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EMMA A TALE.

1

Oh happy time of pure Love's first sweet kiss,
When Heart beats back to Heart, and Cheek on Cheek
Is pillowed at that moment of deep Bliss.
When all that in our Afterlife we seek,
Wealth, Worship, Glory, Power, seems a weak
Ambition, undeserving of a thought;
When in a few softwhisperd sounds we speak,
Those broken fragments of a Joy which naught
Can worthily express, for Being's self is wrought

2

Into it, and that Joy is not a part
Of us, it is ourselves; the Breath whereby
We live, the purest vein within the heart,
Whence flow all sweet thoughts and all Fancies high,
Our Hope, our Present, and our Past: the Eye
Of all our Seeing, which put out, we grow
Desolate as the Blind, and groping try
To find the Light which erst had charmed us so
Alas! the rayless orb that Light no more shall know!

3

Oh! happy time, when in the Eveningshade
A white robe twinkling thro' the Leaves so green,
The light step heard by Love alone, has made
The heart to flutter, as tho' it had been
Too scant to hold the swelling pulse within.
Oh blessed Time! when but a braid of hair
Is dearer in our Eyes than all the Sheen
Of Wealth and Pomp; when one kiss of those fair
Sweet Lips is worth all Joys that most esteemëd are.
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4

Oh blessed kiss! how different from that
Which on a Wanton's Lips, with feverish glow,
We press, whose effervescence leaves all flat
And stale within the Heart; a throbbing Brow,
And a sad consciousness that there is no
Enjoyment save in pure and virtuous Love!
But thou, thriceblessed kiss, wast brought below
By a bright Angel from the realms above,
To hallow, and enable Love his worth to prove!

5

The sun is setting, and the twilightshade
Is deepening momently: the golden Light
That slanting on the green leaves fell, and made
Them glisten so transparent to the sight,
Is ebbing off, or but in patches bright
Lingers upon the topmost boughs, and makes
Their feathery Sprays like Gold: hour of delight!
Thrice welcome for thyself, and their dear sakes,
Whose forms each flitting shadow as in mockery takes.

6

Sweet hour that lingerest with Eve's one star,
Worth all thy Brothers of the garish Day,
With thee come back the thoughts of those who're far,
Far distant, like to pleasant chimes that play
In Fancy's Ear, with music passed away;
And Sounds of wellknown feet and Voices dear,
And hallowed temples with their hair of gray,
All these throng on me, filling up the drear
Blank of the present Time with many a bygone Year!

7

Oh what were we, if destined not to meet
Again in happier Climes? why are we made
To feel these Joys, to taste the divine Sweet,
And ere the Flavor from our Lips can fade,
Ere our celestial thirst be halfallayed,
To have the cup dashed from our hand; or why
Are we with this frail Flesh and Blood arrayed,
With Yearnings and Affections, if the Sky
Knit not again the Links rent here untimeously?
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8

Mourn not, mourn not, wipe off the starting tear,
God is benificent, he gives and takes
Away, as he thinks fit: the Gifts which here
We at his Hands receive, for our own sakes
Are fleeting Goods, and He who thereof makes
The most while yet he has them, without thought
When they may be recalled, is wise: God breaks
The proud man's hope, and bringeth unto naught
His might, that thus the world its weakness may be taught!

9

And now the palebrowed Night her mantle spread,
And her starbraided Locks of Ebonhue
Flowed down her shoulders: wornout Day was dead,
Laid by the hours on his bier; the Blue
Of Heaven, with each moment's swift wing grew
Deeper and deeper, and the Echos still
Listened to hear the Nightingale renew
His Eveninghymn, on some woodsided hill,
Where'mid the mossy Glades he haunts some babbling Rill

10

And in a starproof bower on the slope
Of a green Lawn, with thick sward carpetëd,
And flowers which their scented Eyelids ope
At the first glance of Morn, but now lay spread
With all their perfumes in them treasurëd,
There sat a gallant Cavalier, who on
The path below looked out, and listenëd
To every rustling Leaf and fleeting Tone
That o'er the ravendownëd Darkness soft was blown.

11

Aud hark! a light step falling on the ground,
Like whispers upon air, a robe of white,
Floating upon the Darkness, one quick bound,
And they are in eachother's arms, Delight
Binding their Lips together. Oh that Night
Had broke the Link which knit that moment to
The next and their harsh recollections: quite
Severed it, so that it might ne'er renew
In Afterdays the bitter thought of whence it drew
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12

Its Being; why that Joy was like a Flower
Trodden down in the dust, bloom, seent and seed:
'Tis o'er; the Villageclock hath struck the hour,
And Time, still overbusy to take heed
What 'tis he makes and mars, hath severëd
Those hearts, as unconcernedly as two
Sandgrains in his own glass, alas! a reed
Shaken by every wind is manslove; true
But as the Weathercock, to Fancy's changing hue.

