Part 5

Yet my touch is cold and chill, Horror through thy heart would thrill, Pale dismay thy bosom fill, Could'st thou see me face to face. Never one of human race Could that dreadful sight behold; Mortal lips have never told, All the terrors that abide, All the gloom, yet kingly pride, In the pale form at thy side. Ha! the cold sweat on thy brow,

As I bind them on thee now: Canst thou bear the touch of pain, For the glory thou shalt gain? Then I asked, with faltering breath Thy name, dread Spirit? and he saith-- I who give these wings am _Death_!

THE PARABLE OF LIFE.

I.

He treads alone the burning sand Of the fiery desert plain; No human heart is near to love, No human hands sustain. There are spirits dread in that region wild, And they howl in the desert blast; There are spirits lost, who wail and weep As viewless they hurry past.

II.

There are forms that man never looked upon, Nor mortal eye could bear-- The terrible sight of an angel's brow, On which is stamped despair. No lofty palm-tree casts a shade, Gusheth no silvery well, Where the stately Giraffe stoops down to drink, Or cometh the soft Gazelle.

III.

For the desert islands of waving green Are far, oh! far away; And never a spot can the wanderer find To rest from the noontide ray. Oh! weary, weary, the changeless, waste, Of that burning desert sand; Oh! weary, weary, the changeless sky, Of that blasted fiery land!

IV.

Weary to listen, with straining sense, For the step or the voice of man; To watch in despair, till the sun goes down, For the wandering caravan. But the sun goes down, and the white stars rise, And never a sound is heard, Save the roar of the Lion, the Panther's howl, Or the scream of the carrion bird.

V.

Still on the pale young wanderer goes-- On, without fear or dread, The hot sand burning beneath his feet, The hot sun above his head: On, tho' never his fevered lips Have been cooled in the desert springs; For the soul that is filled with the Spirit of God, Recks little of earthly things.

VI.

On, tho' never the bending fruit Of the palm-tree meets his hand; No food, no rest, no shelter for him In all that terrible land. And the powers of Hell seem gathering round That frail and gentle form, But, sublime in the strength of faith, he stands Unmoved, amid the storm.

VII.

The spirit is strong, but the flesh is weak, He hath borne what a mortal can; And down on the desolate waste he sinks, A fainting, dying man. Now the hot samiri approaches fast The desert wind of dread; Glaring upon the horizon's verge, Like a pillar fiery red.

VIII.

Onward it comes in its lurid light, Like a giant form of death, Blasting the earth, and air, and sky, With its scorching, deadly breath. The sands rise high as the billows at sea, Raging when tempest-tossed: Ah! the fiery column has reached him now-- Pale wanderer--thou art lost!

IX.

It drinks the blood from his youthful cheek, It burns up the life within; And fiercely around him it dashes and whirls, With a wild, unearthly din. Then he seems to hear a silvery flow, Soft gushing, like Paradise streams; For of such whom the desert kills, it is said, These are the dying dreams.

X.

And he lifts his head from the burning waste; But in place of the silvery fall, He sees but that lurid, fiery cloud Encircling him as a pall. Nearer and nearer it gathers round, Stifling the half-breathed prayer, And the fainting hands drop weary down, That were lifted in mute despair.

XI.

There's an hour of dread for human souls, When help there seemeth none, And the powers of Hell rage fierce around The God-forsaken one; 'Tis the hour of dread, when souls are tired, And angels are bending down, Watching each one that resisteth to death, To weave for him the crown.

XII.

But an hour more dark, a trial more dread, That Weary-one hath known; For now he must fight the Lord of Hell, In the desolate waste alone. Oh! the burning breath of the fiery wind, Hunger, and thirst, and woe-- What are they all to that strange, lone strife With man's dark Demon-foe?

XIII.

What terrible form the Tempter chose, Saw never a mortal eye-- Did he come in the flame, or the thunder-cloud, Or flash as the lightning by? Was his blasted brow as the midnight black, Or wreathed with a lurid light, Like the livid rays that play on the ice In the gloom of a polar night?

XIV.

None can tell; but the subtle words He poured in the wanderer's ears, Are echoed to us from that desert wild, Through the long, long course of years. And ages many have shadowed the earth Since human woes began, Yet still, with the self-same words and lures, He tempteth the sons of man.

XV.

Woe, woe to the suffering soul, unless Sustained, O God, by Thee, Who hears in its anguish the Tempter's words-- "Fall down, and worship me." Woe to the soul that ascends the mount Of pomp, and power, and pride, With the glories of earth within his reach, And the Demon at his side.

