But soon these boding fancies fled; 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 Can, by the outward form unfelt, Reach and dissolve the soul beneath! Thus having (as, alas, deceived By my sin's blindness, I believed) No cause for dread, and those black eyes There fixed upon me, eagerly As if the unlocking of the skies Then waited but a sign from meHow was I to refuse? how say One word that in her heart could stir A fear, a doubt, but that each ray 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 Sail through the west-there hangs it yet, Shining remote, more like a star Than a fallen angel's coronetOf all my glories, this alone Was wanting; but the illumined brow, The curls, like tendrils that had grown Out of the sun-the eyes, that now Had love's light added to their own, And shed a blaze, before unknown Even to themselves-the unfolded wings, From which, as from two radiant springs, Of that rich panoply of charms Thus glo ious, glided to her arms, Which still though 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 God! how could thy vengeance | 'Twere not so dreadful-but, come light So bitterly on one so bright? 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 wave, Shone out by gleams-that hair, to save And mine, oh misery! mine the flame, worse Had death, death only, been the curse near Too shocking 'tis for earth to hear- Their last, keen, agonized farewell, 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 diviue have said The fiat of a fate so dread. And yet, that look-that look, so fraught With more than anguish, with despair That new, fierce fire, resembling nought' 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 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 540 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 down on the best, The wisest and the loveliest.Ch, who is to be saved, if such Bright erring souls are not forgiven? So loth they wander, and so much Their very wanderings lean towards heaven! Again I cry, Just God, transfer That creature's sufferings all to meMine, mine the guilt, the torment beTo save one minute's pain to her, Let mine last all eternity! 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, Though faded like the others, grief Had left a gentler, holier trace; Unmelted at the bottom lay, The bitterness should pass away. Chiefly did he, though in his eyes There shone more pleasure than sur prise, Turn to the wood, from whence that sound Of solitary sweetness broke, Then listening, looked 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 lip hath strove To send one holy prayer aboveThe 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; 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; But when again, in sunny pride, Thou walk'st through Eden, let me glide, A prostrate shadow, by thy side 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, Had scarcely for an instant shone 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 Thus did it run-not as he told The tale himself, but as 'tis graved Upon the tablets that, of old, By Cham 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, 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, '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! Ready with her white hand, to guide 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, 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 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 earth- A trace of their high glorious birthHow kindred are the dreams you bring! How Love, though unto earth so |