The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore :: :: University of Virginia Library

“You both remember well the day,
When unto Eden's new-made bowers,
Alla convok'd the bright array
Of his supreme angelic powers,
To witness the one wonder yet,
Beyond man, angel, star, or sun,
He must achieve, ere he could set
His seal upon the world, as done—
To see that last perfection rise,
That crowning of creation's birth,
When, mid the worship and surprise
Of circling angels, Woman's eyes
First open'd upon heaven and earth;
And from their lids a thrill was sent,
That through each living spirit went
Like first light through the firmament!

Can you forget how gradual stole
The fresh-awaken'd breath of soul

Throughout her perfect form—which seem'd
To grow transparent, as there beam'd
That dawn of Mind within, and caught
New loveliness from each new thought?
Slow as o'er summer seas we trace
The progress of the noontide air,
Dimpling its bright and silent face
Each minute into some new grace,
And varying heaven's reflections there—
Or, like the light of evening, stealing
O'er some fair temple, which all day
Hath slept in shadow, slow revealing
Its several beauties, ray by ray,
Till it shines out, a thing to bless,
All full of light and loveliness.

Can you forget her blush, when round
Through Eden's lone, enchanted ground
She look'd, and saw, the sea—the skies—
And heard the rush of many a wing,
On high behests then vanishing;
And saw the last few angel eyes,
Still lingering—mine among the rest,—
Reluctant leaving scenes so blest?

From that miraculous hour, the fate
Of this new, glorious Being dwelt
For ever, with a spell-like weight,
Upon my spirit—early, late,
Whate'er I did, or dream'd, or felt,
The thought of what might yet befall
That matchless creature mix'd with all.—
Nor she alone, but her whole race
Through ages yet to come—whate'er
Of feminine, and fond, and fair,
Should spring from that pure mind and face,
All wak'd my soul's intensest care;
Their forms, souls, feelings, still to me
Creation's strangest mystery!

It was my doom—ev'n from the first,
When witnessing the primal burst
Of Nature's wonders, I saw rise
Those bright creations in the skies,—
Those worlds instinct with life and light,
Which Man, remote, but sees by night,—
It was my doom still to be haunted
By some new wonder, some sublime
And matchless work, that, for the time
Held all my soul, enchain'd, enchanted,

And left me not a thought, a dream,
A word, but on that only theme!

The wish to know—that endless thirst,
Which ev'n by quenching is awak'd,
And which becomes or blest or curst,
As is the fount whereat 'tis slak'd—
Still urg'd me onward, with desire
Insatiate, to explore, inquire—
Whate'er the wondrous things might be,
That wak'd each new idolatry—
Their cause, aim, source, whence-ever sprung—
Their inmost powers, as though for me
Existence on that knowledge hung.

Oh what a vision were the stars,
When first I saw them burn on high,
Rolling along, like living cars
Of light, for gods to journey by!

They were my heart's first passion—days
And nights, unwearied, in their rays
Have I hung floating, till each sense
Seem'd full of their bright influence.
Innocent joy! alas, how much
Of misery had I shunn'd below,
Could I have still liv'd blest with such;
Nor, proud and restless, burn'd to know
The knowledge that brings guilt and woe.
Often—so much I lov'd to trace
The secrets of this starry race—
Have I at morn and evening run
Along the lines of radiance spun
Like webs, between them and the sun,
Untwisting all the tangled ties
Of light into their different dyes—
Then fleetly wing'd I off, in quest
Of those, the farthest, loneliest,

That watch, like winking sentinels ,
The void, beyond which Chaos dwells;
And there, with noiseless plume, pursued
Their track through that grand solitude,
Asking intently all and each
What soul within their radiance dwelt,
And wishing their sweet light were speech,
That they might tell me all they felt.

Nay, oft, so passionate my chase
Of these resplendent heirs of space,
Oft did I follow—lest a ray
Should 'scape me in the farthest night—
Some pilgrim Comet, on his way
To visit distant shrines of light,
And well remember how I sung
Exultingly, when on my sight

New worlds of stars, all fresh and young,
As if just born of darkness, sprung!

Such was my pure ambition then,
My sinless transport, night and morn;
Ere yet this newer world of men,
And that most fair of stars was born
Which I, in fatal hour, saw rise
Among the flowers of Paradise!
Thenceforth my nature all was chang'd,
My heart, soul, senses turn'd below;
And he, who but so lately rang'd
Yon wonderful expanse, where glow
Worlds upon worlds,—yet found his mind
Ev'n in that luminous range confin'd,—
Now blest the humblest, meanest sod
Of the dark earth where Woman trod!
In vain my former idols glisten'd
From their far thrones; in vain these ears
To the once-thrilling music listen'd,
That hymn'd around my favourite spheres—
To earth, to earth each thought was given,
That in this half-lost soul had birth;

Like some high mount, whose head's in heaven,
While its whole shadow rests on earth!

Nor was it Love, ev'n yet, that thrall'd
My spirit in his burning ties;
And less, still less could it be call'd
That grosser flame, round which Love flies
Nearer and nearer, till he dies—
No, it was wonder, such as thrill'd
At all God's works my dazzled sense;
The same rapt wonder, only fill'd
With passion, more profound, intense,—
A vehement, but wandering fire,
Which, though nor love, nor yet desire,—
Though through all womankind it took
Its range, as lawless lightnings run,
Yet wanted but a touch, a look,
To fix it burning upon One.