XVI.

But Christ, with His meek and holy brow, Shuns not the deadly strife; For His soul is strong in the armour of faith, And His sword is the Word of Life. The soul is strong, tho' the human frame May faint 'neath the chastening rod; And the Demon-foe recognises there The mortal and the God.

XVII.

With the radiant light of a stainless soul, As a crown upon His brow, How He forces the trembling Chief of Hell To bend in homage low. Thus, with His foot on the serpent's head, He stands a triumphant king; But the serpent fangs that have pierced His heel, Sorrow and Death must bring.

XVIII.

How glorious now is that frail, weak form, Strong in the spirit within, Standing alone in the desert of life, Conquering Hell and Sin. And we must tread the desert too, Where want and woe assail; We must war, like Christ, with the Prince of Hell, We--human, weak, and frail.

XIX.

The Tempter will come in those moments of life, When the soul is dark with fears, And we sit by the empty urn of joy, Filling it with our tears; When those we love, as shadows pass, And we tread life's desert lone, Without hope in heaven, or love upon earth, Wearily ever on.

XX.

It is then he will lead us to doubt upon God, Doubt in His love for us; And the murmuring soul he will tempt to ask-- "Why must I suffer thus?" And pleasure and power will seem so near, If we but kneel to him-- O God, keep from us the Tempter far, When faith is burning dim!

XXI.

O Christ, who hast known the Tempter's strength, Bend from Thy throne of light; Aid in the terrible strife with Hell, Aid with Thy power and might. Teach us to fight as Thou hast fought; To conquer as Thou hast done; That angels may bring from the starry skies The plan for the conquering one.

XXII.

For never yet was the Tempter foiled By the might of Jehovah's name, But holy joys in the sufferer's heart, Like blessed angels came. And the terrible strife, and the desert drear, Will pass like earthly things; But the soul that has conquered will rest in peace, 'Neath angels' shadowing wings.

VANITAS.

The glory of Life is fleeting; Its splendour passeth away, With tints and odours meeting The flowers we twined to-day.

How brightly, in varied light, They reflected the morning sun; But the chilling dews of the night Withered them one by one.

So the stream of Existence floweth O'er the golden sands of youth, In the light of a joy that gloweth From the depths of its love and truth.

But heavy, and cold, and fast, The gathering clouds uprise, Eclipsing the light, which cast On the waters a thousand dyes.

And onward, in sullen endeavour, Like a stream in a sunless cave, It floweth in darkness ever: Yet--could we thus reach the grave!

But we wake to a sorrow deeper-- The knowledge of all we have lost; And the light grows fainter and weaker As we're borne from youth's sunny coast.

Yet onward with drifting motion, Still farther from life and light; Around us a desert Ocean-- Above us eternal Night.

FATALITY.

FROM THE GERMAN.

I.

One glance from thy dark eyes is all I pray for, One word from thy lips breathed on mine, One clasp of thy dear hand as a last favour-- Then go--I'll never more repine.

II.

Yet, thoughts of thee will dim my eyes with weeping, In the noon-day's glorious light, And dreams of thee will haunt my troubled sleeping, 'Neath the shadows of the night.

III.

A fatal gulf for ever lies between us, I know we dare not speak of love, Yet angels, purest angels, had they seen us, Might well have pardoned from above.

IV.

The future is too dark for my sad seeing; I gaze, but, weeping, turn away-- No hope, alas! of our ever being Less sad than we are here this day.

DESTINY.

I.

There was a star that lit my life-- It hath set to rise no more, For Heaven, in mercy, withdrew the light I fain would have knelt before.

II.

There was a flower I pluck'd in my dreams, Fragrant and fair to see; Oh, would I had never awoke and found Such bloom not here for me.

III.

There was a harp, whose magic tone, Echoed my faintest words-- But Destiny's hand, with a ruthless touch, Hath rent the golden chords.

IV.

There was a path like Eden's vale, In which I was spell'd to stray, But Destiny rose with a flaming sword To guard that path alway.

V.

I've looked on eyes were like the star-- Their light is quench'd for me; And a soul I have known like the golden harp That breath'd but melody.

VI.

And moments bright as that dream-land Where bloomed the radiant flower. Oh! would I had died ere I felt the gloom Of this dark, joyless hour.

VII.

Fatal the time I rais'd mine eyes To eyes whose light hath blasted-- Yet ere I could turn from their glance away, Life had with gazing wasted.

VIII.

