Eonchs of ruby. A Gift of Love :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE VIGIL IN AIDEN.

“True Love is the mother of true Virtue. She is the child of Heaven, and leads to Heaven.”—

Jacobs.

“It is, indeed, a proof of boundless love,
That thou hadst need of me even in thy bliss.
I go with thee.”—
Fool's Tragedy.

“I go to prepare a place for you.”—

John. xiv. 2.

[I.]

In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
With her ruby-lips love-laden,
Dwelt the mild, the modest Maiden
Whom Politian called Lenore.
As the churches, with their whiteness,
Clothe the earth, with her uprightness
Clothed she now his soul with brightness,
Breathing out her heart's love-lore;
For her lily-limbs so tender,
Like the Moon in her own splendor,
Seemed all earthly things to render
Bright as Eden was of Yore.
As the Morning Moon, when stricken
By the God of Day, will sicken,
Withering quite as Day doth quicken—
Faded now the Moon Lenore!
For she said to him, when dying,
On the bed where she was lying,
Breathing out her soul in sighing,
“Kiss thy dying lost Lenore!”

Then he cried out broken-hearted,
In this desert-world deserted,
Though she had not yet departed—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
As we did in Days of Yore?”
And that modest, mild, sweet Maiden,
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, “Yes! forever more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Yes! forever more!”

II.

Round his neck her arm now placing,
Lovely Death with Life embracing,
Heavenly Death the earthly gracing—
She to him her soul did pour—
“Love! remember our first meeting!
O! forget not this last greeting!
This request my soul repeating—
Kiss thy dying lost Lenore!
Take this ring—it was the token
Of thy vows to me first spoken—
Let those vows remain unbroken,
Locked within thy heart's deep core!
Should you ever love another,
Love her only as her brother—
Or as we shall one another
When we meet on that bright shore!
From the Flowery Fields Elysian
I will come to thee, Politian!
In some heavenly midnight vision,
As I did in Days of Yore!”

Then he cried out broken-hearted,
Though she had not yet departed,
In this desert-world deserted—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
As we did in Days of Yore?”
And that modest, mild, sweet Maiden,
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, “Yes! forever more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Yes! forever more!”

III.

Oh! the plaintive sweet beseeching
Of those lips that Death was bleaching,
All his inmost soul now reaching,
Reaching into his heart's core!
Such as heavenly Joy might borrow
From her earthly sister Sorrow,
Should she promise her to-morrow
Joys as bright as those of Yore.
Then with his whole soul he kissed her—
As an Angel, or his sister—
And, in God's great name, he blest her,
Weeping out his heart's deep gore!
Like the half-grown Moon declining,
Through the clouds around her shining,
On her dying bed reclining,
Lay the Angel-Moon Lenore!
Then her mother cried, “My Daughter!”
As from earth the Angels caught her—
She had passed the Stygian water
On the Asphodelian shore!

Then he cried out broken-hearted,
For the best beloved departed—
In this desert-world deserted—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
As we did in days of Yore?”
And the voice of that sweet Maiden,
From the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
As with deep grief overladen,
Answered, “Never—never more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Never—never more!”

IV.

Then, beside the silent river,
Where he wandered still forever,
By her lonely grave that ever
Seemed to Heaven the only door—
Through the amethystine morning
Came foul Lucifer returning
Up from Hell, where he was burning—
This Elysian chant to pour—
“When the world was crucifying
Jesus Christ, when he was dying,
Shaking Heaven with his loud crying,
While his soul dropt tears of gore—
From the Flowery Fields Elysian
Saints returned in deep derision—
Bursting graves to see the Vision,
Such as none had seen before!
Hell itself grew broken-hearted—
Wailed aloud for the departed!
Even the sun now seemed deserted,
From the sackcloth that he wore!

Then I cried out broken-hearted—
In this desert-world deserted—
Ever true to the Departed—
‘Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
As we did in days of Yore?’
And Religion, that sweet Maiden,
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, ‘Never—never more!’
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, ‘Never—never more!’

V.

“From his bright incarnate Temple
Earth's great iron hoof did trample
Back his soul to God, as sample
Of the sin that grieved him sore!
When, all glorified, ascending,
Heaven to meet him now descending,
Flights of Angels on him tending,
Shouting ‘God!’ as they did soar!
Those ambrosial Truths revealing
Down the echoing stars high wheeling,
In empyreal thunders pealing,
Crashing, crumbling on Time's shore!
Tearing Hell's dark throne asunder,
Filling all the world with wonder,
Underneath the crushing thunder
Of his lightning-Truths of Yore!
Flooding all the wide Creation
With their joyful Jubilation,
Poured in blissful evocation,
Till the world was flooded o'er!