Then, too, the ever-restless zeal,
The' insatiate curiosity
To know how shapes, so fair, must feel—
To look, but once, beneath the seal
Of so much loveliness, and see

What souls belong'd to such bright eyes—
Whether, as sun-beams find their way
Into the gem that hidden lies,
Those looks could inward turn their ray,
And make the soul as bright as they:
All this impell'd my anxious chase,
And still the more I saw and knew
Of Woman's fond, weak, conquering race,
The' intenser still my wonder grew.

I had beheld their First, their Eve,
Born in that splendid Paradise,
Which sprung there solely to receive
The first light of her waking eyes.
I had seen purest angels lean
In worship o'er her from above;
And man—oh yes, had envying seen
Proud man possess'd of all her love.

I saw their happiness, so brief,
So exquisite,—her error, too,
That easy trust, that prompt belief
In what the warm heart wishes true;

That faith in words, when kindly said,
By which the whole fond sex is led—
Mingled with—what I durst not blame,
For 'tis my own—that zeal to know,
Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of woe;
Which, though from heaven all pure it came,
Yet stain'd, misus'd, brought sin and shame
On her, on me, on all below!

I had seen this; had seen Man, arm'd,
As his soul is, with strength and sense,
By her first words to ruin charm'd;
His vaunted reason's cold defence,
Like an ice-barrier in the ray
Of melting summer, smil'd away.
Nay, stranger yet, spite of all this—
Though by her counsels taught to err,
Though driv'n from Paradise for her,
(And with her—that, at least, was bliss,)
Had I not heard him, ere he crost
The threshold of that earthly heaven,
Which by her wildering smile he lost—
So quickly was the wrong forgiven!—

Had I not heard him, as he prest
The frail, fond trembler to a breast
Which she had doom'd to sin and strife,
Call her—ev'n then—his Life! his Life!
Yes, such the love-taught name, the first,
That ruin'd Man to Woman gave,
Ev'n in his outcast hour, when curst
By her fond witchery, with that worst
And earliest boon of love, the grave!
She, who brought death into the world,
There stood before him, with the light
Of their lost Paradise still bright
Upon those sunny locks, that curl'd
Down her white shoulders to her feet—
So beautiful in form, so sweet
In heart and voice, as to redeem
The loss, the death of all things dear,
Except herself—and make it seem
Life, endless Life, while she was near!

Could I help wondering at a creature,
Thus circled round with spells so strong—
One, to whose every thought, word, feature,
In joy and woe, through right and wrong,
Such sweet omnipotence heaven gave,
To bless or ruin, curse or save?

Nor did the marvel cease with her—
New Eves in all her daughters came,
As strong to charm, as weak to err,
As sure of man through praise and blame,
Whate'er they brought him, pride or shame,
He still the' unreasoning worshipper,
And they, throughout all time, the same
Enchantresses of soul and frame,
Into whose hands, from first to last,
This world with all its destinies,
Devotedly by heaven seems cast,
To save or ruin, as they please!
Oh, 'tis not to be told how long,
How restlessly I sigh'd to find
Some one, from out that witching throng,
Some abstract of the form and mind

Of the whole matchless sex, from which,
In my own arms beheld, possest,
I might learn all the powers to witch,
To warm, and (if my fate unblest
Would have it) ruin, of the rest!
Into whose inward soul and sense
I might descend, as doth the bee
Into the flower's deep heart, and thence
Rifle, in all its purity,
The prime, the quintessence, the whole
Of wondrous Woman's frame and soul!

At length, my burning wish, my prayer—
(For such—oh what will tongues not dare,
When hearts go wrong?—this lip preferr'd)—
At length my ominous prayer was heard—
But whether heard in heaven or hell,
Listen—and thou wilt know too well.

There was a maid, of all who move
Like visions o'er this orb, most fit
To be a bright young angel's love,
Herself so bright, so exquisite!
The pride, too, of her step, as light
Along the' unconscious earth she went,

Seem'd that of one, born with a right
To walk some heav'nlier element,
And tread in places where her feet
A star at every step should meet.
'Twas not alone that loveliness
By which the wilder'd sense is caught—
Of lips, whose very breath could bless;
Of playful blushes, that seem'd nought
But luminous escapes of thought;
Of eyes that, when by anger stirr'd,
Were fire itself, but, at a word
Of tenderness, all soft became
As though they could, like the sun's bird,
Dissolve away in their own flame—
Of form, as pliant as the shoots
Of a young tree, in vernal flower;
Yet round and glowing as the fruits,
That drop from it in summer's hour;—
'Twas not alone this loveliness
That falls to loveliest women's share,
Though, even here, her form could spare
From its own beauty's rich excess
Enough to make ev'n them more fair—

But 'twas the Mind, outshining clear
Through her whole frame—the soul, still near,
To light each charm, yet independent
Of what it lighted, as the sun
That shines on flowers, would be resplendent
Were there no flowers to shine upon—
'Twas this, all this, in one combin'd—
The' unnumber'd looks and arts that form
The glory of young woman-kind,
Taken, in their perfection, warm,
Ere time had chill'd a single charm,
And stamp'd with such a seal of Mind,
As gave to beauties, that might be
Too sensual else, too unrefin'd,
The impress of Divinity!

