Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 34 1833.pdf/8



Child. The Arum leaf?

Father.Yes, these deep inwrought marks, The villager will tell thee—(and with voice Lower'd in his true heart's reverent earnestness)— Are the flower's portion from th' atoning blood On Calvary shed. Beneath the cross it grew; And, in the vase-like hollow of its leaf, Catching from that dread shower of agony A few mysterious drops, transmitted thus Unto the groves and hills, their sealing stains, A heritage, for storm or vernal wind Never to waft away! And hast thou seen The Passion-flower?—It grows not in the woods, But 'midst the bright things brought from other climes.

Child. What, the pale star-shaped flower, with purple streaks And light green tendrils?

Father.Thou hast mark'd it well. Yes, a pale, starry, dreamy-looking flower, As from a land of spirits!—To mine eye Those faint wan petals—colourless—and yet Not white, but shadowy—with the mystic lines (As letters of some wizard language gone) Into their vapour-like transparence wrought, Bear something of a strange solemnity, Awfully lovely!—and the Christian's thought Loves, in their cloudy penciling, to find Dread symbols of his Lord's last mortal pangs, Set by God's hand—The coronal of thorns— The Cross—the wounds—with other meanings deep, Which I will teach thee when we meet again That flower, the chosen for the martyr's wreath, The Saviour's holy flower. But let us pause: Now have we reach'd the very inmost heart Of the old wood.—How the green shadows close Into a rich, clear, summer darkness round, A luxury of gloom!—Scarce doth one ray, Ev'n when a soft wind parts the foliage, steal O'er the bronzed pillars of these deep arcades; Or if it doth, 'tis with a mellow'd hue Of glow-worm-colour'd light. Here, in the days Of Pagan visions, would have been a place For worship of the wood-nymphs! Through these oaks A small, fair gleaming temple might have thrown The quivering image of its Dorian shafts On the stream's bosom: or a sculptured form, Dryad, or fountain-goddess of the gloom, Have bow'd its head o'er that dark crystal down, Drooping with beauty, as a lily droops Under bright rain:—but we, my child, are here With God, our God, a Spirit; who requires Heart-worship, given in spirit and in truth; And this high knowledge—deep, rich, vast enough To fill and hallow all the solitude, Makes consecrated earth where'er we move, Without the aid of shrines. What! dost thou feel The solemn whispering influence of the scene Oppressing thy young heart? that thou dost draw More closely to my side, and clasp my hand