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Thomas Moore - The Loves of the Angels
Work rating: Medium

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Till, startled by the breathing, nigh,
Of lips that echoed back her sigh,
Sudden her brow again she raised;
And there, just lighted on the shrine,
Beheld me—not as I had blazed
Around her, full of light divine,
In her late dreams, but softened down
Into more mortal grace;—my crown
Of flowers, too radiant for this world,
Left hanging on yon starry steep;
My wings shut up, like banners furled,
When Peace hath put their pomp to sleep;
Or like autumnal clouds that keep
Their lightnings sheathed rather than mar
The dawning hour of some young star;
And nothing left but what beseemed
The accessible, tho` glorious mate
Of mortal woman—whose eyes beamed
Back upon hers, as passionate;
Whose ready heart brought flame for flame,
Whose sin, whose madness was the same;
And whose soul lost in that one hour
For her and for her love—oh more
Of heaven`s light than even the power
Of heaven itself could now restore!
And yet, that hour!—

The Spirit here
Stopt in his utterance as if words
Gave way beneath the wild career
Of his then rushing thoughts—like chords,
Midway in some enthusiast`s song,
Breaking beneath a touch too strong;
While the clenched hand upon the brow
Told how remembrance throbbed there now!
But soon `twas o`er—that casual blaze
From the sunk fire of other days—
That relic of a flame whose burning
Had been too fierce to be relumed,
Soon passt away, and the youth turning
To his bright listeners thus resumed:—

Days, months elapsed, and, tho` what most
On earth I sighed for was mine, all—
Yet—was I happy? God, thou know`st,
Howe`er they smile and feign and boast,
What happiness is theirs, who fall!
`Twas bitterest anguish—made more keen
Even by the love, the bliss, between
Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell
In agonizing cross-light given
Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell
In purgatory catch of heaven!
The only feeling that to me
Seemed joy—or rather my sole rest
From aching misery—was to see
My young, proud, blooming LILIS blest.
She, the fair fountain of all ill
To my lost soul—whom yet its thirst
Fervidly panted after still,
And found the charm fresh as at first—
To see her happy—to reflect
Whatever beams still round me played
Of former pride, of glory wreckt,
On her, my Moon, whose light I made,
And whose soul worshipt even my shade—
This was, I own, enjoyment—this
My sole, last lingering glimpse of bliss.
And proud she was, fair creature!—proud,
Beyond what even most queenly stirs
In woman`s heart, nor would have bowed
That beautiful young brow of hers
To aught beneath the First above,
So high she deemed her Cherub`s love!

Then too that passion hourly growing
Stronger and stronger—to which even
Her love at times gave way—of knowing
Everything strange in earth and heaven;
Not only all that, full revealed,
The eternal ALLA loves to show,
But all that He hath wisely sealed
In darkness for man not to know—
Even this desire, alas! ill-starred
And fatal as it was, I sought
To feed each minute, and unbarred
Such realms of wonder on her thought
As ne`er till then had let their light
Escape on any mortal`s sight!

In the deep earth—beneath the sea—
Thro` caves of fire—thro` wilds of air—
Wherever sleeping Mystery
Had spread her curtain, we were there—
Love still beside us as we went,
At home in each new element
And sure of worship everywhere!

Then first was Nature taught to lay
The wealth of all her kingdoms down
At woman`s worshipt feet and say
"Bright creature, this is all thine own!"
Then first were diamonds from the night,
Of earth`s deep centre brought to light
And made to grace the conquering way
Of proud young beauty with their ray.

Then too the pearl from out its shell
Unsightly, in the sunless sea,
(As `twere a spirit, forced to dwell
In form unlovely) was set free,
And round the neck of woman threw
A light it lent and borrowed too.
For never did this maid—whate`er
The ambition of the hour—forget
Her sex`s pride in being fair;
Nor that adornment, tasteful, rare,
Which makes the mighty magnet, set
In Woman`s form, more mighty yet.
Nor was there aught within the range
Of my swift wing in sea or air,
Of beautiful or grand or strange,
That, quickly as her wish could change,
I did not seek, with such fond care,
That when I`ve seen her look above
At some bright star admiringly,
I`ve said, "Nay, look not there, my love,
"Alas, I cannot give it thee!"

