XLII

’I am a mother,—­spirits do not shake
  This much of earth from them,—­and I must pine 610
Till I can feel his little hands, and take
  His weary head upon this heart of mine;
And, might it be, full gladly for his sake
  Would I this solitude of bliss resign
And be shut out of heaven to dwell with him
Forever in that silence drear and dim.

XLIII

’I strove to hush my soul, and would not speak
  At first, for thy dear sake; a woman’s love
Is mighty, but a mother’s heart is weak,
  And by its weakness overcomes; I strove 620
To smother bitter thoughts with patience meek,
  But still in the abyss my soul would rove,
Seeking my child, and drove me here to claim
The rite that gives him peace in Christ’s dear name.

XLIV

’I sit and weep while blessed spirits sing;
  I can but long and pine the while they praise,
And, leaning o’er the wall of heaven, I fling
  My voice to where I deem my infant strays,
Like a robbed bird that cries in vain to bring
  Her nestlings back beneath her wings’ embrace; 630
But still he answers not, and I but know
That heaven and earth are both alike in woe.’

XLV

Then the pale priests, with ceremony due,
  Baptized the child within its dreadful tomb
Beneath that mother’s heart, whose instinct true
  Star-like had battled down the triple gloom
Of sorrow, love, and death:  young maidens, too. 
  Strewed the pale corpse with many a milkwhite bloom,
And parted the bright hair, and on the breast
Crossed the unconscious hands in sign of rest. 640

XLVI

Some said, that, when the priest had sprinkled o’er
  The consecrated drops, they seemed to hear
A sigh, as of some heart from travail sore
  Released, and then two voices singing clear,
Misereatur Deus, more and more
  Fading far upward, and their ghastly fear
Fell from them with that sound, as bodies fall
From souls upspringing to celestial hall.

PROMETHEUS

One after one the stars have risen and set,
Sparkling upon the hoarfrost on my chain: 
The Bear, that prowled all night about the fold
Of the North-star, hath shrunk into his den. 
Scared by the blithesome footsteps of the Dawn,
Whose blushing smile floods all the Orient;
And now bright Lucifer grows less and less,
Into the heaven’s blue quiet deep-withdrawn. 
Sunless and starless all, the desert sky
Arches above me, empty as this heart 10
For ages hath been empty of all joy,
Except to brood upon its silent hope,