13

And they have parted, and the years fly on,
Like Parthians wounding us e'en when past by:
Burying the «Lovely» in oblivion,
Drawing a dull film o'er Joy's oncebright Eye,
Making the pulse that beat so boyantly
As like a minuteglass as well can be:
Then let us with the jealous years too fly;
Reader, much change they'll work in thee and me,
And some perhaps e'en while I tell this History

14

Of two forgotten beings, who belong
To the past Time; whose bones long, long ago
Have mouldered, and whose forms amid the throng
Are no more seen: their phantoms here I show
Like passing shadows which vain mortals throw
Upon the Ground, then lost for evermore,
Just like themselves, Shadows of Shades! e'en so!
And now the Scene must change; years have rolled o'er,
And these are now no longer what they were before.

15

He in far foreign Lands has roved, and there
Forgot his plighted Faith, and broke the ties
Which bound his heart unto that maiden fair:
Had slept o'ercanopied by Victory's
Proud banners, and beneath their sanguine dyes
His dreams were tinged with that same hue, and he
Awoke another Man: his sympathies
Like Tendrils rudeuntwisted from the Tree
Where first they grew, were scathed, and left it sad to see!
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16

But now he was come back, and wellknown sights
Relinked the broken Chain of Memory;
And frequent tokens of those pure delights
Which he had tasted once, ere yet the high
And divine thirst of blessed Sympathy
Was sated by unholy means, (which make
Our lips for that Ambrosia of the Sky
Unfit), had still the power to awake
Old thoughts and cheated hopes, yet these were like the snake

17

Hid 'neath the very sweetness of the flower,
And poisoning the honeydrop with gall
And bitterness. Oh memory! thy power
Is fearful when we sin — thou canst recall
Past forms of Loveliness, searing the Eyeball
That looks on them: but she he sought was gone,
And nowhere to be found: he searchd thro' all
The wellknown haunts, and heard that she was flown
Into a Nunnery disconsolate, and lone.

18

And having learnt this, he devised a Scheme,
A Scheme of Violence: for in those Days
E'en deeds of Blood were no Romancer's dream,
And the strong hand had ever means and ways
To work out what it planned: when the sword sways
The balance of weak Justice, and Gold buys
Off Crime, and all its Terrors Law arrays
Against the feeble, then the Man who tries
His cause with these good helps is sure to win the prize.

19

And soon among his reckless followers
He found fit instruments: Men in War's trade
Inured to Blood, who with a pair of spurs
And a good steed short work had often made
Of Right and Wrong, straight calling to their aid
The sword, that best of Lawyers when they could
Not with their wits untie the knot: these bade
He be in readiness: resolved he would
Carry her off by force, hap what might, Ill or Good.
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20

Come sit thee, Reader, down upon this height,
A grassy knoll thy seat, and thou shalt see
Thro' the old Trees, whose boughs are stirred so light
By Morning's balmy breath, halfsleepily,
A Landscape, fair and broad as any be;
Ask me not whether it exist: 'tis thine;
I would but play a harmless Jugglery,
And if thou hast the faculty divine,
Come then and be a fellowtraveller of mine!

21

I would but bid thee open up thine Eyes
And have a little Faith, a little Grain
Of fearless Faith, and thou shalt see arise
Pure forms of Loveliness, which else in vain
Thou must seek for. Oh count it very gain,
If, on Life's dusty track, where evil sights
And sorry spectacles allied to Pain
And Discontent are rife, to Fancy's heights
Thou with bold wing mayst soar, and still preserve thy rights,

22

Thy noblest heritage! come shut thine Eye,
Thy sensual Eye, if in four narrow walls,
Like a caged Bird, thou feel'st thy sick heart sigh
For Nature's music: voice of waterfalls
Sent clear up into the empyreal Halls
From the dark dizzy depths where straining sight
Can track them not: or Echo when she calls
From some old Cavern in the dim twilight,
Wandering wheree'er she lists, a disembodied sprite

23

That communes with our soul, and answers back
From out that other World, whereof she is
A denizen: of these thou shalt not laek,
Nor any other shape of choicest bliss;
Come with me, and thy parchëd Lips shall kiss
The very Helen of thy sweetest dream:
Thou shalt have Nectar, aye, and more than this;
Shalt drink it with a zest that might beseem
The God who of all Joys bestows the very Cream.
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24

Wings hast thou! open up thine Eyes: not these
Poor Orbs, which ever in the same dull round
Look on the same dull features, where Disease
And palelipped Grief, and aguish Fear have found
Their fittest Emblems: from the depth profound
Of human Misery soar far away,
Unlid the sight whose wide gaze has no bonnd
And view the source of that diviner Day,
Which sheds on all things Beauty's calm, unchanging Ray!

