REDEMPTION. 137
In crested ripples on each margin broke, And sank in murrn'ring music soft away. Not Eden in its prime more beauteous bloom'd, When Adam and his spouse, then innocent, Its soil luxuriant till'd, its fruitage cropt, Than this loved Paradise, where pair more bless'd, More innocent, now in sweet converse walk. Enamell'd was their path, thick paved with flow'rs, That shed their sweetest odor as they pass'd ; Balsam and fir, their richest perfume breath'd, Whilst odorous acacia showYd its fruits ; Sweet almond, gay with varied hues dispensed, And olives, each their latent fragrance blent. When thus, along an alley, fadeless green, Some trace of deep thought in the Virgin's mien, Reflected from the cast her Son's face bore, She to him mild these earnest words address'd :
"Son of my love, my sole begotten One, Some thought hangs heavy o'er and clouds thy brow. Deep read in every change that marks thy face, I can but see some mystery working there, Some deep design, which mocks my skill to read. 'Tis not in absence of accustomed smiles ; These ever lend fresh charms to thy converse ; Nor yet in gloom morose ; this never mars The calmness of thy look, celestial bland, I read these motions ; but, in tenderness Increased, in the deep pathos of thy tones, The mellow'd softness of thy voice and eye. These tell me of some mighty purpose fix'd, Some thought profound, which thy reluctance spares
To tell, lest sadness pierce my anxious breast,
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