Homer' s * ' Odyssey.' ' The Law of Liberty 125 in Poor youth ! If pitying manhood would but draw This lesson from thy follies, it were well : — For Freedom Order lives ; for Order, Law — The Law which sanctions everlasting Hell. Thus Satan learnt, and those that with him fell; And Adam, when he pluck'd the fatal tree. Too late for the lost angels, doom'd to dwell In hopeless exile : and for us, if we "Abide not in the Truth" 1 — the Truth which " maketh free." « What is the Truth ? " Who ask with Pilate, find No answer : for they seek not while they ask ; But either smile with will-averted mind, Or shirk the burden of an earnest task. Ne'er wore humility the sceptic's mask, Nor " honest doubt " 2 play'd trifler. Say thy say, 1 Our Lord says of Satan that he " abode not in the truth." 2 Tennyson's phrase : "There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds. ' ' 1 26 The Law of Liberty Agnostic ! 'Tis thy pride, that loves to bask In passing sunshine of a frivolous day — 'Tis pride's, not reason's, voice — that boasts it cannot pray. To call " Unknowable " the Greek's «■ Un- known " Is turning back to worse than pagan night. The Athenian's altar made a stepping-stone, To reach up tow'rd a Father " out of sight." He blush'd not to adore the Perfect Right, The Beautiful and Good, of Plato's thought And Aristotle's logic : reason's light Bearing him witness that itself is caught From an Eternal Mind, as sage and poet taught. IV What is the Truth ? The order God has will'd Whereby the creature shall its end attain. For this came down of old the Word that thrill'd The patriarchal bosom, nor in vain To Moses and the Prophets spake again : The Word that promised a Redeemer's birth, And told how God Himself would not disdain The Law of Liberty 127 To stand Incarnate on our sinful earth And make Obedience shine a thing of matchless worth. By disobedience fell the blight of sin On this fair world : and through the woman first. 'Twas fitting, then, redemption should begin With woman, and be thus our loss reversed. To Mary, Second Eve, no spirit accurst, But Heaven's bright angel, enter'd where she pray'd ; Revealing to her heart, for God athirst, The love Divine that will'd her Mother-Maid : And her humility's gladness peacefully obey'd. Then Jesus, Second Adam, born to do His Father's will in all things, not His own, Did set such pattern of obedience true, From Bethlehem's cave to Calvary's dying moan — ■ Ay, even to the seal'd sepulchral stone — That, first and last, a holocaust was He. And now — though seated on His glory's throne : i28 The Law of Liberty For still He deigns our Sacrifice to be — In Eucharistic life obeying men like me ! I ween, then, 'tis Obedience holds the key Of Wisdom's temple. " You shall know the Truth," Said Jesus; "and the Truth shall make you free." Yet 'tis a bondage too, in very sooth — This freedom : spurn'd by folly -blinded youth, But welcom'd as the Master's " easy yoke," When God's dear grace infuses timely ruth, Nor deals His justice we have dared provoke (A payment long o'erdue) the swift avenging stroke. Light yoke of Christ, that sets His bondsmen free From lust of selfish heart and lawless brain ! " Come, all ye weary ones, and learn of Me. Cease chasing shadows — taking loss for gain. My Church shall make the Homeward journey plain ; Her voice Mine own, as all who heed it know : God Loved in Nature 129 Shall heal and nourish, comfort and sustain, With aids it cost My Passion to bestow. Believe, obey, and find Heaven's foretaste here below." With mind like ours, and tender human heart, 'Tis thus He draws us to the perfect good : Knowing we cannot live from Him apart, And all our needs divinely understood. Nor can we doubt His sweetness, if we would : Since, while demanding of our love His due, He shares the claim with Mary's Motherhood ; And bids us wear Her bonds about us too, And own Her Queen indeed — of beauty pure and true. GOD LOVED IN NATURE r T K own, my God, Thy wisdom and Thy power, As seen in Nature with her deeds and laws, Is reason's homage to the Primal Cause. Thy beauty, too, in star and bird and flower, In tint and hue, in Spring's aye-virgin dower, 130 A Thought for Trinity Sunday In all things fair, would woo the heart to love, Tho' known not that "in Thee we live and move " — Thy Presence all about us every hour. But we, whose light is Thy Redeemer- Word, Whose reason Thou hast glorified with faith, We call Thee not alone Creator-Lord, But Father, Saviour, Lover, in one breath : And our hearts, when Thy wondrous works we see, Exhale the Passion Flower of Charity. A THOUGHT FOR TRINITY SUNDAY TS music but the poetry of sound — Melodious noise, tumultuous harmony ? An art, a science, with its birthplace found In Jubal, son of Lamech's minstrelsy ? J Nay, music is a language born in Heaven ; Nor then create, but of eternal birth : Ere stood before the Throne the Spirits Seven, 1 Gen. iv. 21. To Nature 131 Or quiring angels hymn'd the nascent earth. God's utter'd Word ; the evermore begetting Of the Co-Equal, Co-Eternal Son : Their mutual Love — that tide forever setting Back to its source : the perfect Three-In- One : — Lo, here the primal music ! Hence were drawn Law, Order, Beauty, with Creation's dawn. TO NATURE IVTATURE, to me thy face has ever been Familiar as a mother's ; yet it grows But younger with the wearing years, and shows Fresher — unlike all others I have seen. The "beings of the mind," though "not of clay" — " Essentially immortal," 1 and " a joy Forever " 2 — even these may pall and cloy, For all that poets gloriously say. 1 " The beings of the mind are not of clay : Essentially immor- tal," etc. — Byron. 2 "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." — Keats. 132 To Nature Yea, and thy own charms, Nature, when por- trayed By hand of man, become the spoil of time. The seasons mar, not change them : in sublime Repose they reign — but evermore to fade. Whence comes, then, thy perennial youth re- newed ? Thy freshness, as of everlasting morn ? God's breath is on thee. Of it thou wast born, And with its fragrance is thy life bedewed. Nor can I need aught sterner than thy face To wean me from the things that pass away. Not by autumnal lesson of decay, Or vernal hymn of renovating grace; But by this fragrance of the Infinite : For here my soul catches her native air ; And tastes the ever fresh, the ever fair, That wait her in the Gardens of Delight. Choice in No Choice 133 CHOICE IN NO CHOICE T KNOW not which to love the more: The morning with its liquid light ; Or evening with its tender lore Of silver lake and purple height. To morn I say, " The fairer thou : For when thy beauties melt away, 'Tis but to breathe on heart and brow The gladness of the perfect day." And o'er the water falls a hue That feasts, but cannot sate, the eye. 'Twould seem our Lady's mantle threw Its glory from an upper sky. But when has glared the torrid noon, And afternoon is gasping low, The sunset brings a sweeter boon Than ever graced the Orient's glow. And I : "As old wine unto new, Art thou to morn, beloved eve ! And what if dies thy every hue In blankest night ? We may not grieve. 34 Suggested by a Cascade " Thy fading lulls us as we dote. Nor always blank the genial night : For when the moon is well afloat, Thou mellowest into amber light." Is each, then, fairer in its turn ? 'Tis hence the music. Not for me To wish a dayless morn, or yearn For nightless eve — if these could be. But give me both — the new, the old : And let my spirit sip the wine From silver now, and now from gold : 'Tis wine alike — alike divine. SUGGESTED BY A CASCADE i TVTOT idly could I watch this torrent fall Hour after hour : not vainly day by day- Visit the spot to meditate and pray. The charm that holds me in its giant thrall Has too much of the Infinite to pall. For tho', like time, the waters pass away, They fling a freshness, a baptismal spray, Suggested by a Cascade 135 Which breathes of the Eternal Fount of all. And so, my God, does Thy revealed Word In living dogma, or on sacred page — Flow to us ever new ; tho' read and heard Immutably the same from age to age. And thither Nature sends us to assuage The higher longings by her voices stirred. 