'Twas this—a union, which the hand
Of Nature kept for her alone,
Of every thing most playful, bland,
Voluptuous, spiritual, grand,
In angel-natures and her own—
Oh this it was that drew me nigh
One, who seem'd kin to heaven as I,
A bright twin-sister from on high—

One, in whose love, I felt, were given
The mix'd delights of either sphere,
All that the spirit seeks in heaven,
And all the senses burn for here.

Had we—but hold—hear every part
Of our sad tale—spite of the pain
Remembrance gives, when the fix'd dart
Is stirr'd thus in the wound again—
Hear every step, so full of bliss,
And yet so ruinous, that led
Down to the last, dark precipice,
Where perish'd both—the fall'n, the dead!

From the first hour she caught my sight,
I never left her—day and night
Hovering unseen around her way,
And mid her loneliest musings near,
I soon could track each thought that lay,
Gleaming within her heart, as clear
As pebbles within brooks appear;
And there, among the countless things
That keep young hearts for ever glowing,

Vague wishes, fond imaginings,
Love-dreams, as yet no object knowing—
Light, winged hopes, that come when bid,
And rainbow joys that end in weeping;
And passions, among pure thoughts hid,
Like serpents under flow'rets sleeping:—
'Mong all these feelings—felt where'er
Young hearts are beating—I saw there
Proud thoughts, aspirings high—beyond
Whate'er yet dwelt in soul so fond—
Glimpses of glory, far away
Into the bright, vague future given;
And fancies, free and grand, whose play,
Like that of eaglets, is near heaven!
With this, too—what a soul and heart
To fall beneath the tempter's art!—
A zeal for knowledge, such as ne'er
Enshrin'd itself in form so fair,
Since that first, fatal hour, when Eve,
With every fruit of Eden blest,
Save one alone—rather than leave
That one unreach'd, lost all the rest.

It was in dreams that first I stole
With gentle mastery o'er her mind—

In that rich twilight of the soul,
When reason's beam, half hid behind
The clouds of sleep, obscurely gilds
Each shadowy shape the Fancy builds—
'Twas then, by that soft light, I brought
Vague, glimmering visions to her view;—
Catches of radiance, lost when caught,
Bright labyrinths, that led to nought,
And vistas, with no pathway through;—
Dwellings of bliss, that opening shone,
Then clos'd, dissolv'd, and left no trace—
All that, in short, could tempt Hope on,
But give her wing no resting-place;
Myself the while, with brow, as yet,
Pure as the young moon's coronet,
Through every dream still in her sight,

The' enchanter of each mocking scene,
Who gave the hope, then brought the blight,
Who said, “Behold yon world of light,”
Then sudden dropt a veil between!

At length, when I perceiv'd each thought,
Waking or sleeping, fix'd on nought
But these illusive scenes, and me—

The phantom, who thus came and went,
In half revealments, only meant
To madden curiosity—
When by such various arts I found
Her fancy to its utmost wound,
One night—'twas in a holy spot,
Which she for pray'r had chos'n—a grot
Of purest marble, built below
Her garden beds, through which a glow
From lamps invisible then stole,
Brightly pervading all the place—
Like that mysterious light the soul,
Itself unseen, sheds through the face.
There, at her altar while she knelt,
And all that woman ever felt,
When God and man both claim'd her sighs—
Every warm thought, that ever dwelt,
Like summer clouds, 'twixt earth and skies,
Too pure to fall, too gross to rise,
Spoke in her gestures, tones, and eyes—
Then, as the mystic light's soft ray
Grew softer still, as tho' its ray
Was breath'd from her, I heard her say:—

“Oh idol of my dreams! whate'er
“Thy nature be—human, divine,
“Or but half heav'nly—still too fair,
“Too heavenly to be ever mine!

“Wonderful Spirit, who dost make
“Slumber so lovely, that it seems
“No longer life to live awake,
“Since heaven itself descends in dreams,

“Why do I ever lose thee? why
“When on thy realms and thee I gaze
“Still drops that veil, which I could die,
“Oh gladly, but one hour to raise?

“Long ere such miracles as thou
“And thine came o'er my thoughts, a thirst
“For light was in this soul, which now
“Thy looks have into passion nurs'd.

“There's nothing bright above, below,
“In sky—earth—ocean, that this breast
“Doth not intensely burn to know,
“And thee, thee, thee, o'er all the rest!

“Then come, oh Spirit, from behind
“The curtains of thy radiant home,
“If thou would'st be as angel shrin'd,
“Or lov'd and clasp'd as mortal, come!

“Bring all thy dazzling wonders here,
“That I may, waking, know and see;
“Or waft me hence to thy own sphere,
“Thy heaven or—aye, even that with thee!

“Demon or God, who hold'st the book
“Of knowledge spread beneath thine eye,
“Give me, with thee, but one bright look
“Into its leaves, and let me die!

“By those ethereal wings, whose way
“Lies through an element, so fraught
“With living Mind, that, as they play,
“Their every movement is a thought!

“By that bright, wreathed hair, between
“Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind
“Of Paradise so late hath been,
“And left its fragrant soul behind!