Bitter the thought that years may pass-- Yet thus it must be ever, To look on thy form, to hear thy voice-- But nearer--never, never.

IX.

Could I but love as I love the stars, Or the gush of the twilight breeze, Or the pale light of the wandering moon Glancing through forest trees;

X.

With a sinless, calm, untroubled love, Look upwards and adore-- Could I but thus gaze life away, Without the wish to soar.

XI.

In vain! in vain! I hope, I weep, I kneel the long nights in prayer-- Oh! better to die in the noon of life, Than love, and yet despair.

MEMORY.

"Nessun maggior dolore Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria."--+DANTE.+

When the gloom the light appalleth-- When no tear-dew ever falleth Downward silently-- When the tired heart, from languor Of Life's poor unmeaning clangour, Droopeth wearily-- When the day, in its uprising, Bringeth nought that's worth the prizing, And the night, all dark and lonely, No star showeth, but clouds only-- I think of thee.

Pleasures past, a ghastly vision-- Words and looks but now tradition That thought brings; Holy Kalends of past meetings Rise again, with quick heart-beatings, On spirit wings. For a moment seems the vision A reality Elysian As the joy before the Fall; While I gaze the brightness waneth, Passeth, fadeth--what remaineth? Ashes all!

CORINNE'S LAST LOVE-SONG.

I.

How beautiful, how beautiful you streamed upon my sight, In glory and in grandeur, as a gorgeous sunset-light! How softly, soul-subduing, fell your words upon mine ear, Like low aerial music when some angel hovers near! What tremulous, faint ecstacy to clasp your hand in mine, Till the darkness fell upon me of a glory too divine! The air around grew languid with our intermingled breath, And in your beauty's shadow I sank motionless as death. I saw you not, I heard not, for a mist was on my brain-- I only felt that life could give no joy like that again.

II.

And this was Love--I knew it not, but blindly floated on, And now I'm on the ocean waste, dark, desolate, alone; The waves are raging round me--I'm reckless where they guide; No hope is left to light me, no strength to stem the tide. As a leaf along the torrent, a cloud across the sky, As dust upon the whirlwind, so my life is drifting by. The dream that drank the meteor's light--the form from Heav'n has flown-- The vision and the glory, they are passing--they are gone. Oh! love is frantic agony, and life one throb of pain; Yet I would bear its darkest woes to dream that dream again.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN.

By the streams of living water, Rest, my daughter. Soul, I would not stay thy flight; Jesus waiteth at the portal-- See, poor mortal, Open stand the doors of light.

Let me go, life's tempest braven, To the haven; There, beside the Saviour's throne, Where the choir of seraph voices Now rejoices In eternal jubal-tone.

By thy earthly Virgin Mother-- Saviour, Brother, Thou hast known the gloom of death; Through its shadows now I wander, Angels yonder, Keep me even as Jesus saith!

Now I see the distant glory-- Life's poor story Ends, as it began, in pain. Earthly form, doth it grieve me Thus to leave thee? No, for Christians die to reign.

What availeth life's brief sorrow? Ere the morrow Christ will change to smiles my sighs; Dreaming, pass we through death's portal-- Then, immortal, Waken up in Paradise.

Soul-Redeemer, by Thy power, In this hour, Keep faith's light from burning dim; I am strong when Thou art near me-- Saviour, hear me! Guard me with Thy Cherubim.

Thou the martyr's crown hath borne, Shame and scorn, All to save my soul from sin;

Thou the hosts of death assailest, Sinner frailest Through Thee rises conquering.

Prince of Life! my soul's endeavour, Now and ever, Be to sing Thy glorious love; Death is conquered! Thou hast given Peace from heaven-- Soon I'll chant Thy praise above!

SYMPATHIES WITH THE UNIVERSAL.

The Angel of the Universe, for ever stands he there Within the planet circle, the grand Hierophant of prayer; His altar is the eternal sun, his light its flames of gold, And the stars are his rosary, through the hands of angels rolled.

Down, down, throughout the Infinite, they're falling, world on world; Like coral beads from praying hands, the planet beads are hurled. Thus, for unnumbered ages on their diamond string they run, The circling planet rosary from Uranus to the Sun.

A rhythmic music rises from that stately choral band, Like a vibrant-chorded lyre when struck by angel hand; Pealing down the deep abysses, soaring up the infinite, The grand hymn of the Universe is sounding day and night.

The grand cathedral chanting from the choir of the spheres, Within the star-roofed temple, tho' unheard by mortal ears. Never prayer from lip ascendeth, or from spirit never groan, But the flooding planet music bears it up before God's throne.

