Madeline With other poems and parables: By Thomas Gordon Hake |
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XLIV. | XLIV.
ON MADNESS. |
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Madeline | ||
250
XLIV. ON MADNESS.
Now, torch of reason, dark and fierce thy fire!
Thy ruby flambeau thickens in the sight;
An angel wields it in his touching ire,
And drops its molten tears along his light.
In no disguise he puts on horror's shape,
And like the moon he rises in the night
Beyond the sun's asylum to escape;
While birds of prey are silenced in his flight;
Courier too dread their instincts to mislead,
He who pursues a spirit to the dead.
Thy ruby flambeau thickens in the sight;
An angel wields it in his touching ire,
And drops its molten tears along his light.
In no disguise he puts on horror's shape,
And like the moon he rises in the night
Beyond the sun's asylum to escape;
While birds of prey are silenced in his flight;
Courier too dread their instincts to mislead,
He who pursues a spirit to the dead.
Is she of woman who in gentler moods
Now melancholy saps for past excess?
Is she of man, who tiger-like now broods,
And is a mourner at her own distress?
For vain it is that drooping head to cheer,
That cheek of dull affection to caress.
There hangs upon the eye a sullen fear
Which proffered love not only fails to bless,
But wakes the dreadful look that seeks to know
Why heaven is sinking into depths below!
Now melancholy saps for past excess?
Is she of man, who tiger-like now broods,
And is a mourner at her own distress?
For vain it is that drooping head to cheer,
That cheek of dull affection to caress.
There hangs upon the eye a sullen fear
Which proffered love not only fails to bless,
But wakes the dreadful look that seeks to know
Why heaven is sinking into depths below!
251
Behold a second angel true to all,
Welcome to her, the harbinger of change!
He comes the clouds of anger to recal;
The wondering sense from madness to estrange.
O lest the blinking sun its curtain drop,
And the bright interval once more derange,
The refluent reason and affection stop!
For death the dregs of memory exchange,
That she the house of mockery may spurn,
And in a lucid hour to God return.
Welcome to her, the harbinger of change!
He comes the clouds of anger to recal;
The wondering sense from madness to estrange.
O lest the blinking sun its curtain drop,
And the bright interval once more derange,
The refluent reason and affection stop!
For death the dregs of memory exchange,
That she the house of mockery may spurn,
And in a lucid hour to God return.
Madeline | ||