25

And lo! the shaping Winds have blown aside
The blossomstirrëd boughs of that fair Tree,
As if to open up a prospect wide
Of all the fairyscenes which stretch in free
Expanse into the distance: see, oh! see,
How charm on charm crowds forward as to meet
The halformed wish ere into shape it be
Embodied by the Thought, with forms more sweet
Than we ourselves had dreamt, the wondering Eyes they greet!

26

Oh! Fortunatus, tell me true, what was
Thy Wishingcap to this? an idle dream!
Bnt this is a bright Truth, which each man has
The power to realize, and so redeem
His soul from Thralldom; for it doth not seem,
But is, if we have Faith to take it so.
A Dream, a Fancy, if we rightly deem,
Is real as any fact, if we know how
To profit by it, and enjoy it ere it go.

27

Sneer not thou proud Philosopher amid
Thy Books and Skeletons, with puckered brow
And spectacles on nose: much still is hid
From thee which thou art far too wise to know:
Truths felt by simple Hearts alone, which no
Dull Syllogism's grasp can e'er comprize.
The world in which thou liv'st, how scant and low
Compared with this! thou all things dost despise
Which Doubt's vile Crucible cant sift and analyze!
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28

Thou knowst not what a curse it is to be
Thus overwise. Oh! better far it were
To be the slave of mere Credulity
Believing all things, than thus to lay bare
Brain, Nerve, and Organ, seeking vainly there
To solve a riddle placed beyond man's Lore:
Better believe in Fancies vain as air,
If by so doing we become far more
Rich and contented than with all Earth's glittering store.

29

Dull Fools! what tho' the soul itself could be
With Thumb and Finger like a sinew caught,
Or fix'd upon the knifespoint palpably,
What pleasure could ye draw from such a thought
More than at present? would it be in aught
More yours, exist more truly? do ye know
What Life and Spirit mean? a cloud is naught
But vapor, yet if ye have wisdom so
To see it, from a Cloud no unreal Good may flow.

30

Oh wretched Man, how worse than poor is he
Who has not in his soul that which can make
Even a Cloud a source of Joy to be
Garnered up for the future: who can take
From it no pleasant thought, nor for its sake
Ere from the bright blue vault it melts for aye,
Would kneel to him, who e'en with it can wake
The soul to Blessedness and Love, nor say,
Let me ne'er see a Cloud and turn unmoved away!

31

Oh! lovely vision, with the pencil drawn
Of high Imagination, tho' nowhere
Found upon Earth, yet still the hues of Morn
Not less embathe thy fields and groves so fair.
Not less the Flower to the summerair
Gives forth its perfume, and the hills recede
In distance to the blue horizon, there
Blent with the Clouds and Sky; I see indeed,
I feel thee not the less, nor other proofs I need.
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32

From yon' tall Mountainsfoot, that runs into
A sea of verdure, like a headland high
And bold, a fair plain stretches, with each hue
Of Cornfield, grove, and grass, alternately
Mingling their tints: yet ever broken by
Some pleasant Rise, that bosomlike upswells
To give the charm of Halfobscurity
That Fancy may run wild among the dells
Which lurk between, and hear the unseen Villagebells.

33

And all around that Plain high Mountains spread
Their girdle, like a hallowed spot, to keep
It sacred from Intrusion: on his Bed
Of Snow, old palsied Winter still doth sleep,
While Summer revels in the valleys deep,
And on the sunny slopes encroaching near
And nearer with his flowers up the steep
And barren realms, where Frost and Tempest drear
Have left wild records, sporting with their playmate Fear!

