---

Robert Southey - The Vision Of The Maid Of Orleans - The Third Book
Work rating: Medium

The Maiden, musing on the Warrior`s words,
  Turn`d from the Hall of Glory. Now they reach`d
  A cavern, at whose mouth a Genius stood,
  In front a beardless youth, whose smiling eye
  Beam`d promise, but behind, withered and old,
  And all unlovely. Underneath his feet
  Lay records trampled, and the laurel wreath
  Now rent and faded: in his hand he held
  An hour-glass, and as fall the restless sands,
  So pass the lives of men. By him they past
  Along the darksome cave, and reach`d a stream,
  Still rolling onward its perpetual waves,
  Noiseless and undisturbed. Here they ascend
  A Bark unpiloted, that down the flood,
  Borne by the current, rush`d. The circling stream,
  Returning to itself, an island form`d;
  Nor had the Maiden`s footsteps ever reach`d
  The insulated coast, eternally
  Rapt round the endless course; but Theodore
  Drove with an angel`s will the obedient bark.

  They land, a mighty fabric meets their eyes,
  Seen by its gem-born light. Of adamant
  The pile was framed, for ever to abide
  Firm in eternal strength. Before the gate
  Stood eager EXPECTATION, as to list
  The half-heard murmurs issuing from within,
  Her mouth half-open`d, and her head stretch`d forth.
  On the other side there stood an aged Crone,
  Listening to every breath of air; she knew
  Vague suppositions and uncertain dreams,
  Of what was soon to come, for she would mark
  The paley glow-worm`s self-created light,
  And argue thence of kingdoms overthrown,
  And desolated nations; ever fill`d
  With undetermin`d terror, as she heard
  Or distant screech-owl, or the regular beat
  Of evening death-watch.
                          "Maid," the Spirit cried,
  Here, robed in shadows, dwells FUTURITY.
  There is no eye hath seen her secret form,
  For round the MOTHER OF TIME, unpierced mists
  Aye hover. Would`st thou read the book of Fate,
  Enter."
           The Damsel for a moment paus`d,
  Then to the Angel spake: "All-gracious Heaven!
  Benignant in withholding, hath denied
  To man that knowledge. I, in faith assured,
  That he, my heavenly Father, for the best
  Ordaineth all things, in that faith remain
  Contented."
               "Well and wisely hast thou said,
  So Theodore replied; "and now O Maid!
  Is there amid this boundless universe
  One whom thy soul would visit? is there place
  To memory dear, or visioned out by hope,
  Where thou would`st now be present? form the wish,
  And I am with thee, there."
                               His closing speech
  Yet sounded on her ear, and lo! they stood
  Swift as the sudden thought that guided them,
  Within the little cottage that she loved.
  "He sleeps! the good man sleeps!" enrapt she cried,
  As bending o`er her Uncle`s lowly bed
  Her eye retraced his features. "See the beads
  That never morn nor night he fails to tell,
  Remembering me, his child, in every prayer.
  Oh! quiet be thy sleep, thou dear old man!
  Good Angels guard thy rest! and when thine hour
  Is come, as gently mayest thou wake to life,
  As when thro` yonder lattice the next sun
  Shall bid thee to thy morning orisons!
  Thy voice is heard, the Angel guide rejoin`d,
  He sees thee in his dreams, he hears thee breathe
  Blessings, and pleasant is the good man`s rest.
  Thy fame has reached him, for who has not heard
  Thy wonderous exploits? and his aged heart
  Hath felt the deepest joy that ever yet
  Made his glad blood flow fast. Sleep on old Claude!
  Peaceful, pure Spirit, be thy sojourn here,
  And short and soon thy passage to that world
  Where friends shall part no more!
                                    "Does thy soul own
  No other wish? or sleeps poor Madelon
  Forgotten in her grave? seest thou yon star,"
  The Spirit pursued, regardless of her eye
  That look`d reproach; "seest thou that evening star
  Whose lovely light so often we beheld
  From yonder woodbine porch? how have we gazed
  Into the dark deep sky, till the baffled soul,
  Lost in the infinite, returned, and felt
  The burthen of her bodily load, and yearned
  For freedom! Maid, in yonder evening slar
  Lives thy departed friend. I read that glance,
  And we are there!"
                      He said and they had past
  The immeasurable space.
                          Then on her ear
  The lonely song of adoration rose,
  Sweet as the cloister`d virgins vesper hymn,
  Whose spirit, happily dead to earthly hopes
  Already lives in Heaven. Abrupt the song
  Ceas`d, tremulous and quick a cry
  Of joyful wonder rous`d the astonish`d Maid,
  And instant Madelon was in her arms;
  No airy form, no unsubstantial shape,
  She felt her friend, she prest her to her heart,
  Their tears of rapture mingled.
                                  She drew back
  And eagerly she gazed on Madelon,
  Then fell upon her neck again and wept.
  No more she saw the long-drawn lines of grief,
  The emaciate form, the hue of sickliness,
  The languid eye: youth`s loveliest freshness now
  Mantled her cheek, whose every lineament
  Bespake the soul at rest, a holy calm,
  A deep and full tranquillity of bliss.