11 Those voices, like the one I listen here — Tho' blending evermore, as tone with tone — Are each a perfect music : each, alone, A faultless melody even to the ear; But to the heart a mystery as dear As the unutter'd meanings of its own. And other sweet monotonies, unknown To all but Catholic hearts, sound year by year, And day by day, yet weary not. The song Of Holy Church, her Mass, her Vespers, flow, Like this clear stream, unchangingly along ; Nor newer seem'd a thousand years ago. Then where the proof great Nature's self can show, Of source Divine, more exquisitely strong ? Lake George, 1875. 136 An Earnest AN EARNEST T^HE world is ever to the child The same as when on me it smiled And thrill'd a bosom undenled : Its freshness evermore renewed With sunny morn, and flowers bedewed, And light-wing'd joys to be pursued. Then Spring was all, and darling May ; And thro' the Summer's sweet delay The Golden Age regained its sway : While Autumn came with thankless pace, And yielded with a sullen grace To Winter's hard, relentless face. A change : and these had welcome grown, As friends of calmer, deeper tone, Whose thoughts anticipate our own : While those mov'd dreamlike in the vast, With vanish'd hopes too bright to last And memories of a purer past. An Earnest 137 I said : " When I have done with earth, Will that first joy seem nothing worth, Or know a second, larger, birth ? " I ween the answer tarried long : But when it came 'twas clear and strong, Tho' softer than a linnet's song : The voice of Faith, forbidding doubt ; The voice of Nature round about ; The voice of God — within, without. " Your conscious heart has told you sooth, That you regain'd, in gaining Truth, A freshness better than of youth. " What need you, then, of hint or view, More than this foretaste of the dew That falls where God c makes all things new ' ? " ST. HERMENEGILD A Passion Flower of Spain TO THE MEMORY OF The Very Reverend Augustine F. Hewitt D.D., C.S.P. WHO SUGGESTED THIS SUBJECT TO THE AUTHOR INTRODUCTION ^\ X 7"HILE a guest of the Lazarist Fathers in Santiago, Chile, in the year 1888, 1 found in their library a Spanish work very like our Butler's u Lives of the Saints." Having for years entertained the idea suggested by the ven- erable friend to whose memory I inscribe the realization, I took notes from the book just mentioned regarding this martyr of old Spain. These notes, together with St. Gregory's short story given in the Roman Breviary, appeared sufficient data for a narrative poem. Accord- ingly, I planned one of about half the length of my present attempt; but one which would have been, as I afterwards discovered, consider- ably at variance with historic fact. It was not until a year ago last January that I found time to do much at my poem : and when I was n earing the end of it, it occurred to me that I had better consult the Bollandists 143 1 44 Introduction — their ponderous tomes being at hand (in this our Pittsburgh monastery). To my surprise, I found that the time which elapsed between Leovigild's declaration of war and the martyr- dom of St. Hermenegild was six years instead of three ; that while some authors made it three, they were inaccurate, the date of Easter at the time of the martyrdom settling the year beyond dispute. Consequently, I had to change my plan and divide the story into two parts. But I found no leisure for finishing the poem until the present year. I have, of course, used the license accorded to poets and romancers, but within, as I think, very reasonable bounds. The incident of my hero sending wife and child to Africa I took from the Spanish " Lives " aforesaid. With regard to the name of my Saint, I keep the form of it which is undoubtedly the Gothic original. It is not so musical, perhaps, as " Er- mengild," or even "Hermigild," — modern forms I have seen ; but I believe in using the name found in the Roman Martyrology. The £, let me remark, is hard. The name of my heroine is given as " Ingun^V " by the Bollandists, but Introduction 1 45 as " InguiWtf " by the Spanish historian : and since " Gosvindtf " is the only form of the other lady's name in either work, I conclude that Gothic names of women admitted of the Latin termination. St. Paul's Monastery, Pittsburgh, Pa., March, 1896. ST. HERMENEGILD PART I I T EOVTGILD, the Arian king of Spain, Had warr'd upon the Roman faith, and driven Its Greek adherents off the settled coasts. Then, planning boldly, in his pride of heart, To make the crown hereditary and keep Succession with his line, he raised his sons, Hermenegild and Reccared, to share Barbaric splendors of the Visigoth sway : Bestowing Andalusia's rich domain On Prince Hermenegild — first-born, best lovM ; To Reccared the realm of Arragon Assigning, with the provinces that lay 'Twixt Ebro and the Pyrenean wall. Of Catholic mother came the princes twain : And sore, I ween, had Theodosia griev'd To see them rear'd in heresy. For well She lov'd her faith. But, blent with mother's tears, 149 150 St, Hermenegild The mother's prayers went upward day and night j Returning in a dew of grace that fed The seed she had planted in each childhood's breast, — A Catholic love and reverence for the names Of Jesus and of Mary. Thus she lived, Sowing in tears to one day reap in joy. Whereof was earnest sent her at her death, What time her brother Leander came himself — A saintly prelate he of Christ's one flock — Ay, came himself to robe her soul for flight, Leovigild conniving. " Fear thou not, My sister," quoth the saint. "Thy task is o'er. Like Magdalen, what thou couldest thou hast done. The day thy summons found me, while I stood Holding aloft the consecrated Host With wonted thought of thee, I heard a voice Within me ; and, in vision of the mind, Beheld two champions chosen to restore The true faith's glory to our Spain, and one To reign upon her altars for all time. Thy sons, my sister. Thou, like Monica, A Passion Flower of Spain 1 5 1 Hast brought them forth a second time — to God." And so this "valiant woman " died in peace. But soon Leovigild, with tearless eyes, Look'd round for other consort, and espoused Gosvinda, widow of Athanagild, And sharer in his own perverted creed. Then, bent to find Hermenegild a bride, Obtained Ingunda's hand — a princess famed No less for virtue than for beauty : ay, And richer far with faith's high dower than aught Of gold or gems could make her. Daughter she To Sigisbert the Frank and Brunechild, Child of Gosvinda ; for whose sake, in sooth, Leovigild had made reluctant choice. " I know her," urged the vixen. cc She is soft As wax to skilful hands. Leave all to me. A year in this our palace, at the most, And, trust me, thou wilt see her change for truth Her Roman superstition, like a dress." And so they met — the bridegroom and the bride — *5 2 St. Hermenegild One April day. And straightway, all his heart Went out to her, and all her heart to him. II A moon past sweetly o'er the bridal pair Within the imperial city, where the flock Of Peter, thronging their one suffer' d church, Had hail'd the prince's nuptials as a pledge Of coming freedom : so assured were they, Knowing his kindly nature, he would prove Their advocate, and stay his father's hand. Meanwhile Hermenegild, from day to day Increased in love and reverence for a spouse So pure, so gentle ; and Ingunda prayed That God's dear grace might lead him to the light — The choicest blessing she could ask for one So worthy perfect trust. But not for long This happy season. Ere the second moon Had left the crescent, pale Gosvinda's hate, Till now dissembled well, made clouds, and threw A shadow over peace. Leovigild, A Passion Flower of Spain 153 On whom his daughter's loveliness had wrought A softening spell, but frown'd, and coldly said : " Tush ! Let her pray. What harm such women's prayers ? Hermenegild holds truly that, to ween Our Roman subjects from seditious thought, 'Tis wiser to be mild and merciful." u Ay ! " cried Gosvinda, " and when comes the babe ? Nor one alone, be sure. Such women bear As well as pray." Quoth he : " The babe is ours. 