sighs,
    They stood before Him in the public way. 
    “Had’st Thou been with him, Lord, upon that day,
  He had not died,” she said, drooping her eyes. 
  Mary and Martha with bowed faces kept
    Holding His garments, one on each side.—­“Where
      Have ye laid him?” He asked.  “Lord, come and see.” 
      The sound of grieving voices heavily
    And universally was round Him there,
  A sound that smote His spirit.  Jesus wept.

Sonnets for Pictures

1.  For a Virgin and Child, by Hans Memmelinck; in the Academy of Bruges

  Mystery:  God, Man’s Life, born into man
    Of woman.  There abideth on her brow
    The ended pang of knowledge, the which now
  Is calm assured.  Since first her task began,
  She hath known all.  What more of anguish than
    Endurance oft hath lived through, the whole space
    Through night till night, passed weak upon her face
  While like a heavy flood the darkness ran? 
  All hath been told her touching her dear Son,
    And all shall be accomplished.  Where he sits
      Even now, a babe, he holds the symbol fruit
    Perfect and chosen.  Until God permits,
      His soul’s elect still have the absolute
  Harsh nether darkness, and make painful moan.

2.  A Marriage of St. Katharine, by the same; in the Hospital of St. John at Bruges.

  Mystery:  Katharine, the bride of Christ. 
    She kneels, and on her hand the holy Child
    Setteth the ring.  Her life is sad and mild,
  Laid in God’s knowledge—­ever unenticed
  From Him, and in the end thus fitly priced. 
    Awe, and the music that is near her, wrought
    Of Angels, hath possessed her eyes in thought: 
  Her utter joy is her’s, and hath sufficed. 
  There is a pause while Mary Virgin turns
    The leaf, and reads.  With eyes on the spread book,
      That damsel at her knees reads after her. 
      John whom He loved and John His harbinger
    Listen and watch.  Whereon soe’er thou look,
  The light is starred in gems, and the gold burns.

3.  A Dance of Nymphs, by Andrea Mantegna; in the Louvre.

(It is necessary to mention, that this picture would appear to have been in the artist’s mind an allegory, which the modern spectator may seek vainly to interpret.)

  Scarcely, I think; yet it indeed may be
    The meaning reached him, when this music rang
    Sharp through his brain, a distinct rapid pang,
  And he beheld these rocks and that ridg’d sea. 
  But I believe he just leaned passively,
    And felt their hair carried across his face
    As each nymph passed him; nor gave ear to trace
  How many feet; nor bent assuredly
  His eyes from the blind fixedness of thought
    To see the dancers.  It is bitter glad
      Even unto tears.  Its meaning filleth it,
      A portion of most secret life:  to wit:—­
    Each human pulse shall keep the sense it had
  With all, though the mind’s labour run to nought.