University of Virginia Library

Oh, Adaline! I do remember well
That dying eye of thine,—suffused with tears!
As fades the evening sun beyond the west,
Where clouds are never seen, so did thy sun
Go down behind the spheroid of thy life.
He rose, as wont, on portals of the east,
And passed the fond meridian of thy joys!
Until his noontide path received the shock,
Which summoned him to give a kindred tone
To dying melody and grief!—O! yes, I
Saw the Angel of the Covenant take
Hold her hand, and lead her softly through dark,
Gloomy vale of death, to that eternal
Bourne, from whence no one returns—to hills, high
On the shores of immortality, where
None could interdict her bliss. Where glory
Is the chaplet, and the badge eternal
Life. Oh! I never shall forget that eye!—
That dying eye! which closed upon her sight; yea,
Closed communion with this world! I heard her
Bid her mother come, and see her last! Oh,
Wisdom of Eternity! exalt my
Thought, to tell of grief and wo! expand my
Soul, to realize the dying thrill! Great
God! is this benevolence in nature's
Laws?—God of truth! upon her cheek I saw
The shadow of an inward strife, and, on
Her breast, I saw caparisoned, both life
And death,—the struggle was, to marry death
To immortality—the crown, the boon
Of heaven! and, the bride, the embrace of that
Bliss in uninterdicted love, that shines through
All eternity. Upon the icy
Breast of love, I saw the rose and lilly
Stand at intervals, then fade away, like
Candles glimmering in the midnight glory
Of a morn that has no eve beyond it!
The wick of life went out!—and on the pants
Of youthful glee, where hope arose like star
Of endless morn, and shone with imagery
Divine, there sate the cursed bane, which held
Eternal enmity with life. I saw
Them strive to over-match each other, till
The hands of death froze up the cowering blood
Of youth. And like a tender bud, in dawn
Of life, unfolding all its leaves to sun
Of God! when frosts of most enormous kind
O'er-silvered all her hopes, and nipped the bud
Of youthful life, to fall, and rot, and mould
In winds and rains of heaven.—So did she die!
Oh! minstrelsy of woe! I stood beside
The bed, and I shall ne'er forget the tears
That fell from my young soul, upon her cheek
Of endless bloom,—as seemed! And I shall ne'er
Forget that look, which saw her earthly hopes
Put out, and changed for those eternal joys,
Which wake the eldest Harp of heaven to sound
In tones divine, of beatifick weal—
Beyond the mountain of eternity.

She spoke, and heaven heard her words distinct—they
Were the words of infant inocence; but
They were loud enough to wake the organ
Choir of eternity, to anthems sweet
And now! They were the whisperings of bliss,
Uttered by silence, and the quivering thrill
Which galvanized the eternal throne of God!

Her mother stood beside her bed and wept!
And from her face did fan the hectic flush,
That prophesied new vigor in her heart!
But like that clearness of an orient sun
Becomes beclouded—like a noonday sky,
Receives the gloom which lower'd on its morn—
So did her star of infant life grow dim.
Like yon vesper eye of heaven, breaking forth
From out the hermitage of yonder west,
Without a cloud to darken her light brow,—
Streaming with fair emblazonry along
The pavement of the sky, as symbol true,
Of future worlds, observed by mortal man,—
In robes of immortality—So did
She seem to my young eye. Oh, God! and when
I saw her lilly lips vouchsafe her soul
In dying melody—then bleached with death's
Cold, unfeeling hands! I felt within ray
Aching heart, the carmine stream rush
Back upon the tide of life, like those high
Winds which drive the bark within the ocean
Wide, or 'gainst a rock it strikes, and ponders
To the grave beneath the ebbing tide! I
Saw her cast her eye along the path, which
Led across the river, flowing by the throne,
Where angels sit and bathe for evermore!
And, now and then, as I beheld the eye—
The dying eye! which saw unutterable
Things, and visions pleasing to the soul,—I
Saw it sparkle like the gilding from that
Sun, when shining on the lilly cheek, bathed
In the dew of Hermon. Oh! what an eye!
I never shall forgot the hue. I never
Shall forget the aspect of her blooming
Pallidness!—It was a blooming death! It
Was the sparkling dew drop in the potent
Rays of heaven, shining down on Zion's mount.

