A NIGHT IN NAZARETH.

BY MARY YOUNG.

"But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife; for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost."—Matthewi. 20.

Stern passions rose, and won wild masteryIn Joseph's breast. He wandered darkly on,From the calm fountain and the olive grove,Toward the wilderness, as he would findRoom for the ocean tumult of his thoughts.Long had he loved her with a matchless love,Deep as his nature, truthful as his truth;And she was his—by every sacred tie—His own, espoused; though ever still had dweltOn Mary's thoughtful brow a chastening spell,That shamed to stillness all life's throbbing pulses:Or, if his words grew passion, there would stealTo her large, azure eye a startled glanceOf sad, deep questioning, and she would turnAppealingly to heaven, with trembling tears—Yet was it she—the very same he saw,Writ o'er with all the foul name of a wanton.One fearful word broke from the quivering lipsOf the young Hebrew, as at last alone,By the dark base of a high, shadowy rock,He sank in agony; and then he bentHis forehead down to the cool, mossy turf,And lay there silently. Light, creeping plants,And one long spray of the white thornless rose,Stooped low, and swayed above him; a soft soundOf far, sweet, breezy whisperings wooed his ear,Till gentler thoughts stole to him, and he wept.Ere long his ear heard not: all things around,The present and the past—the painful past—Became as though they were not. Joseph lay,With eyes closed calmly, and a strange full peaceBreathed to his spirit's depths; for there was one,Fairer and nobler than the sons of earth,Bending in kindness o'er him.Calmly still,Although to ecstasy his being drank,The fathomless, pure music of the voiceHeard in that visioned hour, as once againHe stood by the low portal of the homeOf Mary. He passed in with noiseless step.Through the dim vine-leaves of the latticeNot a moonbeam fell, and yet a softer rayThan ever streamed from alabaster lamps,Lit the white vesture and the upturned faceOf her who knelt in meekness there. Her lipsWere motionless, and the slight clasping handsPressed lightly on her bosom, but a highSeraphic bliss spoke in the fervent hushOf the pure, radiant features; for she heldUnsoiled communion with her spirit's lord.Slowly away faded that glorious trance,And the white lids lifted as though reluctant.She looked on Joseph, and a faint, quick flushSwept shadowingly her forehead. Woman still,She felt, and painfully, that at the barOf manhood's pride, earth had for her no witness.But the calm mien, and broad, uncovered browOf Joseph, told no anger. He drew near,And knelt beside her; and the hand she gaveIn greeting was pressed close and silently,With reverent tenderness, upon his heart.

Stern passions rose, and won wild mastery

In Joseph's breast. He wandered darkly on,

From the calm fountain and the olive grove,

Toward the wilderness, as he would find

Room for the ocean tumult of his thoughts.

Long had he loved her with a matchless love,

Deep as his nature, truthful as his truth;

And she was his—by every sacred tie—

His own, espoused; though ever still had dwelt

On Mary's thoughtful brow a chastening spell,

That shamed to stillness all life's throbbing pulses:

Or, if his words grew passion, there would steal

To her large, azure eye a startled glance

Of sad, deep questioning, and she would turn

Appealingly to heaven, with trembling tears—

Yet was it she—the very same he saw,

Writ o'er with all the foul name of a wanton.

One fearful word broke from the quivering lipsOf the young Hebrew, as at last alone,By the dark base of a high, shadowy rock,He sank in agony; and then he bentHis forehead down to the cool, mossy turf,And lay there silently. Light, creeping plants,And one long spray of the white thornless rose,Stooped low, and swayed above him; a soft soundOf far, sweet, breezy whisperings wooed his ear,Till gentler thoughts stole to him, and he wept.Ere long his ear heard not: all things around,The present and the past—the painful past—Became as though they were not. Joseph lay,With eyes closed calmly, and a strange full peaceBreathed to his spirit's depths; for there was one,Fairer and nobler than the sons of earth,Bending in kindness o'er him.

One fearful word broke from the quivering lips

Of the young Hebrew, as at last alone,

By the dark base of a high, shadowy rock,

He sank in agony; and then he bent

His forehead down to the cool, mossy turf,

And lay there silently. Light, creeping plants,

And one long spray of the white thornless rose,

Stooped low, and swayed above him; a soft sound

Of far, sweet, breezy whisperings wooed his ear,

Till gentler thoughts stole to him, and he wept.

Ere long his ear heard not: all things around,

The present and the past—the painful past—

Became as though they were not. Joseph lay,

With eyes closed calmly, and a strange full peace

Breathed to his spirit's depths; for there was one,

Fairer and nobler than the sons of earth,

Bending in kindness o'er him.

Calmly still,Although to ecstasy his being drank,The fathomless, pure music of the voiceHeard in that visioned hour, as once againHe stood by the low portal of the homeOf Mary. He passed in with noiseless step.Through the dim vine-leaves of the latticeNot a moonbeam fell, and yet a softer rayThan ever streamed from alabaster lamps,Lit the white vesture and the upturned faceOf her who knelt in meekness there. Her lipsWere motionless, and the slight clasping handsPressed lightly on her bosom, but a highSeraphic bliss spoke in the fervent hushOf the pure, radiant features; for she heldUnsoiled communion with her spirit's lord.

Calmly still,

Although to ecstasy his being drank,

The fathomless, pure music of the voice

Heard in that visioned hour, as once again

He stood by the low portal of the home

Of Mary. He passed in with noiseless step.

Through the dim vine-leaves of the lattice

Not a moonbeam fell, and yet a softer ray

Than ever streamed from alabaster lamps,

Lit the white vesture and the upturned face

Of her who knelt in meekness there. Her lips

Were motionless, and the slight clasping hands

Pressed lightly on her bosom, but a high

Seraphic bliss spoke in the fervent hush

Of the pure, radiant features; for she held

Unsoiled communion with her spirit's lord.

Slowly away faded that glorious trance,And the white lids lifted as though reluctant.She looked on Joseph, and a faint, quick flushSwept shadowingly her forehead. Woman still,She felt, and painfully, that at the barOf manhood's pride, earth had for her no witness.But the calm mien, and broad, uncovered browOf Joseph, told no anger. He drew near,And knelt beside her; and the hand she gaveIn greeting was pressed close and silently,With reverent tenderness, upon his heart.

Slowly away faded that glorious trance,

And the white lids lifted as though reluctant.

She looked on Joseph, and a faint, quick flush

Swept shadowingly her forehead. Woman still,

She felt, and painfully, that at the bar

Of manhood's pride, earth had for her no witness.

But the calm mien, and broad, uncovered brow

Of Joseph, told no anger. He drew near,

And knelt beside her; and the hand she gave

In greeting was pressed close and silently,

With reverent tenderness, upon his heart.

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