'Twas Rubi, in whose mournful eye
Slept the dim light of days gone by,
Whose voice, though sweet, fell on the ear,
Like echoes in some silent place,
When first awak'd for many a year;
And when he smil'd-if o'er his face
Smile ever shone-'twas like the grace
Of moon-light rainbows, fair, but wan,
The sunny light, the glory gone.
Ev'n o'er his pride, though still the same,
A soft'ning shade from sorrow came;
And though, at times, his spirit knew
The kindlings of disdain and ire,
Short was the fitful glare they threw-
Like the last flashes, fierce but few,
Seen through some noble pile on fire!
Rubi was present at the creation of Eve, whom he admired so much, that he ever after entertained a passion for her sex. His affection, however, at last, cen
There was a maid, of all who move
Like visions o'er this earth, most fit
To be a bright young angel's love,
Herself so bright, so exquisite !
The pride, too, of her step, so light
Along the unconscious earth she went,
Seem'd that of one, born with a right
To walk some heavenlier element,
And tread in places where her feet
A star at every step should meet.
It was in dreams that first I stole,
With gentle mast'ry, o'er her mind,
In that rich twilight of the soul,
When reason's beam, half hid behind
The clouds of sense, obscurely gilds
Each shadowy shape that Fancy builds :-
"Twas then, by that soft light, I brought
Vague, glimmering visions to her view-
Catches of radiance, lost when caught,
Bright labyrinths that led to nought,
And vistas, with a voice seen through ;
Dwellings of bliss, that opening shone,
Then clos'd, dissolv'd, and left no trace,
All that, in short, could tempt hope on,
But give her wing no resting place;
Myself, the while, with brow, as yet,
Pure as the young moon's coronet,
Through every dream still in her sight,
The enchanter of each mocking scene,
Who gave the hope, then brought the blight,
Who said 'Behold yon world of light,'
Then sudden dropp'd a veil between !
The angel relates the happiness which he enjoyed in the society of his Lilis, and the mental torment arising from a consciousness of having incurred the displeasure of heaven. In the meantime, Lilis's thirst of knowledge increased, and led to her destruction.
"Twas on the evening of a day,
Which we in love had dream'd away,
In that same garden where, beneath
The silent earth, stripp'd of my wreath,
And furling up those wings, whose light
For mortal gaze were else too bright,
I first had stood before her sight;
And found myself-Oh ecstacy,
Which ev'n in pain I ne'er forget,-
Worshipp'd as only God should be,
And lov'd as never man was yet!
In that same garden we were now,
Thoughtfully side by side reclining,
Her eyes turn'd upward, and her brow,
With its own silent fancies shining.
It was an evening bright and still
As ever blush'd on wave or bow'r,
Smiling from heav'n, as if nought ill,
Could happen in so sweet an hour.
Yet, I remember, both grew sad
In looking at that light,-ev'n she,
Of heart so fresh, and brow so glad,
Felt the mute hour's solemnity;
And though she saw, in that repose,
The death hour, not alone of light,
But of this whole, fair world-the close
Of all things beautiful and bright-
The last, grand sun-set, in whose ray
Nature herself died calm away!
In the midst of this grand and solemn scene, Lilis relates to the angel a dream, which she had the preceding night, in which the angel appeared to her, divested of the mortal robes which he assumed, and clothed in all his original glory. She intreats of him. to realize her dream, a request which, at first, perplexes him.
Some dark misgivings had, I own,
Pass'd, for a moment, through my breast,
Fears of some danger, vague, unknown
To one or both,-something unblest
To happen from this proud request.
But these "misgivings" vanish the moment he reflects, that the pure flame of which he is composed, is innocent in its effects.
For well I knew the lustre shed
From my rich 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 bow'r at night.
Oft had I, in the mid air, swept
Through clouds, in which the light'ning slept,
As in his lair, ready to spring,
Yet wak'd him not-though from my wing
A thousand sparks fell glittering.
Thus having (as, alas, deceiv'd
By my sin's blindness, I believ'd,)
No cause for dread, and those black eyes
There fix'd upon me eagerly,
As if th' unlocking of the skies
Then waited but sign for me-
How was I to refuse? how say
One word that in her breast could stir A fear, a doubt, but that each ray
I brought from heav'n, belong'd to her!
All I could bring of heav'n'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, though 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!
Great God! 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 touch'd 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 trangression, turn'd
Into gross, earthly fire, which burn'd,
Burn'd all it touch'd, as fast as eye Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes, Till there-Oh, God, I still ask why Such doom was her's?-I saw her lie, Black'ning within my arms, to ashes! Those cheeks, a glory but to seeThose lips, whose touch was what the first Fresh cup of immortality,
Is to a new-made angel's thirst!
Those arms, within whose gentle round, My heart's horizon, the whole bound Of its hope, prospect, heav'n was found! Which, ev'n in this dread moment, fond As when they first were round me cast, Loos'd not in death the fatal bond,
But, burning, held me to the last
That hair, from under whose dark veil
The snowy neck, like a white sail
At moonlight seen, 'twixt wave and wave,
Shone out by gleams, that hair to save.
But one of whose long glossy wreaths,
I could have died ten thousand deaths!
All, all that seem'd one minute since,
So full of love's own redolence,
Now, parch'd and black before me lay,
Withering in agony away;
And mine,-Oh, misery!-mine the flame,
From which this desolation came-
And I the fiend, whose foul caress,
Had blasted all that loveliness!
The other two angels join him in prayer, imploring the offended Deity to have mercy on the unhappy Lilis ; but
Not long they knelt, when from a wood,
That crown'd that airy solitude,
They heard a low, uncertain sound,
As from a lute that just had found
Some happy theme, and murmur'd round
The new-born fancy-with fond tone,
Like that of ring-dove o'er her brood-
Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own!
Till soon a voice, that match'd as well
That gentle instrument, as suits
The sea air to an ocean shell,
(So kin its spirit to the lute's,)
Tremblingly follow'd the soft strain,
Interpreting its joy, its pain,
And lending the light wings of words,
To many a thought that else had lain
Unfledg'd, and mute among the chords.
This music proceeded from Nama, who was in quest of her beloved Zaraph, the third angel. This angel was of the highest order of spirits, who sat
First and immediate near the throne,
As if peculiarly God's own.
|