'Twill be but Theodosia once again. She bore me sons, and could not choose but yield Her offspring to the holy Arian cause. But whence art thou so zealous for the cause, With thy two daughters wed to Catholic kings ? " So, flushing shame, and swallowing the hot word, Gosvinda turn'd in bitter scorn, and vow'd Swift conquest of Ingunda. Whom she plied With hints of royal displeasure; then with threats Of exile from the husband of her love. 154 St. Hermenegild At these Ingunda smiled : such trust had she Her mate would follow wheresoe'er she went, Ev'n should he lose a kingdom for her sake. And once she spoke of refuge and defence — Her father Sigisbert, the Catholic king : Whereat Gosvinda, letting loose the fiend Within her, fell upon the sweet young wife, And dragg'd her by the hair, and beat her sore. Now, twice and thrice, the meek Ingunda took This outrage as a welcome drop of gall From out her Saviour's chalice, and besought The Virgin-Mother for her tender aid In strength of silence. But it timely chanced That Prince Hermenegild, with soon return Gosvinda guess'd not, suddenly came where lay, Torn, bleeding, and in swoon of seeming death, His heart's beloved. " Ha ! some woman's work Is here ! " quoth he. And when the sum- mon'd maids Had help'd revive their mistress, and he said " Go, tell the Queen that I would speak with her," A Passion Flower of Spain 1 5 5 And drew for answer " The Queen keeps her room Till evening" — straightway the divining thought Flash'd into knowledge. Then, dismiss'd the maids, With solemn charge of secrecy, he knelt Beside his bride's recumbent form, and kiss'd Her face and hands, and sooth'd her tenderly. " My dearest, with thy perfect love and trust (Which well I know), how couldst thou hide a wrong Not born, I ween, to-day, nor yesterday ? For twice and thrice have I observ'd a pain In the blue eyes, and round the timid mouth ; Yet thou didst meet my question with a smile That made me think thy meditation ran On that new image of the Crucified I hear of — yonder, in the church. But now The cause is clear. Without one word of thine, I know the wretch, whate'er her motive be — Fanatic zeal, or jealous spite, or both — Has dared to lay her sacrilegious hands On my Ingunda. And I blame myself For not withdrawing sooner. We will go 156 St. Hermenegild To where my princedom's capital awaits The presence of its ruler. Fear thou naught. 'Twill take but little to persuade the King." But she made answer : " Husband of my heart, My prayer is granted. Now thou knowest all. But breathe not, I beseech thee, to the King Gosvinda's conduct. For right sure am I He dreams not of it. He has ever shown A father's kindness tow'rd me, for thy sake. Nor bear Gosvinda malice. We should pray For those that wrong us. Calmly let us go." Then, with her true arms twined about his neck : " O my beloved, 'twill be sweet indeed To reign with thee in Hispalis ! The Queen Talk'd exile at me — banishment from thee. I smil'd, supremely happy in the thought That thou wouldst surely fly to me afar, If forfeiting a kingdom. Such my trust." And he — could only seal it with his lips. Ill " Calm as thy stream, O Boetis, flows my life : But ah, how soon thy waters reach the sea — There to be lost in evermore unrest ! . . . A Passion Flower of Spain 157 The sea — what means this strange presentiment That yet 'twill roll between my love and me ? . . . Begone, sad thought ! For all is gladness now. The bishop has at last return'd — at last (Again forgive, Lord, my impatient heart) : And I have seen him, told him all. My Prince Has promised to receive him graciously ; Nor only as his mother's brother, him Who stood beside her death-bed, bringer of peace ; But also as a lover of the poor, And one of whom the very Arians here Report but kindly. Ere to-morrow's noon They meet." 'Twas thus Ingunda voiced her thought In Hispalis, one August afternoon ; Reposing in a favorite arbor, where The terraced garden look'd upon the river: And saw the morrow prove a golden day — A day long pray'd for, but of larger fruit Than brightest hope had ripen'd while she pray'd. They met — Leander, prelate, saint, and sage, And he, the chivalrous Prince : but not to hold 158 St. Hermenegild The talk of polish'd insincerity. First greetings done, the Prince, revering more The uncle who had cheer'd his mother's death Than aught of churchly dignity, avow'd His ever-mindful gratitude, and past To speak of other merits in his guest — As watchful pastor, father of the poor. Whereat Leander courage took to plead For royal protection in his flock's behalf: Nor merely gain'd a promise, easily given And easily broken, or a smooth reply Which meant as little as it cost : but while The young man gaz'd upon the old man's face, He saw a peace there he had ne'er beheld With priest or prelate of his sect — a light That blent morn's hope with evening's perfect rest — And felt a ray let in upon his soul. Then, putting off the prince, drew near, and said, With look and pose of reverent earnestness : ct Father — so let me call thee — since thy coming, I know not why, but I have seem'd as one Born in a palace underground, and kept A Passion Flower of Spain 159 From any light but garish lamps, and taught That all without was dimmer light, or dark : To whom steals down a messenger of good, Bringing the truth and breathing round a sense Of light and fragrance from the genial day." " The day indeed, my son. Now, God be praised ! " The saint made answer — ere his heart well'd up, Choking his utterance. Then Hermenegild Knelt suddenly before him, caught his hand And kiss'd it. But Leander, blessing him, Said quickly : " Rise, my son. Not now, not here. Come to me where in secret I may guide Thy soul, and feed it with the truth it craves. 'Tis prudence bids me caution. I forebode Naught to myself, but much, my Prince, to thee. No shame in prudence. Maybe, thou hast heard How Nicodemus came to Christ by night : And did the Master chide him for his fear ? " So came by stealth Hermenegild, to learn From Him whom favor'd Nicodemus heard. 160 St. Hermenegild For, hearing now Leander, he heard Christ ; And, hearing Christ, the Father, who had sent^ His Co-Eternal, Consubstantial Word To dwell made flesh among us, and to teach With human lips the Truth which giveth life. And sweetly flow'd this life into his soul, As eagerly listen'd the delighted Prince To that most restful mystery of faith, One God in Persons Three — all God in each — Indissoluble Oneness. Now was clear, What oft before had teas'd him as he thought, How God could dwell alone eternally, A boundless happiness within Himself, And need no creature's love. No creature, then, His Son, the Christ ; but very God of God Begotten : nor He through whom the Mother- Maid Conceiv'd : but She true Spouse, true Mother, of God. IV " Incomparable fact, that God is man ! The great Creator His own creature's Son! Omnipotence a babe ! What, after this, Is hard to faith ? What left for wonderment ? " A Passion Flower of Spain 1 6 1 So mus'd Hermenegild, baptized, and seal'd The self-same hour with the confirming Chrism; And waiting for the morrow, to be fed With that Divine Food which is Christ Himself. To whom Leander, full of thankful love : " Yes, one thing still is left for wonderment : The Passion. Not so much that God should die, Once born a mortal : but that He should drink The very wine of pain ; should yield His flesh To mangling scourge, His head to thorny crown ; Be jeer'd at for a knave; mock'd for a fool; Struck face and mouth, and spurn'd, and spit upon; Take sentence to a slave's, a felon's, death; Carry shame's cross in company with thieves ; And die as one accursed ! . . . Is not this Surpassing wonderful ? " "Yet," quoth the Prince, Royal-hearted, " could the King of kings do less, In stooping to a Passion for our sakes, Than go the possible farthest ? Wring from pain And shame and insult the last bitter drop, 1 62 St. Hermenegild Then drain and suck the cup, and cry c I thirst ! ' Unsated ? This, to me, seems worthiest God. " And what can we, in turn, do less than ask To suffer for His sake ? I envy those — Thy brethren, and now mine in common faith — Who have felt my blinded father's heavy arm: Tho' mine shall be the task to stem his wrath And turn it — Ay, I envy them ; and most, Whom death has crown'd with victory. And if I" — " Prince," said Leander quickly, " well I know Thy thought. And 'tis, in sooth, a noble greed That covets martyrdom. But thine, my son, Another charity for Christ ; nor less Of cost, — but more — in patient fortitude. Bethink thyself — thus early raised to share Imperial power, and timely led to truth — A chosen instrument in mercy's hand To work a people's rescue. And for this Is needed more than hero's courage, more Than statesman's prudence. Thou must seek to gain A Passion Flower of Spain 163 Thy royal sire, with all thy kith and kin, By argument of pure and gentle life, Waiting