I heard her words in sickly tone, wooing
My ear, and urging me to listen to
Her greedy converse with the angel of the Lord!
Which stood beyond the shore of time; and yet,
She saw her with an eye, that looked beyond
The realm of sublunary things. Oh! what
A magnifying camera obscura
To the soul. Oh, Harp of Heaven! let me now
Entreat thee to awake a kindred tone
Within my fond, fraternal heart, to sing
An elegy of dying innocence. Her
Eye, unfettered as to distance,—looked afar,
And on a gentle summit, where the Lord came
Down, to give her his embrace,—as she, with
Badge of virtue in her hand, ascended
With the Angel of the Covenant, from
The vale beneath—there, she saw a holy
Harp! She saw a harp—Oh, dying sister!
How can I emblem that I never saw? how
Can a brother's words depict that which he
Only saw reflected from the mirror
Of your infant soul? Yes—She saw a Harp!
And on the front, she saw a stone, which glory,
In its brightness, could not emblem!—a stone,
Which came from out the mines of heaven!—a stone,
Picked up by one of God's own stewards—faithful
To his trust, beside the wine press, bordering
On Jehovah's throne, in Eden's garden!
And on the apex of this stone, she saw
An Iris ever varient—ever
New, converging all its rays in focus
Of eternity! as emblem of that
Everlasting weal, which shall continue
To converge itself into the focus,—
Truth, without the reach of human sense
To say, when it shall there arrive!—Upon
The sides and all in front, she saw much that
Was glorious to behold; with precious stones
Of every hue, but none, she saw, was better
To the feelings of the soul, than what I
Saw within her eye, when God Almighty—
May his praise be without end—put in her
Hand this Harp! and with robes of linen clothed
Her, and in spotless purity—a bride
Of heaven sat, and rolled her music down that
Stream of bliss, which skirts the shore of glory bright,
While all the harps of heaven joined the anthem.
And, from the valley of the Lord, upon
The loftiest hill on high, she went, and went
In joy and delight,—beholding verdure
Green, and lawns of purest width, which never
Fades; and rivers never dry, but rich and
Clear, with many a pleasant winding too—
Before the golden mansion of the Lord;
Where music of the blessed shall roll, and roll
Again, in numbers sweet and new.
And, from the vale she shall arise, and take
A harp—a most melodious lyre, with
Saints and angels, walk the pavement over
More—both day and night. And, that most renowned
And sacred spot of heaven, where Judah's bard
Has sat and harped upon his harp, in days
Now passed and gone, with rosy cheeks, a bloom,
Which in immortal vigor ne'er shall fade;—
Shall be her resting place for evermore.
And on the mount of God, beneath the which,
A river flows with fond meanders, where
The King of Heaven bathes in buoyant life, she
Sits, and shall forever sit in endless youth—
In knowledge vast, in thought above all height,
While clusters from eternal fields shall feed
Her soul. And while she warbles holy airs,
And blissful melodies of heaven, a breeze
From God's own breath—the zephyr of a morn
Which has no eve beyond it—shall awake
Her dying melody to sweeter strains;
While heaven and the fartherest earth, shall answer
With a rapturous swell, and glory wake
The pure cessations of eternal bliss.

She saw her coming to the hills of God!
She knew the dark approach was but a light,
Which led her far beyond the stream of time,
To never-fading bliss, above the skies!
She knew the voice of eternal love was
Waiting at the gate of heaven, with a harp—
A golden harp, beset with diamonds pure,—
The gift of God, and emblem of a day,
The fairest morn that rose above the mount
Of vast eternity—to shine in years
Of endless blessedness. Oh! what a gift!
A precious laureate from the hands of God!
Oh! and shall ever I forget that morn,
When God Almighty made a covenant
With her, which nought can disannul, or break?
I shall remember, and will ne'er forget
The room in which she lay; and, I never
Shall forget her pallid lips, that trembled
When she spoke to me, in infant tones, so
Soothing to a withered breast, which feared that
Dark approach, when nature bade her glory
In a long farewell from earthly things. Oh!
Shall ever I forget the conscious strife there
Was about her little heart, when life and
Death was striving for the victory? Ah me!
I never shall forget, how death, so void
Of pity, heaved the youthful flow within
Her tender heart, and almost burst it ope.

Upon that hill of life, the carmine stream
Did flow, and gathered in a heap and stopped
Her breath. My God! if ever my fond heart
Did ache, it was, when I beheld her face;
And saw her, with her might, presume to war
With death, and gain the chaplet, life. Thank God!
She paid the debt of virgin innocence,
And left the world, with all its cares and ills.
Thank God! she died and died in peace; and, Oh!
I thought it was a goodly thing to die.
It was a calm that did succeed a storm!—
A glorious calm, which stood around a bed
Of beauty, with a frost upon her rose.
And while she passed the vale, the God of love
Exchanged the smock of earth, for robes of bliss;
And vestments which no summer sun shall stain.
And, in the heavens, robed in one eternal
Light, excessive ardor stream around this
Daughter of Jerusalem then; and, who
Can tell how lovely, how divinely fair,
She looked—adorned with robes of perfect love;
And jewels drop't, unblemished by the hand
Of frail mortality. How gloriously
She looked, above the brightness of the sun,
Like that pure light which shone around the man,—
A prosolyte of God,—who saw the heavens
Streaming in eternal bliss, in vision
Of a mid-day sun. O! how glad that day,
Was love, the fairest daughter of the sky,
Who stood about Jerusalem's streets,
A queenly bride, espousal of the Lord!
Who caught, embraced, and kissed her lips,
And in the porches of her soul, distilled
The nectar of Eternity! which makes
The earth with ideal beauty ever shine,
And fills the soul with never ending bliss.

