(_From a picture by Botticelli_)

II

Immortal eloquence of mystic Art!
How strangely o'er oblivion and gray time,
That hand doth speak, as in the painter's prime
It uttered thus his own and Mary's heart,
At sight of it, what rich conjectures start,
Adown the years, what wistful Aves chime,
That wake the soul to rapture how sublime,
Wherewith we, too, must bear in Him our part!
For unto each to bring redemption's share,
Whereby adown the ages Christ is borne,
There comes the angel of the lilied rod;
And though our souls with anguish sore are torn,
We pray once more the world-o'ercoming prayer,
And then is born in us the Word of God.

[Illustration: _The Visitation by Duerer_]

THE VISITATION

(_From the picture in Duerer's series on "The Life of the Virgin"_)

The mountains wonder from their cloudy height,
The skies look on and grow more deep with awe;
From these two women, earthly loves withdraw,
And leave them shrined in some ensphering light,--
More fine than that which greets the earthly sight,
More glorious than that Creation saw,
When, from abeyance to primeval law,
There burst the dawn from out the womb of night;
Yet are all things unchanged around them,--these,
The ancient hills, the town, the quiet trees,
The household presences through which they grope
Blind to all else but to each other's eyes,
Wherein, transforming heaven and earth, there lies
Sublime effulgence of immortal Hope.

[Illustration: _The Madonna of the Magnificat, by Botticelli_]

A BOTTICELLI MADONNA

I

THE WONDERING ANGELS

Behold! the Tabernacle of God's Will
This woman's form enshrineth. What is this,
More glorious than all our age-long bliss,
Which shines within the shadow of her sill?
How shall we lift this strangeness which doth fill
Her human heart to breaking,--we who miss
In our immortal joy, the enlight'ning kiss
Of sorrow's bitter lips whence comforts thrill?
How shall we sing to her of joys to come,
To her who bears upon her breast the sum
Of death's dread gloom and heaven's undying light?
Lean close, ah, close, about her from above,--
Behold upon the mildness of her love
Enthroned the terrors of His Holy Might!

[Illustration: _The Madonna of the Pomegranate by Botticelli_]

A BOTTICELLI MADONNA

II

THE MOURNFUL MOTHER

O child of mine, my little Son, al