Part 2 (2/2)
”Nay,” Theodore replied, She hath not yet fulfill'd her mortal work.
Permitted visitant from earth she comes To see the seat of rest, and oftentimes In sorrow shall her soul remember this, And patient of the transitory woe Partake the antic.i.p.ated peace again.”
”Soon be that work perform'd!” the Maid exclaimed, ”O Madelon! O Theodore! my soul, Spurning the cold communion of the world, Will dwell with you! but I shall patiently, Yea even with joy, endure the allotted ills Of which the memory in this better state Shall heighten bliss. That hour of agony, When, Madelon, I felt thy dying grasp, And from thy forehead wiped the dews of death, The very horrors of that hour a.s.sume A shape that now delights.”
”O earliest friend!
I too remember,” Madelon replied, ”That hour, thy looks of watchful agony, The suppressed grief that struggled in thine eye Endearing love's last kindness. Thou didst know With what a deep and melancholy joy I felt the hour draw on: but who can speak The unutterable transport, when mine eyes, As from a long and dreary dream, unclosed Amid this peaceful vale, unclos'd on him, My Arnaud! he had built me up a bower, A bower of rest.--See, Maiden, where he comes, His manly lineaments, his beaming eye The same, but now a holier innocence Sits on his cheek, and loftier thoughts illume The enlighten'd glance.”
They met, what joy was theirs He best can feel, who for a dear friend dead Has wet the midnight pillow with his tears.
Fair was the scene around; an ample vale Whose mountain circle at the distant verge Lay softened on the sight; the near ascent Rose bolder up, in part abrupt and bare, Part with the ancient majesty of woods Adorn'd, or lifting high its rocks sublime.
The river's liquid radiance roll'd beneath, Beside the bower of Madelon it wound A broken stream, whose shallows, tho' the waves Roll'd on their way with rapid melody, A child might tread. Behind, an orange grove Its gay green foliage starr'd with golden fruit; But with what odours did their blossoms load The pa.s.sing gale of eve! less thrilling sweet Rose from the marble's perforated floor, Where kneeling at her prayers, the Moorish queen Inhaled the cool delight, [1] and whilst she asked The Prophet for his promised paradise, Shaped from the present scene its utmost joys.
A goodly scene! fair as that faery land Where Arthur lives, by ministering spirits borne From Camlan's b.l.o.o.d.y banks; or as the groves Of earliest Eden, where, so legends say, Enoch abides, and he who rapt away By fiery steeds, and chariotted in fire, Past in his mortal form the eternal ways; And John, beloved of Christ, enjoying there The beatific vision, sometimes seen The distant dawning of eternal day, Till all things be fulfilled.
”Survey this scene!”
So Theodore address'd the Maid of Arc, ”There is no evil here, no wretchedness, It is the Heaven of those who nurst on earth Their nature's gentlest feelings. Yet not here Centering their joys, but with a patient hope, Waiting the allotted hour when capable Of loftier callings, to a better state They pa.s.s; and hither from that better state Frequent they come, preserving so those ties That thro' the infinite progressiveness Complete our perfect bliss.
”Even such, so blest, Save that the memory of no sorrows past Heightened the present joy, our world was once, In the first aera of its innocence Ere man had learnt to bow the knee to man.
Was there a youth whom warm affection fill'd, He spake his honest heart; the earliest fruits His toil produced, the sweetest flowers that deck'd The sunny bank, he gather'd for the maid, Nor she disdain'd the gift; for VICE not yet Had burst the dungeons of her h.e.l.l, and rear'd Those artificial boundaries that divide Man from his species. State of blessedness!
Till that ill-omen'd hour when Cain's stern son Delved in the bowels of the earth for gold, Accursed bane of virtue! of such force As poets feign dwelt in the Gorgon's locks, Which whoso saw, felt instant the life-blood Cold curdle in his veins, the creeping flesh Grew stiff with horror, and the heart forgot To beat. Accursed hour! for man no more To JUSTICE paid his homage, but forsook Her altars, and bow'd down before the shrine Of WEALTH and POWER, the Idols he had made.
Then h.e.l.l enlarged herself, her gates flew wide, Her legion fiends rush'd forth. OPPRESSION came Whose frown is desolation, and whose breath Blasts like the Pestilence; and POVERTY, A meagre monster, who with withering touch Makes barren all the better part of man, MOTHER OF MISERIES. Then the goodly earth Which G.o.d had fram'd for happiness, became One theatre of woe, and all that G.o.d Had given to bless free men, these tyrant fiends His bitterest curses made. Yet for the best Hath he ordained all things, the ALL-WISE!
