MANZONI'S ODE ON THE NATIVITY. As plunging down a mountain steep, But, having reached the mountain base, Nor through the ages as they run, Unless some strange and friendly strength Back to its ancient rest. So grovell'd helpless, fallen man, And who among the fallen race Or for redemption plead Before that King who cannot dwell Save in light inaccessible, The Holy One indeed? Behold, to us a Child is born, A Son is given to us who mourn ; The powers of darkness quail and flee; And lifts it to the sky. From out the hills and homes of God A wondrous river rises broad, And in its downward flow, Rude cliffs, with thorns and briars o'erspread, Sweet blossoms bud and blow. O Son Divine, Eternal Guest, What world, however old, In all the circling heaven's embrace, To Thine, in challenge bold? THOU ART! no star with Thee can share For Thou hast made them all; Yet hast Thou deigned to take on Thee All sullied with its fall. O pity, wondrous as Thy love! Thy deep and secret counsels moved, The Child is born: to Bethlehem- The Hope of Israel in her breast, There, when the natal hour was come, In swaddling clothes she wrapped Him soft, Adored Him-blessed maid! Before His Godhood worshipped she, Her mother breast she gave; While angels in the midnight sky, In troops about His cradle press, And in their songs celestial, bless Then, following still their own sweet hymn, The distant clouds between ; Together fading as they go, Till neither heard nor seen. So vanish they; and doubtless then, To that poor stable sped; And there the King of Heaven they knew, Upon His manger-bed. But sleep, O holy Infant, sleep! No blasts that o'er Thy cradle sweep, Would touch that tender form. What winds would round Thee roughly blow, The coursers of the storm ? Sleep on, O Heavenly Babe! as yet And know not of Thy birth. Sleep on! they all shall know one day, Was King of Heaven and earth. M. C. HERODION. A CHRISTMAS BALLAD. O'ER the golden summer palace* comes the winter stern and wild, Through the rifted clouds the moonlight gleams on lorn deserted floors, And the wintry wind moans sadly through the silver-columned doors. * Herod's summer palace of Herodion stood on an eminence overlooking Bethlehem. In the throne-room builds the spider, birds of night come flitting by, Mingles nought with gusty snow-storm and the sough of wintry wind, Save the tramp of those lone warders whom the King has left behind. Slow the marble pavement pace they-now and then they gaze adown, Save within yon cavern-stable, in yon hostel far below, Where beside the rock-hewn manger, one pale flickering lamp doth glow. Yet what recked King Herod's warders, in their armour bright arrayed, How beside her new-born infant sank to rest a peasant maid? All they thought, these courtier soldiers, was when some few months were o'er, How that pomp and joy voluptuous through these halls would ring once more. Kingly pomp and mirth of courtiers-yet oh, Heaven! and what are they To the sun-bright gleam that shimmers through the clouds of midnight grey? Is it moonlight? Is it morning? Is it some swift meteor's glow? Nay-the tranquil soft resplendence, with its argent lustre mild, With the dappled splendour mingle snowy plumes of angel-wings, Yet as paled the heavenly vision 'neath the garish light of day, Simple swains had heard the anthem, 'Peace on earth, and mercy mild,' Herod's soldiers had not heard it. Filled with dreams of worldly mirth, What to them were all the glories of the night of Jesus' birth? Unsubstantial dreams they thought them—was it only thus to them? JANET. |