But not alone the wonders found
Thro` Nature`s realm—the unveiled, material,
Visible glories, that abound
Thro` all her vast, enchanted ground—
But whatsoe`er unseen, ethereal,
Dwells far away from human sense,
Wrapt in its own intelligence—
The mystery of that Fountainhead,
From which all vital spirit runs,
All breath of Life, where`er `tis spread
Thro` men or angels, flowers or suns—
The workings of the Almighty Mind,
When first o`er Chaos he designed
The outlines of this world, and thro`
That depth of darkness—like the bow,
Called out of rain-clouds hue by hue
Saw the grand, gradual picture grow;—
The covenant with human kind
By ALLA made—the chains of Fate
He round himself and them hath twined,
Till his high task he consummate;—
Till good from evil, love from hate,
Shall be workt out thro` sin and pain,
And Fate shall loose her iron chain
And all be free, be bright again!

Such were the deep-drawn mysteries,
And some, even more obscure, profound,
And wildering to the mind than these,
Which—far as woman`s thought could sound,
Or a fallen, outlawed spirit reach—
She dared to learn and I to teach.
Till—filled with such unearthly lore,
And mingling the pure light it brings
With much that fancy had before
Shed in false, tinted glimmerings—
The enthusiast girl spoke out, as one
Inspired, among her own dark race,
Who from their ancient shrines would run,
Leaving their holy rites undone,
To gaze upon her holier face.
And tho` but wild the things she spoke,
Yet mid that play of error`s smoke
Into fair shapes by fancy curled,
Some gleams of pure religion broke—
Glimpses that have not yet awoke,
But startled the still dreaming world!
Oh! many a truth, remote, sublime,
Which Heaven would from the minds of men
Have kept concealed till its own time,
Stole out in these revealments then—
Revealments dim that have forerun,
By ages, the great, Sealing One!
Like that imperfect dawn or light
Escaping from the Zodiac`s signs,
Which makes the doubtful east half bright,
Before the real morning shines!

Thus did some moons of bliss go by—
Of bliss to her who saw but love
And knowledge throughout earth and sky;
To whose enamored soul and eye
I seemed—as is the sun on high—
The light of all below, above,
The spirit of sea and land and air,
Whose influence, felt everywhere,
Spread from its centre, her own heart,
Even to the world`s extremest part;
While thro` that world her rainless mind
Had now careered so fast and far,
That earth itself seemed left behind
And her proud fancy unconfined
Already saw Heaven`s gates ajar!

Happy enthusiast! still, oh! still
Spite of my own heart`s mortal chill,
Spite of that double-fronted sorrow
Which looks at once before and back,
Beholds the yesterday, the morrow,
And sees both comfortless, both black—
Spite of all this, I could have still
In her delight forgot all ill;
Or if pain would not be forgot,
At least have borne and murmured not.
When thoughts of an offended heaven,
Of sinfulness, which I—even I,
While down its steep most headlong driven—
Well knew could never be forgiven,
Came o`er me with an agony
Beyond all reach of mortal woe—
A torture kept for those who know.

Know every thing, and—worst of all—
Know and love Virtue while they fall!
Even then her presence had the power
To soothe, to warm—nay, even to bless—
If ever bliss could graft its flower
On stem so full of bitterness—
Even then her glorious smile to me
Brought warmth and radiance if not balm;
Like moonlight o`er a troubled sea.
Brightening the storm it cannot calm.

Oft too when that disheartening fear,
Which all who love, beneath yon sky,
Feel when they gaze on what is dear—
The dreadful thought that it must die!
That desolating thought which comes
Into men`s happiest hours and homes;
Whose melancholy boding flings
Death`s shadow o`er the brightest things,
Sicklies the infant`s bloom and spreads
The grave beneath young lovers` heads!
This fear, so sad to all—to me
Most full of sadness from the thought
That I most still live on, when she
Would, like the snow that on the sea
Fell yesterday, in vain be sought;
That heaven to me this final seal
Of all earth`s sorrow would deny,
And I eternally must feel
The death-pang without power to die!