  "Thou then art come, my first and dearest friend!"
  The well known voice of Madelon began,
  "Thou then art come! and was thy pilgrimage
  So short on earth? and was it painful too,
  Painful and short as mine? but blessed they
  Who from the crimes and miseries of the world
  Early escape!"
                    "Nay," Theodore replied,
  She hath not yet fulfill`d her mortal work.
  Permitted visitant from earth she comes
  To see the seat of rest, and oftentimes
  In sorrow shall her soul remember this,
  And patient of the transitory woe
  Partake the anticipated peace again."
  "Soon be that work perform`d!" the Maid exclaimed,
  "O Madelon! O Theodore! my soul,
  Spurning the cold communion of the world,
  Will dwell with you! but I shall patiently,
  Yea even with joy, endure the allotted ills
  Of which the memory in this better state
  Shall heighten bliss. That hour of agony,
  When, Madelon, I felt thy dying grasp,
  And from thy forehead wiped the dews of death,
  The very horrors of that hour assume
  A shape that now delights."
                               "O earliest friend!
  I too remember," Madelon replied,
  "That hour, thy looks of watchful agony,
  The suppressed grief that struggled in thine eye
  Endearing love`s last kindness. Thou didst know
  With what a deep and melancholy joy
  I felt the hour draw on: but who can speak
  The unutterable transport, when mine eyes,
  As from a long and dreary dream, unclosed
  Amid this peaceful vale, unclos`d on him,
  My Arnaud! he had built me up a bower,
  A bower of rest.--See, Maiden, where he comes,
  His manly lineaments, his beaming eye
  The same, but now a holier innocence
  Sits on his cheek, and loftier thoughts illume
  The enlighten`d glance."
                            They met, what joy was theirs
  He best can feel, who for a dear friend dead
  Has wet the midnight pillow with his tears.

  Fair was the scene around; an ample vale
  Whose mountain circle at the distant verge
  Lay softened on the sight; the near ascent
  Rose bolder up, in part abrupt and bare,
  Part with the ancient majesty of woods
  Adorn`d, or lifting high its rocks sublime.
  The river`s liquid radiance roll`d beneath,
  Beside the bower of Madelon it wound
  A broken stream, whose shallows, tho` the waves
  Roll`d on their way with rapid melody,
  A child might tread. Behind, an orange grove
  Its gay green foliage starr`d with golden fruit;
  But with what odours did their blossoms load
  The passing gale of eve! less thrilling sweet
  Rose from the marble`s perforated floor,
  Where kneeling at her prayers, the Moorish queen
  Inhaled the cool delight, and whilst she asked
  The Prophet for his promised paradise,
  Shaped from the present scene its utmost joys.
  A goodly scene! fair as that faery land
  Where Arthur lives, by ministering spirits borne
  From Camlan`s bloody banks; or as the groves
  Of earliest Eden, where, so legends say,
  Enoch abides, and he who rapt away
  By fiery steeds, and chariotted in fire,
  Past in his mortal form the eternal ways;
  And John, beloved of Christ, enjoying there
  The beatific vision, sometimes seen
  The distant dawning of eternal day,
  Till all things be fulfilled.
                               "Survey this scene!"
  So Theodore address`d the Maid of Arc,
  "There is no evil here, no wretchedness,
  It is the Heaven of those who nurst on earth
  Their nature`s gentlest feelings. Yet not here
  Centering their joys, but with a patient hope,
  Waiting the allotted hour when capable
  Of loftier callings, to a better state
  They pass; and hither from that better state
  Frequent they come, preserving so those ties
  That thro` the infinite progressiveness
  Complete our perfect bliss.
                               "Even such, so blest,
  Save that the memory of no sorrows past
  Heightened the present joy, our world was once,
  In the first aera of its innocence
  Ere man had learnt to bow the knee to man.
  Was there a youth whom warm affection fill`d,
  He spake his honest heart; the earliest fruits
  His toil produced, the sweetest flowers that deck`d
  The sunny bank, he gather`d for the maid,
  Nor she disdain`d the gift; for VICE not yet
  Had burst the dungeons of her hell, and rear`d
  Those artificial boundaries that divide
  Man from his species. State of blessedness!
  Till that ill-omen`d hour when Cain`s stern son
  Delved in the bowels of the earth for gold,
  Accursed bane of virtue! of such force
  As poets feign dwelt in the Gorgon`s locks,
  Which whoso saw, felt instant the life-blood
  Cold curdle in his veins, the creeping flesh
  Grew stiff with horror, and the heart forgot
  To beat. Accursed hour! for man no more
  To JUSTICE paid his homage, but forsook
  Her altars, and bow`d down before the shrine
  Of WEALTH and POWER, the Idols he had made.
  Then HELL enlarged herself, her gates flew wide,
  Her legion fiends rush`d forth. OPPRESSION came
  Whose frown is desolation, and whose breath
  Blasts like the Pestilence; and POVERTY,
  A meagre monster, who with withering touch
  Makes barren all the better part of man,
  MOTHER OF MISERIES. Then the goodly earth
  Which God had fram`d for happiness, became
  One theatre of woe, and all that God
  Had given to bless free men, these tyrant fiends
  His bitterest curses made. Yet for the best
  Hath he ordained all things, the ALL-WISE!
  For by experience rous`d shall man at length
  Dash down his Moloch-Idols, Samson-like
  And burst his fetters, only strong whilst strong
  Believed. Then in the bottomless abyss
  OPPRESSION shall be chain`d, and POVERTY
  Die, and with her, her brood of Miseries;
  And VIRTUE and EQUALITY preserve
  The reign of LOVE, and Earth shall once again
  Be Paradise, whilst WISDOM shall secure
  The state of bliss which IGNORANCE betrayed."

  "Oh age of happiness!" the Maid exclaim`d,
  Roll fast thy current, Time till that blest age
  Arrive! and happy thou my Theodore,
  Permitted thus to see the sacred depths
  Of wisdom!"
               "Such," the blessed Spirit replied,
  Beloved! such our lot; allowed to range
  The vast infinity, progressive still
  In knowledge and encreasing blessedness,
  This our united portion. Thou hast yet
  A little while to sojourn amongst men:
  I will be with thee! there shall not a breeze
  Wanton around thy temples, on whose wing
  I will not hover near! and at that hour
  When from its fleshly sepulchre let loose,
  Thy phoenix soul shall soar, O best-beloved!
  I will be with thee in thine agonies,
  And welcome thee to life and happiness,
  Eternal infinite beatitude!"

  He spake, and led her near a straw-roof`d cot,
  LOVE`S Palace. By the Virtues circled there,
  The cherub listen`d to such melodies,
  As aye, when one good deed is register`d
  Above, re-echo in the halls of Heaven.
  LABOUR was there, his crisp locks floating loose,
  Clear was his cheek, and beaming his full eye,
  And strong his arm robust; the wood-nymph HEALTH
  Still follow`d on his path, and where he trod
  Fresh flowers and fruits arose. And there was HOPE,
  The general friend; and PITY, whose mild eye
  Wept o`er the widowed dove; and, loveliest form,
  Majestic CHASTITY, whose sober smile
  Delights and awes the soul; a laurel wreath
  Restrain`d her tresses, and upon her breast
  The snow-drop hung its head, that seem`d to grow
  Spontaneous, cold and fair: still by the maid
  LOVE went submiss, wilh eye more dangerous
  Than fancied basilisk to wound whoe`er
  Too bold approached; yet anxious would he read
  Her every rising wish, then only pleased
  When pleasing. Hymning him the song was rais`d.

  "Glory to thee whose vivifying power
  Pervades all Nature`s universal frame!
  Glory to thee CREATOR LOVE! to thee,
  Parent of all the smiling CHARITIES,
  That strew the thorny path of Life with flowers!
  Glory to thee PRESERVER! to thy praise
  The awakened woodlands echo all the day
  Their living melody; and warbling forth
  To thee her twilight song, the Nightingale
  Holds the lone Traveller from his way, or charms
  The listening Poet`s ear. Where LOVE shall deign
  To fix his seat, there blameless PLEASURE sheds
  Her roseate dews; CONTENT will sojourn there,
  And HAPPINESS behold AFFECTION`S eye
  Gleam with the Mother`s smile. Thrice happy he
  Who feels thy holy power! he shall not drag,
  Forlorn and friendless, along Life`s long path
  To Age`s drear abode; he shall not waste
  The bitter evening of his days unsooth`d;
  But HOPE shall cheer his hours of Solitude,
  And VICE shall vainly strive to wound his breast,
  That bears that talisman; and when he meets
  The eloquent eye of TENDERNESS, and hears
  The bosom-thrilling music of her voice;
  The joy he feels shall purify his Soul,
  And imp it for anticipated Heaven."
Source
The script ran 0.003 seconds.