God's hidden moments : even as she Whom His grace gave thee, rather than the King's, Hath now her waiting's joyous recompense. How much thou owest to her faithful prayers ! One day shall others owe as much to thine." With this he blest the kneeling Prince, and went : But with a haste unwonted, and a brow Which ill conceal'd the trouble deep within. " It must be so ! " he murmur'd when alone. " My heart foreboded truly. I have striven To keep his thoughts - — in this, perchance, to blame — Away from that extreme of sacrifice Whither they tend by what I now perceive An impulse all divine. I would not prove Another Caiphas ; yet come the words Of that arch-schemer aptly to my lips — c 'Tis well that one man for the nation die.' 164 St. Hermenegild Let God fulfil His purpose. Mine the part Of prayer and preparation : yea, and more For my weak self, methinks, than ev'n for him, My neophyte. For if I may but share The palm with him, how undeserv'd a joy ! " But tranquilly as yet Hermenegild Enjoy'd his new-found faith : the while his spouse Look'd onward to an anxious hour, and pray'd That the young soul within her might arrive The gate of birth, which only leads to death, And, safely passing, reach that other birth Which is the gate of life. Nor vainly pray'd Ingunda, till her husband knew the joy Of holding to his heart a son and heir. Ah, innocent babe — and can it be that thou, Dear pledge of benediction, sent to crown Thy parents' love, wilt bring them cruel woe? Little, I trow, the mother dreamt of grief — Too rapt in bliss that only mothers know. A Passion Flower of Spain 165 But soon Hermenegild betray'd his thought By silent mood and look of stern resolve : Resolve heroically strengthen'd, when Leander, summon'd to the palace, gave Counsel as stern, tho' calm withal and sweet. " God save thee ! Loud the acclamations ring, From town and hamlet, that 'a prince is born — An heir to the new throne of Hispalis ! ' All thought of creed forgotten for the nonce: Yet not with priest and prelate of the sect. Their Arian malice, ever on the watch, Erects its venomous head, and waits to strike. " Thou sayest ' Let it strike ! The time has come For open avowal. It were base to hide The full truth longer.' Even so, my son. Thy true heart here no counsel needs of mine. Thy subjects all shall see their sovereign's heir Baptized right solemnly in the Catholic faith. But mark me : one of two things follow — flight Or war. For swiftly will the message go To rouse Leovigild — incredulous yet, But warn'd, and smarting from Gosvinda's taunts. And here thy heart doth counsel need of mine. 1 66 St. Hermenegild A sudden journey, such as Joseph took To Egypt, with the Virgin and her Child, Is not, alas ! for thee. But thou canst send, With ample guard, the Princess and the babe On visit to her father Sigisbert : Thyself awaiting letters from the King, And pleading with him as a son should plead; Meanwhile, if this be fruitless, gaining time To countervail his measures." Bow'd the Prince In loving reverence ; and simply said : " Enough, my father. Be thy counsel taken. 'Tis God who guideth thee." And bright the morn Which saw the royal babe new-born to life Eternal, with the name Theodoric. Great was the feasting : deep the joy of all Within the Fold ; while few of those without But shared the dance, the viands, and the wine, With equal zest; indifferent to the loss, Which some resented, to the Arian cause. VI But now the reptile head, in act to strike, No longer paused. If swiftly to the King A Passion Flower of Spain 167 Ran couriers from his son, a greeting fair Of filial love and pride paternal bearing, As swiftly sped the messengers of hate. And soon came back a letter to the Prince, Of most undoubtful meaning. "Son," it said, — " My first-born, pride and hope of many years — Thy timely message, that is born to thee A son and heir, fell coldly on my heart, By reason of another word, that kept Swift pace with thine : yet so incredible, That I withhold belief till thou thyself Confirm it. Hast thou weakly yielded, son, To thy young wife's persuasion, and allow'd A Roman prelate to baptize thy child ? If so, what wonder that our Arian priests Declare thyself perverted from the faith ? Now, write me, speedily, the very truth : That I may know^ and knowing act." The Prince Made answer thus : " My King, my father, know The very truth. God's mercy, undeserv'd, Has call'd me out of darkness into light. My sweet young wife has no persuasion used, 1 68 St. Her mene gild Nor other influence than her constant prayer To Heaven. Blame not her, nor yet my lord Leander, my dead mother's brother. Chide Myself alone, if chide thou must. But know That I am still thy loyal subject, still Thy loving son, who only asks to keep His new-found faith in peace. Let truth be free, Since truth alone can make her bondsmen free. And if thou doubt my hold upon the truth, As now I know it, see what I have risk'd For its dear sake : and trust me, when I say That I am ready to lose throne and crown, And wife and child, — yea, life itself — for Him Whom now I worship as my Lord and God, Second in Consubstantial Trinity." Now, in his secret heart, Leovigild Was mov'd by this high courage of his son To admiration and a pact of peace. But pale Gosvinda, plying him with threats Of ripe rebellion she herself had plann'd — Feigning it learnt from confidence betray'd By over-trusted women of her suite — So wrought upon him that he suddenly sent This stern rejoinder: A Passion Flower of Spain 169 " If, in thirty days, Our son and subject, Prince Hermenegild, Have not abjured the creed of Rome, and sworn To live himself, and rear his infant heir, True to his country's faith : then, let him know We judge him traitor, and will visit him — An army at our back. Thus saith the King." VII " He gives me thirty days. 'Tis well. But thou Must fly, my darling, with our little one ! And I have plann'd the whither; but must seek Leander first, and get his benison, Before I break the doleful news to thee." Thus to himself Hermenegild. And when Leander, radiant with a prayer-caught light, Had read the sullen mandate of the King, And heard the young man's scheme, he gave at once His sanction and his blessing, with a word Prophetic. " Be it so, beloved son. Ingunda and the child will safely reach That shore, and yet another, where thyself Shalt give them Easter joy." Whereat the Prince, 170 St. Hermenegild Forbearing further question, craved the boon Of his good uncle's presence and support, The better to prepare his tender wife For swift and cruel parting. Her they found Watching the cradled slumbers of her boy, And musing on that Queen of womanhood, The Virgin-Mother with her Babe Divine. u My daughter," said Leander, " thou hast heard Of Herod's rage, and Joseph's sudden flight, With Mary and her Child, to heathen land. In God's mysterious counsel, a decree Of exile — 'twill be brief — must now go forth, Bidding thee fly from heresy's mad rage, And take thy infant to a friendly shore. Alas, without thy Joseph ! But not long Wilt have to bear this parting, as I trust. I see an Easter morning — when the Prince Shall glad thine eyes, crown'd victor from the fight.