Then I cried out broken-hearted—
Ever true to the Departed—
In this desert-world deserted—
‘Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
As we did in Days of Yore?’
And Religion, that sweet Maiden,
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, ‘Never—never more!’
And the old time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, ‘Never—never more!’

VI.

“Thus from Earth now agonizing,
In his sun-like chariot rising,
All the stars in Heaven surprising
With eclipse as they did soar—
Now like Paradise-Islands gleaming,
In the far-off ether beaming,
Floods of glory on them streaming
Down from Heaven's eternal shore—
To that God-built City blazing,
Rapturous thundershouts upraising,
Pouring out their souls, in praising,
To the God they did adore—
While each glorified Immortal
Thronged the blazing golden Portal—
Filling Salem's great high court all,
There to meet their Lord once more—
On the wings of Angels soaring,
Rose the God they were adoring,
To his Father him restoring,
Where he sat enthroned before!

Then I cried out broken-hearted—
Ever true to the Departed—
In this desert-world deserted—
‘Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
As we did in Days of Yore?’
And Religion, that sweet Maiden,
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, ‘Never—never more!’
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, ‘Never—never more!’”

VII.

Then, beside the silent river,
Where he waited still forever,
By her lonely grave that ever
Seemed to Heaven the only door—
A white Swan, all heavenly-gifted,
Like to living snow uplifted,
On her saintly pinions drifted,
Came her dying song to pour!
Like the crescent moon sedately,
On some cloudless night, all stately,
Or, as on her couch lay lately
The incarnate Moon Lenore—
Breathing out her soul in silence
For the Heaven-uplifted Highlands
Of the floating argent Islands
Sailing now her soul before—
Floated now this argent Naid,
As in Heaven would float some Pleiad,
In the hyaline embayèd,
Anchored near him on the shore.

Then he cried out broken-hearted—
Ever true to the departed—
In this desert-world deserted—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
As we did in Days of Yore?”
And the voice of that sweet Maiden,
From the Jasper Reeds of Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, “Yes! forever more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Yes! forever more!”

VIII.

Like pure living Pearl she floated,
Looking now like one devoted
Unto death, which she denoted
By the aspect that she wore;
When his soul with her delighted,
For the loss of one benighted—
Wishing now to be requited—
Ventured near her on the shore—
Where the willow wept above her
On the stream which seemed to love her,
For the soul that now did move her
Was the love of his Lenore—
As this silver shining Vesper,
In among the Reeds of Jasper,
Wailed aloud for her sweet Hesper
Who to Heaven had gone before!
For this heavenly-sweet Madonna,
In the Bowers of Chalcedony,
Used the plaintive voice of Cona
Her Elysian chant to pour.

Then he cried out broken-hearted—
In this desert-world deserted—
Ever true to the departed—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden
As we did in Days of Yore?”
And the voice of that sweet Maiden,
From the emerald groves of Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, “Yes! forever more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Yes, forever more!”

IX.

Then he asked her in his sorrow,
“Will you come to me to-morrow,
That my soul may solace borrow
For the loss of my Lenore?
I will tell you all the story
Of the Maiden now in glory—
For my soul is very sorry!
Will you stay beside this shore?”
When, her pearly bosom panting,
His request in silence granting,
As if what he wished was wanting—
Her Elysian chant did pour
In such deep melodious thunder
That his grief was torn asunder—
All his soul was filled with wonder,
Such as Man ne'er felt before—
Pouring out her soul, in sighing,
To persuade him from relying
On the Demon who was trying
To seduce him from Lenore.

Then he cried out joyful-hearted—
Feeling now no more deserted—
Ever true to the departed—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
As we did in Days of Yore?”
And the voice of that sweet Maiden,
From the Jasper Groves of Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, “Yes! forever more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Yes! forever more!”

X.

Then, like living snow uplifted,
Like an Angel heavenly-gifted,
She again through Heaven was drifted
On the saintly wings she wore,
Her sweet Seraph-song down-pouring
On his thirsting soul, upsoaring
In such Angel-like adoring,
That the world seemed flooded o'er—
Rivers of deep song outwelling
From her saintly soul, foretelling
To Politian—her own knelling—
The return of Days of Yore—
Lofty piles of echoing thunder,
Filling all the sky Heaven under—
Drowning all the stars with wonder—
Burthened with the name Lenore!
Till her joyful jubilation
Died in echoes through creation—
Leaving him in desolation—
Darker—deeper than before!

