 | Hours of life, and other poems |  |
137
A VISION OF PARADISE.
SUGGESTED BY DUBUFE'S PICTURES OF THE TEMPTATION AND EXPULSION.
Methought this dim, old world had passed away,
With all its load of agony and crime;
And brightly o'er me dawned that glorious day
When nature woke in its refulgent prime;
So broad the splendor, so intensely fair,
The unaccustomed sense pined in that purer air.
With all its load of agony and crime;
And brightly o'er me dawned that glorious day
When nature woke in its refulgent prime;
So broad the splendor, so intensely fair,
The unaccustomed sense pined in that purer air.
Two peerless forms of loveliness and light,
“In native honor robed,” before me shone,
Dazzling and blinding my bewildered sight
With rays reflected from Jehovah's throne;
While, like bright stars in their supernal sphere,
Above all pain they seemed, all sorrow, hope or fear.
“In native honor robed,” before me shone,
Dazzling and blinding my bewildered sight
With rays reflected from Jehovah's throne;
While, like bright stars in their supernal sphere,
Above all pain they seemed, all sorrow, hope or fear.
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Beauty, and purity, and heavenly grace
Floated around them like an atmosphere;
While love's young star, that mocks our fallen race
With meteor fires malign, soft gleaming there,
In their horizon dawned with cloudless ray,
Without one shade or stain that dimmed its after day.
Floated around them like an atmosphere;
While love's young star, that mocks our fallen race
With meteor fires malign, soft gleaming there,
In their horizon dawned with cloudless ray,
Without one shade or stain that dimmed its after day.
“A change came o'er the spirit of my dream;”
The light, the loveliness, the bloom had fled.
I trembled at the lightning's lurid gleam,
And the loud thunder pealing o'er my head.—
The dark waves rolled around; the lion's roar
Blent with the sounding surge, and rocked the stormbeat shore.
The light, the loveliness, the bloom had fled.
I trembled at the lightning's lurid gleam,
And the loud thunder pealing o'er my head.—
The dark waves rolled around; the lion's roar
Blent with the sounding surge, and rocked the stormbeat shore.
And where were they, the beautiful, the pure?
Alas! now pure and beautiful no more;
Scathed with the curse of knowledge; to endure,
The sole, stern lesson of their withering lore;
Driven from their paradisal dream away,
Through pathless realms of death, to seek the gates of day.
Alas! now pure and beautiful no more;
Scathed with the curse of knowledge; to endure,
The sole, stern lesson of their withering lore;
Driven from their paradisal dream away,
Through pathless realms of death, to seek the gates of day.
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Is there no mercy in the heavens above?
No star to light the exiles to their doom?—
There is!—there is!—the deathless lamp of love,
Shedding its soft, pale splendor through the gloom;
Shorn of its earlier rays—yet oh, how fair
That holy flame that burns through darkness and despair.
No star to light the exiles to their doom?—
There is!—there is!—the deathless lamp of love,
Shedding its soft, pale splendor through the gloom;
Shorn of its earlier rays—yet oh, how fair
That holy flame that burns through darkness and despair.
Look on those dewy orbs like violets dim!
No fear of danger, death, or pain's keen throe
Glooms their pure heaven of love; alone for him
Those dark forebodings of unfathomed woe;
On him she turns her soft, appealing eye,
Resigned for him to live, with him resolved to die:
No fear of danger, death, or pain's keen throe
Glooms their pure heaven of love; alone for him
Those dark forebodings of unfathomed woe;
On him she turns her soft, appealing eye,
Resigned for him to live, with him resolved to die:
For him she dared love's Eden to forego,
And the fond yearnings of her heart to quell,
That he the secret of the world might know,
And grasp the fruit of knowledge ere it fell.
For him she sought the lore of gods, to sate
The pride of soul that left her own heart desolate.
And the fond yearnings of her heart to quell,
That he the secret of the world might know,
And grasp the fruit of knowledge ere it fell.
For him she sought the lore of gods, to sate
The pride of soul that left her own heart desolate.
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The disenchanted scene is dark with woe;
God's image seared with sin's corroding brand;
O'er all remorse and grief their shadows throw,
And leaguered angels guard the holy land:
The gate of dreams is passed; through pain and toil
Must the fair soul, her wings, from earthly stain assoil.
God's image seared with sin's corroding brand;
O'er all remorse and grief their shadows throw,
And leaguered angels guard the holy land:
The gate of dreams is passed; through pain and toil
Must the fair soul, her wings, from earthly stain assoil.
And this the riddle of our destiny;
The lore of lands whence life's deep waters welled.
Still the cold shadow of the poison tree
Darkens our earth as in the days of eld:
With lingering pain, the soul evolves its power;
And, on a mortal stem, unfolds the immortal flower.
The lore of lands whence life's deep waters welled.
Still the cold shadow of the poison tree
Darkens our earth as in the days of eld:
With lingering pain, the soul evolves its power;
And, on a mortal stem, unfolds the immortal flower.
| Hours of life, and other poems | |