“By those impassion'd eyes, that melt
“Their light into the inmost heart;
“Like sunset in the waters, felt
“As molten fire through every part—

“I do implore thee, oh most bright
“And worshipp'd Spirit, shine but o'er
“My waking, wondering eyes this night,
“This one blest night—I ask no more!”

Exhausted, breathless, as she said
These burning words, her languid head
Upon the altar's steps she cast,
As if that brain-throb were its last—

Till, startled by the breathing, nigh,
Of lips, that echoed back her sigh,
Sudden her brow again she rais'd;
And there, just lighted on the shrine,
Beheld me—not as I had blaz'd
Around her, full of light divine,
In her late dreams, but soften'd down
Into more mortal grace;—my crown

Of flowers, too radiant for this world,
Left hanging on yon starry steep;
My wings shut up, like banners furl'd,
When Peace hath put their pomp to sleep;
Or like autumnal clouds, that keep
Their lightnings sheath'd, rather than mar
The dawning hour of some young star;
And nothing left, but what beseem'd
The' accessible, though glorious mate
Of mortal woman—whose eyes beam'd
Back upon hers, as passionate;
Whose ready heart brought flame for flame,
Whose sin, whose madness was the same;
And whose soul lost, in that one hour,
For her and for her love—oh more
Of heaven's light than ev'n the power
Of heav'n itself could now restore!

And yet, that hour!”—
The Spirit here
Stopp'd in his utterance, as if words
Gave way beneath the wild career
Of his then rushing thoughts—like chords,

Midway in some enthusiast's song,
Breaking beneath a touch too strong;
While the clench'd hand upon the brow
Told how remembrance throbb'd there now!
But soon 'twas o'er—that casual blaze
From the sunk fire of other days—
That relic of a flame, whose burning
Had been too fierce to be relum'd,
Soon pass'd away, and the youth, turning
To his bright listeners, thus resum'd:—

“Days, months elaps'd, and, though what most
On earth I sigh'd for was mine, all—
Yet—was I happy? God, thou know'st,
Howe'er they smile, and feign, and boast,
What happiness is theirs, who fall!
'Twas bitterest anguish—made more keen
Ev'n by the love, the bliss, between
Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell
In agonizing cross-light given
Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell
In purgatory catch of heaven!

The only feeling that to me
Seem'd joy—or rather my sole rest
From aching misery—was to see
My young, proud, blooming Lilis blest.
She, the fair fountain of all ill
To my lost soul—whom yet its thirst
Fervidly panted after still,
And found the charm fresh as at first—
To see her happy—to reflect
Whatever beams still round me play'd
Of former pride, of glory wreck'd,
On her, my Moon, whose light I made,
And whose soul worshipp'd ev'n my shade—
This was, I own, enjoyment—this
My sole, last lingering glimpse of bliss.

And proud she was, fair creature!—proud,
Beyond what ev'n most queenly stirs
In woman's heart, nor would have bow'd
That beautiful young brow of hers
To aught beneath the First above,
So high she deem'd her Cherub's love!

Then, too, that passion, hourly growing
Stronger and stronger—to which even
Her love, at times, gave way—of knowing
Every thing strange in earth and heaven;
Not only all that, full reveal'd,
The' eternal Alla loves to show,
But all that He hath wisely seal'd
In darkness, for man not to know—
Ev'n this desire, alas, ill-starr'd
And fatal as it was, I sought
To feed each minute, and unbarr'd
Such realms of wonder on her thought,
As ne'er, till then, had let their light
Escape on any mortal's sight!
In the deep earth—beneath the sea—
Through caves of fire—through wilds of air—

Wherever sleeping Mystery
Had spread her curtain, we were there—
Love still beside us, as we went,
At home in each new element,
And sure of worship every where!

Then first was Nature taught to lay
The wealth of all her kingdoms down
At woman's worshipp'd feet, and say,
“Bright creature, this is all thine own!”
Then first were diamonds, from the night ,
Of earth's deep centre brought to light,
And made to grace the conquering way
Of proud young beauty with their ray.

Then, too, the pearl from out its shell
Unsightly, in the sunless sea,
(As 'twere a spirit, forc'd to dwell
In form unlovely) was set free,
And round the neck of woman threw
A light it lent and borrow'd too.
For never did this maid—whate'er
The' ambition of the hour—forget
Her sex's pride in being fair;
Nor that adornment, tasteful, rare,
Which makes the mighty magnet, set
In Woman's form, more mighty yet.
Nor was there aught within the range
Of my swift wing in sea or air,
Of beautiful, or grand, or strange,
That, quickly as her wish could change,
I did not seek, with such fond care,
That when I've seen her look above
At some bright star admiringly,
I've said, “Nay, look not there, my love ,
Alas, I cannot give it thee!”

But not alone the wonders found
Through Nature's realm—the' unveil'd, material,
Visible glories, that abound,
Through all her vast, enchanted ground—
But whatsoe'er unseen, ethereal,
Dwells far away from human sense,
Wrapp'd in its own intelligence—
The mystery of that Fountain-head,
From which all vital spirit runs,
All breath of Life, where'er 'tis spread
Through men or angels, flowers or suns—
The workings of the' Almighty Mind,
When first o'er Chaos he design'd
The outlines of this world; and through
That depth of darkness—like the bow,
Call'd out of rain-clouds, hue by hue —
Saw the grand, gradual picture grow;—
The covenant with human kind
By Alla made —the chains of Fate

He round himself and them hath twin'd,
Till his high task he consummate;—
Till good from evil, love from hate,
Shall be work'd out through sin and pain,
And Fate shall loose her iron chain,
And all be free, be bright again!

