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 standthis 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.— Even so that amorous Spirit, bound By beauty's spell where'er‘ twas found,
From the bright things above the moon Down to earth's beaming eyes descended, Till love for the Creator soon In passion for the creature ended.
‘ Twas first at twilight, on the shore Of the smooth sea, he heard the lute And voice of her he loved steal o'er The silver waters that lay mute,
As loath, by even a breath, to stay The pilgrimage of that sweet lay; Whose echoes still went on and on, Till lost among the light that shone
Far off beyond the ocean's brim — There where the rich cascade of day Had o'er the horizon's golden rim, Into Elysium rolled away!
Of God she sung and of the mild Attendant Mercy that beside His awful throne for ever smiled, Ready with her white hand to guide
His bolts of vengeance to their prey — That she might quench them on the way! Of Peace — of that Atoning Love, Upon whose star, shining above
This twilight world of hope and fear, The weeping eyes of Faith are fixt So fond that with her every tear The light of that love-star is mixt!—
All this she sung, and such a soul Of piety was in that song That the charmed Angel as it stole Tenderly to his ear, along
Those lulling waters where he lay, Watching the daylight's dying ray, Thought‘ twas a voice from out the wave, An echo, that some sea-nymph gave
To Eden's distant harmony, Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea! Quickly, however, to its source, Tracking that music's melting course,
He saw upon the golden sands Of the sea-shore a maiden stand, Before whose feet the expiring waves Flung their last offering with a sigh —
As, in the East, exhausted slaves Lay down the far-brought gift and die — And while her lute hung by her hushed As if unequal to the tide
Of song that from her lips still gushed, She raised, like one beatified, Those eyes whose light seemed rather given To be adored than to adore —
Such eyes as may have lookt from heaven But ne'er were raised to it before! Oh Love, Religion, Music — all That's left of Eden upon earth —
The only blessings, since the fall Of our weak souls, that still recall A trace of their high, glorious birth — How kindred are the dreams you bring!
How Love tho’ unto earth so prone, Delights to take Religion's wing, When time or grief hath stained his own! How near to Love's beguiling brink
Too oft entranced Religion lies! While Music, Music is the link They both still hold by to the skies, The language of their native sphere
Which they had else forgotten here. 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. Humility, that low, sweet root, From which all heavenly virtues shoot,
Was in the hearts of both — but most In NAMA'S heart, by whom alone Those charms, for which a heaven was lost. Seemed all unvalued and unknown;
And when her Seraph's eyes she caught, And hid hers glowing on his breast, Even bliss was humbled by the thought — “What claim have I to be so blest”?
Still less could maid, so meek, have nurst Desire of knowledge — that vain thirst, With which the sex hath all been curst From luckless EVE to her who near
The Tabernacle stole to hear The secrets of the Angels: no — To love as her own Seraph loved, With Faith, the same thro’ bliss and woe —
Faith that were even its light removed, Could like the dial fixt remain And wait till it shone out again;— With Patience that tho’ often bowed
By the rude storm can rise anew; And Hope that even from Evil's cloud See sunny Good half breaking thro’! This deep, relying Love, worth more
In heaven than all a Cherub's lore — This Faith more sure than aught beside Was the sole joy, ambition, pride Of her fond heart — the unreasoning scope
Of all its views, above, below — So true she felt it that to hope, To trust, is happier than to know. And thus in humbleness they trod,
Abasht but pure before their God; Nor e'er did earth behold a sight So meekly beautiful as they, When with the altar's holy light
Full on their brows they knelt to pray, Hand within hand and side by side, Two links of love awhile untied From the great chain above, but fast
Holding together to the last!— Two fallen Splendors from that tree Which buds with such eternally, Shaken to earth yet keeping all
Their light and freshness in the fall. Their only punishment, ( as wrong, However sweet, must bear its brand. ) Their only doom was this — that, long
As the green earth and ocean stand, They both shall wander here — the same, Throughout all time, in heart and frame — Still looking to that goal sublime,
Whose light remote but sure they see; Pilgrims of Love whose way is Time, Whose home is in Eternity! Subject the while to all the strife
True Love encounters in this life — The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain; The chill that turns his warmest sighs To earthly vapor ere they rise;
The doubt he feeds on and the pain That in his very sweetness lies:— Still worse, the illusions that betray His footsteps to their shining brink;
That tempt him on his desert way Thro’ the bleak world, to bend and drink, Where nothing meets his lips, alas!— But he again must sighing pass
On to that far-off home of peace, In which alone his thirst will cease. All this they bear but not the less Have moments rich in happiness —
Blest meetings, after many a day Of widowhood past far away, When the loved face again is seen Close, close, with not a tear between —
Confidings frank, without control, Poured mutually from soul to soul; As free from any fear or doubt As is that light from chill or strain
The sun into the stars sheds out To be by them shed back again!— That happy minglement of hearts, Where, changed as chymic compounds are,
Each with its own existence parts To find a new one, happier far! Such are their joys — and crowning all That blessed hope of the bright hour,
When, happy and no more to fall, Their spirits shall with freshened power Rise up rewarded for their trust In Him from whom all goodness springs,
And shaking off earth's soiling dust From their emancipated wings, Wander for ever thro’ those skies Of radiance where Love never dies!
In what lone region of the earth, These Pilgrims now may roam or dwell, God and the Angels who look forth To watch their steps, alone can tell.
But should we in our wanderings Meet a young pair whose beauty wants But the adornment of bright wings To look like heaven's inhabitants —
Who shine where'er they tread and yet Are humble in their earthly lot, As is the way-side violet, That shines unseen, and were it not
For its sweet breath would be forgot Whose hearts in every thought are one, Whose voices utter the same wills — Answering, as Echo doth some tone
Of fairy music‘ mong the hills, So like itself we seek in vain Which is the echo, which the strain — Whose piety is love, whose love
Tho’ close as‘ twere their souls’ embrace. Is not of earth but from above — Like two fair mirrors face to face, Whose light from one to the other thrown,
Is heaven's reflection, not their own — Should we e'er meet with aught so pure, So perfect here, we may be sure ‘ Tis ZARAPH and his bride we see;
And call young lovers round to view The pilgrim pair as they pursue Their pathway towards eternity.
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