But soon these boding fancies fled; Nor saw I aught that could forbid Was, in its nature, lambent, pure, As in his lair, ready to spring, A thousand sparks fell glittering ! In my pure days I used to love) So harmless, though so full of bright ness, Was my brow's wreath, that it would From off its flowers each downy flake And cool as they had fallen there! Nay even with Lilis--had I not Can, by the outward form unfelt, Reach and dissolve the soul beneath! One word that in her heart could stir I brought from heaven belonged to Slow from her side I rose, while she She waited for the awful boon, Watching the rise of the full moon, Whose beams-they know, yet cannot shun Will madden them when looked upon! Of all my glories, the bright crown, Which, when I last from heaven came down, I left-see, where those clouds afar Shining remote, more like a star Was wanting; but the illumined The curls, like tendrils that had grown Around her sleep in splendour come-Had love's light added to their own, Hung o'er each beauty, nor forgot To print my radiant lips on some? And yet, at morn, from that repose, Had she not waked, unscathed and bright, As doth the pure, unconscious rose, Even when the rays I scattered stole And shed a blaze, before unknown Great God! how could thy vengeance | 'Twere not so dreadful-but, come light So bitterly on one so bright? How could the hand, that gave such charms, Blast them again, in love's own arms? Scarce had I touched her shrinking frame, When-oh most horrible !-I felt That every spark of that pure flamePure, while among the stars I dweltWas now by my transgression turned Into gross, earthly fire, which burned, Burned all it touched, as fast as eye Could follow the fierce ravening flashes, Till there-oh God, I still ask why Such doom was hers?-I saw her lie Blackening within my arms to ashes! Those cheeks, a glory but to seeThose lips, whose touch was what the first Fresh cup of immortality Is to a new-made angel's thirst! Those arms, within whose gentle round, My heart's horizon, the whole bound Of its hope, prospect, heaven was found! Which, even in this dread moment, fond As when they first were round me cast, Loosed not in death the fatal bond, But, burning, held me to the lastThat hair, from under whose dark veil, The snowy neck, like a white sail At moonlight seen 'twixt wave and near Too shocking 'tis for earth to hear- Her ashy lips a kiss impressed, So withering-I feel it now'Twas fire-but fire, even more unblessed Than was my own, and like that flame, Deep, deep it pierced into my brain, Maddening and torturing as it went, And here-see here, the mark, the stain It left upon my front-burnt in But is it thus, dread Providence→→ Can it, indeed, be thus, that she, Who, but for one proud, fond offence, Had honoured Heaven itself, should be Now doomed-I cannot speak it-no, Merciful God! it is not so- Never could lips divine have said That new, fierce fire, resembling nought bear! Oh, -for the first time that these knees Have bent before thee since my fall, Great Power, if ever thy decrees Thou could'st for prayer like mine recall, Pardon that spirit, and on me, On me, who taught her pride to err, Shed out each drop of agony Thy burning phial keeps for her! See, too, where low beside me kneel Two other outcasts, who, though gone That agony as 'twere their own, Those angel youths, beside him knelt, Not long they knelt, when, from a wood round The new-born fancy-with fond tone, (So kin its spirit to the lute's), Tremblingly followed the soft strain, Interpreting its joy, its pain, And lending the light wings of words To many a thought that else had lain Unfledged and mute among the chords. All started at the sound-but chief The third young Angel, in whose face, Had left a gentler, holier trace; Unmelted at the bottom lay, Turn to the wood, from whence that Of solitary sweetness broke, Come, pray with me, my seraph love, My angel-lord, come pray with me; With droppings from the incense tree; Of life or lustre, without thee! To drift upon the moonless sea, Are like what I am without thee! "Then ne'er, my spirit-love, divide, In life or death, thyself from me; Oh, happier thus than without thee!' The song had ceased, when from the wood Where curving down that airy height, It reached the spot on which they stood There suddenly shone out a light From a clear lamp, which, as it blazed Across the brow of one who raised The flame aloft (as if to throw Its light upon that group below), Displayed two eyes, sparkling between The dusky leaves, such as are seen By fancy only, in those faces, That haunt a poet's walk at even, Looking from out their leafy places Upon his dreams of love and heaven. "Twas but a moment-the blush, brought O'er all her features at the thought Of being seen thus late, alone, By any but the eyes she sought, Had scarcely for an instant shone Through the dark leaves when she THIRD ANGEL'S STORY. AMONG the Spirits, of pure flame, Circles of light, that from the same First and immediate near the Throne Even those to high-browed Cherubs Though knowing all-so much doth Love Transcend all knowledge, even in heaven! 'Mong these was Zaraph once-and none Not, as with others, a mere part The very life-breath of his heart! Often, when from the Almighty brow A lustre came too bright to bear, And all the seraph ranks would bow Their heads beneath their wings, nor dare To look upon the effulgence thereThis Spirit's eyes would court the blaze (Such pride he in adoring took), And rather lose, in that one gaze, The power of looking than not look! Then, too, when angel voices sung The mercy of their God, and strung Their harps to hail, with welcome sweet, The moment, watched for by all eyes, When some repentant sinner's feet First touched the threshold of the Oh then how clearly did the voice Such love as only could belong To the blest angels, and alone Could, even from angels, bring such song! Alas, that it should e'er have been The same in heaven as it is here, Where nothing fond or bright is seen, But it hath pain and peril nearWhere right and wrong so close resemble, That what we take for virtue's thrill Is often the first downward tremble Of the heart's balance into ill Where Love hath not a shrine so pure, So was it with that Angel-such Too easy lapse, to loving wrong.— Till love for the Creator soon In passion for the creature ended! 'Twas first at twilight, on the shore Of the smooth sea, he heard the lute And voice of her he loved steal o'er The silver waters, that lay mute, As loth, by even a breath, to stay The pilgrimage of that sweet lay; Whose echoes still went on and on, Till lost among the light that shone Far off beyond the ocean's brim— There, where the rich cascade of day Had, o'er the horizon's golden rim, Into Elysium rolled away! Of God she sung, and of the mild Attendant Mercy, that beside His awful throne for ever smiled, Ready with her white hand, to guide His bolts of vengeance to their preyThat she might quench them on the way! Of Peace-of that Atoning Love, Upon whose star, shining above This twilight world of hope and fear, The weeping eyes of Faith are fixed So fond, that with her every tear The light of that love-star is mixed! All this she sung, and such a soul Those lulling waters, where he lay wave, An echo that some spirit gave Lay down the far-brought gift, and And, while her lute hung by her, hushed, Of song, that from her lips still gushed, As if unequal to the tide She raised, like one beatified, Those eyes, whose light seemed rather given To be adored than to adoreSuch eyes as may have looked from heaven, But ne'er were raised to it before! Oh Love, Religion, Music-all That's left of Eden upon earthThe only blessings, since the fall Of our weak souls, that still recall A trace of their high glorious birthHow kindred are the dreams you bring! How Love, though unto earth so prone, Delights to take Religion's wing, When time or grief hath stained his own! How near to Love's beguiling brink, Too oft, entranced Religion lies! While Music, Music is the link They both still hold by to the skes, The language of their native sphere, Which they had else forgotten here. How then could Zaraph fail to feel That moment's witcheries ?-one so fair |