Even this, her fond endearments—fond
As ever cherisht the sweet bond
`Twixt heart and heart—could charm away;
Before her looks no clouds would stay,
Or if they did their gloom was gone,
Their darkness put a glory on!
But `tis not, `tis not for the wrong,
The guilty, to be happy long;
And she too now had sunk within
The shadow of her tempter`s sin,
Too deep for even Omnipotence
To snatch the fated victim thence!
Listen and if a tear there be
Left in your hearts weep it for me.

`Twas on the evening of a day,
Which we in love had dreamt away;
In that same garden, where—the pride
Of seraph splendor laid aside,
And those wings furled, whose open light
For mortal gaze were else too bright—
I first had stood before her sight,
And found myself—oh, ecstasy,
Which even in pain I ne`er forget—
Worshipt as only God should be,
And loved as never man was yet!
In that same garden where we now,
Thoughtfully side by side reclining,
Her eyes turned upward and her brow
With its own silent fancies shining.

It was an evening bright and still
As ever blusht on wave or bower,
Smiling from heaven as if naught ill
Could happen in so sweet an hour.
Yet I remember both grew sad
In looking at that light—even she,
Of heart so fresh and brow so glad,
Felt the still hour`s solemnity,
And thought she saw in that repose
The death-hour not alone of light,
But of this whole fair world—the close
Of all things beautiful and bright—
The last, grand sunset, in whose ray
Nature herself died calm away!

At length, as tho` some livelier thought
Had suddenly her fancy caught,
She turned upon me her dark eyes,
Dilated into that full shape
They took in joy, reproach, surprise,
As `twere to let more soul escape,
And, playfully as on my head
Her white hand rested, smiled and said:—

"I had last night a dream of thee,
"Resembling those divine ones, given,
"Like preludes to sweet minstrelsy,
"Before thou camest thyself from heaven.

"The same rich wreath was on thy brow,
"Dazzling as if of starlight made;
"And these wings, lying darkly now,
"Like meteors round thee flasht and played.

"Thou stoodest, all bright, as in those dreams,
"As if just wafted from above,
"Mingling earth`s warmth with heaven`s beams,
"And creature to adore and love.

"Sudden I felt thee draw me near
"To thy pure heart, where, fondly placed,
"I seemed within the atmosphere
"Of that exhaling light embraced;

"And felt methought the ethereal flame
"Pass from thy purer soul to mine;
"Till—oh, too blissful—I became,
"Like thee, all spirit, all divine!

"Say, why did dream so blest come o`er me,
"If, now I wake, `tis faded, gone?
"When will my Cherub shine before me
"Thus radiant, as in heaven he shone?

"When shall I, waking, be allowed
"To gaze upon those perfect charms,
"And clasp thee once without a cloud,
"A chill of earth, within these arms?

"Oh what a pride to say, this, this
"Is my own Angel—all divine,
"And pure and dazzling as he is
"And fresh from heaven—he`s mine, he`s mine!

"Thinkest thou, were LILIS in thy place,
"A creature of yon lofty skies,
"She would have hid one single grace,
"One glory from her lover`s eyes?

"No, no—then, if thou lovest like me,
"Shine out, young Spirit in the blaze
"Of thy most proud divinity,
"Nor think thou`lt wound this mortal gaze.

"Too long and oft I`ve looked upon
"Those ardent eyes, intense even thus—
"Too near the stars themselves have gone,
"To fear aught grand or luminous.

"Then doubt me not—oh! who can say
"But that this dream may yet come true
"And my blest spirit drink thy ray,
"Till it becomes all heavenly too?

"Let me this once but feel the flame
"Of those spread wings, the very pride
"Will change my nature, and this frame
"By the mere touch be deified!"

Thus spoke the maid, as one not used
To be by earth or heaven refused—
As one who knew her influence o`er
All creatures, whatsoe`er they were,
And tho` to heaven she could not soar,
At least would bring down heaven to her.

Little did she, alas! or I—
Even I, whose soul, but halfway yet
Immerged in sin`s obscurity
Was as the earth whereon we lie,
O`er half whose disk the sun is set—
Little did we foresee the fate,
The dreadful—how can it be told?
Such pain, such anguish to relate
Is o`er again to feel, behold!
But, charged as `tis, my heart must speak
Its sorrow out or it will break!
Some dark misgivings had, I own,
Past for a moment thro` my breast—
Fears of some danger, vague, unknown,
To one, or both—something unblest
To happen from this proud request.

