She heeded not till on her startled ear
The sweep of gliding wings recalled her sight
To earthly visions wonderful as dreams.
In a deep crevice of the cloven rock,
Through amethystine vista, like the sky
Immeasurably distant, she descried,
Approaching her, a winged Angel-form,
Winged from the shoulder down with dove-shaped wings, Eyed, like a peacock's train, bedropped with gold,
As Heaven in his brightness beautiful.
A jacinth pavement glowed beneath his feet,
Around his head a golden glory blazed,
Which through the grot a mystic radiance shed
Incarnadine. The Maid still knelt and gazed,
Thrilling with pure delight, joy at her heart,
Tremulous and liquid; her uplifted soul
Floating and bathing in a sea of bliss,
Which oozed and welled up from its lowest depths:
Nor heeded till the sweep of gliding wings
Knocked at the portal of her earthly sense,
And roused her to behold the Vision true.
Swift as a shooting star, the Angel Form
Glanced from within the empyreal sphere
That veiled him with excess of dazzling light,
And stepped before her in the guise of youth,
Surpassing beautiful; his pale blue robe
Girt loosely 'neath the paps with golden band;
His bright hair flowing freely round his neck,
Encircled with a ring of lambent flame;
His countenance serene; his beardless cheek
Gleaming all over with celestial sheen.
His left hand held a stately lily-flower,
Raised sceptre-wise; his right with open palm
Was laid upon his breast, betokening peace
And reverential homage, as became
GOD's messenger on gracious mission sent
To the most highly-favoured of the Saints,
Who above brightest Seraphim should reign;
And then uplifted, while he bowed his knee,
The two forefingers pointing to the sky,
Saluted her with benediction grave.
The all-holy Maid, still kneeling, with clasped hands,
(Loosed only for a moment, as she drew
The white veil closer round her cheek and brow,
In maiden-like instinctive modesty
And reverence towards the present Angel Form ;
Then on her bosom folded, as in prayer ;)
And silent wistful gaze, awaited him;
Bashful and awestruck, yet most imperturbed
By human passion, guileless, undefiled;
What need she fear who knew no shame of guilt?
A heavenly perfume breathed throughout the grot;
And dulcet strains, soft as Æolian lyre,
Or sea-shell's mimic tide on a lee shore,
Or summer hum on sunny, breezy plain,
Of insects, falling waters, rustling leaves,
Soothed the soul's ear, in mystic murmur blent
With modulated music, which in turn
Was framed distinct into articulate speech
Of human voice and words, most delicate,
As if to inward sense alone addressed.
"Hail! Mary, full of grace," so Gabriel spake,
"The LORD is with thee, above women blest.
Fear not, for favour thou hast found with God.
Behold, thou shalt conceive and bear a Son,
Whose Name thou shalt call JESUS, SAVIOUR, Lord;
The Word, the Wisdom, and the Influence Pure
Flowing from the Glory of the Almighty One;
The Brightness of the Everlasting Light;
The Unspotted Mirror of the Power of GOD;
The Image of His Goodness, Beauty, Love.
Upon the Throne of David He shall sit,
Reigning for ever over Jacob's House;
And of His Kingdom there shall be no end."
Listening in mute amaze the all-holy Maid
Deep pondered in her heart the Archangel's words,
Nor answer made, save by inquiring thought
How GOD might bring to pass His gracious Will
Towards her, seeing that by solemn vow
In marriage chaste she was betrothed to one
Who as a brother and a friend should be,
No more; and she his sister and his spouse.
Responsive to whose inward-musing quest
Gabriel, Divinely-charged, replied aloud:
The HOLY GHOST shall come upon thee, and
The Power of the Highest shall o'ershadow thee,
Therefore That Holy Thing which shall be born
Of thee, shall aye be called the Son of GOD.
And lo, Elizabeth, thy cousin, she
Hath also now, in her old age, conceived
A son, and six months have already waned
With her, who heretofore was barren deemed.
For naught with GOD impossible shall be."
The Archangel spake, and lowlier bowed the knee!
Shading with closer wing his downcast gaze
From witness full of the dread mystery
Wrought visibly before his marvelling eyes.
As when the embroidered sacramental pall
That decks the altar with its fair white folds,
Is changed to cloth of gold or rich brocade.
Of damask, diapered with pencilled rays
Streaming through orient rose or triplet's lance,
With gorgeous painture of the storied panes
And flower-enamelled quarries o'er-bedight;
The ruby, amber, vermeil tints are blent
On orphrayed vestments, glance from jewelled knop
Of costly chalice embossed and chased in gold,
And tinge the upturned features of the priest,
Who, with raised palms, amidst the gorgeous flood
Of heaven-shed splendour, chanting awful words
With wonder-working invocations fraught,
Offers the Sacrifice Adorable;
So through the cloven crevice of the grot
One jet of downward-streaming radiance
Poured where, beside the Archangel, Mary knelt,
Breathing in lowest whisper her assent:
"Behold Thy handmaid; be it unto me
According to Thy will, my LORD and GOD;"
Then, as by crystal prism broken, cast
Mosaic rainbow hues upon her vest,
Her brow, her glossy hair, her child-like form,
In efflorescent coruscations weaving
An aureole all around, and over all
Network of gold and silver filigree,
A pearly glowworm starry shell of light;
While, poised and buoyant with the upstraining force Of spirit over body, angel-wise,
In will intense still bent on heavenward flight,
On tip-toe lifted from the touch of earth,
She raised her lip towards the Mouth of GOD,
And drank into her soul His Breath Divine.