Then he cried out broken-hearted,
In this desert-world deserted—
Ever true to the departed—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
As we did in Days of Yore?”
And the lips of that damned Demon,
Like the Syren to the Seamen,
With the voice of his dear Leman,
Answered, “Never—never more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Never—never more!”

XI.

Then, beside the silent river,
Where he wandered still forever,
By her lonely grave that ever
Seemed to Heaven the only door—
Praying God to be forgiven—
In the twilight of the even—
Suddenly there came from Heaven,
Dressed in saintly white, Lenore!
Like some saintly lily blowing,
In its fiery perfume glowing,
Light-invested, now bestowing
On the Night its radiant lore—
This sweet Angel-Moon so tender,

Happy now his soul to render,
Clothed in Heaven's divinest splendor,
Came to shine on earth's dark shore.
Seeing now the long-departed,
Quickly from the grave he started,
Crying out now joyful-hearted—
“God of Heaven! is this Lenore?
Are we not to dwell, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
With our souls all overladen
With the joys that were of Yore?”
And that glorified sweet Maiden,
From the Heavenly Bowers of Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, “Yes! forever more!”
And the God-built Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Yes! forever more!”

XII.

Then he fell on earth before her,
On his knees there to adore her—
Praying God now to restore her,
As she was in Days of Yore—
When she said to him, “Politian!
Thou hast seen the heavenly Vision!
In the Flowery Fields Elysian
Angels wait for thy Lenore!
Many Winters, many Summers,
Joys like this have been kept from us—
I have now fulfilled my promise—
Oft fulfilled on earth before!
I have prayed for thy dear spirit—
Thou shalt Heaven above inherit—
Those rewards which thou dost merit—
For the good kept aye in store.

I have prayed for thee in Heaven—
All thy sins are now forgiven—
Thou art pardoned—thou art shriven—
O! forget not thy Lenore!”
Then he cried out joyful-hearted—
Never more to feel deserted—
As if they had never parted—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Heavenly Bowers of Aiden,
On the Asphodelian shore?”
And that glorified sweet Maiden,
From the Heavenly Bowers of Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, “Yes! forever more!”
And the God-built Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Yes! forever more!”

XIII.

“God has now the day appointed
When thy soul shall be anointed—
By the Angels they are counted—
All thy days on this dark shore.
O! be happy, I entreat thee!
I will come again to meet thee—
Sister Angels, too, shall greet thee—
Crying, Rise with thy Lenore!
Through the luminiferous Gihon,

To the Golden City high on
High Eternity's Mount Zion,
God-built in the Days of Yore—
To the Golden Land of Goshen,
Far beyond Time's upper ocean,
Where, beholding our devotion,
Float the argent Orbs all o'er—
To Avillion's happy Valley,
Where the breezes ever dally
With the Roses in each Alley—
There to rest forever more.”
Then he cried out joyful-hearted—
Never more to feel deserted—
Happy now with the departed—
“Then we are to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Heavenly Bowers of Aiden
On the Asphodelian shore?”
And that glorified sweet Maiden,
From the Heavenly Bowers of Aiden,

With her lily-lips love-laden,
Answered, “Yes! forever more!”
And the God-built Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Yes! forever more!”

XIV.

Then she said to him, “Politian!
Thou hast seen the Heavenly Vision!
In the Flowery Fields Elysian
Angels wait for thy Lenore.
Soon thy burning, star-like spirit
Shall the joys of Heaven inherit—
Those rewards which thou dost merit,
Such as none have reaped before—
Where the glory-circled Sages,
Living sunlights to the Ages,
Golden Songs on silver pages
Sing aloud on Salem's shore.
But if thou wouldst live forever,
Be thine own Ideal ever,
And depart from Nature never,
Her sweet absence to deplore!”
When, with Angel-like adoring,
She to Heaven again went soaring—
All his soul from Hell restoring—
There to rest forever more!
Then he cried out broken-hearted—
Left again on earth deserted—
Ever true to the departed—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Heavenly Bowers of Aiden
On the Asphodelian shore?”
And the lips of that damned Demon,
Like the Syren to the Seamen,

With the voice of his dear Leman,
Answered, “Never—never more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Never—never more!”