- No scream : no swoon. But, falling on her knees Beside her babe, she bent her comely head, And murmur'd : " Fiat, O my Father, fiat ! A Passion Flower of Spain 1 7 1 Fiat voluntas tua, O my God ! " Then silent wept. Whereat Hermenegild Knelt too, to soothe her. And Leander blest The stricken pair, and offer'd them to Him Who, in His wondrous love, for them Himself Had offer'd — in the crib, and on the Cross. The bishop blest them for a moment ; then Slipt softly from the room, and left them there Unconscious he had gone. But soon the Prince, Arising from his knees, all gently raised His drooping bride, and held her to his heart. " My own sweet love, so nobly brave thou art, I need not hesitate to tell thee all. Come, sit beside me on this couch the while, And lean thy head upon a faithful breast. " The King has granted me but thirty days To yield submissively myself and heir To live for what he calls our country's faith, Abjuring that of Rome. To plead were vain. I know his spirit. Rather would he brook Defiance than a craven suit for pity. I wis, he fears rebellion, and the loss Of kingdom : thinking that the Arian Church 172 St. Hermenegild Has power to overthrow him. I will prove That here his quiet has been play'd upon. u Then why must thou, beloved, flee his wrath ■ — Thou and our infant son ? Because he comes (So reads the message) after thirty days, An army at his back. Nay, tremble not, My darling.'' " 'Tis for thee." " Nor yet for me. I too can raise an army : and our cause Is just — the cause of Truth — the cause of Christ. My people love me : and the King will find My Arians choose between us in a way He little dreams of. But the plan of flight. Whither shalt go ? Where hide our little one ? Leander spoke before of Sigisbert, Thy father; who could shield thee well. But now Thou couldst not thither hie and shun pursuit, I fear me. So another plan is mine. Among our subjects here in Hispalis, A stalwart son of Holy Church, and one Whom God has prosper'd in extensive trade, A Passion Flower of Spain 173 Has frequent traffic with the Roman towns On Afric's coast. In one a mansion owns ; Residing now on this shore, now on that. He, having friends at court, and learning thence Gosvinda's triumph in the threat of war, Came privily, ere closed the second day That follow'd the despatch, and nobly made An offer of his house beyond the sea ! His wife and three young daughters winter there; And wait to show thee loyal welcome, love, While guarding well the secret of thy rank. Their servants will be thine : thou needest take But one handmaiden and Theodoric's nurse. Our holy Church is there, too ; and thy soul Will find religion's comfort, even as here. " Wilt go, then, dearest ? For a goodly ship Lies in the river, ready to convey Thyself and babe to safety and to rest. You go aboard by night, and sail at dawn : Thus baffling prowlers, maybe, on the watch To seize our child — anticipating flight Tow'rd Sigisbert's dominions. Wilt thou go ? " " Yea, husband of my heart : thy will is mine ; For surely it is God's. To-morrow night ? " 174 St. Hermenegild u Amen. And keep Leander's cheering words Fresh in thy memory. Whether few the weeks, Or many, till the promised Easter morn, That man of God had caught a light in prayer. But if this coming Easter pass us by Still parted, then shall Heaven's kind breezes waft My darling to her native shore : and there Her childhood's home will guard her till we meet." END OF PART I ST. HERMENEGILD PART II T^HE thirty days pass'd quickly. But the Prince Had visited the Roman camp, and gain'd A promise of support — too lightly given, Had he but noted. Then to all his towns Had gone himself, or trusty spokesmen sent, To state his cause and prove it one of peace — Religious peace, and conscience' sacred rights : To all proclaiming fullest liberty To hold and worship as it seem'd them good. " His sire, Leovigild, in evil hour, Had listen'd to a voice that counsell'd hate. Religion should be love. And if the King, Hardening his heart, as Pharao did of yore, Should bring the curse of war on loyal son And faithful subjects, then with him must rest The guilt ; with him the dread account ; and fall On him the sentence of the Sovran Judge." So now he sent his answer to the King : Nor wasting love, nor showing sign of fear. 177 178 St. Hermenegild " His subjects all were with him, quite content Beneath his rule's light yoke. Leovigild Might come himself and question thro' the land. The Roman captains had approv'd his course, Unsheathing friendly swords. His wife and child Were far from danger's reach. While hoping still That wiser counsels might avail to change The King's intent, yet firmer his resolve And firmer grew, to battle for God's truth, If need should be — ay, even unto death. " But thou, my Sire, canst thou, in turn, speak thus — Tho' well persuaded thine a righteous cause ? Art waging war on thine own flesh and blood From greater dearness of eternal truth ? Nor, rather, from a most unworthy fear Of swift dethronement by a pamper'd Church — Thy Church, not mine ? Enough, I leave thee now, With steadfast prayer, to conscience and to God." A Passion Flower of Spain 1 79 But came no further message from the King; Nor any sound of arms. Hermenegild Hoped greatly for a space ; yet, undeceiv'd, Went on preparing for long siege of war, Knowing his father's suddenness of mood. But little guess'd the generous-hearted Prince — Of whom, in sooth (most happily for him), The mother's nature had the larger share — That proud Leovigild would stoop to craft, Or deign the basest of all weapons use, The potency of faith-corrupting gold. II Bright Easter, gladdest feast of all the year, Some earnest brought of triumph and of rest To our young hero : but Leander's word, 'Twas plain, yet lack'd fulfilment many a moon. So, first, to Sigisbert, the Frankish king, By trusty couriers from the Roman camp, The Prince sent word : detailing clear and full The persecution and Ingunda's flight. He ask'd not help — save only that of prayer ; But to the father of his well-belov'd Confided tenderly herself and child, For safest keeping till the war should end. 180 St. Hermenegild Then, for his bride the same good ship dispatch'd Had borne her faithfully to Afric's shore. And thus he wrote : " One Easter morn has past ; And much I fear another, and another, Will see us parted still. But thou, belov'd, My dearer life, shalt now abide once more Safe in thy childhood's home which thou didst leave For me. Leovigild has made no sign Of onset ; but his sullen silence tells How little he had reckon'd on a front Defiant, such as we have dared to show. Leander warns me that the King will try Vexatious tarrying, and will use beside Dishonorable means, which I refuse To credit him withal. But we, the while, Avail ourselves of time." Leander spoke Too truly. For a dozen months roll'd by, And no invasion of the Prince's realm ; Save that of spies and secret agents, sent To sow false fears, to wheedle, and to bribe. And saw the sequent year a bolder move, A Passion Flower of Spain 1 8 1 But deftly hidden from our hero's eyes. The Roman captains privately receiv'd A courteous invitation from the King To spend a week within Toletum's walls : Departing thence the richer by a sum Of yellow gold, with guaranty of more. Small reck to them, I ween, that they had sold Honor and plighted faith. The King but ask'd Neutrality : and what had they to do With family broils and petty jars of creed ? But kept for the third year his master-stroke This Visigoth king. Magnificently royal The edict summoning to his capital The Arian prelates of all Spain. Convened, The council sat in state, encompass'd round With awe-compelling pomp and pageantry, His Majesty presiding. Ay, and long Had been the disputation, long and fierce, But for the gold that won astuter minds To sanction novel measures of the King's. And first, 'twas carried that the Arian Church Should own Rome's baptism a valid act, 1 82 St, Hennemgild Nor re-baptize the converts from her fold. 1 And next, that she admitted and believ'd Equality 'twixt the Father and the Son — Left ample room for sense heretical. 2 Thus artfully contrived Leovigild What rightly he had guess'd would undermine The seeming strong position of his son. A hope, by Heaven's high permit, realized. Ill For now began the onset. Came the King, A well-appointed army at his back, To pay his promised visit. Marching straight On Hispalis, he drew the lines of siege; While up the Boetis sail'd a stately fleet, To cut off access from the sea and cause A gradual famine in the leaguer'd town. The Prince's ships were taken all, or sunk — Outnumber'd, overpower'd. But Hispalis Smiled bravely on the foe a round of months ; 1 Vide Bollandists. In his "Essay on Development," Cardi- nal Newman tells us that the Arian Visigoths had an invalid form of baptism themselves, but re-baptized by force all the Catholics they could get hold of. 2 * ' Equality ' ' not necessarily including co-eternity and consub- stantiality. A Passion Flower of Spain 183 For strong her walls : and, strangely, not a feint Of storm was made. Yet, secretly, within, Work'd treachery — unscented by the Prince, And all too late detected by his friends. He had not seconded Leander's wish To stay with the besieged ; and sadly missed The holy bishop's prudence. Easter dawn'd Again : the fourth since sweet Ingunda's flight. Alas, 'twas silence now between those hearts ! No word might come or go. But many words Had framed an answering letter prompt and true To one had reach'd the Princess at her home. And this Hermenegild read o'er