There at her altar while she knelt,
And all that woman ever felt,
When God and man both claimed her sighs--
Every warm thought, that ever dwelt,
Like summer clouds, 'twixt earth and skies,
Too pure to fall, too gross to rise,
Spoke in her gestures, tones, and eyes--
Then, as the mystic light's soft ray
Grew softer still, as tho' its ray
Was breathed from her, I heard her say:--
"O idol of my dreams! whate'er
"Thy nature be--human, divine,
"Or but half heavenly--still too fair,
"Too heavenly to be ever mine!
"Wonderful Spirit who dost make
"Slumber so lovely that it seems
"No longer life to live awake,
"Since heaven itself descends in dreams,
"Why do I ever lose thee? why
"When on thy realms and thee I gaze
"Still drops that veil, which I could die,
"Oh! gladly, but one hour to raise?
"Long ere such miracles as thou
"And thine came o'er my thoughts, a thirst
"For light was in this soul which now
"Thy looks have into passion burst.
"There's nothing bright above, below,
"In sky--earth--ocean, that this breast
"Doth not intensely burn to know,
"And thee, thee, thee, o'er all the rest!
"Then come, oh Spirit, from behind
"The curtains of thy radiant home,
"If thou wouldst be as angel shrined,
"Or loved and claspt as mortal, come!
"Bring all thy dazzling wonders here,
"That I may, waking, know and see;
"Or waft me hence to thy own sphere,
"Thy heaven or--ay, even _that_ with thee!
"Demon or God, who hold'st the book
"Of knowledge spread beneath thine eye,
"Give me, with thee, but one bright look
"Into its leaves and let me die!
"By those ethereal wings whose way
"Lies thro' an element so fraught
"With living Mind that as they play
"Their every movement is a thought!
"By that bright, wreathed hair, between
"Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind
"Of Paradise so late hath been
"And left its fragrant soul behind!
"By those impassioned eyes that melt
"Their light into the inmost heart,
"Like sunset in the waters, felt
"As molten fire thro' every part--
"I do implore thee, oh most bright
"And worshipt Spirit, shine but o'er
"My waking, wondering eyes this night
"This one blest night--I ask no more!"
Exhausted, breathless, as she said
These burning words, her languid head
Upon the altar's steps she cast,
As if that brain-throb were its last---
Till, startled by the breathing, nigh,
Of lips that echoed back her sigh,
Sudden her brow again she raised;
And there, just lighted on the shrine,
Beheld me--not as I had blazed
Around her, full of light divine,
In her late dreams, but softened down
Into more mortal grace;--my crown
Of flowers, too radiant for this world,
Left hanging on yon starry steep;
My wings shut up, like banners furled,
When Peace hath put their pomp to sleep;
Or like autumnal clouds that keep
Their lightnings sheathed rather than mar
The dawning hour of some young star;
And nothing left but what beseemed
The accessible, tho' glorious mate
Of mortal woman--whose eyes beamed
Back upon hers, as passionate;
Whose ready heart brought flame for flame,
Whose sin, whose madness was the same;
And whose soul lost in that one hour
For her and for her love--oh more
Of heaven's light than even the power
Of heaven itself could now restore!
And yet, that hour!--
The Spirit here
Stopt in his utterance as if words
Gave way beneath the wild career
Of his then rushing thoughts--like chords,
Midway in some enthusiast's song,
Breaking beneath a touch too strong;
While the clenched hand upon the brow
Told how remembrance throbbed there now!
But soon 'twas o'er--that casual blaze
From the sunk fire of other days--
That relic of a flame whose burning
Had been too fierce to be relumed,
Soon passt away, and the youth turning
To his bright listeners thus resumed:--
Days, months elapsed, and, tho' what most
On earth I sighed for was mine, all--
Yet--was I happy? God, thou know'st,
Howe'er they smile and feign and boast,
What happiness is theirs, who fall!
'Twas bitterest anguish--made more keen
Even by the love, the bliss, between
Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell
In agonizing cross-light given
Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell
In purgatory[9] catch of heaven!
The only feeling that to me
Seemed joy--or rather my sole rest
From aching misery--was to see
My young, proud, blooming LILIS blest.
Pages:
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939