Ye citadels of heaven! wake, in glory,
Thy inhabitants! arouse the heart-felt
Symphonies of finite man, to praise thy
Name of names! the name of Him, who blazes
On the hills of immortality! till,
In that fraternal zeal, which takes its seat
Beside the basis of my heart, expound
My love. She died! and Oh! what bliss and love—
Wake, dear remembrances! wake heaven and earth!
Wake, Sun and Moon! wake, sentinels of God!
Wake, Pleiades—daughters of the sky, and shine
Upon my soul! Wake, Hesper! with thy sons
And daughters! wake, and with thy western boon,
In hermitage of eve!—thy Vesper dear—
Awake, the obsecration of my heart!
Wake, ye harps of a thousand strings, and wake
Ye psaltry! sackbut and dulcimer
Of heavenly melody! Awake, ye hills
Of Zion! and join the concert! sons
Of Korah, rejoice! Rabab, and Babylon!
Philistia, respond! Manassah, awake!
And Succoth, valley of old, rejoice! Wake,
Ephraim, and pour out your melody to death!

My God! love so ineffable—so pure!
My own fraternal gratitude awakes
The hidden recess of a feeling heart!
Oh, Adaline! thou seraph of my soul!
Like Juno's dove, the Herald of my life—
With arlless innnocence, thy pinions bore
Thee to thy native shore—my sylvan joy—
Beyond the Carmel of my home, the mount—
The Alpine of my bliss—which overlooked
The blue cerulean of my aged heart—
Thy footsteps wandered—thou, the olive wreathe—
The garland and the coronet I wore—
The symbol of thy love—thy infant weal—
And my own soul's paternal care in life.

Oh, Adaline! and am I rest of thee?
This confiscation of my domil joy—
This vast exposure of my sublunary bliss—
This, this alone, must break my heart!
This dissolution I can ne'er conceal!
Behold the hyperborean snow! behold
The icy coldness of my aged breast!
The fountain of my hopes, my doubts, my fears!—
Behold the promise of extatic years—
Now, fading in the noon-day sun of life!
In the meridian of her hope, cast off!
Exposed to nostrils from the steed of death!
Behold the dying scene, and then infer
What mountains of Olympic wo, must cloud
My aged brow, as I must here repine!
Oh, had I pinions like to Noah's dove,
I'd fly above the Appenine of grief!
I'd seek a refuge underneath the boughs—
The sombre of the Lord—the shadow vast,
Of long eternity—Like he, who wept!—
The Prophet of the Lord—the seer of life—
Beside that lost Jerusalem he loved!
So do I weep—but my old heart for days
Now past and gone, to ne'er return again—
Invokes the prophecy of future weal!
But oh, my heart! behold the lamp of hope—
The Vesper of my evening sky—the Hesper
In my utmost gloom of aged life—Oh!
Where shall I resort for words to pay that
Debt of love I owe—is now put out.—Oh,
My soul's child! I would have nursed thee, as
A hen, beneath her own maternal wings,
Protects her little brood. I would have fed
Thee, as I always did, with manna, like
To that, which the Almighty sent by heaven's
Own vicegerent, to the pilgrim of his
Own soul's love—beside the stream—the Jordon
Of old Judah's vale—but thou art gone! Oh,
Most potent grief!—such magnitude! Oh,
Such soul enlivening prospects as awake
My aged heart—and, now, survey my soul!
In every hidden recess of my heart—
Investigate the height, the depth of wo,
Which claims the umpire where my glory sat—
The throne whereon my prospects beamed anew,
Is an Engedi—a hermitage of grief!
Oh could I find a den in Rimmon's rock,
I'd gather all the brine of Edom's vale,
And there resort to offer up my prayer—
My sacrafice of dying melody!
Like she, who saw the bulrush bark o'ermatch—
By zephyr of the living God—the wave,
Upon the stream, that might have been the grave
Of him, who saw unutterable things,
And incommunicable visions, on the mount—
The Sinai of eternal love, who graved
The sacerdotal manuscript, from God's
Own words—with that enduring ink—drawn
From the wine press of eternal bliss—
The Pentateuch of heaven's will—
Who felt the impulse of her soul's regret—
So am I forced to feel! but more than this,
My Adaline is far beyond my reach.
Like he, the Patriarch—the Christian like,
Who mourned the loss of Joseph, dearer far,
Than all beside on earth—So do I mourn! my
Grief ascends beyond the utterance of my
Tongue! Oh! could I be translated, singing
Such a song as Judah's bard awoke—when
On the throne of Israel sat, then would I
Part with this Elijah of my heart; then,
On the pinions of the Lord, I'd wander
Through the ether of Eternity, where
I should be at rest, from earthly sorrows!
Then would I join the harmony, which should
Awake my soul with endless eloquence;
And cheer this bruised—this broken, withered heart!

