I found my mantle had the snowy white For those to whom th' Omnipotent hath given His promised boon, the bright and morning star- Till then, with me, thou shalt in tranquil joy Sport in the air, or wing thy flight above The atmosphere of Earth, the dense, dark robe Which wraps her wheeling form. The Sun's red beam By day, shall in a gold garb mantle thee- At night, the silvery Moon's, and both shall lend Their rays to be thy chariot. We shall walk Upon the curved Rainbow, the bright zone Girdling the universe, and clasping worlds Within its mighty circle. We shall dart From orb to orb, and on our brows shall bear The bright and shooting stars-we shall repose In worlds of fire, that, nearest to the sun Revolve their course, and those white orbs which roll Far distant from his centre-we shall sail Through seas of ether in our cloudy ship, And overtake the Morning-we shall list The song which spirits hear that song in which The bands of angels praise the unknown name Of the Almighty, and whose wondrous sound Shall even to our accents still remain
Impossible, until the terrible day
Shall make us like to them. Then, when the Seals Be open'd, and the Heavens and Earth are doom'd, Shall the great judgment follow. Nature's things Shall disobey her laws-Wild Anarchy And Uproar reign-the shadow of the foot Of the Eternal shall blot out the Sun. The Moon be motionless, and faint, and die, And melt away for anguish the bright Stars Fall down with desolation in their light, And burst asunder, scattering all around Woe, woe-and bitterness-and there shall be Blood and not water, and the Angels' hands Shall grasp the four winds, and then bury them In their capacious bosoms. Then, all things Shall groan for air; and, 'midst the pouring forth The vials of deep wrath, and cries, and shrieks, And trumpet blasts, and thunderings, and groans Of Worlds, and shuddering of the crumbled Heaven- The trampling of the death-steed shall be heard Bearing his mighty Rider-Summoner Of mortals, and the Herald of his God- And then there shall be silence, in the heaven! A pause of death-the uproar shall be still'd- For the Eternal cometh!-not a sound
Among those myriads to break the awe Of his tremendous presence-not a sound
Until the Volume of Eternity
Be ope'd-and closed again!
My Zoe, that doth pour these awful tones Upon my trembling soul?-Oh, how my heart
Shrinks from that day of terrors!
Thou art beloved, and thy spotless life
Hath won high Heaven's grace-thou shalt throw off This chrysalis case, and rise, and wing thy way
Through fields of peace and light-thou didst but era
One moment in thy doubts-when my bless'd soul Ascended from the couch of pain and grief
To liberty, and uncontrolled joy.
I look'd on thee, and though in bliss, there rose Something, which when on earth, had been a wish That thou couldst see me, and that I could soothe Thy grief, and bind thy faith; for thou didst doubt In thy affliction, and didst fear thyself Of God and hope forsaken-then the prayer Of the departing Saint, the holy Man Of those dim caves, arose unto the Heaven For thy benighted soul, that thus the faith Of him whose heart was righteous, should not die As the guilt-spotted man's-then Heaven heard- And when the words of power were said, I swept Downward from my bright cloud, and with the stream Mingled my spirit, and from its misty breast, Rose up before thine eyes.
Leontine. Oh, how my soul Blesses thy gentle love, that thus survives The grave, and mingles with eternity! I am more happy in this holy bond,
Than hadst thou lived on earth; and yet there is One bliss, if it may be, that I would claim- I hear thee, see thee-might I touch thy hand With my still earthly lip?
The Spirit. No; for that hand Were charged for thee with death; and this is not Thine hour, Oh, Beloved!-but, it comes - I feel a higher sense of joy than e'er Mine essence knew before, for soon thou wilt Unfetter'd be, and thy delighted spirit Roam blessedly with me; but soft-the air Is cut before me; something human comes Tinted with richer hues, for there remain'd, The roseate colours of my flower-born robe, Memorial of my visit!-So, when man Hereafter, as he will,-shall seek this spot, He will behold with wonder the rose hues. Blushing upon the snow!
Would that I might partake it!
Be faithful to the last, thy lot will be As is thy Zoe's; not yet perfect, but Pure as it can be, till th' accounting day, Which will unbar the golden gates of Heaven,
Shall give us entrance there!
The sinner when he perishes, how fares His spirit in its wanderings; doth it dwell
At large, as thine?
The Spirit.
