Is this morality?—Oh, no! But thus it is, all sects, we see, Seek virtue in a middle term; This plain good man, whose actions teach Oh! when I've seen the morning beam When Heaven and Nature claim the heart; ΤΟ While I, in feeling's sweet romance, Look on each day-beam as a glance From the great eye of Him above, Wakening his world with looks of love! THE NATAL GENIUS. A DREAM. THE MORNING OF HER BIRTH-DAY IN witching slumbers of the night, I dream'd I was the airy sprite That on thy natal moment smiled; And thought I wafted on my wing Those flowers which in Elysium spring, To crown my lovely mortal child. With olive-branch I bound thy head, Heart's-ease along thy path I shed, Which was to bloom through all thy years; Nor yet did I forget to bind Love's roses, with his myrtle twined, And dew'd by sympathetic tears. Such was the wild but precious boon, Bade me to Nona's image pay- How blest around thy steps I'd play! Thy life should softly steal along, That's heard at distance in the grove; But all be sunshine, peace, and love To bid its roses withering die; Nor age itself, though dim and dark, Should ever quench a single spark That flashes from my Nona's eye! THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. PREFACE. THIS Poem, somewhat different in form, and much more limited in extent, was originally designed as an episode for a work about which I have been, at intervals, employed during the last two years. Some months since, however, I found that my friend Lord Byron had, by an accidental coincidence, chosen the same subject for a drama; and as I could not but feel the disadvantage of coming after so formidable a rival, I thought it best to publish my humble sketch immediately, with such alterations and additions as I had time to make, and thus, by an earlier appearance in the literary horizon, give myself the chance of what astronomers call an Heliacal rising, before the luminary, in whose light I was to be lost, should appear. As objections may be made, by persons whose opinions I respect, to the selection of a subject of this nature from the Scripture, I think it right to remark that, in point of fact, the subject is not scriptural-the notion upon which it is founded (that of the love of angels for women) having originated in an erroneous translation by the LXX, of that verse in the sixth chapter of Genesis, upon which the sole authority for the fable rests. The foundation of my story, therefore, has as little to do with Holy Writ as have the dreams of the later Platonists, or the reveries of the Jewish divines; and, in appropriating the notion thus to the uses of poetry, I have done no more than establish it in that region of fiction, to which the opinions of the most rational Fathers, and of all other Christian theologians, have long ago consigned it. In addition to the fitness of the subject for poetry, it struck me also as capable of affording an allegorical medium, through which might be shadowed out (as I have endeavoured to do in the following stories,) the fall of the soul from its original purity-the loss of light and happiness which it suffers, in the pursuit of this world's perishable pleasures-and the punishments, both from conscience and divine justice, with which impurity, pride, and presumptuous inquiry into the awful secrets of God, are sure to be visited. The beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche owes its chief charm to this sort of "veiled meaning," and it has been my wish (however I may have failed in the attempt) to communicate the same moral interest to the following pages. THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. "T was when the world was in its prime, When the fresh stars had just begun Their race of glory, and young Time Told his first birth-days by the sun; 1 See Note. When, in the light of Nature s dawn Gazing upon this world below. Even then, that morning of the earth! One evening, in that time of bloom, On a hill's side, where hung the ray Of sunset, sleeping in perfume, Three noble youths conversing lay; And as they look'd, from time to time, To the far sky, where Day-light furl'd Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord, Of heaven they spoke, and, still more oft, And balmy evening's influence- The melting light that beam'd above, Each told the story of his love, The prints of earth most yieldingly; That circle out through endless space, T was in a land, that far away Into the golden orient lies, Where Nature knows not Night's delay, But springs to meet her bridegroom, Day, Upon the threshold of the skies One morn, on earthly mission sent, And midway choosing where to light, I saw from the blue element Oh beautiful, but fatal sight!