Ode to the Saviour.

For thou wert born of woman! thou didst come

O Holiest to this world of sin and gloom,

Not in thy dread omnipotent array;

And not by thunder strew'd

Was thy tempestuous road;

Nor indignation burnt before thee on thy way.

But thee, a soft and naked child,

Thy mother undefiled,

In the rude manger laid to rest

From off her virgin breast.

The heavens were not commanded to prepare

A gorgeous canopy of golden air;

Nor stoop'd their lamps the enthroned fires on high; A single silent star

Came wandering from afar,

Gliding uncheck'd and calm along the liquid sky; The Eastern sages leading on,

As at a kingly throne,

To lay their gold and odours sweet

Before thy infant feet.

ODE TO THE SAVIOUR.

The Earth and Ocean were not hush'd to hear Bright harmony from every starry sphere; Nor at thy presence brake the voice of song From all the cherub choirs,

And seraphs' burning lyres,

Pour'd through the host of heaven the charmed clouds along. One angel-troop the strain began;

Of all the race of man

By simple shepherds heard alone,
That soft Hosanna's tone.

And when thou didst depart, no car of flame
To bear thee hence in lambent radiance came;
Nor visible angels mourn'd with drooping plumes:
Nor didst thou mount on high

From fatal Calvary,

With all thy own redeemed out-bursting from their tombs. For thou didst bear away from earth

But one of human birth,

The dying felon by thy side, to be

In Paradise with thee.

Nor o'er thy cross the clouds of vengeance brake;

A little while the conscious earth did shake

At that foul deed by her fierce children done;
A few dim hours of day

The world in darkness lay;

Then bask'd in bright repose beneath the cloudless sun,

While thou didst sleep within the tomb,

Consenting to thy doom;

Ere yet the white robed angel shone

Upon the sealed stone.

ODE TO THE SAVIOUR.

And when thou didst arise, thou didst not stand
With Devastation in thy red right hand,
Plaguing the guilty city's murderous crew;
But thou didst haste to meet

Thy mother's coming feet,

And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few.
Then calmly, slowly didst thou rise

Into thy native skies,

Thy human form dissolved on high
In its own radiancy.

MILMAN.

On a Picture of Jerusalem.

JERUSALEM! And at the fatal hour,

No need of dull and frivolous questions here!
No need of human agents to make clear
The most tremendous act of human power.

The distant cross, the rent and fallen tower,

The opening graves from which the dead uprear
Their buried forms, the elemental fear,

When horrid light and horrid darkness lower,

All tell the holy tale: the mystery
And solace of our souls. Awe-struck we gaze
On this so mute yet eloquent history!
Awe-struck and sad at length our eyes we raise
To go; yet oft return that scene to see,
Too full of the great theme to think of praise.

MISS MITFORD.

Henry of Asti and Piero Zeno.

SEE, between the moonlit myrtles, unbetray'd by sound or gleam,
Henry of Asti,-Piero Zeno,-landing, silent as a dream:-

Henry of Asti, priest and soldier, Legate of the Pontiff's will,
Zeno, the Republic's Captain, pledged her glory to fulfil.

See them winding through the thicket up to Smyrna's ancient wall,
Where by Moslem bands beleaguer'd, Christian hearts for succour call.*
Sure of their victorious morrow, weary warriors strew the ground,
When the known Venetian war-cry, as by magic, thunders round.
Mask'd and multiplied by darkness, strike the few, the many fly,—
Chase and plunder will not slacken till the morn ascends the sky.

Then, no more by cunning by-paths,-freely scatter'd o'er the plain,-
Soldiers, full of gain and glory, seek their secret ships again.

But that ruin'd church has check'd them,-by disorder'd symbols shown
To the Evangelist devoted pious Venice holds her own.

So, their glad career arresting, spoke the Legate, "We must raise
From this long abandon'd altar, sacrifice of prayer and praise.

In the night's unequal conflict, hardly had our strength been tried,
Felt we not our gracious Patron fight in spirit by our side."

Loud "Amen," the troop replying, knelt, and steep'd in holy joy
Souls that seem'd but now infuriate with the passion to destroy.

When at length the foe defeated, from their mountain fastness, saw,
How unreal the might and numbers, whom the dark had clothed with awe,

* A. D. 1341.

HENRY OF ASTI AND PIERO ZENO.

Down they bounded, as by instinct that might slake their burning shame In the blood of some far straggler, some who loiter'd while they came:

Conscious that the warn'd Venetians need but raise the bended knee,
And, despite this tardy valour, safely reach the neighbouring sea.

Flight was ready, yet the Legate question'd with one look his friend,
And the Captain answer'd-" Move not! I am with you to the end.

"Be thy blessed work consummate! undisturb'd thy priestly care: God can save us; if he wills not we the martyr-crown should wear.”

"Seek the ships," conjured the soldiers; louder grew the clamorous foe; Mid the pauses, like a river, seem'd the solemn chant to flow;

One the holy words intoning, one responding firm and clear,
Cast the very raging heathen into trance of silent fear.

Nor till both those noble spirits, satisfied with heavenly food,

Turn'd in calm disdain upon them, could they quench their wrath in blood.

Thus were slain these faithful warders of the names and faith they bore,
Not forgetting Rome or Venice, but remembering Christ the more.

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES.