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Of his own loved land, at evening hour, Is heard when shepherds homeward pipe their flocks :
Oh ! every note of it would thrill his mind With tenderest thoughts-would bring around his knees The rosy children whom he left behind,
And fill each little angel eye
With speaking tears that ask him why He wander'd from his hut for scenes like these ?
Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar, Sweet notes of home-of love-are all he hears,
And the stern eyes, that look'd for blood before, Now melting mournful lose themselves in tears !
But wake the trumpet's blast again,
O War ! when Truth thy arm employs,
And like heaven's lightning sacredly destroys i
Of him who made all harmony,
From Slavery's slumber, breathes to Liberty !
HARK! from Spain, indignant Spain,
And seems in every note to swear,
By brave Gerona's deathful story,
But ah! if vain the patriot's zeal,
Can break or melt that blood-cementeil seal,
song shall then in sadness tell Of broken pride, of prospects shaded ;
Of buried hopes, remember'd well, Of ardour quench'd and honour faded ?
What muse shall mourn the breathless brave, In sweetest dirge at memory's shrine ?
What harp shall sigh o'er Freedom's grave? O Erin ! thine!
THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS.
Tuis Poem, somewhat different in form, and much more limited in extent, was originally designed as an episode for a work about which I have been, at intervals, employed during the last two years. Some months since, however, I found that my friend Lord Byron had, by an accidental coincidence, chosen the same subject for a drama ; and as I could not but feel the disadvantage of coming after so formidable a rival, I thought it best to publish my humble sketch immediately, with such alterations and additions as I had time to make, and thus, by an earlier appearance in the literary horizon, give myself the chance of what astronomers call an IIeliacal rising, before the luminary, in whose light I was to be lost, should appear.
As objections may be made, by persons whose opinions I respect, to the selection of a subject of this nature from the Scripture, I think it right to remark that, in point of fact, the subject is not scriptural-the notion upon which it is founded (that of the love of angels for women) having originated in an erroneous translation by the LXX. of that verse in the sixth chapter of Genesis, upon which the sole authority for the fable rests. The foundation of my story, therefore, has as little to do with Holy Writ as have the dreams of the latter Platonists, or the reveries of the Jewish divines; and, in appropriating the notion thus to the uses of poetry, I have done no more than establish it in that region of fiction, to which the opinions of the most rational Fathers, and of ail other Christian theologians, have long ago consigned it.
In addition to the fitness of the subject for poetry, it struck me also as
The error of these interpreters (and, it is said, understood to mean the descendants of Seth, by of the old Italie version also) was in making it Enos--a family peculiarly favoured by Heaveri, oi Ayyedol tov Oeov, “the angels of God,' instead because with them men first began to call upon of the Sous'-a mistake which, assisted by the the name of the Lord' --while, by the daughters allegorizing comments of Philo, and the rhapso- of men' they suppose that the corrupt race of dical fictions of the Book of Enoch, was more Cain is designated. The probability, however, is, than sufficient to affect the imaginations of such that the words in question ought to have been half-Pagan writers as Clemens Alexandrinus, translated 'the sons of the nobles or great men, Tertullian, and Lactantius, who, chiefly among as we find them interpreted in the Targun of the Fathers, have indulged themselves in fanciful Onkelos (the most ancient and accurate of all the reveries upon the subject. The greater number, Chaldaic paraphrases), and as, it appears from however, have rejected the fiction with indig. Cyril, the version of Symmachus also rendered nation. Chrysostom, in his twenty-second Homily them. This translation of the passage removes upon Genesis, earnestly exposes its absurdity; and all dithculty, and at once relieves the Sacred Cyril accounts such a supposition as eyyus uwolas, History of an extravagance, which, however it bordering on folly. According to these Fathers may suit the imagination of the poet, is incon. (and their opinion has been followed by all the sistent with all our notions, both philosophical Thcologians, down from St. Thomas to Caryl and and religious. Lightfoot), the term “Sons of God' must be
capable of affording an allegorical medium, through which might be shadowed out (as I have endeavoured to do in the following stories) the fall of the soul from its original purity- the loss of light and happiness which it suffers, in the pursuit of this world's perishable pleasures--and the punishments, both from conscience and divine justice, with which impurity, pride, and presumptuous inquiry into the awful secrets of Gol, are sure to be visited. The beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche owes its chief charm to this sort of veiled meaning, and it has been my wish (however I may have failed in the attempt) to com. municate the same moral interest to the following pages.
THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS.
'Twas when the world was in its prime, Creatures of light, such as still play,
When the fresh stars had just begun Like motes in sunshine, round the Their race of glory, and young Time Lord,
Told his first birthdays by the sun ; And through their infinite array
Rojoicing, men and angels met The echo of his luminous word!!
Of the bright eyes that charmed them When earth lay nearer to the skies
thence; Than in these days of crime and woe, Till, yielding gradual to the soft And mortals saw, without surprise, And balmy evening's influence-In the mid air, angelic eyes
The silent breathing of the flowersGazing upon this world below.
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first fond erring hours, Alas, that passion should profane, Each told the story of his love,
Even then, the morning of the earth! The history of that hour unblest, That, sadder still, the fatal stain When, like a bird, from its high nest Should fall on hearts of heavenly Won down by fascinating eyes, birth
For woman's smile he lost the skies. And that from woman's love should fall So dark a stain, most sad of all ! The first who spoke was one, with look
The least celestial of the threeOne evening, in that time of bloom, A Spirit of light mould, that took
On a hill s side, where hung the ray The prints of earth most yieldingly ; Of sunset, sleeping in perfume, Who, even in heaven, was not of those
Three noble youths conversing lay ; Nearest the throne, but held a place And as they looked, from time to time, Far off, among those shining rows To the far sky, where Daylight That circle out through endless space, fi:rel
And o'er whose wings the light from IT
wing, their brows sublime Him
of that distant world-In Heaven's centre falls most dim.
is of opinion to describe those communications of the divine presents the Seraphim as thought and will, which are continually passing the other, his intention is from the higher orders of the angels to the lower
Still fair and glorious, he but shone The tremble of my wings all o'er Among those youths the unheavenliest (For through each plume I felt the
thrill) A creature to whom light remained Startled her, as she reached the shore From Eden still, but altered, stained, Ot that small lake--her mirror stillAnd o'er whose brow not Love alone Above whose brink she stood, like snow
A blight had, in his transit, sent, When rosy with a sunset glow. But other, earthlier joys had gone,
Never shall I forget those eyes ! And left their foot-prints as they The shame, the innocent surprise went.
Of that bright face, when in the air
It seemed as if each thought, and look, Sighing, as through the shadowy Past,
And motion were that minute chained Like a tomb searcher, Memory ran, Lifting each shroud that time had cast And-like a sunflower by a brook,
Fast to the spot, such root she took, O er buried hopes, he thus began :
With face upturned-so still re.
mained ! FIRST ANGEL'S STORY.
In pity to the wondering maid, 'Twas in a land, that far away
Though loth from such a vision Into the golden orient lies,
turning, Where Nature knows not Night's delay, Downward I bent, beneath the shade But springs to meet her bridegroom, Of my spread wings, to hide the Day,
burning Upon the threshold of the skies. Of glances which-I well could feelOne morn, on earthly mission sent, For me, for her, too warmly shone;
And midway choosing where to light, But ere I could again unseal I saw from the blue element
My restless eyes, or even steal Oh beautiful, but fatal sight !- One side-long look, the maid was vne of earth's fairest womankind,
goueHalf veiled from view, or rather Hid froin me in the forest leaves, shrined
Sudden as when, in all her charms In the clear crystal of a brook ;) Of full-blown light, some cloud receives
Which, while it hid no single gleam The moon into his dusky arms. Of her young beauties, made them look 'Tis not in words to tell the power,
More spirit-like, as they might seem The despotism, that, from that hour, Through the dim shadowing of a Passion held o'er me-day and night dream.
