The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 177

"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!

"Thinkest 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 lovest like me, "s.h.i.+ne 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 looked upon "Those ardent eyes, intense even 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 used To be by earth or heaven refused-- As one who knew her influence o'er All creatures, whatsoe'er they were, And tho' to heaven she could not soar, At least would bring down heaven to her.

Little did she, alas! or I-- Even I, whose soul, but halfway yet Immerged 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, charged as 'tis, my heart must speak Its sorrow out or it will break!

Some dark misgivings _had_, I own, Past for a moment thro' 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 even this glare She might, by love's own nursing care, Be, like young eagles, taught to bear.

For well I knew, the l.u.s.tre 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 Thro' clouds in which the lightning slept, As in its lair, ready to spring, Yet waked it not--tho' from my wing A thousand sparks fell glittering!

Oft too when round me from above The feathered snow in all its whiteness, Fell like the moultings of heaven's Dove,[15]-- So harmless, tho' 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 even with LILIS--had I not Around her sleep all radiant beamed, Hung o'er her slumbers nor forgot To kiss her eyelids as she dreamed?

And yet at morn from that repose, Had she not waked, unscathed and bright, As doth the pure, unconscious rose Tho' by the fire-fly kist all night?

Thus having--as, alas! deceived By my sin's blindness, I believed-- No cause for dread and those dark eyes Now fixt upon me eagerly As tho' the unlocking of the skies Then waited but a sign from me-- How could I pause? how even let fall A word; a whisper that could stir In her proud heart a doubt that all I brought from heaven belonged 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...o...b..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 s.h.i.+nes from out those clouds afar-- Where, relic sad, 'tis treasured yet, The downfallen angel's coronet!-- Of all my glories, this alone Was wanting:--but the illumined brow, The sun-bright locks, the eyes that now Had love's spell added to their own, And poured 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 (tho', 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![16]

Great Heaven! 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 touched 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 turned Into gross, earthly fire, which burned, Burned all it touched as fast as eye Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes; Till there--oh G.o.d, I still ask why Such doom was hers?--I saw her lie Blackening 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, even in this dread moment, fond As when they first were round me cast, Loosed not in death the fatal bond, But, burning, held me to the last!

All, all, that, but that morn, had seemed As if Love's self there breathed and beamed, Now parched 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, agonized farewell, And looked in mine with--oh, that look!

Great vengeful Power, whate'er the h.e.l.l Thou mayst to human souls a.s.sign, 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, even more unblest Than was my own, and like that flame, The angels shudder but to name, h.e.l.l's everlasting element!

Deep, deep it pierced into my brain, Maddening 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 honored heaven itself, should be Now doomed--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 naught 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 couldst 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, tho' 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 Pa.s.sion brings upon the best, The wisest, and the loveliest.-- Oh! who is to be saved, if such Bright, erring souls are not forgiven; So loath they wander, and so much Their very wanderings lean towards 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 paused 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 Played in those plumes that never more To their lost home in heaven must soar, Breathed inwardly the voiceless prayer, Unheard by all but Mercy's ear-- And which if Mercy _did not_ hear, Oh, G.o.d would _not_ be what this bright And glorious universe of His, This world of beauty, goodness, light And endless love proclaims He _is_!

Not long they knelt, when from a wood That crowned that airy solitude, They heard a low, uncertain sound, As from a lute, that just had found Some happy theme and murmured round The new-born fancy, with fond tone, Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own!

Till soon a voice, that matched as well That gentle instrument, as suits The sea-air to an ocean-sh.e.l.l, (So kin its spirit to the lute's), Tremblingly followed the soft strain, Interpreting its joy, its pain, And lending the light wings of words To many a thought that else had lain Unfledged and mute among the chords.

All started at the sound--but chief The third young Angel in whose face, Tho' faded like the others, grief Had left a gentler, holier trace; As if, even yet, thro' pain and ill, Hope had not fled him--as if still Her precious pearl in sorrow's cup Unmelted at the bottom lay, To s.h.i.+ne again, when, all drunk up, The bitterness should pa.s.s away.

Chiefly did he, tho' 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 lips 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 sheltered it from wind and shower, "But dim it burns the livelong hour, "As if, like me, it had no power "Of life or l.u.s.tre 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 thro' Eden, let me glide, "A prostrate shadow, by thy side-- "Oh happier thus than without thee!"