34

And on a gentle slope towards the End
Of that wide plain, an antique Abbey stood
Upon an Island, where two streamlets blend
To moat it allround with their chrystal flood,
That oft came tumbling down in angry mood,
Two Mountaintwins, brought forth with tempestthroes:
Its towers shot up deepnavelled in a wood,
And the old stonework grey and mossy rose,
Contrasted with the flakelike foliage green and close:

35

And one old gnarlëd Oak, whereon the storm
Had lightningwrit fullmany a fearful note
Of his wild presence, with its aged form
Coeval with the abbey, from the moat
(The Mirror where its Image aye did float
Unflattering as Time's own glass,) rose by
The eastern Window from all noise remote
Save of the stream and nightwind moaning nigh,
Or the fullvoicëd quire pealing solemnly.
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36

It was a Gothic Window of vast size
And manystainëd glass, that broke the Light
Of Heaven into a thousand gorgeous dyes,
Rich as the Peacock's plumage: and by Night
The Fullmoon streaming thro' it, broad and bright,
Cast on the Marblefloor a checquered shade,
'Till each dim figure seemed a moving sprite;
For as the Wind amid the foliage played
Of that old Tree, the Shadows on the ground were swayed

37

Backward and forward, like an Arras quaint
Worked by some pious hand in olden day,
And fluttering in the Taperlight so faint:
And round that Window dim and dusk and grey
The stone in rich festoons was made to play,
By some forgotten Sculptor's chisel fine
Wrought soft as Wax: and Redcrossknights there lay
Dust for Oblivion, enough to line
A Coffin's chinks: their swords which once drank blood like Wine

38

Rusting beside them, and their bold arms layd
Crosswise upon their breasts: so perishes
The glory of a name when it is made
To link itself with deeds which Truth denies,
Tho' their vain Glitter dazzle Folly's Eyes:
Time's mighty wheel rolls on, and flings aside
The dust which it has gathered: Kingdoms rise
And stand a moment on it in their pride,
Then pass; the changeless Centretruths alone abide.

39

And here in this old Abbey, where all things
Seemed of another world, an Atmosphere
So quiet, as might tempt an Angelswings
From time to time to drop from his own clear,
Untroubled Ether to hold commune here
With some blest spirit, purified by Pain
From mortal soil: to kiss away the Tear,
And bear it back with him to Heaven again,
A token that his visit had not been in vain.
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40

There Emma, from the world and its rude strife,
Young, yet alas! for Grief who ever was
Too young, or who that drank the cup of Life
Found it allsweet? if Fate in mockery has
Not mixed Pain's bitter med'cine in the glass,
And honeyed but the rim with Pleasure, still
Some hand which haply of all others as
The dearest was esteemed, the Cup shall fill
With that slow poison which is ever sure to kill!

41

For there are many ways of murdering,
Where haply not one drop of Blood is spilt;
Yet these frail mortal Justice cannot bring
Within her Laws, tho' greater be the Guilt,
Far more the pain than if up to the hilt
A Dagger had been thrust thro' the heartscore!
That is a passing pang: the blow is dealt,
And after a brief sigh the smart is o'er,
And the poor throbbing pulse lies still for evermore!

42

But the worst Murderer of all is he
Who turns Love's deep Devotion and Delight,
By harsh neglect, into an agony
Far sharper than the edgëd sword to smite
The soul, wherein all pure affections might
Have blossomed forth like fruits of Paradise:
Unnatural Transformation! thus to blight
The Heart e'en thro' that very Love which lies
Deep at the root of Joy, and without which it dies.

43

There Emma had retired, there she drank
Of fount's that heal, from Faith's own living Well;
And when the quiet of the Place had sank
Deep in her spirit, like a holy spell
It worked in her a blessed miracle.
Like all around she calm and quiet grew:
With Nature's mighty Heart her own did swell,
Its feverish Pulse was gently tuned anew,
And now it beat with Her's responsively, and thro'
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44

Each vein of Being sent that blessed Peace,
That Health, which from the Centre flows alone,
Like the lifesap which circulates in trees,
Without which fruit and flower are unknown,
And barren unto Joy we linger on
Forlorn, alive but to the sense of Pain.
There in the dimlit cloisters had she won
Possession of herself, and reaped again
The Interest on that treasure which so long had lain

45

Nigh unproductive to her Maker's praise,
Noughtyielding, like vile buried Gold; thus she
In Prayer and sublime Hope had passed her Days.
Meanwhile the Sun, from clouds and mists set free,
The skirts of Night's dark Robe, rose from the sea,
The azurebosomed, heaving in the Light
Of the young Day: and antique Cybele
With all her features caught the radiance bright,
And from her mighty breast its thousandvoiced delight

