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! SWISS AIR. BUT wake the trumpet's blast again, Than the blest sound of fetters breaking, From Slavery's slumber, breathes to Liberty! SPANISH AIR. HARK! from Spain, indignant Spain, And seems in every note to swear, By Saragossa's ruin'd streets, By brave Gerona's deathful story, That while one Spaniard's life-blood beats, That blood shall stain the Conqueror's glory! If neither valour's force nor wisdom's light Can break or melt that blood-cemented seal, What muse shall mourn the breathless brave, What harp shall sigh o'er Freedom's grave? O Erin! thine' IRISH AIR-Gramachree. THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 1823. PREFACE, THIS 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 1 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 Heliacal 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 all 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 Italic version also) was in making it Enos-a family peculiarly favoured by Heaven, Di Ayyedot Tov Ocov, the Angels of God,' instead because with them men first began to call upon of the Sons'-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 Targum of the Fathers, have indulged themselves in fanciful Onkelos (the most ancient and accurate of all the reveries upon the subject. The greater number, Chald sie 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 apon Genesis, earnestly exposes its absurdity; and all difficulty, and at once relieves the Sacred Cyril accounts such a supposition as eyyus olas, 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 theologians, 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 God, are sure to be visited. The beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche owes its chief charm to this sort ofveiled 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, Like motes in sunshine, round the And through their infinite array When earth lay nearer to the skies Than in these days of crime and woe, Gazing upon this world below. Alas, that passion should profane, And that from woman's love should fall One evening, in that time of bloom, On a hill's side, where hung the ray Of sunset, sleeping in perfume, Three noble youths conversing lay; His radiant wing, their brows sublime Dionysius (De Caelest. Hierarch.) is of opinion that when Isaiah represents the Seraphim as crying out one unto the other,' his intention is Of heaven they spoke, and, still more oft, Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence; Till, yielding gradual to the soft And balmy evening's influence-— Each told the story of his love, The first who spoke was one, with look The prints of earth most yieldingly; That circle out through endless space, And o'er whose wings the light from Him In Heaven's centre falls most dim. to describe those communications of the divine thought and will, which are continually passing from the higher orders of the angels to the lower The tremble of my wings all o'er (For through each plume I felt the Startled her, as she reached the shore And motion were that minute chained Fast to the spot, such root she took, And-like a sunflower by a brook, With face upturned-so still remained! In pity to the wondering maid, Though loth from such a vision turning, Downward I bent, beneath the shade Of my spread wings, to hide the burning Of glances which-I well could feel- One side-long look, the maid was goue Hid froin me in the forest leaves, Sudden as when, in all her charms Of full-blown light, some cloud receives The moon into his dusky arms. "Tis not in words to tell the power, The despotism, that, from that hour, Passion held o'er me-day and night I sought around each neighbouring spot, And, in the chase of this sweet light, My task, and Heaven, and all forgotAll but the one, sole haunting dream Of her I saw in that bright stream. Nor was it long, ere by her side disciples; adding, inavov yaр еσтɩ πараyvμvovμενον κάλλος και υίους Θεού προς ἡδονὴν γοητευσαι, και ως ανθρώπους δια ταύτην αποθνησ KOPTAS, OVηTOUS аrrodeitai.-De Vera Virginitat, tom. i. p. 747. edit. Paris, 1618. It is the opinion of Kircher, Ricciolus etc. (and was, I believe, to a certain degree, that of Origen), that the stars are moved and directed by intelligences or angels who preside over them. Among other passages from Scripture in support of this notion, they cite those words of the Book of Job, When the morning stars sang together;' upon which Kircher remarks, 'Non de materia Wishing for wings that she might go To that free glorious element ! The spirit of yon beauteous star,1 Dwelling up there in purity, Alone, as all such bright things are ;My sole employ to pray and shine, To light my censer at the sun, And cast its fire towards the shrine Of Him in Heaven, the Eternal One!' So innocent the maid-so free From mortal taint in soul and frame, Whom 'twas my crime-my destinyTo love, ay, burn for, with a flame To which earth's wildest fires are Had you but seen her look when first Of such pure glory into sin. throne Already, if a meteor shone Between them and this nether zone, libus intelligitur.'-Itin. i. Isagog. Astronom. See also Caryl's most wordy commentary on the same text. 2 The watchers, the offspring of Heaven.'— Book of Enoch. In Daniel al-o the angels are ca led watchers: 'And behold, a watcher and an holy one came down from heaven.'-iv. 13. |