Such were the deep-drawn mysteries,
And some, ev'n more obscure, profound,
And wildering to the mind than these,
Which—far as woman's thought could sound,
Or a fall'n, outlaw'd spirit reach—
She dar'd to learn, and I to teach.
Till—fill'd with such unearthly lore,
And mingling the pure light it brings
With much that fancy had, before,
Shed in false, tinted glimmerings—
The' enthusiast girl spoke out, as one
Inspir'd, among her own dark race,
Who from their ancient shrines would run,
Leaving their holy rites undone,
To gaze upon her holier face.

And, though but wild the things she spoke,
Yet, mid that play of error's smoke
Into fair shapes by fancy curl'd,
Some gleams of pure religion broke—
Glimpses, that have not yet awoke,
But startled the still dreaming world!
Oh, many a truth, remote, sublime,
Which Heav'n would from the minds of men
Have kept conceal'd, till its own time,
Stole out in these revealments then—
Revealments dim, that have fore-run,
By ages, the great, Sealing One!
Like that imperfect dawn, or light
Escaping from the Zodiac's signs,
Which makes the doubtful east half bright,
Before the real morning shines!

Thus did some moons of bliss go by—
Of bliss to her, who saw but love

And knowledge throughout earth and sky;
To whose enamour'd soul and eye,
I seem'd—as is the sun on high—
The light of all below, above,
The spirit of sea, and land, and air,
Whose influence, felt every where,
Spread from its centre, her own heart,
Ev'n to the world's extremest part;
While through that world her reinless mind
Had now career'd so fast and far,
That earth itself seem'd left behind,
And her proud fancy, unconfin'd,
Already saw Heaven's gates ajar!

Happy enthusiast! still, oh, still
Spite of my own heart's mortal chill,
Spite of that double-fronted sorrow,
Which looks at once before and back,
Beholds the yesterday, the morrow,
And sees both comfortless, both black—
Spite of all this, I could have still
In her delight forgot all ill;
Or, if pain would not be forgot,
At least have borne and murmur'd not.

When thoughts of an offended heaven,
Of sinfulness, which I—ev'n I,
While down its steep most headlong driven—
Well knew could never be forgiven,
Came o'er me with an agony
Beyond all reach of mortal woe—
A torture kept for those who know,
Know every thing, and—worst of all—
Know and love Virtue while they fall!
Ev'n then, her presence had the power
To soothe, to warm—nay, ev'n to bless—
If ever bliss could graft its flower
On stem so full of bitterness—
Ev'n then her glorious smile to me
Brought warmth and radiance, if not balm;
Like moonlight o'er a troubled sea,
Brightening the storm it cannot calm.

Oft, too, when that disheartening fear,
Which all who love, beneath yon sky,
Feel, when they gaze on what is dear—
The dreadful thought that it must die!
That desolating thought, which comes
Into men's happiest hours and homes;

Whose melancholy boding flings
Death's shadow o'er the brightest things,
Sicklies the infant's bloom, and spreads
The grave beneath young lovers' heads!
This fear, so sad to all—to me
Most full of sadness, from the thought
That I must still live on , when she
Would, like the snow that on the sea
Fell yesterday, in vain be sought;
That heaven to me this final seal
Of all earth's sorrow would deny,
And I eternally must feel
The death-pang, without power to die!
Ev'n this, her fond endearments—fond
As ever cherish'd the sweet bond
'Twixt heart and heart—could charm away;
Before her look no clouds would stay,
Or, if they did, their gloom was gone,
Their darkness put a glory on!

But 'tis not, 'tis not for the wrong,
The guilty, to be happy long;
And she, too, now, had sunk within
The shadow of her tempter's sin,
Too deep for ev'n Omnipotence
To snatch the fated victim thence!

Listen, and, if a tear there be
Left in your hearts, weep it for me.

'Twas on the evening of a day,
Which we in love had dreamt away;
In that same garden, where—the pride
Of seraph splendour laid aside,
And those wings furl'd, whose open light
For mortal gaze were else too bright—
I first had stood before her sight,
And found myself—oh, ecstasy,
Which ev'n in pain I ne'er forget—
Worshipp'd as only God should be,
And lov'd as never man was yet!
In that same garden were we now,
Thoughtfully side by side reclining,
Her eyes turn'd upward, and her brow
With its own silent fancies shining.

It was an evening bright and still
As ever blush'd on wave or bower,
Smiling from heaven, as if nought ill
Could happen in so sweet an hour.
Yet, I remember, both grew sad
In looking at that light—ev'n she,
Of heart so fresh, and brow so glad,
Felt the still hour's solemnity,
And thought she saw, in that repose,
The death-hour not alone of light,
But of this whole fair world—the close
Of all things beautiful and bright—
The last, grand sunset, in whose ray
Nature herself died calm away!

