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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

"The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes"



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 impassioned 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 lustre 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 God 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.


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