But as she sat within her archèd cell She wondered greatly how this thing should be: "For I know not, nor speak with any man," To Gabriel she timidly responds. Then quoth he: "Mary Hail! thou favoured art, And full of grace, the Lord is with thee now."
And then came down the spirit of the Lord, A ray of golden light shone round about, It pierced her breast, that fruitful heaven-sent ray, And from her womb, whose virgin purity Was still inviolate, was born the Christ While she a mother, was pure Virgin still.
Oh! lovers true, come hither unto her: Madonna she of grace and beauty fair, The earth and air but live for her sweet sake, The queen of heaven, and pillar of the world: He who would see the lovely damosel One this Annunciation he should gaze.
From an anonymous "Laud" reprinted by Galletti, n. CCLXVIII, p. 121.
[22] _Pictures in the National Gallery_, with descriptive text written by C. L. Eastlake. No. I, p. 10.
[24] This valuable painting was ceded by the monks of the "Scalzi" to the Museum of Madrid in 1861 at the suggestion of Señor Don Federigo de Madrazo.--_Catalogue of the Museum of Prado_, Don Pedro de Madrazo 1889, p. 19.
[26] Müntz, _Histoire de l'art pendant la Renaissance--Les Primitifs_--p. 653 and 658.
[28] _La Sculpture Florentine_, Alinari, 1897, p. 152.
[30] _Par._, Canto XXXI (Carey's translation).
[31] _Par._, Canto XXX (Carey's translation).
[32] The _caròla_ was a kind of sacred dance, in which the dancers holding hands move in a circle, singing as they go. It was supposed to be the dance of Paradise.--(_Translator's note_.)
In Paradise that garden lies Where love divine eternal shines, And holy Saints _carolas_ weave, Their souls inflamed with sacred love.
The Saints in that bright joyous ring, With Angels fair of all degrees, Before the Bridegroom graceful move And weave the dance of sacred love.
Those heavenly courts are full of grace, With love immeasurable filled, All in the dance angelic move Inspired by their sweet Saviour's love.
Their robes of linen pure are made, White, roseate, and of mingled hues; Fair garlands on their heads they wear, Fit crowns to crown them priests of love.
No head is there ungarlanded, And youthful beams each joyous face; In that bright court refreshed they move Where everything o'erflows with love.