At length, as though some livelier thought
Had suddenly her fancy caught,
She turn'd upon me her dark eyes,
Dilated into that full shape
They took in joy, reproach, surprise,
As 'twere to let more soul escape,
And, playfully as on my head
Her white hand rested, smil'd and said:—

“I had, last night, a dream of thee,
“Resembling those divine ones, given,
“Like preludes to sweet minstrelsy,
“Before thou cam'st, thyself, from heaven.

“The same rich wreath was on thy brow,
“Dazzling as if of starlight made;
“And these wings, lying darkly now,
“Like meteors round thee flash'd and play'd.

“Thou stood'st, all bright, as in those dreams,
“As if just wafted from above;
“Mingling earth's warmth with heaven's beams,
“A creature to adore and love.

“Sudden I felt thee draw me near
“To thy pure heart, where, fondly plac'd,
“I seem'd within the atmosphere
“Of that exhaling light embrac'd;

“And felt, methought, the' ethereal flame
“Pass from thy purer soul to mine;
“Till—oh, too blissful—I became,
“Like thee, all spirit, all divine!

“Say, why did dream so blest come o'er me,
“If, now I wake, 'tis faded, gone?
“When will my Cherub shine before me
“Thus radiant, as in heaven he shone?

“When shall I, waking, be allow'd
“To gaze upon those perfect charms,
“And clasp thee once, without a cloud,
“A chill of earth, within these arms?

“Oh what a pride to say, this, this
“Is my own Angel—all divine,
“And pure, and dazzling as he is,
“And fresh from heaven—he's mine, he's mine!

“Think'st thou, were Lilis in thy place,
“A creature of yon lofty skies,
“She would have hid one single grace,
“One glory from her lover's eyes?

“No, no—then, if thou lov'st like me,
“Shine out, young Spirit, in the blaze
“Of thy most proud divinity,
“Nor think thou'lt wound this mortal gaze.

“Too long and oft I've look'd upon
“Those ardent eyes, intense ev'n thus—
“Too near the stars themselves have gone,
“To fear aught grand or luminous.

“Then doubt me not—oh, who can say
“But that this dream may yet come true,
“And my blest spirit drink thy ray,
“Till it becomes all heavenly too?

“Let me this once but feel the flame
“Of those spread wings, the very pride
“Will change my nature, and this frame
“By the mere touch be deified!”

Thus spoke the maid, as one, not us'd
To be by earth or heav'n refus'd—
As one, who knew her influence o'er
All creatures, whatsoe'er they were,
And, though to heaven she could not soar,
At least would bring down heaven to her.

Little did she, alas, or I—
Ev'n I, whose soul, but half-way yet

Immerg'd in sin's obscurity
Was as the earth whereon we lie,
O'er half whose disk the sun is set—
Little did we foresee the fate,
The dreadful—how can it be told?
Such pain, such anguish to relate
Is o'er again to feel, behold!
But, charg'd as 'tis, my heart must speak
Its sorrow out, or it will break!
Some dark misgivings had, I own,
Pass'd for a moment through my breast—
Fears of some danger, vague, unknown,
To one, or both—something unblest
To happen from this proud request.
But soon these boding fancies fled;
Nor saw I aught that could forbid
My full revealment, save the dread
Of that first dazzle, when, unhid,
Such light should burst upon a lid
Ne'er tried in heaven;—and ev'n this glare
She might, by love's own nursing care,
Be, like young eagles, taught to bear.
For well I knew, the lustre shed
From cherub wings, when proudliest spread,

Was, in its nature, lambent, pure,
And innocent as is the light
The glow-worm hangs out to allure
Her mate to her green bower at night.
Oft had I, in the mid-air, swept
Through clouds in which the lightning slept,
As in its lair, ready to spring,
Yet wak'd it not—though from my wing
A thousand sparks fell glittering!
Oft too when round me from above
The feather'd snow, in all its whiteness,
Fell, like the moultings of heaven's Dove ,—
So harmless, though so full of brightness,

Was my brow's wreath, that it would shake
From off its flowers each downy flake
As delicate, unmelted, fair,
And cool as they had lighted there.

Nay ev'n with Lilis—had I not
Around her sleep all radiant beam'd,
Hung o'er her slumbers, nor forgot
To kiss her eye-lids, as she dream'd?
And yet, at morn, from that repose,
Had she not wak'd, unscath'd and bright,
As doth the pure, unconscious rose,
Though by the fire-fly kiss'd all night?

Thus having—as, alas, deceiv'd
By my sin's blindness, I believ'd—
No cause for dread, and those dark eyes
Now fix'd upon me, eagerly
As though the' unlocking of the skies
Then waited but a sign from me—
How could I pause? how ev'n let fall
A word, a whisper that could stir
In her proud heart a doubt, that all
I brought from heaven belong'd to her

Slow from her side I rose, while she
Arose, too, mutely, tremblingly,
But not with fear—all hope, and pride,
She waited for the awful boon,
Like priestesses, at eventide,
Watching the rise of the full moon,
Whose light, when once its orb hath shone,
'Twill madden them to look upon!