Is portion'd to his actions; and that is As the Almighty dooms him: sometimes he Sleeps in a torpid sleep-the trance of death- Dull, heavy, senseless. Such are those who have
Inactive been, and reckless of the gifts
With which they were endow'd; their lives unmark'd By any good, although unstain'd by crime- Spendthrifts of time-who dogg'd away their days As they were nights, or as, instead of time,
Eternity, was written on the brows Of those who stood around them-The sin-stain'd
Åre darker doom'd sometimes enfetter'd to
The earth which they have quitted, they are bound To mark the consequences of their guilt, And watch their issue. The proud Greek of old, The Macedonian, who with toil and blood, Strode high above the necks of fellow-men, And trampled on warm hearts, and wither'd joy, To raise a mighty empire, was condemn'd To see his huge throne shaken, and his friends Sever, one by one, the columns!-He beheld The swords his own ambition had unsheath'd, Plunged in his children's hearts, and saw their shades Rise trembling from the earth, and mount afar Above his gloomy dungeon. These are those Who, chain'd within the womb of the fierce sea, Are tossed to and fro by the wild storm, And never rise in air, except to pour Destruction on the labouring vessel, which May bear some ancient friend, or child beloved, Or a lamenting wife. Some are compell'd To guide the thunderbolt of wrath, which rends To fragments their own home; - such one I mark'd Weeping and throwing lightnings, and averting His eye from where they fell! - And others float A pestilence in air, and carry death To the bosoms best belov'd. The Oppressor, who Rent from the hungry the coarse sordid meal, To heap up treasures for his heirs, beholds Those heirs expire of famine, which himself A deadly blight upon the herb and corn Breathes o'er the healthy land. The Tyrant's scourge Is wielded by the Demons, who through space With stripes pursue the spectre-worse the lot Of him the envy-struck, who is condemn'd To watch the bliss of those he most abhors, And which he strove to crush; he is, indeed, The tortured-for the penalties of hell Alone exceed the measure of his pangs.
Leontine. I love the theme, and yet I fear to ask, Lest with unhallow'd question I offend The mercy of the Holiest!-If it be Permitted thee to answer, hath thine eye Gazed on the Majesty of God?
The Spirit. Permitted thee to question, for thy tongue Is chain'd from uttering the secrets deep, Which have been breathed into thy list'ning ear. Thou art as yet but mortal, but ere long Thy soul shall be enfranchised; even now
I see, but thou canst not, where near thee stands The beauteous shadowy King, who looks on thee With a soft, solemn smile, and whose cold hand Will fall so lightly on thy youthful brow, That to the charm'd beholder his still rest Shall seem like infant's sleep; but guard thee well, Temptation cometh-danger and distress Will soon beset thy soul-but be thou firm, And thou wilt be with me-but not to gaze Upon the light of the Eternal's eye. That may not be till after Earth and Heaven
Complain; for murmuring I am too bless'd- Earth hath some part in me, and I may not, As yet, disdain her claims. So then, her sons, I will not chide away.
Enter BASIL, ZENO, and GREEKS, with ANDRONICUS. Basil.
Thou hear'st, he speaks, Conversing with the demons-now, old man, Wring from thy son his secret, let him prove His innocence, or else behold him die!
Andronicus. Insatiate bigot! Oh! my son, my son!
Have mercy on thy father's snowy head; Bring not the grey hairs to the grave in woe- Let me not see thy young blood fall to earth, Ere the old man's hath fail'd-My son, my son! Let me not lose thee if thou canst-reveal
Thy secret, and preserve thy life.
It is not worth a crime-I will not break My promise-but I stand prepared to die. Weep not, oh father-death for me is bliss.
I go to meet my Zoe-lead ye on.
The punishment of sorcery, though I
Am guiltless of the sin, I am prepared
To meet, oh friends-Peace, dearest father, peace!
We shall soon meet again-Now to the death
My soul, my soul is ready.
Wilt thou destroy thy father?
Leontine. Content!-thou, righteous heaven! hear me! oh hear!
Sinless is my pursuit, but if ye deem
My wanderings other, why then, let me die;
I stand prepared-bind on these hands your chains,
And let my father go.
Andronicus.
Nor urge him farther-Ye have wisely judged
Lead me unto the bed of peace, which waits To clasp the limbs of the life wearied man.
Zeno. Lead him unto his sentence.
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