Poems and Plays :: :: University of Virginia Library

ARABERT, a young ecclesiastic, retired to the convent of LA TRAPPE, in obedience to a vow he had taken during a fit of illness: LEONORA, with whom he had lived in the strictest intimacy, followed her lover, and by the means of a disguise, obtained admission into the monastery, where a few day after she assisted at her lover's Funeral.

Fair Leonora, by Affliction led,
Sought the dread dome where sleep the hallow'd dead:
The solemn edifice was wrapt around
In midnight darkness, and in peace profound:
A solitary lamp, with languid light,
Serv'd not to chase, but to disclose the night;
Serv'd to disclose (the source of all her pains)
The tomb that gap'd for Arabert's remains:
To this, she sent the deep, the frequent sigh,
And spoke—the warm tear rushing from her eye.

‘Doom'd to receive all that my soul holds dear,
‘Give him that rest his heart refus'd him here:

‘Oh! screen him from the pain the tender know,
‘The train of sorrows that from passion flow!
‘And to his happier envied state adjoin,
‘(Or all is vain) an ignorance of mine.’

As thus she mourn'd, an aged priest drew near,
(Whose pure life glided as the riv'let clear)
The virtuous Anselm.—Tho' in cloisters bred,
Still bright-ey'd Wisdom to his cell he led:
From paths of sophistry he lov'd to stray,
To tread the walk where Nature led the way.
The Prior's rank he long had held approv'd,
Esteem'd, rever'd, and as a parent lov'd:
Unskilful in the jargon of the schools,
He knew Humanity's diviner rules;
To others gentle, to himself severe,
On Sorrow's wound he dropt the healing tear.
In all the negligence of grief, he found
The fair extended on the naked ground.

Touch'd at her woe, the sacred Father said,
‘Well may'st thou droop if Happiness be fled:
‘Sure, if at holy Arabert's decease,
‘Impetuous sorrows rush upon thy peace,
‘Some much-lov'd friend in him you must deplore,
‘Or, dearer still, a brother is no more:
‘Yet, as thro' life our weary steps we bend,
‘Let us not sink when beating storms descend:
‘Still let Religion hold unrival'd sway,
‘And Patience walk companion of our way.
‘Ah, lose not sight of that delightful shore,
‘Whose blissful bow'rs shall friends to friends restore!
‘Tho' here Misfortune comes to blast our will,
‘The Heav'ns are just, and God a Father still.’

‘Blest be the voice,’ the rising mourner said,
‘That bids Affliction raise her drooping head:
‘That bids me hope (beyond e'en Death's domain)
‘These eyes shall banquet on my love again.

‘Ah, start not, Anselm—for, to truth allied,
‘Impiety now throws her mask aside:
‘No holy Monk, by Contemplation led
‘To these sequester'd mansions of the dead;
‘No Youth devoted to Religion's pow'r,
‘Implores thy pity at this awful hour.—
‘The guilty secret I'll at length unfold—
‘In me—(forgive!) a woman you behold.
‘—Ah, fly me not! let Mercy now prevail,
‘And deign to mark my sad disast'rous tale.

‘Known to Misfortune from my tender years,
‘My parents' ashes drank my early tears:
‘A barb'rous uncle, to each vice allied,
‘The office of a parent ill supplied:
‘Of my entire inheritance possess'd,
‘By lucre prompted, and by fortune blest,
‘He pass'd the ocean never to return,
‘And left me weeping o'er my parents' urn:

‘Then Arabert, the gen'rous stranger, came,
‘To soothe my sorrows, and relieve my shame:
‘Beneath his tender care my woes decreas'd,
‘More than Religion's, he was Pity's priest:
‘To reach his bounty my affection strove,
‘Till gratitude was heighten'd into love:
‘Nor he at length refus'd the lover's part,
‘The pity that adorn'd, betray'd his heart.
‘How ardently he wish'd the nuptial rite
‘In holy wedlock might our hands unite!
‘But stern Religion at our vows exclaim'd,
‘And tore the bands that Love and Nature fram'd:
‘For then devoted to her hallow'd shrine,
‘His country's laws forbade him to be mine.
‘Tho' from my mind each flatt'ring thought retir'd,
‘And in my bosom Hope and Peace expir'd;
‘Yet on their ruins Love triumphant rose:
‘Enough—shame o'er the rest a mantle throws:
‘At length Remorse effac'd the guilty scene,
‘And to his breast apply'd her dagger keen;

‘Restrain'd in full career the erring youth,
‘And led him back to Innocence and Truth:
‘'Twas then he fled (divorc'd from Pleasure's chain)
‘To woo Religion in this gloomy fane:
‘Yet ere he fled, my bliss he fondly plann'd,
‘And scatter'd riches with a lavish hand:
‘Ah, what to me avail'd the golden store?
‘The giver gone, the gift could charm no more.