and o'er. "I live in hope," she said, "unshaken hope; And know that peace which is the gift of God To those who love Him, and, to prove their love, Are well content to suffer for His sake. Three years of parted life have only knit Our mutual souls more tenderly and more. And if another three be God's dear will, We shall but gain in merit and in love. Nor are we parted save to outer sense : For since in God 'we live and move and be,' 184 St. Hermenegild In Him I have thee with me at all hours. And when, at Holy Mass, our Lord and King Comes to His altar, thou art nearer then ; For in His Heart He keeps thee, well I know : And nearest when that Heart is one with mine In blest Communion. . . . I have taught our child To lisp thy name, belov'd, and softly pray At morn, at eve, thy safety, thy return. And he, betimes, will ask for thee, and pause As tho' he heard an angel answer him ! " . . . Pored fondly on these sentences, and oft, The tender husband : but on those which urged That he should take, if worsted in the war, Safe refuge with her father, look'd but once. So, when his captains brought him sudden news Of widespread disaffection ev'n among The Catholic soldiers — weary of his cause, And bought with golden promises convey'd By sham deserters from the enemy's lines — He cast Ingunda's letter to the flames ; And straightway steel'd his heart for doom and death, Rather than base alternative of flight. A Passion Flower of Spain 185 Then, counsel taken with his faithful chiefs, Made noiseless exit under cover of night, And reached the Roman camp. His thought to claim The pledg'd support, and place at its command Two hosts which lay inactive, north and south, Protecting towns and hamlets unassail'd. This junction formed, the siege were quickly raised ; Th' invader forced back to his own domain. Brave, noble heart, and true God-fearing soul, How keen thine anguish now ! How bitter the cup Press'd to thy lips ! And thou must drink it down — Ay, drain the very dregs ! The lust of gold Had play'd i' the game, and won. With cold salute, The Romans talk'd of sworn neutrality. But this they offer' d still : asylum sure, Or armed escort to the bounds of Gaul. He turn'd, indignant, to retrace his steps ; And tidings met that Hispalis had fallen — Her gates flung open by the glad besieged ! 1 86 St. Hermenegild IV The Prince had still two armies in the field ; And cities twain, strong, Catholic, and loyal, Could long resistance make. So thus he plann'd. The King should think him fled to Corduba; Pursue, and find his late-exultant host Between two armies caught. Himself, the while, First choosing out three hundred valiant men, Would hold Ossetum. But Leovigild — At all times wary, never more than now — By spies in part, in part by traitors' aid, Saw thro' his son's manoeuvre, and abode In Andalusia's capital, unbeguiled. Then weeks and months of dallying, dextrous feints, And moves strategic ; till he drew apart Each rebel corps ; and, summoning their chiefs To parley, urged, 'gainst useless waste of blood, His generous intent toward every man Should lay down arms and heed his gracious will. " For well he knew that motives high and pure A Passion Flower of Spain 187 Had bade them follow his misguided son. He blamed not them. In proof whereof, to each Would royal largess give of double pay For unrequited service to the Prince." Thus either host disbanded and dispersed Like phantom armies seen in summer clouds. Now, vulture-like, he swoopt upon the walls Of doom'd Ossetum. Sending to inform The obdurate Prince of his deserted cause, He offer'd clemency and all the grace A father's heart could give. But who shall blame Our hero, if distrustfully he heard, And answer'd from amid his Spartan few, That, sooner than abandon faith and God, 'Twere better to die fighting in the breach And fall a martyr ? The three hundred made Round their Leonidas a glorious stand, When fell the batter'd gates. Ay, then was seen " A new Thermopylae." 1 Again, again, 1 " Earth, render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the Three Hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae ! ' ' — Byron's "Isles of Greece.** 1 88 St. Hermenegild Bristled with spear and javelin surge on surge, Recoiling baffled, broken. Till, at last, A shower of arrows from the mounted wall Laid low the brave defenders — all but ten. The wounded Prince beheld a flood of light, And angels bringing for each fallen head A martyr's crown. But ah, not yet for him ! He heard a voice : " Prince, hie thee to the church! 'Tis not the will of Heaven thou finish here Thy combat. Waits a brighter crown for thee." That light the while seem'd darkness to the foe, And gave the little band secure retreat. V Now, when Leovigild had full report Of his son's valor 'mid the hero throng Who fought and fell around him, he was thrill'd With pride paternal ; and at once enjoin'd Respect for the asylum's sacred walls. And that mysterious darkness aw'd his soul. Then, sending flag of truce at eventide, With food and drink, and bandages for wounds, He queried was the Prince's hurt severe ? A Passion Flower of Spain 1 89 And would he on the morrow deign receive His brother Reccared ? The Prince was touch'd By this strange show of kindliness, and made A like response. Not grave his wound, nor those Of his nine comrades. Gratefully they took The timely alms. Ay, let his brother come. " I have not seen him since the blessed day I wed Ingunda," mused Hermenegild. " So be is in the field against me ! He Takes sides with Arian hate ! But nay. I ween The King has brought him but to plead with me. Ay, let him come. We will embrace and speak Of our lost mother and her precious faith." Thus ran, 'twixt intervals of feverish sleep, His thoughts. And much he pray'd the coming day Might see him win his brother to the truth. A happy meeting. If the younger Prince, Invested with the pomp of embassy, Forbore to rush into his brother's arms, But calmly gave his message from the King — Of amnesty and pardon for the brave ; 190 St. Hermenegild Yet, once delivered of the weighty task, He threw his arms around his brother's neck ; And both withdrew to where they were alone For tender talk and interchange of love : Tho' speech came slowly — choked at first with tears. And then Hermenegild pleaded well and long How just his cause ; with what extreme of pain The conflict had been forced upon his heart — A heart which ever had excused the King, Believing him tongue-lash'd and play'd upon By one whom both could value at her worth. " Ah, could our noble mother but have liv'd ! Thou hast not yet forgotten her, I trow ? " "Nor ever shall," quoth Reccared. u To me Her memory has been a guiding star." " Then what of the faith which made her very life ? Hast thou no wish to share it — and with me ? Of all things precious Truth Divine is first." " Yes, dearest brother : and the hope is mine That we shall all erelong — the King himself, And this fair Spain of ours from North to South — Hold but one creed, in one pure worship join. A Passion Flower of Spain i 9 1 For did not the late Council shape decrees With view to union ? Surely, thou hast heard ? " " Ay, heard and understood. Be not deceiv'd, Sweet brother. Truth admits no compromise. That term of c equal,' in the Arian sense, Leaves Co-Eterne and Consubstantial out. Were but our uncle, good Leander, here, To show thee all the truth, as once to me He show'd it ! But enough that thou dost wish To know it, as I doubt not. Search and pray. And since in our dead mother thou hast found A guiding star, and oft invokest her, Think how much more a mother She must be Whose Son is God, yet we Her children too. Come, pray with me before Her image here, That She may be indeed the morning star Of perfect day for thee." They knelt : and when With radiant face Hermenegild arose, He blithely said : " The King would have me come And sue for pardon and the kiss of peace ? 