- Which, while it hid no single gleam Pausing in wonder I look'd on, While, playfully around her breaking The waters, that like diamonds shone, She mov'd in light of her own making. At length, as slowly I descended To view more near a sight so splendid, The tremble of my wings all o'er (For through each plume I felt the thrill) Startled her, as she reach'd the shore Of that small lake-her mirror still- With face upturn'd-so still remain'd! In pity to the wondering maid, Though loth from such a vision turning, Downward I bent, beneath the shade Of my spread wings, to hide the burning Of glances which-I well could feelfor her, too warmly shone; For me, One side-long look, the maid was goneHid from me in the forest leaves, Sudden as when, in all her charms Of full-blown light, some cloud receive The moon into his dusky arms "Tis not in words to tell the power, My task, and Heaven, and all forgotAll but the one, sole, haunting dream Of her I saw in that bright stream. Nor was it long, ere by her side I found myself whole happy days, Listening to words, whose music vied With our own Eden's seraph lays, When seraph lays are warm'd by love, But wanting that, far, far above!And looking into eyes where, blue And beautiful, like skies seen through The sleeping wave, for me there shone A heaven more worshipp'd than my own Oh what, while I could hear and see Such words and looks, was heaven to me? Though gross the air on earth I drew, 'Twas blessed, while she breathed it too; Though dark the flowers, though dim the sky, Love lent them light, while she was nigh. Throughout creation I but knew Two separate worlds-the one, that small, Beloved, and consecrated spot Where Lea was-the other, all The dull wide waste, where she was not! But vain my suit, my madness vain; I would have torn the wings that hung Of the hot noon but look more white ;- To which her prayers at morn were sent, To that free glorious element! Well I remember by her side, The Spirit of yon beauteous star, Alone, as all such bright things are;My sole employ to pray and shine, To light my censer at the sun, And fling its fire towards the shrine So innocent the maid-so free From mortal taint in soul and frame, Whom 't was my crime-my destiny To love, ay, burn for, with a flame, A mournfulness that could not weep, Whose love she clung to, as the tie Is soonest lost, extinguish'd in! From heaven and peace, and turn her flight That very night-my heart had grown Between them and this nether zone, Thought 't was their herald's wing returning :Oft did the potent spell-word, given To envoys hither from the skies, To be pronounced, when back to heaven Come to my lips that fatal day; And once, too, was so nearly spoken, That my spread plumage in the ray And breeze of heaven began to play When my heart fail'd-the spell was brokenThe word unfinished died away, And my check'd plumes, ready to soar, Fell slack and lifeless as before. How could I leave a world which she, Utterly by that fatal glance? No matter where my wanderings were, So there she look'd, moved, breathed about Woe, ruin, death, more sweet with her, Than all heaven's proudest joys without! But, to return-that very day A feast was held, where, full of mirth, Came, crowding thick as flowers that play 1 See Note. In summer winds, the young and gay The shadow I that morn had thrown- Then, too, that juice of earth, the bane But grasping heaven, too, in their span !Then first the fatal wine-cup rain'd Its dews of darkness through my lips, I sought her in the accustom'd bower, I found her-oh, so beautiful! Why, why have hapless angels eyes? From which her eyes drank liquid light. There was a virtue in that scene, And lips that burn'd in their own sighs, Full o'er me when I saw those eyes; And though too well each glance of mine To the pale shrinking maiden proved How far, alas, from aught divine, Aught worthy of so pure a shrine, MOORE'S WORKS. Was the wild love with which I loved, Her melancholy power-I said, To sooth me in that lonely sky- Give when they're parting-which would be, Even in remembrance, far beyond All heaven hath left of bliss for me! "Oh, but to see that head recline A minute on this trembling arm, Of lips that are too fond to fear me- Even thus to bring their fragrance near me! Give them but kindly and I fly ; Already, see, my plumes have stirr'd, And tremble for their home on high. While thus I spoke, the fearful maid, Had shrinking stood, like flowers beneath I now recal, though wilder'd then,- Her brow, her eyes uprose again, I stamp'd one burning kiss, and named A vapour from this vale of tears That very moment her whole frame And at her back I saw unclose That sparkle round the eternal throne, Did aught so radiant-since the day The third of the bright stars away- But did I tamely view her flight? Did not I, too, proclaim out thrice The powerful words that were, that night,— Oh even for Heaven too much delight!Again to bring us eyes to eyes, And soul to soul in Paradise? I did I spoke it o'er and o'er I pray'd, I wept, but all in vain ; For me the spell had power no more, There seem'd around me some dark chain, Which still, as I essay'd to soar, Baffled, alas! each wild endeavour: Dead lay my wings, as they have lain Since that sad hour, and will remain So wills the offended God-for ever! It was to yonder star I traced In wishes and in dreams before, Her home of light for evermore! Even in her flight to that fair sphere, On him who stood in darkness here; But soon that passing dream was gone; As are those specks that yonder burn-Those vivid drops of light, that fall The last from day's exhausted urn. And when at length she merged, afar, Into her own immortal star, And when at length my straining sight Had caught her wing's last fading ray, That minute from my soul the light Of heaven and love both pass'd away; 1 See Note. |