 | Madeline |  |
66
IX. IX.
VALCLUSA.
Now from the orgies held at dead of night,
By him contrived, the bard averts his sight,
Loth long to watch how that malignant crew
Performed a task best never to renew.
The warning over, which unaided sleep
Had not evoked, though left to phrensy's keep,
There let it work and of the soul regain
A seed of righteous love, a sand-sized grain;
There let it burst and strike, there bud and blow,
And what its holy worth in blossom show.
Meantime,—to where two flowers exude their light,
Fluttering like burrs upon the edge of flight,
Let us return, and with the Furies' hiss
Contrast the silent scenery of bliss.
By him contrived, the bard averts his sight,
Loth long to watch how that malignant crew
Performed a task best never to renew.
The warning over, which unaided sleep
Had not evoked, though left to phrensy's keep,
There let it work and of the soul regain
A seed of righteous love, a sand-sized grain;
There let it burst and strike, there bud and blow,
And what its holy worth in blossom show.
Meantime,—to where two flowers exude their light,
Fluttering like burrs upon the edge of flight,
Let us return, and with the Furies' hiss
Contrast the silent scenery of bliss.
67
On Madeline's peaceful eyes
Drops fresh as from the skies
A tropical affection with its rays.
The angel's watchful face
Leans over her and prays;
And like the moon in space
With inspiration burns,
Reflecting light whichever way it turns.
The hour that Daphne waits is come:
Two swan-like wings with equal grace expand
At her command,
To bear the sleeper to the poet's home.
Drops fresh as from the skies
A tropical affection with its rays.
The angel's watchful face
Leans over her and prays;
And like the moon in space
With inspiration burns,
Reflecting light whichever way it turns.
The hour that Daphne waits is come:
Two swan-like wings with equal grace expand
At her command,
To bear the sleeper to the poet's home.
Where lie the hopeful lands
On which his palace stands?
Whither now tends the flight of this fond pair?
Beyond the mountain chains,
Those cities of the air;
Beyond the cereal plains.
They reach the sky-blue clime
That bubbles round a theatre of crime,
The scenes expanding as they rise;
Above one star, under another stray;
And on their way,
Not stopping, brush the verge of paradise.
On which his palace stands?
Whither now tends the flight of this fond pair?
Beyond the mountain chains,
Those cities of the air;
Beyond the cereal plains.
They reach the sky-blue clime
That bubbles round a theatre of crime,
The scenes expanding as they rise;
Above one star, under another stray;
And on their way,
Not stopping, brush the verge of paradise.
68
Not from the azure dome
Is seen his lowly home;
Yet where the poet finds an earthly rest
Cones of prophetic light
Obey his mild behest,
As escorts of his sight;
Couriers that lead afar
Into the colours of the double star.
Else wasted in the ephemeral way,
The wonders as they cease, like gusts that blew,
In him renew
The transient glories of their mild decay.
Is seen his lowly home;
Yet where the poet finds an earthly rest
Cones of prophetic light
Obey his mild behest,
As escorts of his sight;
Couriers that lead afar
Into the colours of the double star.
Else wasted in the ephemeral way,
The wonders as they cease, like gusts that blew,
In him renew
The transient glories of their mild decay.
That hour a message brings
Fresh from the angel's wings
Whose downy stroke has checked the tempest's stride.
The problem it resolves,
Why, moving side by side,
A double soul revolves
Within the upper night.
There all is dark, save where salutes his sight
That shape, meandering as a cloud,
Whirled like the driven snow athwart some heath,
Where wintry death
In wild perennial flowerets decks the shroud.
Fresh from the angel's wings
Whose downy stroke has checked the tempest's stride.
The problem it resolves,
Why, moving side by side,
A double soul revolves
Within the upper night.
There all is dark, save where salutes his sight
That shape, meandering as a cloud,
Whirled like the driven snow athwart some heath,
Where wintry death
In wild perennial flowerets decks the shroud.
69
His soul the vision greets;
In prayer the hour he meets.
But whence his faith in holy courts to pray?
Can he the lost defend,
The sentence passed, delay;
The broken spirit mend?
Alas, in sober thought,
What mortal yet a miracle has wrought?
Beyond a poet's utmost skill!
Now slow revenge must Madeline's will controul,
And bend her soul
Some deed of utmost horror to fulfil.
In prayer the hour he meets.
But whence his faith in holy courts to pray?
Can he the lost defend,
The sentence passed, delay;
The broken spirit mend?
Alas, in sober thought,
What mortal yet a miracle has wrought?
Beyond a poet's utmost skill!
Now slow revenge must Madeline's will controul,
And bend her soul
Some deed of utmost horror to fulfil.
But this was a decree
No prescience could foresee.
The world of fate in distant darkness dwells,
Its ways to vision sealed:
Nor mortal ever spells
What there lies unrevealed.
But Madeline past it sweeps,
She drowns within its ether while she sleeps,
Unheard the breaking of its waves.
Meantime, in mercy for affections riven,
Is pardon given
At heaven's high font to her whose soul it laves.
No prescience could foresee.
The world of fate in distant darkness dwells,
Its ways to vision sealed:
Nor mortal ever spells
What there lies unrevealed.
But Madeline past it sweeps,
She drowns within its ether while she sleeps,
Unheard the breaking of its waves.
Meantime, in mercy for affections riven,
Is pardon given
At heaven's high font to her whose soul it laves.
70
And now knows Madeline
A change to life divine.
The ever-sure elixir that distils
Through her, in rising dew,
Condones all mortal ills;
Those who partake it few.
Fate holds an empire here;
To all occult the marches of her sphere.
The foe of life her virtue stuns,
Incanting, in the passing of a breath,
The sting of death,
Which shrivels up before its poison runs.
A change to life divine.
The ever-sure elixir that distils
Through her, in rising dew,
Condones all mortal ills;
Those who partake it few.
Fate holds an empire here;
To all occult the marches of her sphere.
The foe of life her virtue stuns,
Incanting, in the passing of a breath,
The sting of death,
Which shrivels up before its poison runs.
Immortal ecstasy
Fills the all-bracing sky;
It clings to those who once its ether taste,
That they to endless time
May perish not, nor waste
In energy sublime.
But she who now has clomb
The purple arch that overlaps the tomb,
Is made amenable to fate,
To be her own avenger; not unscathed!
Her fingers bathed
In human gore, the implements of hate.
Fills the all-bracing sky;
It clings to those who once its ether taste,
That they to endless time
May perish not, nor waste
In energy sublime.
But she who now has clomb
The purple arch that overlaps the tomb,
Is made amenable to fate,
To be her own avenger; not unscathed!
Her fingers bathed
In human gore, the implements of hate.
| Madeline | |