But soon these boding fancies fled;
Nor saw I aught that could forbid
My full revealment save the dread
Of that first dazzle, when, unhid,
Such light should burst upon a lid
Ne`er tried in heaven;—and even this glare
She might, by love`s own nursing care,
Be, like young eagles, taught to bear.
For well I knew, the lustre shed
From cherub wings, when proudliest spread,
Was in its nature lambent, pure,
And innocent as is the light
The glow-worm hangs out to allure
Her mate to her green bower at night.
Oft had I in the mid-air swept
Thro` clouds in which the lightning slept,
As in its lair, ready to spring,
Yet waked it not—tho` from my wing
A thousand sparks fell glittering!
Oft too when round me from above
The feathered snow in all its whiteness,
Fell like the moultings of heaven`s Dove,—
So harmless, tho` so full of brightness,
Was my brow`s wreath that it would shake
From off its flowers each downy flake
As delicate, unmelted, fair,
And cool as they had lighted there.

Nay even with LILIS—had I not
Around her sleep all radiant beamed,
Hung o`er her slumbers nor forgot
To kiss her eyelids as she dreamed?
And yet at morn from that repose,
Had she not waked, unscathed and bright,
As doth the pure, unconscious rose
Tho` by the fire-fly kist all night?

Thus having—as, alas! deceived
By my sin`s blindness, I believed—
No cause for dread and those dark eyes
Now fixt upon me eagerly
As tho` the unlocking of the skies
Then waited but a sign from me—
How could I pause? how even let fall
A word; a whisper that could stir
In her proud heart a doubt that all
I brought from heaven belonged to her?
Slow from her side I rose, while she
Arose too, mutely, tremblingly,
But not with fear—all hope, and pride,
She waited for the awful boon,
Like priestesses at eventide
Watching the rise of the full moon
Whose light, when once its orb hath shone,
`Twill madden them to look upon!

Of all my glories, the bright crown
Which when I last from heaven came down
Was left behind me in yon star
That shines from out those clouds afar—
Where, relic sad, `tis treasured yet,
The downfallen angel`s coronet!—
Of all my glories, this alone
Was wanting:—but the illumined brow,
The sun-bright locks, the eyes that now
Had love`s spell added to their own,
And poured a light till then unknown;—
The unfolded wings that in their play
Shed sparkles bright as ALLA`S throne;
All I could bring of heaven`s array,
Of that rich panoply of charms
A Cherub moves in, on the day
Of his best pomp, I now put on;
And, proud that in her eyes I shone
Thus glorious, glided to her arms;
Which still (tho`, at a sight so splendid,
Her dazzled brow had instantly
Sunk on her breast), were wide extended
To clasp the form she durst not see!
Great Heaven! how could thy vengeance 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 flame—
Pure, while among the stars I dwelt—
Was 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!
That brow, a glory but to see—
Those lips whose touch was what the first
Fresh cup of immortality
Is to a new-made angel`s thirst!

Those clasping arms, within whose 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 last!
All, all, that, but that morn, had seemed
As if Love`s self there breathed and beamed,
Now parched and black before me lay,
Withering in agony away;
And mine, oh misery! mine the flame
From which this desolation came;—
I, the curst spirit whose caress
Had blasted all that loveliness!

`Twas maddening!—but now hear even worse—
Had death, death only, been the curse
I brought upon her—had the doom
But ended here, when her young bloom
Lay in the dust—and did the spirit
No part of that fell curse inherit,
`Twere not so dreadful—but, come near—
Too shocking `tis for earth to hear—
Just when her eyes in fading took
Their last, keen, agonized farewell,
And looked in mine with—oh, that look!
Great vengeful Power, whate`er the hell
Thou mayst to human souls assign,
The memory of that look is mine!—

In her last struggle, on my brow
Her ashy lips a kiss imprest,
So withering!—I feel it now—
`Twas fire—but fire, even more unblest
Than was my own, and like that flame,
The angels shudder but to name,
Hell`s everlasting element!
Deep, deep it pierced into my brain,
Maddening and torturing as it went;
And here, mark here, the brand, the stain
It left upon my front—burnt in
By that last kiss of love and sin—
A brand which all the pomp and pride
Of a fallen Spirit cannot hide!