46

Was poured forth in the Streams and on the Air,
And in the Song of Birds, and in the sound
Of rustling leaves, and in all things that share
The gift of Utterance, or sense profound
Of that allsweetest hour, when around
Aurora from her dewy Lip breathes on
Herb, Grass, and Flower, 'till the common ground
Smells sweet as Eden itself might have done,
When Angels trod its paths, and Peace dwelt there alone

47

Just o'er the Hill, where down towards the vale
The road winds o'er its brow then disappears
With sudden turn, protected by a rail
From the deepyawning chasm, which there rears
Itself into an abrupt Wall, and wears
The aspect of a work of art, yet is
Wrought but by Nature's silent hand, which bares
Its operations not: where should you miss
One step, you would be hurled into the dark abyss,
224

48

On which, e'en at midday, thick Darkness broods
On undisturbëd wing, and voice is none,
Save the deep thunder of the unseen floods
Which in the womb of Night go tumbling on:
Just there, the morningsunrays glancing, shone
Upon a clump of Spears appearing o'er
The Hilltop, but the dust which was upthrown
By the Steedshoofs, concealed them, and before
The Wind dispersed it, they were visible no more.

49

But lo! another winding of the Road
Has brought them into view: a warlike Band
With burnished Helm and Breastplate, who have rode
At a sharp gallop, for the foamflecks stand
On the steed's veinëd necks, and with his hand
The leader points towards the Abbeytowers
Clear in the distance, and his white plume fanned
Waves lightly on the breeze; «'tis but an hour's
Hard riding, and the prize shall then be surely ours,

50

With these words to his Charger he sets spurs,
And onward dashes down the rocky way
Regardless of the Steep: his followers
Scarce keeping up with him: some loth to play
Their new part in the Drama of that Day,
For they were Superstition's sons: and tho'
They feared not Man nor Devil, dared not lay
On Holy Motherchurch a finger: so
They crossed themselves full oft, and in their prayers cursed low.

51

See, see, they've reached the plain, and from that ridge
Of wooded height they gallop down, and lo!
To the Steed's iron tread the antique bridge
Rings loud and clear: and the still stream below
The passing Image from its breast doth throw
For a brief moment, then gives back again
The calm pure Ether, and along doth flow
With wonted quiet, as no shadow vain
Of this strange fleeting Life in its clear glass had lain!
225

52

Which, like Time's mirror, gave the perfect form
And feature of the moment: lo! 'twas there,
In all its noise and nothingness, a storm
Of fury meaning naught; and now, 'tis where?
No Trace remains of it: 'tis gone; the air
Hath buried those wild sounds as in a grave,
And the calm water's breast is clear and fair
From its pollution. Nature will not save
That Image of Decay, nor deign to let it have

53

A Dwelling with her quiet Elements,
A longer Recognition: and lo! now
The dust is rising 'neath the Battlements
Of yon' old, ruined Watchtower on the Brow
Of the green mound, that o'er the plain below
Gives a far prospect; on at slackened rate
They gallop, and are entering into
The great Oakavenue of nameless Date
That leads, with leafy pomp, right to the Abbeygate;

54

Whose solemn glooms fall soothing on the mind
To raise and elevate, and make us feel
As tho' we left the vain world's noise behind;
With secret Impulse urging us to kneel
In that fine natural aisle, where sunbeams steal
In green and broken twilight o'er the ground;
And where the Rooks, an antique commonweal,
Pure Freedom, Nature's noblest gift have found,
Observing her wise Laws, of Right and Wrong the Bound.

55

«Let the Horns speak, and with their brazen Tongues
Rouse up these idle Drones betimes to Day:
They should ere this be at their Matinsongs,
But the Sun comes too early with his ray,
And many a drowsy Friar's snore says nay
Unto his Summons,» so the Leader spoke:
And as a Pack of Hounds in Chorus bay,
So forth the notes upon the still Morn broke,
And every slumbering Echo in the old Wood woke.
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56

And now as they rode onward to the gate,
Which at the end of that old Avenue
Stood, like Time's Portal, hoary with the weight
Of years and recollections, leading to
The realms of the grey Past, that Wizard who
Rubs off the vulgar gloss, and beautifies
Familiar things with quaint Tradition's hue.
But thro' that gate all access he denies
Save to the Poet whom he from his stores supplies!

57

And then he sends him forth to tell the tale
In pleasant Rhyme of all that he saw there:
Sceptres and crowns whose glory has grown pale,
For the false Jewels which adormed them were
Not Mercy, Truth, and Justice: thus they are
Covered with dust from dull Oblivion's wing.
And others shining on undimm'd and fair,
Pure Jewels which a divine Lustre fling,
The foremost in Time's crown, the one allpotent King!