I sought around each neighbouring
spot, Pausing in wonder, I looked on,
And, in the chase of this sweet light, While, playfully around her breaking
My task, and Heaven, and all forgotThe waters, that like diamonds shone, All but the one, sole haunting dream She moved in light of her own Of her I saw in that bright stream.
making At length, as slowly I descended Nor was it long, ere by her side To view more near a sight so splendid, I found myself whole happy days,
1 This is given upon the authority, or rather disciples; adding, ikavov yap Coti mapayuurovaccording to the fancy, of some of the Fathers, μενον καλλος και νιους Θεου προς ηδονην γοη. who suppose that the women of earth were ! τευσαι, και ως ανθρωπους δια ταυτην αποθνησ. first seen by the angels in this situation ; and St. Kortas, Orntovs atroderta..---De Vera Virginitat, Basil has even made it the serious foundation of tom. i. p. 7 17. edit. Paris, 1618. rather a rigorous rule for the toilet of his fair
Listening to words, whose music vied Wishing for wings that she might go
With our own Eden's seraph lays, Out of this shadowy world below,
Well I remember by her side
At that mute blushing hour,--she said, Oh what, while I could hear and see
"Oh that it were my doom to be Such words and looks, was heaven to The spirit of yon beauteous star, me?
Dwelling up there in purity, Though gross the air on earth I drew, Alone, as all such bright things are ;'Twas blessed, while she breathed it too; My sole employ to pray and shine, Though dark the flowers, though dim To light my censer at the sun,
And cast its fire towards the shrine Love lent them light, while she was
Of Him in Heaven, the Eternal One!' pigh.
So innocent the maid-so free
From mortal taint in soul and frame, small,
Whom 'twas my crime-my destinyBelored and consecrated spot
To love, ay, burn for, with a flame Where Lea was--the other, all
To which earth's wildest fires are The dull wide waste, where she was
but seen her look when first
From my mad lips the avowal burst ! But vain my suit, my madness vain; Not angry-no-the feeling had Though gladly, from her eyes to gain No touch of anger, but most sadOne earthly look, one stray desire, It was a sorrow, calm as deep,
I would have torn the wings that hung A mournfulness that could not weep, Furled at my back, and o'er that Fire So filled the heart was to the brink, Unnamed in heaven their fragments So fixed and frozen there-to think tlung :
That angel natures-even I, 'Twas hopeless all-pure and unmoved Whose love she clung to, as the tie
She stool, as lilies in the light Between her spirit and the sky, Of the hot noon but look more Should fall thus headlong from the white;
height And though she loved me, deeply loved,
Of such pure glory into sin. "Twas not as man, as mortal- no, Nothing of earth was in that glow- That very night my heart had grown She loved me but as one of race
Impatient of its inward burning ; Angelic, from that radliant place The term, too, of my stay was flown, She saw so oft in dreams-that heaven, And the bright Watchers near the To which her prayers at morn were
Already, if a meteor shone And on whose light she gazed at even,
Between them and this netner zone,
'It is the opinion of Kircher, Ricciolus etc. libus intelligitur.'- Itin. i. Dragog. Astronom, (and ws. I believe, to a certain degree, that of See also Caryl's most wordy commentary on the Origen), that the stars are mored and directed by same text. intelligences or angels who preside over them. 2.The watchers, the offspring of Heaven.'Among other passages from Scripture in support Bank of Enoch. In Daniel al oothe angels are of this notion, they cite those words of the Book «n le l watchers: 'And behold, a watcher and an of Job. When the morning stars sang together;' huly one came down from heaven.'-iv. 13. up in which Kircher remarks, 'Nou de materia