How then could ZARAPH fail to feel
That moment's witcheries?--one, so fair,
Breathing out music, that might steal
Heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer
That seraphs might be proud to share!
Oh, he _did_ feel it, all too well--
With warmth, that far too dearly cost--
Nor knew he, when at last he fell,
To which attraction, to which spell,
Love, Music, or Devotion, most
His soul in that sweet hour was lost.
Sweet was the hour, tho' dearly won,
And pure, as aught of earth could be,
For then first did the glorious sun
Before religion's altar see
Two hearts in wedlock's golden tie
Self-pledged, in love to live and die.
Blest union! by that Angel wove,
And worthy from such hands to come;
Safe, sole, asylum, in which Love,
When fallen or exiled from above,
In this dark world can find a home.
And, tho' the Spirit had transgrest,
Had, from his station 'mong the blest
Won down by woman's smile, allow'd
Terrestrial passion to breathe o'er
The mirror of his heart, and cloud
God's image there so bright before--
Yet never did that Power look down
On error with a brow so mild;
Never did Justice wear a frown,
Thro' which so gently Mercy smiled.
For humble was their love--with awe
And trembling like some treasure kept,
That was not theirs by holy law--
Whose beauty with remorse they saw
And o'er whose preciousness they wept.
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