‘While in the gloom his tedious absence cast,
‘My former life in fancy I repass'd,
‘Repentance gain'd admission to my breast,
‘Nor did it enter an unwelcome guest:
‘For ne'er to Pleasure I dismiss'd the rein
‘Free and unconscious of Reflection's pain;
‘If hapless Leonora lov'd too well,
‘Content, fair Virtue's friend, with Virtue fell:
‘But not my stubborn soul could pray'r subdue,
‘E'en grafted on remorse my passion grew;

‘Too fatal passion—by its impulse led,
‘In man's attire to this retreat I fled:
‘Yet then, e'en then to bashful Fear allied,
‘Still o'er my Love did Modesty preside.
‘In those calm moments that precede the night,
‘When peaceful Nature wears a soften'd light,
‘I met the Youth within the solemn grove,
‘(His frequent walk) absorb'd in heav'nly love:
‘By warm occasion eagerly impell'd,
‘A sudden fear my ready steps withheld:
‘While God and he employ the trembling scene,
‘'Twere sacrilege, I cried, to rush between:
‘Still from that hour my wishes I restrain'd,
‘And in my breast th' unwilling secret chain'd;
‘Unknown to him, yet half-content I grew,
‘So that his form might daily charm my view.
‘But new Affliction, with relentless hand,
‘O'erthrew the project that my heart had plann'd;
‘Amid the horrors of the lonesome night,
‘A ghastly spectre rush'd upon my sight,

‘And pour'd these accents on my trembling ear,
‘Think not Impiety shall triumph here:
‘Thy hopes are blasted—Death's tremendous bell
‘Shall sound, ere many hours, thy lover's knell:
‘I started from my couch, with fright impress'd,
‘Flew to the fane to calm my anxious breast,
‘By love then prompted—yet by love dismay'd,
‘The peopled choir I tremblingly survey'd;
‘Sill 'mid th' innumerous monastic train,
‘These eyes solicited his form in vain:
‘Nor in the field or pensive grove retir'd
‘Could I discover whom my heart requir'd:
‘Then sure (I cried) at this unhappy hour
‘Does Anguish o'er his cell diffuse its pow'r:
‘Shall Leonora not relieve his pain,
‘And with these arms his drooping head sustain?
‘Say, near the couch, when Death is stalking round,
‘Shall not the spouse of his fond heart be found?
‘Ah no—th' affection that subdues me still,
‘At that dread moment check'd my ardent will,

‘Lest rushing on his sight I should controul
‘The holy thoughts that hover'd o'er his soul.

‘This low'ring morn disclos'd the fatal truth:
‘Oh early lost—oh lov'd—oh hapless youth—
‘Fix'd to the column of the hallow'd porch—
‘'Twas scarcely light—some Fury lent her torch—
‘I read—

The pious Arabert's no more,
The peace the dead require, for him implore:
‘Let peace, let joy, (I said) his spirit join,
‘Nor joy nor peace must e'er encircle mine.
‘Lamented Youth! too tenderly allied,
‘In vain you fled me, and in vain you died;
‘Still to your image, which this breast inurns,
‘My constant heart a lamp perpetual burns.