58

And antique scrolls, inscribed with Legends hoar
He there decyphers, and brings forth to day,
By doting Eld with mumbling Tongue told o'er,
The Echoes of whose faint voice die away
Ere half her Tale be told: ere Poet's Lay
Embalms, or History's slow pen saves the rest.
Strange phantoms flit and vanish on his way,
Forgot traditions leave their tombëd rest
To clothe with pristine forms Truths deep in Nature's breast.

59

Just even with the selfsame grain of sand
That measured in Time's glass the moment flown
For aye, as up the avenue that band
Of armëd Men were riding, in her gown
Of Conventstuff, and with the Greyhood thrown
Back from her ample brow, so pale yet fair,
Into the dusky Chapel, allalone,
Had Emma passed to breathe one fervent prayer,
As usual, ere the Sisterhood should join her there.
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60

The sun had risen, and from that same hill
His beams upon the distant Abbey shone,
Tinging the Towers with golden Light: yet still
The Dew lay dank upon the grass unmown
Of many a streamside mead, where June had strown
From her full Lap, all blooms of fairest dye;
And still long shadows from the hills were thrown
O'er the moist valleys, tho' athwart the sky
Twilight's grey mantle caught the rosehues momently!

61

And thro' the window with its pictured dyes,
Its Saints and Martyrs, and rich tracery
Of flowerwork, with many a quaint device,
A beam of Snnshine falling holily,
Lit up the face of one who knelt hardby
The altar in deep prayer; a blessed ray,
A recognition clear sent from the sky
To tell the dawn not of the sensual day,
But of that higher Light, for which her soul did pray!

62

It was a maiden's face: not many years
Had writ their records on it, yet it bore
A calm solemnity, as if vain fears
And hopes of worldly things could stir no more.
The deepblue Eye a sweetened sadness wore,
As of a Sorrow conquered, if still felt;
Firm Faith had tempered there with divine Lore
The Earthliness of grief, and as she knelt,
Her form, like Spirit's, in the sunlight seem'd to melt

63

Away: one would have hesitated to
Draw near, so like a Glory round her Brow
Those Beams had gathered; as if Nature, true
To her high office, registered the Vow:
Nor able to devise more fitly how
To mark her Approbation, silently
Had wove a Wreath of her calm Light, e'en now
Sent direct from the Throne of the most High,
A Type of that she was to wear above the Sky!
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64

And had he seen her as she knelt, he would
Have deemed her some bright Angel, bent to kiss
Her Garmentshem — his mortal Love he could
Have no more held her, nor have called her his,
When Heaven so clearly claimed her to its Bliss.
But now that Light has left her Brow, and lo!
All that remains of the bright Vision, is
The Mortal! heavenly Things but briefly show
Themselves in outward Forms, they love to work below!

65

Her Orisons are done: she rises up
With Breast that heaves, yet holds her not, in mien
Etherealized and calm: the divine cup
An Angel to her Lips had held, unseen
Of all, save her whose eyes alone had been
Unfilmd, and opened to that vision fair:
She saw him clothed in his celestial sheen
Smiling, from the Communiontable bear
The Bread and Blood of Christ, and bid hertaste, and there

66

Be made in that same moment whole; and so
She was: her Heart within her bosom beat
Calm as an angel's, and her thoughts did grow
Pure as the Light, and with a divine heat
Of Inspiration fraught: but hark! in sweet
Yet solemn swell the Organ's mighty Peal
Now fills, (like prayer the soul), with Music meet,
The soaring vault, and figures softly steal
Adown the twilight aisles, and round the Altar kneel;

67

Some in longflowing Robes, like Angels carved
From purest marble, with their wings of white
Halfdrooping by their sides: some group'd, some halved
By intervening pillars; forms of Light,
Such as old Luca's skilful hands delight
To fashion forth: sweet faces where high thought
Has tuned each feature to an Emblem bright,
Quiet and calm, with holy meanings fraught,
To one same Divine Sentiment diversely wrought!
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68

And there arose, lighstpringing from its Base
Of Marble, in Compartments worked, whereon
Art strove Religion's naked truths to grace
With new charms from her Handmaid, Fancy, won,
A Pulpit old, whence many a voice long gone
Was heard, and as just dropped from Heaven, there
Floated with plumes softgleaming in the Sun,
An Angel with spread Wings, and Brow so clear,
As if bent down to whisper in the Preacher's Ear!