Why should I weep! my own paternal love
Awakes the latent sympathies of new born
Life, to offer tones divine! my idol!
My divinity of zeal! the sole, lone
Object of my present, and my future life!
Oh, Lebanon! with all thy waving boughs!
Oh, Carmel! mountaineer of old, awake!
And let thy cedars droop in endless grief!
Pleiades, daughters of the sky, Oh, weep! Oh,
Vesper! King and prince of stars—thy sycles
Roll, to number such a century of grief!
Weep Eye of morn! Aurora to my soul!
And weep thou sun, in sitting! clothe thyself
In sorrow's garb! the gloom of dire lament!
Utter all thy sympathy of deathless
Wo! Oh, sacred nine! awake thy dirge! wake,
Luna! with the offspring of thy heart! wake
Up the ocean of thy tears, and rain in
One eternal flood of grief! Oh, my heart!
My soul of sympathy! my heart's desire!
My liver, like the prophets, in those days
Now passed and gone—in days of old,—I pour
Upon this terrene mound, which covers o'er my babe!
But, Oh, my heart! I must repress my sighs!
Or drain the fountain of my future weal.
Behold its armory of thought!—this cloud
Of ills! which rain upon my peaceful home!
Behold this vast Olympic cliff! Oh, my God!
This desolation of my aged years!
But why should I lament? it is my soul
That rains such torrents on my withered cheek!
The bulkhead of my tears must burst the gate
Of all my hopes, and drown the reservoir
Of my utmost grief, in one eternal flood.

Farewell! Oh, send a herald from that realm
Of everlasting bliss, which shall conduct me
Far above the sky! Oh, fare thee well! my
Elegy shall cease to echo to the ear of man!
But in my heart, that avenue of strife!
Shall roll the bitterness of vast regret!
Then shall my lamentation cease, when I
Shall give my chaplet unto death!—my God!
As he who bowed to death, suspended forth,
By indignation of a guilty world, when earth
In all her caverns groan'd in dire despair!
When grottes, hills and dales, and ancient vales
And Babylon, and Rome, and Tyre, and all
The world received the awful summons—then,
The temple fell to desolation! then,
A pallid countenance illumed the earth!
A signal of a sore distress—my heart!
When nature's sun grew dim, and heaven's candles
Seemed to glimmer on the hoary mount, where
Heaven's pure vicegerent stood abased, by ire
And indignation of a guilty world,
And wept in bitterness—so do I weep!
And bow my head and say, thy will be done,
My God! my God! then take her to thy arms.

Her sun of life went down, to rise no more!
Oh, what a sight! and what was most severe,—
Oh! yes, and what was killing to the soul!
Were these fond words, why do ye weep, my dear!
My mother, weep no more for me!” Ah! she
Was my sister! my youthful blood did ebb,
And flow, and oped a fountain in my soul,
Which drowned the rose upon my bloomy cheek!
Her mother wept—her father mourned! and none
That saw her, kept from shedding tears! I loved
Her! and I never shall forget how long
I felt a load of sorrow at my heart,
Which weighed my passions down, and made me wish
I could not boast of life! Such draughts of tears
Could quench the blaze of thousand words, had they
Continued their great flow! But God, in mercy,
Reconciled the weeping parent to her fate!
And told her, that a day would come—which man
Of mortal eye should never see—when she
Should see her Adaline, with crowns upon
Her head; and, in her hand the badge of life;
And round her virgin waist, the helmet, sword
And shield of Faith; and on her breast, a plate,
A coronet of stars—beside the rill
Which flows from God's exhaustless fount, plucking
Fruits from vineyards of unmeasured length, which
Suits the relish, and is pleasing to the soul.
With this reward, and great it was, she sighed
No more! save now and then, the fire of love
Would raise the Ætna of the heart to burst,
And overflow her withered cheek! Great days!
To termination of her joys on earth!
With heralds of Eternity, she went.
I saw the dark approach, and saw no more!
Her soul ascended, whence it came, to God!
No spire denotes the spot where she doth lie;
But weeping willows bend o'er her and mourn!
While jessemines entwine her youthful grave.