Of all my glories, the bright crown,
Which, when I last from heaven came down,
Was left behind me, in yon star
That shines from out those clouds afar,—
Where, relic sad, 'tis treasur'd yet,
The downfall'n angel's coronet!—
Of all my glories, this alone
Was wanting:—but the' illumin'd brow,
The sun-bright locks, the eyes that now
Had love's spell added to their own,
And pour'd a light till then unknown;—
The' unfolded wings, that, in their play,
Shed sparkles bright as Alla's throne;
All I could bring of heaven's array,
Of that rich panoply of charms

A Cherub moves in, on the day
Of his best pomp, I now put on;
And, proud that in her eyes I shone
Thus glorious, 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 Heav'n! how could thy vengeance light
So bitterly on one so bright?
How could the hand, that gave such charms,
Blast them again, in love's own arms?
Scarce had I touch'd her shrinking frame,
When—oh most horrible!—I felt
That every spark of that pure flame—
Pure, while among the stars I dwelt—
Was now, by my transgression, turn'd
Into gross, earthly fire, which burn'd,
Burn'd all it touch'd, 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
Black'ning within my arms to ashes!
That brow, a glory but to see—
Those lips, whose touch was what the first
Fresh cup of immortality
Is to a new-made angel's thirst!
Those clasping arms, within whose round—
My heart's horizon—the whole bound
Of its hope, prospect, heaven was found!
Which, ev'n in this dread moment, fond
As when they first were round me cast,
Loos'd not in death the fatal bond,
But, burning, held me to the last!
All, all, that, but that morn, had seem'd
As if Love's self there breath'd and beam'd,
Now, parch'd and black, before me lay,
Withering in agony away;
And mine, oh misery! mine the flame,
From which this desolation came;—
I, the curst spirit, whose caress
Had blasted all that loveliness!

'Twas maddening!—but now hear even worse—
Had death, death only, been the curse

I brought upon her—had the doom
But ended here, when her young bloom
Lay in the dust—and did the spirit
No part of that fell curse inherit,
'Twere not so dreadful—but, come near—
Too shocking 'tis for earth to hear—
Just when her eyes, in fading, took
Their last, keen, agoniz'd farewell,
And look'd in mine with—oh, that look!
Great vengeful Power, whate'er the hell
Thou may'st to human souls assign,
The memory of that look is mine!—

In her last struggle, on my brow
Her ashy lips a kiss imprest,
So withering!—I feel it now—
'Twas fire—but fire, ev'n more unblest
Than was my own, and like that flame,
The angels shudder but to name,
Hell's everlasting element!
Deep, deep it pierc'd into my brain,
Madd'ning and torturing as it went;
And here—mark here, the brand, the stain

It left upon my front—burnt in
By that last kiss of love and sin—
A brand, which all the pomp and pride
Of a fallen Spirit cannot hide!

But is it thus, dread Providence—
Can it, indeed, be thus, that she,
Who, (but for one proud, fond offence,)
Had honour'd heaven itself, should be
Now doom'd—I cannot speak it—no,
Merciful Alla! 'tis not so—
Never could lips divine have said
The fiat of a fate so dread.
And yet, that look—so deeply 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
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 upon the best,
The wisest, and the loveliest.—
Oh, who is to be sav'd, if such
Bright, erring souls are not forgiven;
So loth they wander, and so much
Their very wanderings lean tow'rds heaven!
Again, I cry, Just Power, transfer
That creature's sufferings all to me—
Mine, mine the guilt, the torment be,
To save one minute's pain to her,
Let mine last all eternity!”

He paus'd, and to the earth bent down
His throbbing head; while they, who felt
That agony as 'twere their own,
Those angel youths, beside him knelt,

And, in the night's still silence there,
While mournfully each wandering air
Play'd in those plumes, that never more
To their lost home in heav'n must soar,
Breath'd inwardly the voiceless prayer,
Unheard by all but Mercy's ear—
And which if Mercy did not hear,
Oh, God would not be what this bright
And glorious universe of His,
This world of beauty, goodness, light
And endless love proclaims He is!

“C'est un fait indubitable que la plupart des anciens philosophes, soit Chaldéens, soit Grecs, nous ont donné les astres comme animés, et ont soutenu que les astres, qui nous éclairent n'étoient que, ou les chars, ou même les navires des Intelligences qui les conduisoient. Pour les Chars, cela se lit partout; on n'a qu'ouvrir Pline, St. Clément,” &c. &c.— Mémoire Historique, sur le Sabiisme, par M. Fourmont.

A belief that the stars are either spirits or the vehicles of spirits, was common to all the religions and heresies of the East. Kircher has given the names and stations of the seven archangels, who were by the Cabala of the Jews distributed through the planets.

According to the cosmogony of the ancient Persians, there were four stars set as sentinels in the four quarters of the heavens, to watch over the other fixed stars, and superintend the planets in their course. The names of these four centinel stars are, according to the Boundesh, Taschter, for the east; Satevis, for the west; Venand, for the south; and Haftorang, for the north.

Chavah, or, as it is in Arabic, Havah (the name by which Adam called the woman after their transgression), means “Life.”

Called by the Mussulmans Al Araf—a sort of wall or partition which, according to the 7th chapter of the Koran, separates hell from paradise, and where they, who have not merits sufficient to gain them immediate admittance into heaven, are supposed to stand for a certain period, alternately tantalized and tormented by the sights that are on either side presented to them.

Manes, who borrowed in many instances from the Platonists, placed his purgatories, or places of purification, in the Sun and Moon. —Beausobre, liv. iii. chap. 8.