69

And where the Columns from their carved base rose
To prop the groinëd vault, which swelling light
Curved up into the Roof, there by a Rose
Of sculptured stone held firmly, Emblem bright
Of Wisdom ever gentle in her Might,
Were Figures placed, as if to bear the Weight,
Bent 'neath its Pressure in most dolorous Plight,
And fallen Angels with crushed wings, by Fate
Robbed of all heavenly Strength, fit Types of Sin's low state.

70

Oh! 'twas a Picture which a thoughtful mind
Would revel in: a mind that loves to trace
The genuine springs, which work unseen behind
These noisier Elements, which are but base
Spoils for Oblivion, tho' still their place
Be foremost on Life s stage: the growing Light
The floating Shadows softly doth efface,
Darkness broods massy 'mid the roof's far height,
While down the Centreaisle the sun streams broad and bright!

71

But hark! upon that deep and solemn strain,
As in fullvolumed swell it upward flows,
Like a sweet Incense, clearer heard again,
There breaks a far, far different sound, which knows
No sympathy with divine things, but shows
'Mid that bless'd music like a brazen string
Upon an Angelsharp: and swift there goes
From group to group a timid whispering,
And the Nuns gather 'round the Altar in a ring:
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72

It was a clanking tramp of horseshoofs
Upon the Outcourtpavement, with a sound
Of jarring Iron, from the vaulted roofs
Reechoing with an hollow, strahge rebound.
But of such rude Intrusion none had found
Out yet the cause, and in a vague dismay
Each listened, gazing momently around,
As tho' the old Stonetemplars had that day
Stepped from their pedestals, and met in deadly fray!

73

And lo! the Chapeldoor, flung open wide,
Display'd a knight's tall form in steel array'd,
And on his casque there waved the drooping pride
Of a white plume, by his quick motion swayed
Aye to and fro: and his mailed Righthand layd
Upon his swordhilt told in silent wise,
Yet eloquent, that he would be obeyed:
And thro' his vizor flashed his haughty Eyes,
Like a bold Falcon swooping down on its weak prize.

74

And Emma knew him — her Heart recognized
Instinctively, the Man who'd wronged her so,
Whom yet she loved, e'en when she most despised
Him for his faithlessness: we do not know
How deep within the Heart the seed doth grow,
When in the first, fresh, early soil 'tis sown:
We think to pluck it out, yet still below
The surface, at the core, with which't has grown
One Essence, some strong fibres keep their hold unknown

75

With firm step and with calm, untroubled brow,
She stood before him, like a Dove before
The Eagle with his ruffled plumage; no
Least mark of fear her serene aspect wore,
And his stern glance her meek Eye calmly bore.
A strange yet lovely sight! a timid maid
Secure in Innocence and fearing more
For him, than for herself — a knight arrayed
In war's proud panoply, yet at his Heart afraid!
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76

She smiled upon him with the soft, sweet smile
Of other Days, with Eyes whose holy Light
Was lit at Love's pure altar, which e'en while
'Tis unrequited burns on calm and bright:
And as its Beauty on the frowning knight
Fell with a sweet and solemn majesty,
That Doveglance, like fierce Lightning, scathed his sight,
Quelling the terrors of his haughty Eye,
And by his side the warrior's arm dropp'd nervelessly!

77

Vain sword and steel! vain weapon in the Hand
To which the Soul its inward strength denies;
Which wanting, what is the bloodthirsty brand
But as a brittle Reed? — vain Power which lies
In Nerve and Sinew! which a maiden 's Eyes
Can wither like a palsied limb! one look,
The soul's high Messenger, could paralyze
The inward Man, and from the Spirit took
Both Will and Power, and to its inmost centre shook

78

The seat of Being, waking on his throne
The veiled Conscience, aweful Monitor!
Whose face is viewless, like th'Allmighty's own!
She made one step towards him, and she saw
The passions paralyzed amid their war,
She laid her hand on his, and it did thrill,
Tho' scarcely felt, thro' all his Being: for
That light Touch, like a Spirit's, could instill
Into the trembling clay the motions of its will!