'Tis well. I own whatever fault be mine Of rashness, haste, or anger. Let us go." 92 St. Hermenegild VI The King had conquer'd ; and could well afford To show himself magnanimously royal. His better nature triumph'd for the nonce. So, when his son bent humbly at his feet In painful silence, finding naught to say, Leovigild uprais'd him, kiss'd his cheek, And motion'd to a throne upon his right. " Sit there, my son — still Andalusia's Prince. A lesson thou hast learnt has cost thee dear : But not in vain, if duly stored in mind. And now we know thy prowess, we avow 'Tis worthy of thy line. If thou didst fail, 'Twas not for lack of military skill, Nor yet from want of numbers or of arms : But we, to save a fratricidal strife, Used means 'gainst which thy subjects were not proof. Dishonorable means they else had been, But for averting grievous waste of blood. "Come with us now, my son, to Hispalis. Let thine own capital receive thee back With joy and promise of enduring peace. We will disband the army, save a guard A Passion Flower of Spain 193 Befitting our estate, and one to march With thy young brother to his Northern home." All this was smooth as some deep river's flow. No word of faith, no hint of change, no sign Of former wrath at pertinacious creed. " If smooth the surface, dark the depths, I ween," Sigh'd poor Hermenegild. " The King's design I guess not ; but await the will of God." Nor bode he long expectant. Came an hour Of pompous entry with the victor King Between the wide-flung gates of Hispalis : And seem'd he then not vanquish'd, not de- spoil'd ; But rescued by a father's stronger arm From wild fanatical folly, and restored To his forgiving subjects, sane and crown'd. But passed the day ; and came another hour, When solemn re-instatement was to make The Prince once more vice-regent of the King. The herald-summon' d city gazed and heard. « Be 't known to all," said then Leovigild, " That what our son proclaim'd of liberty For creed and worship we ourself confirm. 194 St. Hennenegild Not changed the State religion, she extends The hand of friendship to the rival Church, Inviting explanations with a view To restful union. Prince Hermenegild, As our vice-regent, needs must hold and show True fealty to the Church of King and State : But will, with warmest advocacy, strive, And zeal that cannot fail, to bring about The wish'd conciliation." Thus, at last, Transparent shone the river's depths beneath The smooth and treacherous surface. Wisely plann'd Thy scheme, O crafty one, hadst had a son Of other mould — of faithless mother born : A son to whom the sacredness of truth Had been as nothing ; who had valued more An earthly kingdom than a crown in Heaven. Not such a son Hermenegild to thee, Not such a prince for subjects to his charge Entrusted. See, he rises — pale, but calm: No panic at heart ; no quaver in the voice Which answers the King's challenge, clear and strong. A Passion Flower of Spain 195 " I stand this day before you, O my friends, Restor'd, his gracious Majesty hath said, To his, my father's, favor, and to yours. I own, most humbly, to impetuous moods — To rashness, if you will — to much that youth Must plead excuse for. But have never been A conscious traitor to my country's weal ; Nor yet to Truth Divine, as known to me. To see our Spain united in one faith, One worship, is a boon I daily ask From Him whose power alone can compass it. But vainly will the State Church reach a hand, Or make concessions, to a rival creed ; While holding back submission to the Chair Of Peter, and acceptance unreserv'd Of Catholic Apostolic Roman faith. "And since that faith, once known and once receiv'd, Can never be abandon' d without sin Which damns the soul and rarely fails to drag The traitor down to everlasting Hell (For rarely doth repentance follow it) ; And since, as well ye know, that faith is mine : — I therefore turn me to the King, my sire, 196 St. Hermenegild In presence of you all, and beg resign My share of throne and sceptre ; beg to go An exile from my native land and dwell With wife and child where I may pray in peace — A right denied me here." But on the King An evil spirit fell, as erst on Saul When God had left him. " Be it so ! " he cried. " Resign thou shalt. Arrest him, men at arms ! Tear off his royal robes, and let him stand A common clown — no longer son of ours Before the multitude that hail'd him Prince ! And guard him well. To-morrow we pronounce His sentence. Go, good people, to your homes. " He waited not the morrow. That day's night In Hispalis' strong tower a captive lay The princely victim of a father's wrath. VII Such heresy's accursed hate of truth. 'Twas ever so, since Cain his brother slew — Cain the first heretic. But not as yet A Passion Flower of Spain 197 Had this despotic father in his heart The thought of murder. Winter setting in, He fondly deem'd a spell of fetter'd limbs, And cold stone walls, and bed of hardest floor, With beggar's fare, and ghastly solitude, Best argument for one in palace rear'd And son of proud Leovigild. " A month," Quoth he to favor'd courtier, " ay, a month Will bring him to his senses and his knees. But we will hold the reins in Hispalis The winter thro', if need be. We have sent To have the Queen rejoin us." But the Prince, A true confessor, gloried in his bonds, And pray'd that only death might set him free. Tho' daily his sweet wife and blooming boy Came vividly before him, he had learnt So well to love in God the gifts of God, That thought of ne'er beholding them again On earth was lost in certain hope of Heaven, Where meetings come, but partings never- more. Leander's promise — might it not receive Its long-delay'd fulfilment after death ? 198 5/. Hermenegild Came no Leander now ; but Arian priest, Or prelate, to essay their subtlest art ; Returning baffled to the baffled King. One month, another; then a fourth, a fifth; Till his sire marvell'd that he still liv'd on, Ev'n more than at his obstinate contempt — For such faith's constancy in alien eyes. 'Twas little guess'd that good Leander's prayer, And pure Ingunda's, blended with his own To form the triple cord unbreakable Which bound both soul and body with its strength. But now Gosvinda and the Arian Church, Who long had counsell'd death, as treason's due, So wrought upon Leovigild's hurt pride, That, silencing the father's heart in him, With sudden swerve he yielded to their will. 'Twas Passion-tide: and well Hermenegild Kept consort with his agonizing Lord, As, scene by scene, the wondrous story brought Fresh comfort to his soul. For he had conn'd That story o'er and o'er, nor other page Than memory's needed now. And much he dwelt A Passion Flower of Spain 199 On Jesus crown'd, as a mock king, with thorns — Tho' King of kings : derided as a fool, Tho' Infinite Wisdom : a deceiver calPd, Tho' Truth itself: and unto that dear Lord OfFer'd in turn his own discrowning — all That he had borne for "witness to the truth." And this with deepest thankfulness and joy That Christ had doled him such a share of woe. Now Holy Week began its stately march. He follow'd day by day, and step for step. Spy- Wednesday came, the traitor Judas' day. Ah, how he blest God's grace and mercy then, Had kept him from betraying Christ anew ! And lo, the final test, the last assault, Was drawing onward with the morrow's night. In those far times, the Church kept Holy Week As erst among the catacombs of Rome : Her Arian rival aping her in this. The awful night which saw our dearest Lord Bequeath His Body and Blood, His very Self, As Eucharistic Sacrifice and Food, Was not forestall'd, but spent in order due. 200 St. Hermenegild Hermenegild had wakefully arrived The midnight hour in contemplation sweet, When suddenly made entrance to his cell An Arian bishop, with attendant lights, Bearing a silver vessel, which he held Before his breast : and thus began his say. cc My Prince, thy father, our most gracious King, Distressfully entreats thee put an end To this unnatural and bootless strife, Which harrows up his own heart, even as thine. He has receiv'd to-night our common Christ ; And bids his servant, my unworthiness, Deliver the same Bread of Life to thee. Receive it, and be free." " Ay, free forsooth With fallen Peter ! Give the traitor's kiss, And end despairing ! Prithee tell the King To dream no more of any change in me." " Then dread, young man, the vengeance long delay'd Which waits upon high treason." A Passion Flower of Spain 201 But the Prince Slept soundly when Hell's minister had gone. And woke to spend the Crucifixion day In tenderest union with his Saviour-Lord. VIII " Now there was darkness over all the land From sixth hour unto ninth." Amid these hours, It seem'd to Prince Hermenegild he knelt On Calvary's very top, and close to the Cross. Faith changed to vision : for he saw and heard : And lo, at heart of the darkness there was light ! Our Dolorous Lady " turn'd her pitying eyes," And placed a beauteous hand upon his head : Then to Her Son Divine, whose Cross-stretch'd form Hung " white and ruddy," she presented him As chosen for the Choir of Martyrdom : And He, the King of Martyrs, She, the Queen, Accepted there the generous sacrifice. But past the Friday peacefully withal ; Nor ruffian blow, nor fell, intruding voice. 