The song had ceased when from the wood Which sweeping down that airy height, Reached the lone spot whereon they stood-- There suddenly shone out a light From a clear lamp, which, as it blazed Across the brow of one, who raised Its flame aloft (as if to throw The light upon that group below), Displayed 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 sh.o.r.e Thro' the dark leaves when she was gone-- Gone, like a meteor that o'erhead Suddenly s.h.i.+nes, and, ere we've said, "Behold, how beautiful!"--'tis fled, Yet ere she went the words, "I come, "I come, my NAMA," reached 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 Summoned away remain behind: Nor did there need much time to tell What they--alas! more fallen 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 graved Upon the tablets that, of old, By SETH[17] were from the deluge saved, 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.

THIRD ANGEL'S STORY.

Among the Spirits, of pure flame, That in the eternal heavens abide-- Circles of light that from the same Unclouded centre sweeping wide, Carry its beams on every side-- Like spheres of air that waft around The undulations of rich sound--

Till the far-circling radiance be Diffused into infinity!

First and immediate near the Throne Of ALLA, as if most his own, The Seraphs stand[18] this burning sign Traced on their banner, "Love Divine!"

Their rank, their honors, far above Even those to high-browed Cherubs given, Tho' knowing all;--so much doth Love Transcend all Knowledge, even in heaven!

'Mong these was ZARAPH once--and none E'er felt affection's holy fire, Or yearned towards the Eternal One, With half such longing, deep desire.

Love was to his impa.s.sioned soul Not as with others a mere part Of its existence, but the whole-- The very life-breath of his heart!

Oft, when from ALLA'S lifted brow A l.u.s.tre came, too bright to bear, And all the seraph ranks would bow, To shade their dazzled sight nor dare To look upon the effulgence there-- This Spirit's eyes would court the blaze (Such pride he in adoring took),

And rather lose in that one gaze The power of looking than _not_ look!

Then too when angel voices sung The mercy of their G.o.d and strung Their harps to hail with welcome sweet That moment, watched for by all eyes, When some repentant sinner's feet First touched the threshold of the skies, Oh! then how clearly did the voice Of ZARAPH above all rejoice!

Love was in every buoyant tone-- Such love as only could belong To the blest angels and alone Could, even from angels, bring such song!

Alas! that it should e'er have been In heaven as 'tis too often here, Where nothing fond or bright is seen, But it hath pain and peril near;-- Where right and wrong so close resemble, That what we take for virtue's thrill Is often the first downward tremble Of the heart's balance unto ill; Where Love hath not a shrine so pure, So holy, but the serpent, Sin, In moments, even the most secure, Beneath his altar may glide in!

So was it with that Angel--such The charm, that sloped his fall along, From good to ill, from loving much, Too easy lapse, to loving wrong.-- Even so that amorous Spirit, bound By beauty's spell where'er 'twas found, From the bright things above the moon Down to earth's beaming eyes descended, Till love for the Creator soon In pa.s.sion for the creature ended.

'Twas first at twilight, on the sh.o.r.e Of the smooth sea, he heard the lute And voice of her he loved steal o'er The silver waters that lay mute, As loath, by even a breath, to stay The pilgrimage of that sweet lay; Whose echoes still went on and on, Till lost among the light that shone Far off beyond the ocean's brim-- There where the rich cascade of day Had o'er the horizon's golden rim, Into Elysium rolled away!

Of G.o.d she sung and of the mild Attendant Mercy that beside His awful throne for ever smiled, Ready with her white hand to guide His bolts of vengeance to their prey-- That she might quench them on the way!

Of Peace--of that Atoning Love, Upon whose star, s.h.i.+ning above This twilight world of hope and fear, The weeping eyes of Faith are fixt So fond that with her every tear The light of that love-star is mixt!-- All this she sung, and such a soul Of piety was in that song That the charmed Angel as it stole Tenderly to his ear, along Those lulling waters where he lay, Watching the daylight's dying ray, Thought 'twas a voice from out the wave, An echo, that some sea-nymph gave To Eden's distant harmony, Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea!

Quickly, however, to its source, Tracking that music's melting course, He saw upon the golden sands Of the sea-sh.o.r.e a maiden stand, Before whose feet the expiring waves Flung their last offering with a sigh-- As, in the East, exhausted slaves Lay down the far-brought gift and die-- And while her lute hung by her hushed As if unequal to the tide Of song that from her lips still gushed, She raised, like one beatified, Those eyes whose light seemed rather given To be adored than to adore-- Such eyes as may have lookt _from_ heaven But ne'er were raised to it before!