79

Yea! like a spirit's: for she was indeed
Allspiritualizëd, and she stood
In that high moment from all passion freed,
With naught to dim the brightness of that mood:
No lingering Weakness linked with Flesh and Blood.
The common Clay of coarse Mortality
Was touched, etherealiz'd, and there did brood
A Glory on her brow, and viewless by
Her side, the Powers of Heaven lent their sympathy!
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80

Abashed, the Warrior turned — his haughty Plume
Drooped with the bent helm downwards, and he read
In that calm, serene glance his final doom:
He felt that she from him was severëd,
As much as if already with the dead:
Like to a fallen angel he looked on
Her bright form in its Ether calmensphered,
Something akin to Envy seized upon
His heart, to see her win this triomph all alone!

81

A moment in the Chapeldoor he stood,
And looked back on that vision like a bright
Opening-up into Heaven: but he could
Not bear its blessedness: his earthly sight
Was dazzled, and the gathering mists of Night
Seem'd to obscure the Sun: he turned away,
Like one shut out of Eden, and a blight
Lay on his heart — he would but could not pray,
And in his Soul a Change was wrought from that same Day!

82

Reader, these Forms are but as Figures made
By a Phantasmagoria, briefly thrown
On Time's strange Canvass: with the Light and Shade
Of Fancy wrought; or like to Portraits shown
On some old Tapestry, and faded grown
Thro' the long Lapse of Years: at which you gaze
'Till each Face seems as that of one wellknown,
And full of Recollections; Fancy plays
Strange Tricks with us, and Phantoms at her will can raise!

83

Yet if I've brought a Tear into thine Eye,
Or made the Human Heart within thee fear
And hope, and beat with holy Sympathy,
Then do they live as much as if they were
Of Flesh and Blood, or thou hadst with them here
On Earth been joined in Fellowship: they are
No longer Phantoms, that straight disappear
And are forgot, like vain forms wove of Air,
But Beings in whose Joys and Pains thy Heart doth share.
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84

Oh doubt it not, for what can doubt e'er do
But burst the Bubble, the bright World, blown by
Imagination's divine Breath? 'tis true
'Tis but a Bubble, yet before the Eye
Of God what is the glorious Pageantry
Of this fair Earth, but as a Bubble too?
All is but Bubble bursting momently,
All, save the Soul, which like a drop of Dew
Exhales, thus the most real is what we least can view!

85

Behold those countless Worlds, that stud the Sky
Like golden Sands strewd on some boundless shore,
Have they been numbered by Astronomy?
Their End and their Beginning can the Lore
Of Man comprize? and yet they pass before
The Allmighty, like unnumbered Bubbles, blown
By the Breath of his Mouth, and are no more!
Like Shadows on the clear, deep Azure thrown,
While He abides, eterne, unchanging, and alone!

86

The Wonderful doth enter into all,
It is Life's most familiar Element.
What is more wonderful than 'neath the Pall
The stirless Dead, the strange Presentiment
Which fills the Bosom, as tho' thou hadst bent
Down over thine own Corpse, 'till to thine Eye
There starts a Tear, by Hope and Wonder sent,
As if the Universal Soul had by
Thy Spirit sympathized with frail Humanity!

87

All, all is wonderful; and most of all
The most familiar Things: is not Life so?
This Earth, the Heaven's azure, clouddomed Hall,
With Stars, that, lamplike on the columns, show
Its Wonders to the Eyes of Men below?
The Heathens built them Temples, where they sought
For Oracles and Signs, they did not know
That the true Temple was already wrought,
Its Vastness placed it far beyond their grasp of Thought.
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88

This World is the true Temple of the true
Religion, worthy of each other: here
The wiseman seeks his Oracles, and to
Its Highpriest turns with holy Awe and Fear;
And hourly filling his capacious Ear,
He catches all its mighty Harmonies:
And Oracles foretell in Language clear
The blessed Truth, and tho' denied his Eyes,
The unknown World's best Joys his Heart can realize!

89

The Wonderful we seek not where we should:
'Tis grown a Commonplace, we pass it by;
We do not draw from it one half the good
We might do: we with it should beautify
The Ground of Life, this harsh Reality,
And make it fairer than the Poet's dream.
Believe then all things calm and fearlessly!
E'en that thou art an Angel mayst thou deem,
For thus believing it, thou wilt be one, not seem!

90

And gentle Reader, now I bid farewell
And kiss thee in all holy Love, whoe'er
Thou art, some fairhaired youth still 'neath the Spell
Of Fancy, wandering in Vision clear
Thro' Fairyland, or one whom Hope and Fear
Have stretched oft on their Rack, or grayhaired Sire;
Tho' dead and gone, still am I with you here,
Breathe the same Breath, and feel the same Desire;
This is a Wonder too, what more can Man require!
 

Luca Della Robbia.

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