For by experience rous'd shall man at length Dash down his Moloch-Idols, Samson-like And burst his fetters, only strong whilst strong Believed. Then in the bottomless abyss OPPRESSION shall be chain'd, and POVERTY Die, and with her, her brood of Miseries; And VIRTUE and EQUALITY preserve The reign of LOVE, and Earth shall once again Be Paradise, whilst WISDOM shall secure The state of bliss which IGNORANCE betrayed.”
”Oh age of happiness!” the Maid exclaim'd, Roll fast thy current, Time till that blest age Arrive! and happy thou my Theodore, Permitted thus to see the sacred depths Of wisdom!”
”Such,” the blessed Spirit replied, Beloved! such our lot; allowed to range The vast infinity, progressive still In knowledge and encreasing blessedness, This our united portion. Thou hast yet A little while to sojourn amongst men: I will be with thee! there shall not a breeze Wanton around thy temples, on whose wing I will not hover near! and at that hour When from its fleshly sepulchre let loose, Thy phoenix soul shall soar, O best-beloved!
I will be with thee in thine agonies, And welcome thee to life and happiness, Eternal infinite beat.i.tude!”
He spake, and led her near a straw-roof'd cot, LOVE'S Palace. By the Virtues circled there, The cherub listen'd to such melodies, As aye, when one good deed is register'd Above, re-echo in the halls of Heaven.
LABOUR was there, his crisp locks floating loose, Clear was his cheek, and beaming his full eye, And strong his arm robust; the wood-nymph HEALTH Still follow'd on his path, and where he trod Fresh flowers and fruits arose. And there was HOPE, The general friend; and PITY, whose mild eye Wept o'er the widowed dove; and, loveliest form, Majestic CHASt.i.tY, whose sober smile Delights and awes the soul; a laurel wreath Restrain'd her tresses, and upon her breast The snow-drop [2] hung its head, that seem'd to grow Spontaneous, cold and fair: still by the maid LOVE went submiss, wilh eye more dangerous Than fancied basilisk to wound whoe'er Too bold approached; yet anxious would he read Her every rising wish, then only pleased When pleasing. Hymning him the song was rais'd.
”Glory to thee whose vivifying power Pervades all Nature's universal frame!
Glory to thee CREATOR LOVE! to thee, Parent of all the smiling CHARITIES, That strew the th.o.r.n.y path of Life with flowers!
Glory to thee PRESERVER! to thy praise The awakened woodlands echo all the day Their living melody; and warbling forth To thee her twilight song, the Nightingale Holds the lone Traveller from his way, or charms The listening Poet's ear. Where LOVE shall deign To fix his seat, there blameless PLEASURE sheds Her roseate dews; CONTENT will sojourn there, And HAPPINESS behold AFFECTION'S eye Gleam with the Mother's smile. Thrice happy he Who feels thy holy power! he shall not drag, Forlorn and friendless, along Life's long path To Age's drear abode; he shall not waste The bitter evening of his days unsooth'd; But HOPE shall cheer his hours of Solitude, And VICE shall vainly strive to wound his breast, That bears that talisman; and when he meets The eloquent eye of TENDERNESS, and hears The bosom-thrilling music of her voice; The joy he feels shall purify his Soul, And imp it for antic.i.p.ated Heaven.”
[Footnote 1: In the cabinet of the Alhambra where the Queen used to dress and say her prayers, and which is still an enchanting sight, there is a slab of marble full of small holes, through which perfumes exhaled that were kept constantly burning beneath. The doors and windows are disposed so as to afford the most agreeable prospects, and to throw a soft yet lively light upon the eyes. Fresh currents of air too are admitted, so as to renew every instant the delicious coolness of this apartment.
(From the sketch of the History of the Spanish Moors, prefixed to Florian's Gonsalvo of Cordova).]
[Footnote 2: ”The grave matron does not perceive how time has impaired her charms, but decks her faded bosom with the same snow-drop that seems to grow on the breast of the Virgin.” P.H.]
The Rose.
Betwene the Cytee and the Chirche of Bethlehem, is the felde Floridus, that is to seyne, the feld florisched. For als moche as a fayre Mayden was blamed with wrong and sclaundred, that sche hadde don fornicacioun, for whiche cause sche was demed to the dethe, and to be brent in that place, to the whiche sche was ladd. And as the fyre began to brenne about hire, she made hire preyeres to oure Lord, that als wissely as sche was not gylty of that synne, that he wold help hire, and make it to be knowen to alle men of his mercyfulle grace; and whanne she had thus seyd, sche entered into the fuyer, and anon was the fuyer quenched and oute, and the brondes that weren brennynge, becomen white Roseres, fulle of roses, and theise weren the first Roseres and roses, bothe white and rede, that evere ony man saughe.
And thus was this Maiden saved be the Grace of G.o.d.
'The Voiage and Travaile of Sir John Maundevile'.
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