The morn of spirit-land appears The bird wings onward still, Sees Christ in heaven above, Then Jesus takes the gift, His glories on it beam He wends where fadeless roses bloom He breaks a "Wonder-Flower" The dovelet rises, wings Adown from light's first sphere, The rose to prisoners here.—(iii. 135.) The "Wonder-Flower" may also be translated "Miracle-Flower," which indeed the gift of illumination and consolation from the Lord may well be called by a Church else imprisoned in the "chambers of her own imagery." "Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our heart is disquieted till it resteth in Thee," said St. Augustine. We fancy the doctrine of the "merely reflex action of prayer" would have found scant favour with Stagnelius, for he knew it was not in man to discern the exact limits of the possibilities of Infinite Love. The further history of the mystical rose, and the contentment it should inspire, are prettily told in the following:: 66 A dove flies softy through the prison-bars And brings a letter to Christ's captive bride. Let memory ponder that mild majesty The food of conscience pure, the happy dream, Soon shall the noise of Sin be stilled by Right, (iii. 151.) Faith in a Divine Human, uncreate and infinite,* procures for the soul intuitions the rational faculty may not too curiously seek to circumscribe. Christianity is a woof of the miraculous woven into the web of law, and religion never maintained a normal vitality where a conviction thereof was suppressed. Thus in the drama of the “Martyrs,” just before Perpetua teaches Flavius to desire the "advent of the Lord's city, the New Jerusalem, inhabited by grace and truth," Stagnelius makes her say— The Word which made the heart, Alone can teach the heart the Word of prayer : If gentle light of day illume it not. A miracle is needed for mere dust To commune with its God: only the Spirit,- (ii. 288.) In some such hour of confidence the bride sings the following song. Its very rhymes are mystical in form, for each verse starts with unison, breaks into temporary dissidence, then subsides into happy conjunction; while the sentiment of the poem commences with the individual and ends with the general bliss of the Church Universal. * My Jesus, Thou the Word Divine "Take care that you do not think of the Lord as of a man like yourself, but rather think of Him as a man who is God."--Swedenborg, "Ath. Cr." 12. Compare D. L. and W., 285, at the end. The noontide-sky,- -an ocean bright The midnight cope of shining stars ; High soaring eagles; lowliest spars, Far from the darksome path of earth While in the sphere of sin and pain. Our spirit in its banishment Can win from Time no sure content. From Thee, O Source of Light, we sever, In vain earth turns itself away And seeks to fly the noontide beam; Its glories still, reflected, stay In star and crystal, plant and stream: From azure sky the moonbeams cold So memories of lost happiness ;- The past re-lives in imaged bliss, The Polar World, a darksome tomb, Brightly its wondrous glories played O'er mount and forest, seas and snows: From hill and dale death's shroud was riven, And moist-eyed hope saw mercy given. So death-bound time and space are stirred, Beam hallelujahs from the skies, Earth feels again the light of love, And, freed, sings forth the heart's surprise. O joy the world escapes death's ban, Sweet are the tidings Jesus brings The Cross alone can these complete.-(iii. 128.) Only in a symbolical sense can meaning be won from such a conclusion. The next poem, on the other hand, is so intensely realistic and frank, that the reader may require to be reminded that it is a parable. It is further remarkable as involving an anticipation of Tulk's incarnation theory, for Mary, as has been stated, represents the intellectual principle. Jesus looked down from heaven with searching glance, Mary was seen Walking through Bethlehem's grove in evening sweet. Up to the azure infinite above. Then Jesus moved with fondness all divine, Spake thus to suns and planets, princedoms, powers,— He spake "Hail Mary!" and the joyful sound In angel songs and "harping symphonies;" White streamlets murmured and high branches thrilled 66 Hail, blessed Mary, darling Bride of God!” And still resounded in the wild wave's roar, The ember's crackling, and that joy and grief Which rule alternate in each mortal breast, "Hail, holy Mary! blessed for evermore !"-(iii. 76.) We will now bring these translations to a close by the following tender poem of "Shepherd and Fountain " I know a fountain calm and bright, One gushing leap, one gentle sweep Afar a noisy river speeds Blanched o'er with snow-white foam, Soars high aloft and dies, Then, marged by leaves, the fountain heaves Heaven smiles response, contentment springs Reflects love's features glad. The fount looks down in pensive thoughts Then o'er the path from cedar-heights Past waters loud, through mistland's shroud Flower-wreathed, the Shepherd still descends, On ripples low love's features glow A Shepherd pictured clear! Like wine's warm blush, like milk's pure hue His face, reflected, beams; The waters swell 'neath beauty's spell And tremble with Love dreams. This Gentle Shepherd wouldst thou know? This fount by lowly sod ?— The spring lies sure in conscience pure, The Shepherd's name is God.— (iii. 88.) From what we have shown, it will be readily admitted that Stagnelius was no mere rhymster; but when we consider his numerous other well-rounded poems, and recollect that he died at thirty years of age, he becomes an object almost of wonder. His melancholy disposition no doubt favoured his muse, and it is said that he was in the habit of writing only when he felt himself in poetic mood. It is noteworthy, too, that whatever was penned one day was re-read the next, and if not found up to the standard, was immediately destroyed—a great kindness towards posterity, for what is merely worth speaking ought never to be written. |