But is it thus, dread Providence—
Can it indeed be thus, that she
Who, (but for one proud, fond offence,)
Had honored heaven itself, should be
Now doomed—I cannot speak it—no,
Merciful ALLA! `tis not so—
Never could lips divine have said
The fiat of a fate so dread.
And yet, that look—so deeply fraught
With more than anguish, with despair—
That new, fierce fire, resembling naught
In heaven or earth—this scorch I bear!—
Oh—for the first time that these knees
Have bent before thee since my fall,
Great Power, if ever thy decrees
Thou couldst 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, tho` gone
And lost themselves, yet dare to feel
And pray for that poor mortal one.
Alas, too well, too well they know
The pain, the penitence, the woe
That Passion brings upon the best,
The wisest, and the loveliest.—
Oh! who is to be saved, if such
Bright, erring souls are not forgiven;
So loath they wander, and so much
Their very wanderings lean towards heaven!
Again I cry. Just Power, transfer
That creature`s sufferings all to me—
Mine, mine the guilt, the torment be,
To save one minute`s pain to her,
Let mine last all eternity!

He paused and to the earth bent down
His throbbing head; while they who felt
That agony as `twere their own,
Those angel youths, beside him knelt,
And in the night`s still silence there,
While mournfully each wandering air
Played in those plumes that never more
To their lost home in heaven must soar,
Breathed inwardly the voiceless prayer,
Unheard by all but Mercy`s ear—
And which if Mercy did not hear,
Oh, God would not be what this bright
And glorious universe of His,
This world of beauty, goodness, light
And endless love proclaims He is!

Not long they knelt, when from a wood
That crowned that airy solitude,
They heard a low, uncertain sound,
As from a lute, that just had found
Some happy theme and murmured round
The new-born fancy, with fond tone,
Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own!
Till soon a voice, that matched as well
That gentle instrument, as suits
The sea-air to an ocean-shell,
(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,
Tho` faded like the others, grief
Had left a gentler, holier trace;
As if, even yet, thro` pain and ill,
Hope had not fled him—as if still
Her precious pearl in sorrow`s cup
Unmelted at the bottom lay,
To shine again, when, all drunk up,
The bitterness should pass away.
Chiefly did he, tho` in his eyes
There shone more pleasure than surprise,
Turn to the wood from whence that sound
Of solitary sweetness broke;
Then, listening, look delighted round
To his bright peers, while thus it spoke:—
"Come, pray with me, my seraph love,
"My angel-lord, come pray with me:
"In vain to-night my lips hath strove
"To send one holy prayer above—
"The knee may bend, the lip may move,
"But pray I cannot, without thee!
"I`ve fed the altar in my bower
"With droppings from the incense tree;
"I`ve sheltered it from wind and shower,
"But dim it burns the livelong hour,
"As if, like me, it had no power
"Of life or lustre without thee!

"A boat at midnight sent alone
"To drift upon the moonless sea,
"A lute, whose leading chord is gone,
"A wounded bird that hath but one
"Imperfect wing to soar upon,
"Are like what I am without thee!

"Then ne`er, my spirit-love, divide,
"In life or death, thyself from me;
"But when again in sunny pride
"Thou walk`st thro` Eden, let me glide,
"A prostrate shadow, by thy side—
"Oh happier thus than without thee!"

The song had ceased when from the wood
Which sweeping down that airy height,
Reached the lone spot whereon they stood—
There suddenly shone out a light
From a clear lamp, which, as it blazed
Across the brow of one, who raised
Its flame aloft (as if to throw
The 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 shore
Thro` the dark leaves when she was gone—
Gone, like a meteor that o`erhead
Suddenly shines, and, ere we`ve said,
"Behold, how beautiful!"—`tis fled,
Yet ere she went the words, "I come,
"I come, my NAMA," reached her ear,
In that kind voice, familiar, dear,
Which tells of confidence, of home,—
Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near,
Till they grow one,—of faith sincere,
And all that Love most loves to hear;
A music breathing of the past,
The present and the time to be,
Where Hope and Memory to the last
Lengthen out life`s true harmony!

