University of Virginia Library

“A wonder see, O Zophiel! From the snare
Laid by the king of hell, that purest one
Through human violence to foul,—behold,
Even he, the Spirit chosen from them all,
As potent most to lure her into sin;
Now leads her forth, in a great dread lest sin,
By force should come upon her. That to stay,
Our task is: but, Oh, blessed is the sight
Of yon repentant fallen-one,—our work,
Of his own will performing! Seest thou not
His spirit-anguish? hear'st thou not his sighs?
Ah! he would pray; but, in his ignorance,
Deemeth the All Merciful, All Wise, All Just,
But the inexorable Omnipotent.
He fears his night eternal; joys of heaven
For ever past,—even as the ages past
Are gone for ever. But we better know
God's inexhaustible mercy unto all:
How, in progression of eternity,
Within His kingdom all will meet again:
Those lost ones numberless,—even like drops of rain
In fathomless ocean,—to the blessed depths
Falling of His illimitable love.
Go on, poor Spirit: turn thou never back
To bad allegiance,—or through failing joy
In good, now moving thee; or from the fear
Of hell's dread wrath: and, surely, in due time,—
When strong repentance hath within thee worked,
And from thy burning spirit hath gone up
Incense of prayer sincere,—God's eye of love
Again will look upon thee; and heaven's gates
Stand wide to give thee welcome. But, meantime,
Hard trial waiteth thee. Before the eyes
Of thine incensed companions must thou stand,
Mark for their hatred.....Zophiel, notest thou
Where, wrapped in darkness,—even to eye of God
Invisible, as he thinks,—Hell's dreadful lord
Glares on the poor repentant; wroth to see
That, whom to ruin, solely was he sent,
Her now he strives to save? Ha! on that spot
Gladly he'd wither him; but that he feels
Celestial Powers not distant; and his rage
Fears to let loose. And yet, a time will come
When even he,—yea, most of all—will joy,
For his vile end thus thwarted. Last, perchance,
To feel repentance, as the first to sin;
But sure, at length, with agony infinite,
To see his wickedness; in remorse to groan;
To cry aloud for pardon; to implore
That, even among the lowliest of the low,
Again into God's presence he may come,
And feel His infinite grace. Ah Lucifer!
How, once, by all wert thou admired, and loved:
Eldest, and greatest of Spirits; to the throne
Admitted nearest; in the Effulgency
Of Glory Divine, the brightest of heaven's host!
What art thou now! In place of that pure love
Which, like a spring exhaustless, from thee poured
On even the humblest angel,—now, behold,
From eyes like very fire, pours wrath red-hot
On a meek Spirit, because thy bad command
He disobeyeth; striving good to do;
Turning from loathëd hell repentant looks
Toward the far-off,—nay, as he wrongly thinks,
For him, the ever unapproachable heaven.
Ah! change most sad, when angel angel hates,
For good act, or pure thought! But see, two more,
And of hell's mightiest,—Beelzebub,
And that fierce spirit, Moloch, with their chief
Now stand; and others are there, gathering round;
All hot as flame against that humble one,
Who their bad service leaves. What worst they can,
Be sure, they'll do against him. But their spite
Will be controlled; their evil bring forth good.
For, though of heaven's forgiveness hoping not,
Yet, so to do as in his Maker's sight
Once would have been well pleasing,—firm is he,
Though all hell's malice crush him: and we know,
That still accéptable to the God of love
Will be the good intent; from whomsoe'er,
Or whencesoe'er it come;—heavenly its source,
Though rising even in hell.”

So these. Meantime,—
As though, by miracle, through substantial rock,
As in air, moving,—through the solid night,
In perfect quietness of soul; her trust
Wholly in God,—the gentle maid rode on.
The mild light, like a steady star, still went
Before her: as by hand invisible led,
The patient mule still followed. Every beast
Which, in the common night-gloom, clearly saw
To roam abroad, and seize upon his prey,—
As if stone-blind was now; nor dared to stir,
Or utter noise at all: no watch-dog barked;
No horse, or ox, or other thing, dared move;
No bird dared flutter wing: air, sound, seemed dead;
Crushed by the curdled blackness. Earth, sky, sun,
All blotted from Creation might have been;
Primeval Night the Universe!

But still
Serenely on the gentle virgin rode;
Awe-filled, yet fearing not; for, mid the dark,
Unutterable, and the tomb-like hush,
Heaven's glories she beheld; and heard the voice
Of the innumerable angels round the throne,
Chanting their hymn of joy.

So hours passed on,
Hours that might days have seemed: but, suddenly,—
As though the coffin-lid of the dead earth,
Had been uplift, and let noon-glory in,—
All in a moment, like a mighty wave,
Full sunshine burst upon her. Sharply stopped,
The mule stood trembling: she her eyelids closed,
And covered with both hands; as if by flash
Of lightning dazzled. But the mule again,
Recovering first, went on: by slow degrees,
Her tender eyes she opened, and looked forth,
And saw her own loved Goshen; and, far off,
The low of oxen heard, the bleat of sheep,
And happy human voices. Turning then,
Backward she looked; and, even from earth to heaven
Upreaching,—like a wall of blackest rock,
The unearthly darkness saw. With folded hands,
And face low bent,—to that All Merciful God,
Who her deliverance, through angelic power,
Surely had wrought,—her fervent thanks she breathed:
Raised then her head; looked round her; smiled anew
At sight of her loved land, and hastened on.
But the pure light, the sad, yet beauteous face,
No more she saw; no more the sweet voice heard.