“Quelques gnomes désireux de devenir immortels, avoient voulu gagner les bonnes graces des nos filles, et leur avoient apporté des pierreries dont ils sont gardiens naturels: et ces auteurs ont crû, s'appuyans sur le livre d'Enoch mal-entendu, que c'étoient des pièges que les anges amoureux,” &c. &c. —Comte de Gabalis.

As the fiction of the loves of angels with women gave birth to the fanciful world of sylphs and gnomes, so we owe to it also the invention of those beautiful Genii and Peris, which embellish so much the mythology of the East; for in the fabulous histories of Caiöumarath, of Thamurath, &c., these spiritual creatures are always represented as the descendants of Seth, and called the Bani Algiann, or children of Giann.

I am aware that this happy saying of Lord Albemarle's loses much of its grace and playfulness, by being put into the mouth of any but a human lover.

According to Whitehurst's theory, the mention of rainbows by an antediluvian angel is an anachronism; as he says, “There was no rain before the flood, and consequently no rainbow, which accounts for the novelty of this sight after the Deluge.”

For the terms of this compact, of which the angels were supposed to be witnesses, see the chapter of the Koran, entitled Al Araf, and the article “Adam” in D'Herbelot.

In acknowledging the authority of the great Prophets who had preceded him, Mahomet represented his own mission as the final “Seal,” or consummation of them all.

The Zodiacal Light.

Pococke, however, gives it as the opinion of the Mahometan doctors, that all souls, not only of men and of animals, living either on land or in the sea, but of the angels also, must necessarily taste of death.

The Dove, or pigeon which attended Mahomet as his Familiar, and was frequently seen to whisper into his ear, was, if I recollect right, one of that select number of animals (including also the ant of Solomon, the dog of the Seven Sleepers, &c.) which were thought by the Prophet worthy of admission into Paradise.

“The Moslems have a tradition that Mahomet was saved (when he hid himself in a cave in Mount Shur) by his pursuers finding the mouth of the cave covered by a spider's web, and a nest built by two pigeons at the entrance, with two eggs unbroken in it, which made them think no one could have entered it. In consequence of this, they say, Mahomet enjoined his followers to look upon pigeons as sacred, and never to kill a spider.” —Modern Universal History, vol. i.

“Mohammed (says Sale), though a prophet, was not able to bear the sight of Gabriel, when he appeared in his proper form, much less would others be able to support it.”

Not long they knelt, when, from a wood
That crown'd that airy solitude,
They heard a low, uncertain sound,
As from a lute, that just had found
Some happy theme, and murmur'd round
The new-born fancy, with fond tone,
Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own!
Till soon a voice, that match'd as well
That gentle instrument, as suits

The sea-air to an ocean-shell,
(So kin its spirit to the lute's),
Tremblingly follow'd the soft strain,
Interpreting its joy, its pain,
And lending the light wings of words
To many a thought, that else had lain
Unfledg'd 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;
As if, ev'n yet, through pain and ill,
Hope had not fled him—as if still
Her precious pearl, in sorrow's cup,
Unmelted at the bottom lay,
To shine again, when, all drunk up,
The bitterness should pass away.
Chiefly did he, though in his eyes
There shone more pleasure than surprise,
Turn to the wood, from whence that sound
Of solitary sweetness broke;
Then, listening, look 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 above—
“The 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;
“I've shelter'd it from wind and shower,
“But dim it burns the livelong hour,
“As if, like me, it had no power
“Of life or lustre, without thee!

“A boat at midnight sent alone
“To drift upon the moonless sea,
“A lute, whose leading chord is gone,
“A wounded bird, that hath but one
“Imperfect wing to soar upon,
“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 ceas'd, when, from the wood
Which, sweeping down that airy height,
Reach'd the lone spot whereon they stood—
There suddenly shone out a light
From a clear lamp, which, as it blaz'd
Across the brow of one, who rais'd
Its flame aloft (as if to throw
The light upon that group below),
Display'd 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,
By any but the eyes she sought,
Had scarcely for an instant shone
Through the dark leaves, when she was gone—

Gone, like a meteor that o'erhead
Suddenly shines, and, ere we've said,
“Behold, how beautiful!”—'tis fled.

Yet, ere she went, the words, “I come,
“I come, my Nama,” reach'd 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
Summon'd away, remain behind;
Nor did there need much time to tell
What they—alas, more fall'n than he
From happiness and heaven—knew well,
His gentler love's short history!

Thus did it run—not as he told
The tale himself, but as 'tis grav'd

Upon the tablets that, of old,
By Seth were from the deluge sav'd,
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.

Seth is a favourite personage among the Orientals, and acts a conspicuous part in many of their most extravagant romances. The Syrians pretended to have a Testament of this Patriarch in their possession, in which was explained the whole theology of angels, their different orders, &c. &c. The Curds, too (as Hyde mentions in his Appendix), have a book, which contains all the rites of their religion, and which they call Sohuph Sheit, or the Book of Seth.

In the same manner that Seth and Cham are supposed to have preserved these memorials of antediluvian knowledge, Xixuthrus is said in Chaldæan fable to have deposited in Siparis, the city of the Sun, those monuments of science which he had saved out of the waters of a deluge.—See Jablonski's learned remarks upon these columns or tablets of Seth, which he supposes to be the same with the pillars of Mercury, or the Egyptian Thoth. —Pantheon. Egypt. lib. v. cap. 5.