‘But thou, to whom as friend he did impart
‘Each latent wish and foible of the heart;

‘For well I know, where Sorrow drops a tear,
‘Or Misery complains, thou still art near;
‘Ah say, by love did my known image drest,
‘Come to his mind thus welcome, thus carest?
‘Or on his soul come rushing undesir'd,
‘The fatal fair, by female arts inspir'd,
‘Who dimm'd the lustre of his radiant name,
‘And from his temples tore the flow'r of fame;
‘Who thro' the winding maze of Pleasure's bow'r
‘Allur'd (for beauty such as mine had pow'r)
‘E'en to the dang'rous steep—and cast him down
‘From high repute to grov'ling disrenown?—
‘Wretch that I am, to my distressful state
‘There wanted not th' addition of his hate:
‘For him I plung'd my artless youth in shame,
‘Unlock'd reserve, and sacrific'd my fame:
‘Still, still I fear (unable to confide,)
‘Before my Arabert, the lover died:
‘This thought (to thee I'll own) suspends my grief,
‘While cold Indifference comes to my relief:

‘Say, virtuous Anselm, if this thought be vain,
‘And give, Oh give me all my grief again!’

To her reply'd the pity-breathing seer,
‘Mark well my words, and lose thy idle fear:
‘When on the couch of Death the victim lay,
‘Not in that moment was his friend away:
‘As at his side I took my mournful stand,
‘With feeble grasp he seiz'd my offer'd hand,
‘And thus began:—“The fatal dart is sped,
“Soon, soon shall Arabert encrease the dead:
“'Tis well—for what can added life bestow,
“But days returning still with added woe?
“Say, have I not secluded from my sight
“The lovely object of my past delight?
“Ah, had I too dethron'd her from my mind,
“When here the holy brotherhood I join'd,
“Remorse would not, encreasing my disease,
“Prey on my soul, and rob it of its ease:

“And yet I strove, unequal to the part,
“Weak to perform the sacrifice of heart:
“And now, e'en now, too feeble to controul,
“I feel her clinging to my parting soul.”
‘He spoke—(my sympathetic bosom bled)
‘And to the realms of Death his spirit fled.’

The fair rejoin'd: ‘Misled by foul distrust,
‘To him, whose heart was mine, am I unjust?
‘Ah, Arabert, th' unwilling fault forgive,
‘Dead to th' alluring world, in thee I live:
‘My thoughts, my deep regret, my sorrows own,
‘No view, no object still but thee alone:
‘At all the vengeance bursting from above,
‘Alarm'd, I weep, I shudder, yet I love.’

As thus she spoke, the death-bell smote her ear,
While to the porch the fun'ral train drew near:
Ah, Leonore, in that tremendous hour,
Didst thou not feel all Heav'n's avenging pow'r,

When moving thro' the isle the choral band,
And vested priests, with torches in their hand,
Gave to thy view, unfortunately dear,
Thy lover sleeping on th' untimely bier?

Collecting now at length her scatter'd force,
With trembling footsteps she approach'd the corse,
And, while she check'd the conflict in her breast,
The wide-encircling throng she thus address'd:
‘Well may ye mark me with astonish'd eyes,
‘Audacious hypocrite in man's disguise;
‘Who, urg'd by passion, dar'd with steps profane
‘Approach the hallow'd dome of Virtue's train:
‘Lead me, ah lead me, to the dungeon's gloom,
‘The rack prepare—I yield me to your doom:
‘Yet still should Pity in your breast abide,
‘And Pity sure to Virtue is allied,
‘To my distress benign attention lend,
‘Your acts of rigor for a while suspend,
‘Till o'er this bier ('tis Nature's kind relief)
‘I've pour'd my plaints, and paid the rites of Grief:

‘Ah! he was dearer to this bleeding heart,
‘Far dearer than expression can impart.

‘Thou who didst place us in this vale of tears,
‘Where Sorrow blasts the plant that Pleasure rears;
‘If, as the tenets of our creed require,
‘Thy waken'd justice breathe immortal ire;
‘If Love, from whence e'en here misfortunes flow,
‘Beyond the grave is curs'd with endless woe:
‘Ah! not on Arabert thy vengeance pour!
‘On me, on me thy storm of anger show'r!
‘For I allur'd him far from Virtue's way,
‘And led his youthful innocence astray:
‘Ah! not in punishment our fate conjoin,
‘He shar'd the rapture, but the guilt was mine.’

With trembling hand she now the veil withdrew,
When lo, the well known features struck her view:

Absorpt in grief she cast a fond survey—
At length her thougths in murmurs broke away:
‘That eye—which shed on mine voluptuous light,
‘Alas! how sunk in everlasting night!
‘See from those lips the living colour fled,
‘Where Love resided, and where Pleasure fed!
‘And where bright Eloquence had pour'd her store
‘Dumb Horror sits—and Wisdom is no more:
‘Yet ere the worm (since this is doom'd its prey)
‘Shall steal the ling'ring likeness quite away,
‘On that cold lip sure Leonore may dwell,
‘And, free from guilt, imprint the long farewel:’
She added not—but bending low her head,
Three times the mourner kiss'd th' unconscious dead.