XV.

Then, beside the silent river
Where he wandered still forever,
By her lonely grave that ever
Seemed to Heaven the only door—
Came foul Lucifer returning
Up from Hell again all burning,
Through the amethystine morning,
This infernal chant to pour:
“I will lead thee, my Politian,
To the Flowery Fields Elysian,
Where now waits the Heavenly Vision,
Such as none have seen before.
There her lovely form reposes
On her bed of new-blown roses,
While the Angels scatter posies
All that lily-form right o'er.”
Then he cried out broken-hearted—
Ever true to the departed—
Left again on earth deserted—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Heavenly Bowers of Aiden
On the Asphodelian shore?”
And the lips of that damned Demon,
Like the Syren to the Seamen,
With the voice of his dear Leman,
Answered, “Never—never more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Never—never more!”

XVI.

“I will lead thee, my Politian,
To this blessed Heavenly Vision
In the Flowery Fields Elysian,
Such as none have seen before—
To the Blessed Land of Goshen,
Through the world-surrounding ocean,
Where the stars, in spheric motion,
Music make on Heaven's bright shore.
Come—now taste this heavenly Lethe—
All the stars will seem beneath thee—
Thy Lenore will then seem with thee,
As she was in Days of Yore.
Opening all thy inward senses,
It will lift thee up in trances,
Where the Angel-Excellences
Sing aloud on Salem's shore—
Through the hyaline deep Ether,
Grapes of glory there to gather
In the bosom of thy Father,
Where now rests thy lost Lenore!”
Then he cried out broken-hearted—
Ever true to the departed—
In this desert-world deserted—
“Are we not to meet, dear Maiden!
In the Heavenly Bowers of Aiden
On the Asphodelian shore?”
And the lips of that damned Demon,
Like the Syren to the Seamen,
With the voice of his dear Leman,
Answered, “Never—never more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Never—never more!”

XVII.

Then thus answered calm Politian:
“If thou art this great Physician,
Better then thine own condition,
Lifting thee from Hell's dark shore!
If I find you reap the treasure
Recommended in your measure,
I will drink with you with pleasure—
But, kind stranger! not before!
When the Truth shall hurl in terror
Down to Hell the demon Error,
Souls of men will then see clearer—
Clear as Adam did of yore;
For, it is by living purely,
That man's soul shall know as surely
He shall Heaven possess securely
After death forever more.”
Then he looked the agonizing
That he felt within him rising,
For the Truth was on him seizing—
Making Hell in his heart's core!
Then he cried out broken-hearted—
Ever false to the Departed—
By his own soul now deserted—
“Are we not to damn, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
His proud soul forever more?”
And the voice of that vile Maiden,
From the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
With her lying lips lust-laden,
Answered, “Yes—forever more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden,
Echoed, “Yes—forever more!”

XVIII.

“Hopeless fiends of wrath infernal!
Rise from out thy gloom eternal!
Drag Politian's soul supernal
Down to Hell's abyssmal shore!
Hear ye not the thundrous surging
Of their iron wings emerging
From Hell's craggy mouth, while scourging
Back the darkness as they soar?
Like an earthquake crawling under
This dark world in steps of thunder—
Striking kingdoms dumb with wonder!
Hear ye not the wild uproar?”
“Let them come!” Politian thundered,
(While the Devil mutely wondered,
As within himself he pondered,
What great wrath he had in store—)
“If destruction be their pleasure,
They shall have it without measure,
In deep Hell to reap the treasure
Thou didst reap in Days of Yore!”
Then he cried out broken-hearted—
Ever false to the departed—
By his own soul still deserted—
“What are we to do, dear Maiden!
In the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
With Politian?—nothing more?”
And the voice of that frail Maiden,
From the Rosy Bowers of Aiden,
With her trembling lips grief-laden,
Answered, “Nothing—nothing more!”
And the old-time Towers of Aiden
Echoed, “Nothing—nothing more!”

XIX.