Nor long did he whom call so kind
Summoned away remain behind:
Nor did there need much time to tell
What they—alas! more fallen than he
From happiness and heaven—knew well,
His gentler love`s short history!

Thus did it run—not as he told
The tale himself, but as `tis graved
Upon the tablets that, of old,
By SETH were from the deluge saved,
All written over with sublime
And saddening legends of the unblest
But glorious Spirits of that time,
And this young Angel`s `mong the rest.

Third Angel`s Story

Among the Spirits, of pure flame,
That in the eternal heavens abide—
Circles of light that from the same
Unclouded centre sweeping wide,
Carry its beams on every side—
Like spheres of air that waft around
The undulations of rich sound—

Till the far-circling radiance be
Diffused into infinity!
First and immediate near the Throne
Of ALLA, as if most his own,
The Seraphs stand this burning sign
Traced on their banner, "Love Divine!"
Their rank, their honors, far above
Even those to high-browed Cherubs given,
Tho` knowing all;—so much doth Love
Transcend all Knowledge, even in heaven!

`Mong these was ZARAPH once—and none
E`er felt affection`s holy fire,
Or yearned towards the Eternal One,
With half such longing, deep desire.
Love was to his impassioned soul
Not as with others a mere part
Of its existence, but the whole—
The very life-breath of his heart!

Oft, when from ALLA`S lifted brow
A lustre came, too bright to bear,
And all the seraph ranks would bow,
To shade their dazzled sight nor dare
To look upon the effulgence there—
This 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
That moment, watched for by all eyes,
When some repentant sinner`s feet
First touched the threshold of the skies,
Oh! then how clearly did the voice
Of ZARAPH above all rejoice!
Love was in every buoyant tone—
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
In heaven as `tis too often here,
Where nothing fond or bright is seen,
But it hath pain and peril near;—
Where 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 unto ill;
Where Love hath not a shrine so pure,
So holy, but the serpent, Sin,
In moments, even the most secure,
Beneath his altar may glide in!

So was it with that Angel—such
The charm, that sloped his fall along,
From good to ill, from loving much,
Too easy lapse, to loving wrong.—
Even so that amorous Spirit, bound
By beauty`s spell where`er `twas found,
From the bright things above the moon
Down to earth`s beaming eyes descended,
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 loath, 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 prey—
That 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 fixt
So fond that with her every tear
The light of that love-star is mixt!—
All this she sung, and such a soul
Of piety was in that song
That the charmed Angel as it stole
Tenderly to his ear, along
Those lulling waters where he lay,
Watching the daylight`s dying ray,
Thought `twas a voice from out the wave,
An echo, that some sea-nymph gave
To Eden`s distant harmony,
Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea!

Quickly, however, to its source,
Tracking that music`s melting course,
He saw upon the golden sands
Of the sea-shore a maiden stand,
Before whose feet the expiring waves
Flung their last offering with a sigh—
As, in the East, exhausted slaves
Lay down the far-brought gift and die—
And while her lute hung by her hushed
As if unequal to the tide
Of song that from her lips still gushed,
She raised, like one beatified,
Those eyes whose light seemed rather given
To be adored than to adore—
Such eyes as may have lookt from heaven
But ne`er were raised to it before!

Oh Love, Religion, Music—all
That`s left of Eden upon earth—
The only blessings, since the fall
Of our weak souls, that still recall
A trace of their high, glorious birth—
How kindred are the dreams you bring!
How Love tho` 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 skies,
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,
Breathing out music, that might steal
Heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer
That seraphs might be proud to share!
Oh, he did feel it, all too well—
With warmth, that far too dearly cost—
Nor knew he, when at last he fell,
To which attraction, to which spell,
Love, Music, or Devotion, most
His soul in that sweet hour was lost.

Sweet was the hour, tho` dearly won,
And pure, as aught of earth could be,
For then first did the glorious sun
Before religion`s altar see
Two hearts in wedlock`s golden tie
Self-pledged, in love to live and die.
Blest union! by that Angel wove,
And worthy from such hands to come;
Safe, sole, asylum, in which Love,
When fallen or exiled from above,
In this dark world can find a home.

