Part 2 (1/2)
After this picture of horrors, the reader may perhaps be pleased with one more pleasantly fanciful:
O call me home again dear Chief! and put me To yoking foxes, milking of he-goats, Pounding of water in a mortar, laving The sea dry with a nutsh.e.l.l, gathering all The leaves are fallen this autumn--making ropes of sand, Catching the winds together in a net, Mustering of ants, and numbering atoms, all That h.e.l.l and you thought exquisite torments, rather Than stay me here a thought more. I would sooner Keep fleas within a circle, and be accomptant A thousand year which of 'em, and how far Outleap'd the other, than endure a minute Such as I have within.
B. JONSON. 'The Devil is an a.s.s.']
[Footnote 3: During the siege of Jerusalem, ”the Roman commander, 'with a generous clemency, that inseparable attendant on true heroism, 'laboured incessantly, and to the very last moment, to preserve the place. With this view, he again and again intreated the tyrants to surrender and save their lives. With the same view also, after carrying the second wall the siege was intermitted four days: to rouse their fears, 'prisoners, to the number of five hundred, or more were crucified daily before the walls; till s.p.a.ce', Josephus says, 'was wanting for the crosses, and crosses for the captives'.”
From the Hampton Lectures of RALPH CHURTON.
If any of my readers should enquire why t.i.tus Vespasian, the Delight of Mankind, is placed in such a situation,--I answer, for ”HIS GENEROUS CLEMENCY, THAT INSEPARABLE ATTENDANT ON TRUE HEROISM!]
THE VISION of THE MAID OF ORLEANS.
THE THIRD BOOK.
The Maiden, musing on the Warrior's words, Turn'd from the Hall of Glory. Now they reach'd A cavern, at whose mouth a Genius stood, In front a beardless youth, whose smiling eye Beam'd promise, but behind, withered and old, And all unlovely. Underneath his feet Lay records trampled, and the laurel wreath Now rent and faded: in his hand he held An hour-gla.s.s, and as fall the restless sands, So pa.s.s the lives of men. By him they past Along the darksome cave, and reach'd a stream, Still rolling onward its perpetual waves, Noiseless and undisturbed. Here they ascend A Bark unpiloted, that down the flood, Borne by the current, rush'd. The circling stream, Returning to itself, an island form'd; Nor had the Maiden's footsteps ever reach'd The insulated coast, eternally Rapt round the endless course; but Theodore Drove with an angel's will the obedient bark.
They land, a mighty fabric meets their eyes, Seen by its gem-born light. Of adamant The pile was framed, for ever to abide Firm in eternal strength. Before the gate Stood eager EXPECTATION, as to list The half-heard murmurs issuing from within, Her mouth half-open'd, and her head stretch'd forth.
On the other side there stood an aged Crone, Listening to every breath of air; she knew Vague suppositions and uncertain dreams, Of what was soon to come, for she would mark The paley glow-worm's self-created light, And argue thence of kingdoms overthrown, And desolated nations; ever fill'd With undetermin'd terror, as she heard Or distant screech-owl, or the regular beat Of evening death-watch.
”Maid,” the Spirit cried, Here, robed in shadows, dwells FUTURITY.
There is no eye hath seen her secret form, For round the MOTHER OF TIME, unpierced mists Aye hover. Would'st thou read the book of Fate, Enter.”
The Damsel for a moment paus'd, Then to the Angel spake: ”All-gracious Heaven!
Benignant in withholding, hath denied To man that knowledge. I, in faith a.s.sured, That he, my heavenly Father, for the best Ordaineth all things, in that faith remain Contented.”
”Well and wisely hast thou said, So Theodore replied; ”and now O Maid!
Is there amid this boundless universe One whom thy soul would visit? is there place To memory dear, or visioned out by hope, Where thou would'st now be present? form the wish, And I am with thee, there.”
His closing speech Yet sounded on her ear, and lo! they stood Swift as the sudden thought that guided them, Within the little cottage that she loved.
”He sleeps! the good man sleeps!” enrapt she cried, As bending o'er her Uncle's lowly bed Her eye retraced his features. ”See the beads That never morn nor night he fails to tell, Remembering me, his child, in every prayer.
Oh! quiet be thy sleep, thou dear old man!
Good Angels guard thy rest! and when thine hour Is come, as gently mayest thou wake to life, As when thro' yonder lattice the next sun Shall bid thee to thy morning orisons!
Thy voice is heard, the Angel guide rejoin'd, He sees thee in his dreams, he hears thee breathe Blessings, and pleasant is the good man's rest.
Thy fame has reached him, for who has not heard Thy wonderous exploits? and his aged heart Hath felt the deepest joy that ever yet Made his glad blood flow fast. Sleep on old Claude!
Peaceful, pure Spirit, be thy sojourn here, And short and soon thy pa.s.sage to that world Where friends shall part no more!
”Does thy soul own No other wish? or sleeps poor Madelon Forgotten in her grave? seest thou yon star,”
The Spirit pursued, regardless of her eye That look'd reproach; ”seest thou that evening star Whose lovely light so often we beheld From yonder woodbine porch? how have we gazed Into the dark deep sky, till the baffled soul, Lost in the infinite, returned, and felt The burthen of her bodily load, and yearned For freedom! Maid, in yonder evening slar Lives thy departed friend. I read that glance, And we are there!”
He said and they had past The immeasurable s.p.a.ce.
Then on her ear The lonely song of adoration rose, Sweet as the cloister'd virgins vesper hymn, Whose spirit, happily dead to earthly hopes Already lives in Heaven. Abrupt the song Ceas'd, tremulous and quick a cry Of joyful wonder rous'd the astonish'd Maid, And instant Madelon was in her arms; No airy form, no unsubstantial shape, She felt her friend, she prest her to her heart, Their tears of rapture mingled.
She drew back And eagerly she gazed on Madelon, Then fell upon her neck again and wept.
No more she saw the long-drawn lines of grief, The emaciate form, the hue of sickliness, The languid eye: youth's loveliest freshness now Mantled her cheek, whose every lineament Bespake the soul at rest, a holy calm, A deep and full tranquillity of bliss.
”Thou then art come, my first and dearest friend!”
The well known voice of Madelon began, ”Thou then art come! and was thy pilgrimage So short on earth? and was it painful too, Painful and short as mine? but blessed they Who from the crimes and miseries of the world Early escape!”