202 St. Hermenegild So that our hero moan'd that he survived His Master's death-day : yet, with perfect trust, Look'd wistfully for Easter's nearing morn As promised hour of triumph — nor in vain. The. calm of Holy Saturday — its sense Of rest with Jesus in His Sabbath-tomb — Seem'd linger most unwontedly. With night, The Church began her long and solemn rites That led up to the Mass of Easter's dawn. Behold where sweet Ingunda makes her prayer — Beside her sleeping boy ! The midnight hour Has struck ; and she must robe herself and go Into the great cathedral for the Mass. Her thoughts have been with Mary, Mother of God, In that entranced vigil which awoke To sight of Jesus risen and glorified. And is not she expectant ? She has learnt, Thro' kind Leander, how her valiant Prince Had vanquish'd been by gold and treachery : And how the King had reinstated him With test severest of a constant faith. Then came the father's wrath, the son's arrest; A Passion Flower of Spain 203 And how, in Hispalis' strong castle bound, The prisoner so had balk'd the royal scheme, That seem'd it likeliest the wearied King Would send him forth, a banish' d man — but free To fly to her, if never to return. 'Twas this she pray'd for, till the latest word, Which came with Passion-tide. Leander wrote : — "A change, my daughter — sudden, dark, and fell — Has clouded o'er the counsels of the King. Prepare thee — for it seems the will of God — To have thy husband win the martyr's palm ! I well believe that Easter morn I saw, When thou shouldst hail him victor from the fight, Is now arriving. It has tarried long. Fear nothing. God will hold thee with a grace — A strength that faileth not." And from that hour A wondrous grace encompass'd and sustain'd This gentle soul to meet the will of God Not only with submission, but with joy. 204 St. Hermenegild And now, as she arises from her prayer To robe and pass to Mass, she does not see Her heart's beloved kneeling in his cell ; Nor the hard soldier, who, intruding, cries " I execute the sentence of the King ! " — And lifts an axe, and cleaves him thro' the brain. She sees not this : but lo, her room is fill'd With sudden light from other world than ours ! And in that light she sees our Lady sweet Smiling upon her, and, with gracious hand, Giving her back her lost Hermenegild (Now lost no longer, but her own forever), A martyr crown'd: " crown'd victor from the fight-— For Christ's dear Godhead and His Spouse the Church. O bliss unutterable ! Where the heart Of mortal wife could hold it all and live ? Ingunda's broke — burst with its ecstasy ; And her pure soul, in Mary's bosom borne, To Jesus' feet was carried where He sits At God's right hand, Saviour and Judge of all. A Passion Flower of Spain 205 And He receiv'd it from His Mother's love, And welcom'd it to Heav'n, and gave it right To wear with its dear spouse the martyr's crown. IX To Sigisbert first, the father kind and true, Whose Easter joy his daughter's sudden death Had marr'd exceedingly, the Blessed Pair Reveal'd themselves in light, " We leave to thee Our orphan boy, Theodoric, gift of God," Ingunda said. " Thou who hast ever been A father true to me, be now as true A father to him. Watch o'er his youthful days, And we will watch o'er thee. Take special heed To train him in the faith. We know not yet What God may have in store for him ; but this We promise — that our prayer shall go with thine For him, nor less for thee and all thou lov'st, So thou be faithful to this trust." " Amen ! " Made answer Sigisbert, now full of joy : And well he kept his promise. 206 St. Hermenegild Next they came To where Leovigild, in gloom and dread, Paced silent, lamp-lit halls in Hispalis. 'Twas night, but sleep forsook the guilty King. Astonish' d, terrified, he struck his breast And sank upon his knees, when issued forth From dim-lit solitude the beauteous forms. Then spoke Hermenegild : " Bethink thee not We come as ministers of wrath divine, O blinded instrument of highest good ! We rather come to thank thee for our crown Of martyrdom, and offer thee from God A final grace of penance and of faith. " The Lord Christ bids thee know His Catholic Church Is Roman — the One Shepherd's only fold. That He, the Word, is very God of God Begotten ; Consubstantial, Co-Eterne With the Almighty Father; and made Flesh Of Mother Ever-Virgin. That the sect To which thou cleavest blasphemously dares Dissolve the Triune Godhead ; and has reft Its duped adherents of the New Birth's grace, A Passion Flower cf Spain 207 By vitiated form. Alas, poor King, No faith is thine, no priest, no sacrament ! But thou art still my father, and I love Thy soul more dearly now than when my own Was clad in mortal garb. Do penance, then, My father. Send for good Leander : learn What he shall teach ; and be baptized ; and bring Dear Reccared, and all our kith and kin, And all the Visigoth portion of our Spain, Back to the One True Fold. Thy penance this. " Thou needest fear no more Gosvinda's taunts. In yonder chamber lies her lifeless face, Her spirit down in Hell. God's justice struck- — After long tarrying. Nor hast aught to dread From Arian malice, so thou use the power Which God shall give thee. We will ever pray, And watch until we welcome thee above." Here vanish'd from his eyes the Blessed Pair ; And all seem'd darkness round him as he groped His way to the royal chamber, there to find Gosvinda black in death, as tho' a fiend Had strangled her. 208 St. Hermenegild With morning he dispatch'd A courier in hot haste to Corduba ; And one to Reccared's capital j resolv'd To do at least a part — the greater part — Of his dead son's injunction. For himself, Tho' now no more a heretic in will, But owning the full truth, and scornfully Repelling priest or prelate of the sect, He fail'd to pray and humble his proud heart, And trust the promised mercy. When arrived Leander, full of peace and holy joy — He, too, had seen the Blessed Pair, and heard From them God's gracious offer to the King — Leovigild receiv'd him wearily, As part of a cause had triumph'd by defeat ; And treated him with deferential awe ; But gave no sign of hopeful penitence. The saint saw thro' the King's unhappy mind, And strove to rouse his hope, and make him own His case a visible instance of God's ways Of overruling evil unto good. " Give God the glory, Sire. Confess how vain, How foolish, 'tis, in sooth, to plot and plan A Passion Flower of Spain 209 Against His wisdom, or to lift a hand To overthrow His purpose. Thou, my liege, Didst act, like Saul of Tarsus, blindly then. But now a blessed grace has brought thee light, And made truth clear as day. Thou needst not ask ' Lord, what wilt have me do ? ' for I am here To tell thee. But repent with contrite heart, And be baptized, and wash thy sins away. Then Faith divine, with Hope and Charity, Will make thee a new man — a son of God." "Thy words are good, lord bishop. Let it keep — This question — for the present. We have sent For Reccared, our sole successor now, To place him in thy charge. Do thou instruct, Baptize, and seal him in the Catholic faith. Our trust that his will one day be the power, Denied to us, of bringing back our land To Roman unity. So grant it God ! " Thus Reccared " the Catholic " took the throne ; Whose reign of triumph forms a glorious page In Spain's long annals. But his hapless sire 2io St. Hermenegild \ Liv'd not to share his victory. Dragg'd him down A broken (ah, but not a contrite !) heart. Unchristen'd, unabsolv'd — tho' not unmourn'd, Nor yet unpray'd for — soon he sank and died, And went to Judgment in his proud despair. But thou, my hero, Saint Hermenegild, Whose precious death restor'd thy country's faith, Pray for the minstrel who has thus presumed To sing thy story ! Help him to be brave And love the Cross, O Passion Flower of Spain ! St. Paul's Monastery, Pittsburgh, Pa. Octave of the Solemn Commemoration of the Passion, 1896. Electrotyped by J. S. Gushing & Co., Norwood, Mass. Printed by Benziger Brothers, New York.