And, tho` the Spirit had transgrest,
Had, from his station `mong the blest
Won down by woman`s smile, allow`d
Terrestrial passion to breathe o`er
The mirror of his heart, and cloud
God`s image there so bright before—
Yet never did that Power look down
On error with a brow so mild;
Never did Justice wear a frown,
Thro` which so gently Mercy smiled.

For humble was their love—with awe
And trembling like some treasure kept,
That was not theirs by holy law—
Whose beauty with remorse they saw
And o`er whose preciousness they wept.
Humility, that low, sweet root,
From which all heavenly virtues shoot,
Was in the hearts of both—but most
In NAMA`S heart, by whom alone
Those charms, for which a heaven was lost.
Seemed all unvalued and unknown;
And when her Seraph`s eyes she caught,
And hid hers glowing on his breast,
Even bliss was humbled by the thought—
"What claim have I to be so blest"?
Still less could maid, so meek, have nurst
Desire of knowledge—that vain thirst,
With which the sex hath all been curst
From luckless EVE to her who near
The Tabernacle stole to hear
The secrets of the Angels: no—
To love as her own Seraph loved,
With Faith, the same thro` bliss and woe—
Faith that were even its light removed,
Could like the dial fixt remain
And wait till it shone out again;—
With Patience that tho` often bowed
By the rude storm can rise anew;
And Hope that even from Evil`s cloud
See sunny Good half breaking thro`!
This deep, relying Love, worth more
In heaven than all a Cherub`s lore—
This Faith more sure than aught beside
Was the sole joy, ambition, pride
Of her fond heart—the unreasoning scope
Of all its views, above, below—
So true she felt it that to hope,
To trust, is happier than to know.
And thus in humbleness they trod,
Abasht but pure before their God;
Nor e`er did earth behold a sight
So meekly beautiful as they,
When with the altar`s holy light
Full on their brows they knelt to pray,
Hand within hand and side by side,
Two links of love awhile untied
From the great chain above, but fast
Holding together to the last!—
Two fallen Splendors from that tree
Which buds with such eternally,
Shaken to earth yet keeping all
Their light and freshness in the fall.

Their only punishment, (as wrong,
However sweet, must bear its brand.)
Their only doom was this—that, long
As the green earth and ocean stand,
They both shall wander here—the same,
Throughout all time, in heart and frame—
Still looking to that goal sublime,
Whose light remote but sure they see;
Pilgrims of Love whose way is Time,
Whose home is in Eternity!
Subject the while to all the strife
True Love encounters in this life—
The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain;
The chill that turns his warmest sighs
To earthly vapor ere they rise;
The doubt he feeds on and the pain
That in his very sweetness lies:—
Still worse, the illusions that betray
His footsteps to their shining brink;
That tempt him on his desert way
Thro` the bleak world, to bend and drink,
Where nothing meets his lips, alas!—
But he again must sighing pass
On to that far-off home of peace,
In which alone his thirst will cease.

All this they bear but not the less
Have moments rich in happiness—
Blest meetings, after many a day
Of widowhood past far away,
When the loved face again is seen
Close, close, with not a tear between—
Confidings frank, without control,
Poured mutually from soul to soul;
As free from any fear or doubt
As is that light from chill or strain
The sun into the stars sheds out
To be by them shed back again!—
That happy minglement of hearts,
Where, changed as chymic compounds are,
Each with its own existence parts
To find a new one, happier far!
Such are their joys—and crowning all
That blessed hope of the bright hour,
When, happy and no more to fall,
Their spirits shall with freshened power
Rise up rewarded for their trust
In Him from whom all goodness springs,
And shaking off earth`s soiling dust
From their emancipated wings,
Wander for ever thro` those skies
Of radiance where Love never dies!

In what lone region of the earth,
These Pilgrims now may roam or dwell,
God and the Angels who look forth
To watch their steps, alone can tell.
But should we in our wanderings
Meet a young pair whose beauty wants
But the adornment of bright wings
To look like heaven`s inhabitants—
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