“Back to Hell again in terror!
There repent thee of thine error—
Trying thus to make me sharer
Of thy guilt to reap thy sore!
Lest God's wrath around thee blazing,
(All thy soulless soul amazing,)
Leave thee—all thy dark throne razing—
Lightning-tortured ever more!
Back to Hell again to languish
Out thy future years in anguish!
Say, Politian's soul did vanquish
Thee, untouched by thy damned lore!
Tell the Heaven-rejoicing story,
That Politian's soul, before ye,
Never bowed to lose the glory
Kept in Heaven by his Lenore!”
“Then have I most vainly striven!
Baffled by the Power of Heaven!
Down to Hell by Virtue driven!
Down to torment doubly sore!”
Thus with bitter lamentation
Did the Demon of Damnation
Shrink to Hell in consternation,
There to wail forever more!
While around the Towers of Aiden,
With her own guilt over-laden,
Wailed aloud the sinful Maiden,
Crying, “Yes! forever more!”
And all Hell—the Towers of Aiden—
Echoed, “Yes! forever more!”

XX.

Like an Angel swiftly flying
Down from Heaven to Virtue dying
In her innocence, loud-crying,
“God! have mercy! me restore!”
From the Golden Land of Goshen,
Chariot-borne, with gentle motion,
Like the young Moon to the Ocean—
To Politian came Lenore—
Holy Angels her attending—
Singing, shouting, in descending—
Singing of the joys unending,
For Politian kept in store—
Crying out to him, “Politian!
See! behold the Heavenly Vision
From the Flowery Fields Elysian!
Rise to Heaven with thy Lenore!
To that Golden City high on,
High Eternity's Mount Zion,
Type of that which Christ did die on,
Earth's lost Eden to restore!”
Then he cried out joyful-hearted—
Never more to feel deserted—
Never more to be Death-parted—
“I will go with thee, sweet Maiden!
To the Heavenly Bowers of Aiden
On the Asphodelian shore!”
And that glorified sweet Maiden
From her Chariot over Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Said, “To rest forever more!”
And the Heavens, high over Aiden,
Echoed—“Rest forever more!”

XXI.

Thus she came to him descending,
Holy Angels her attending,
Singing of the joys unending
For Politian kept in store
While the Seraphim all waited
At the Portals congregated
Of the City Golden-gated,
Crying, “Rise with thy Lenore!”
When, from out his clayey prison
Rose the soul of pure Politian,
There to join the Heavenly Vision
Glory-circled on the shore!
And, with life immortal gifted,
In her Chariot earthward drifted,
On the wings he wore uplifted,
Entered joyful with the four.
Then, from earth, so long benighted,
Glorified, redeemed, requited,
In her Chariot, Angel-lighted,
Soared Politian with Lenore—
Crying out, now joyful-hearted—
Never more to feel deserted—
Never more to be Death-parted—
“We are going now, sweet Maiden!
To the Heavenly Bowers of Aiden
On the Asphodelian Shore!”
While that glorified sweet Maiden,
Soaring up to Heavenly Aiden,
With her lily-lips love-laden,
Sang rejoicing ever more—
Entering into Heavenly Aiden,
There to rest forever more.

Sir Thomas Brown says, “What song the Syrens sung, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among the women, though puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.”

“The Syrens were Sea Nymphs, who charmed so much with their melodious voice, that all forgot their employments to listen with more attention, and, at last, died from want of food. They were three in number, called Parthenope, Ligeia, and Leucosia; and they usually lived on a small Island near Cape Polorus, in Sicily.”

Gihon is one of the four rivers which watered the Garden of Eden. I have made use of it here as signifying the Ether. In an old book which I bought some years ago, entitled “The True Knowledge of God and Man,” I find the following remarkable sentence: “The first part, or river, is Pison, which compasseth the whole land of Havillah. This is the universal Spirit which causes every thing to grow. It is the element of fire, which produces precious gold, not only that of this earth, but particularly the red sulpher of the sun—of Man; and Bdellium; and also the transparent stone Onyx, the outside of which shines like gold, but its inside is (

[Description: [Hebrew]]

) Shaumayim. The second part, or river, is Gihon. This is the air, which derives, or is derived, from the fire, and is the fourth day's work. It compasses (not only the whole land of the Moors, but) this whole Chus, or dry Earth. The third is called Hiddekel, and goeth (not towards the Assyrian land, but) towards the East. Now, this East is the Sun. This Hiddekel, as the word signifies, is this very Earth itself. The fourth is the Euphrates. This means all waters together, to refresh again this whole burnt up Chus, or Earth!”

“It was imagined by some of the Ancients that there is an ethereal ocean above us, and that the sun and moon are two floating luminous islands, in which the spirits of the blest reside. Accordingly we find that the word Ωχεανος was sometimes synonymous with αηρ, and death was not unfrequently called Ωχεανοιο πορος, or the passage of the ocean.”