Tota Pulchra.

XII.

A BROKEN gleam on wave and flower

A music that in utterance dies O Poets, and O Men! what more

Is all that Beauty which ye prize?

And ah! how oft Corruption works
Through that brief Beauty's force or wile!

How oft a gloom eternal lurks

Beneath an evanescent smile!

But thou, serene and smiling light
Of every grace redeemed from Sense,

In thee all harmonies unite

That charm a pure Intelligence.

Whatever teaches mind or heart

To God by loveliest types to mount,

Mary, is thine. Of each true Art

The parent art thou, and the fount.

Those pictures, fair as moon or star,

The ages dear to Faith brought forth, Formed but the illumined calendar

Of her, that Church which knows thy worth.

Not less doth Nature teach through thee
That mystery hid in hues and lines:
Who loves thee not hath lost the key

To all her sanctuaries and shrines.

Stella Matutina.

XIII.

SHINE Out, O Star, and sing the praise
Of that unrisen Sun whose glow
Thus feeds thee with thine earlier rays
The secret of thy song we know.

Thou sing'st that Sun of Righteousness,
Sole light of this benighted globe,
Whose beams, reflected, dressed and dress
His Mother in her shining robe.

Pale Lily, pearled around with dew,
Lift high that heaven-illumined vase,
And sing the glories ever new

Of her, God's chalice, "full of grace."

Cerulean Ocean, fringed with white,

That wear'st her colours evermore, In all thy pureness, all thy might,

Resound her name from shore to shore.

That fringe of foam, when drops the sun
To-night, a sanguine stain shall wear :—
Thus Mary's heart had strength, alone,
The passion of her Lord to share.

"Janua Cali."

XIV.

THE night through yonder cloudy cleft, With many a lingering last regard, Withdraws - but slowly and hath left

Her mantle on the dewy sward.

The lawns with silver dews are strewn ; The winds lie hushed in cave and tree;

Nor stirs a flower, save one alone

That bends beneath the earliest bee.

Peace over all the garden broods; Pathetic sweets the thickets throng; Like breath the vapour o'er the woods Ascends-dim woods without a song:

Or hangs, a shining, fleece-like mass
O'er half yon lake that winds afar
Among the forests, still as glass,

The mirror of that Morning Star

Which, halfway wandering from the sky,
Amid the rose of morn delays

And (large and less alternately)

Bends down a lustrous, tearful gaze.

Mother and home of spirits blest!

Bright gate of Heaven and golden bower! Thy best of blessings, love and rest,

Depart not till on earth thou shower!