Now holy Anselm urg'd her to restrain
Her boundless grief, in rev'rence of the fane:
She answer'd, starting from the sable bier,
‘Can I forget that Arabert was dear?

100

‘Can I, cold monitor! at once uproot
‘Th' affections from my inmost soul that shoot?
‘Can I forget, as destitute I lay,
‘To sickness, grief, and penury a prey,
‘How eagerly he flew at Pity's call,
‘Put forth his hand, and rais'd me from my fall?
‘All unsolicited he gave me wealth,
‘He gave me solace, and he gave me health:
‘And, dearer than the bliss those gifts impart,
‘He strain'd me to his breast, and gave his heart:
‘And shall these hallow'd walls and awful fane
‘Reproach the voice that pours the praiseful strain?
‘Say, at the friend's, the guardian's, lover's tomb,
‘Can Sorrow sleep, and Gratitude be dumb?
‘But I submit—and bend thus meekly low,
‘To kiss th' avenging hand that dealt the blow:
‘Resign'd I quit the losing path I trod,
‘Fall'n is my idol—and I worship God.’
She ceas'd—the choir intones the fun'ral song,
Which holy echoes plaintively prolong;

101

And now the solemn organ, tun'd to woe,
Pour'd the clear notes pathetically slow:
These rites perform'd—along th' extending fane
She now attends the slow-proceeding train;
Who o'er the mournful cypress-shaded way,
To the expecting tomb the dead convey.
See now the priests the closing act prepare,
And to the darksome vault commit their care:
At this dread scene, too feelingly distress'd,
She pour'd the last effusions of her breast:
‘Come, guardian Seraph, from thy throne above,
‘And watch the tomb of my departed love!’

She paus'd—then (o'er the yawning tomb reclin'd)
In all the tenderness of grief rejoin'd:
‘Oh Beauty's flow'r—Oh Pleasure ever new—
‘Oh Friendship, Love, and Constancy, adieu!
‘Ye virtues that adorn'd th' unhappy Youth,
‘Affection, Pity, Confidence, and Truth,

102

‘The gen'rous thoughts that with the feeling dwell,
‘And sympathy of heart—farewell, farewell!
‘Not all of Arabert this tomb contains,
‘All is not here while Leonore remains:
‘Methinks a voice e'en animates the clay,
‘And in low accents summons me away:
‘Haste, Leonore—thy other self rejoin,
‘And let thy glowing ashes mix with mine.
‘Ah, trust me, Arabert! to share thy doom,
‘Prepar'd, resolv'd, I'll meet thee in the tomb:
‘Forbear, Oh Heav'n, in pity to these tears,
‘To curse my sorrow with a length of years!

‘When this grief-drooping form shall press the bier,
‘Say, virtuous Anselm, wilt thou not be near,
‘To grace the close of my unhappy doom,
‘And lay these limbs in this lamented tomb?
‘Thus when this tortur'd heart shall cease to rave,
‘Our blended dust shall warm the faithful grave:

103

‘Nor distant far is that releasing hour,
‘For Nature now, oppress'd beyond her pow'r,
‘Resigns at length my troubled soul to rest,
‘And Grief's last anguish rushes thro' my breast.’

Behold her now extended on the ground,
And see the sacred brethren kneeling round:
Them she addresses in a fault'ring tone,
‘Say, cannot Death my daring crime atone?
‘Ah, let Compassion now your hearts inspire,
‘Amid your pray'rs I unalarm'd expire.
‘Thou who art e'en in this dread moment dear,
‘Oh, shade of Arabert, still hover near:
‘I come.’—And now, emerging from her woes,
('Twas Love's last effort) from the earth she rose;
And, strange to tell! with strong affection fraught,
She headlong plung'd into the gloomy vault:
And there, what her impassion'd wish requir'd,
On the lov'd breast of Arabert expir'd.

'Tis usual to bury the monks of La Trappe in their monastic habit, extended on a plank.