Time flew apace, meanwhile the noonday sun
Had crossed its zenith in the Syrian sky
And far declined down to the Great Sea west,
Ere Mary, waking from the slumber deep
That braced her languid limbs, and brought repose
With sweet unconsciousness to her o'erwrought mind, (For so He giveth His beloved sleep)
Rose from the grotto floor, which hands unseen
Had freshly strewn with wild flowers of the field,
Poppies, anemonies, and blossoms red,
Crimson and scarlet, dyed in various shades
Of tint, carnation, pink, and purple hues;
And rising, smoothed the foldings of her dress,
Gathering the tangled tresses of her hair
In neatest maiden-trim beneath her veil.
Upon her shoulder perched the snow-white dove
With ruby eyes, and coral beak and feet,
And cooed and cooed and cooed and kissed her lips. "Ah! thou hast found me out, my pretty one!" And still he cooed and cooed and cooed again.
A rapid glance in survey round the grot
Recalled the memories of the vision past.
One only token of the Angel-Form
Remained, the stately lily which he bore.
This raised she reverently, and in her hand
Upheld it sceptre-wise, as he had done;
Then with her precious Burden left the cave;
That sweet "Hail, Mary," seeming still to chime
Clear through the cloister of her virgin soul,
Like a lone sanctus bell with silvery peal
From campanile in the still evening air
Calling to prayer and praise at vesper hour.
Full on the pitcher shone the setting sun
Beside the entrance; tepid flowed the draught
With which she lightly slaked her parched lips,
Then raised again the vessel to her head.
Her firm step sped along the meadow's path
Homeward, nor heeded she the wanton stare
Of curious neighbour, idling after meal,
Who spied the maiden's olive-tinted cheek,
Flushed with one hectic pink spot in the midst,
Her pale brown hair with shade of golden red,
Her serious eyes fringed with long downcast lids,
Her mourner's weeds, her look of pensive joy,
Her shapely mantled form, her snowwhite veil
Shading the oval contour of her face.
Compassion checked all lawless evil thought
Even in vile Nazareth; thoughts serpentlike at birth
Were changed to diamonds in their utterance,
And words of pity bloomed in courtly phrase;
"Poor child, poor orphan, how she takes to heart
Her mother's death! methinks her mind will fail;
By the vague lustre of her dreamy eye,
By her pale cheek with one pink spot upon it,
By her mock queen-like sceptre borne upright,
She soon will nestle close by her mother's side,
A lily-flower nipped in the unopened bud."
She heeded not, but straightly homeward hied,
Secure in strength of innocence and truth,
Wholly unconscious of a thought of self;
And with her Holy Burden soon was housed
In safety, and in solitude of bliss,
Which the world gave not, nor could take away,
Nor stranger intermeddle with it, the crown
Wherewith His Mother crowned Him in the day
Of His espousals, the gladness of His heart,
Who was at once her Husband, Child, and GOD.
We cannot but assign a small niche in our current number as a passing tribute of respect to the late Mr. WILLIAM WALKER, the eminent engraver, of Margaret Street, London, and of the high esteem in which for many years past, in common with most of the frequenters of old Margaret Chapel and All Saints' Church, where his name and person were so familiar, and are now missed with much sincere regret, we have held both his public and private character. In the conscientious laboriousness with which he devoted himself to his profession, importing into it the marked religious tone which pervaded his whole life, he afforded quite a worthy parallel to the late excellent Professor Faraday and Mr. Parkin Jeffcock, whose memoir in our August number our readers will recollect. But none but those who were privileged to know him intimately in his more private and domestic relations could at all adequately appreciate his sterling worth, his simple, pure, earnest, loving character-his genuine, unobtrusive piety, and yet the singular depth of his religious convictions, and of his set devotions, amounting at times to an almost saintlike abstraction of contemplation and adoration. It is not surprising to learn that his influence was great, in the way of example and advice, both within the sphere of his own family circle,-leading them on to the higher Christian life; and, in at least one remarkable instance within our own knowledge, in reclaiming youth from intemperate and vicious courses. His strong family affectionateness was one of his most remarkable characteristics; but with ready Christian cheerfulness, he was more than willing to give up one of his youngest and favourite children to be a nursing Sister at S. Margaret's, East Grinstead. We add the following extracts from newspaper paragraphs, believing them to be substantially correct. Sub umbra crucis recubans, requiescat in pace!
"Mr. William Walker, the eminent historical engraver, expired at his residence in Margaret Street, Cavendish Square, on Saturday night. Among the numerous works of excellence executed by the deceased artist, the most generally known are the engravings of the Passing of the Reform Bill,' the Aberdeen Cabinet,' the Bishop of Exeter,' and the Literary Party at Sir Joshua Reynolds's.' The last-mentioned work must have possessed peculiar interest to Mr. Walker, who had married the daughter of S. W. Reynolds, the engraver of all Sir Joshua's pictures. One of his latest productions, The distinguished Men of Science,' the engraving of which occupied him during
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