Thus, ages after ages, will the cherub, earnest eyed, Within the starry temple of the Universe abide, Till hymns of spheral litanies, till solemn chants are done, Then he'll rise up from the altar within the glowing sun.

By his mighty pinions shaken, star falleth after star, And he flings the planet rosary down from him afar; As by an earthquake riven, temple, altar, falleth crush'd, And the wailing planet music of the choral band is hush'd.

But he leads the praying spirits up from each burning world, Till before the Throne in Heaven his radiant wings are furled. There he resteth calm in glory, his holy mission done, For within the Golden City, Altar, Temple, needeth none.

LA VIA DOLOROSA.

I wander here, I wander there, Through the desert of life, all wearily; No joy on earth for the pilgrim soul-- On, on for ever drearily; O'er the mountain height, In the tempest night, Through the mist and the gloom, We press on to the tomb, While the death-like pall of a midnight sky Hangs over past and futurity. And the echo of wandering feet I hear, And human voices and hearts are near;

But lonely, lonely each one goeth On his dark path, and little knoweth Of love, kind words, or sympathy. Oh! fain would I lay me down and die; For the upward glance of a tearful eye, Is all I have known of humanity. Yet must I on, tho' darker and drearer And lonelier ever the pathway seems, And the spectral shadow of death draws nearer, And rare and faint are the sun-light gleams; An unseen power impelleth us on-- No pause, no rest for the weary one, Till we reach the shores of that fathomless sea Where Time poureth down to Eternity.

SHADOWS FROM LIFE.

"Che bella es el sognar aunque es mentira!"

I.

Vain the love that looketh upward; we may worship, may adore; From the heart's o'erflowing chalice all the tide of feeling pour; Dash our souls against the barriers that divide us from the shrine; Fling the incense; pour libations--aye, of life's own ruddy wine; But, the angel we gaze up to, calm as form of pictured saint, From its golden mist of glory bendeth never to our plant; Heedeth not if crushed the temple where the altar fires burned, For the doom runs through the ages--Love was never yet returned.

II.

Thus it was he loved a lady: never priest in Ispahàn So adored when mount and ocean morning's flashing glories span. Never sun-god in its glory, marching stately from the east, Crimson-robed and cloud-attended, heeded less the praying priest, Than the lady that pale lover, while her lonely path she took O'er the spirit's glittering summits, with her proud and queenly look; Like that Roman Sybil bearing in her hands the mystic scroll, And her large eyes looking onward where the future ages roll.

III.

So, in lone and lofty beauty, she stood high above the world, Never heeding, dashing neathward, how life's stormy billows curled; As a pine upon the mountain, warring tempests raging round, As an island peak of ocean, with the starry midnight crowned. How could she who trod the pathway of the spirit's starry zones Stoop to listen, bending earthward, to a lover's murmuring tones?-- While her ear was gathering music from Creation's golden chords, List the human tears low falling, with the pleading human words?

IV.

And could he, who tracked the eagle borne on through cloud and light, With her glorious regnant beauty filling soul and sense and sight, Stoop to gaze on me, half-blasted by fierce Passion's fiery skies, Only Love, the love of woman, burning strangely in my eyes? Oh! I've watched his glance dilating, as it rested where afar Rose her lofty brow, as riseth the pale glory of a star; Heard the world's praise hymning round her, saw his cheek of flushing pride, Whilst I, writhing in heart-agony, all calmly sat beside.

V.

No rays of genius crowning, such as brows like hers enrol, With no flashing thoughts, like North-lights, rushing up my darkened soul; Waking but his earnest feelings with, perchance, my graver words, While her spirit, like a tempest, swept the range of Passion's chords. Oh, Woman! calmest sufferer! what deep agony oft lies In thy low, false-hearted laughter, glancing bright through tearless eyes! And how little deemed he truly that the calmest eyes he met Were but Joy's funereal torches, on Life's ruined altar set.

VI.

How could I light up his nature, with no glory in my own? Soul like his, that throbbed and glittered in the radiance of her throne. Bitter came the words of plaining:--Why should fate to me deny All the beauty of the mortal, all the soul to deify? What had she done, then, for Heaven, so that Heaven should confer Every gift, to make man prostrate at her feet as worshipper? Raised her high enough to scorn him--aye, to trample in disdain On the heart flung down before her--heart that I had died to gain!

VII.

Trod his love down calmly, queenly, like a mantle 'neath her feet, While with lordly spirit-monarchs she moved proudly to her seat, Grand as eagle in the zenith, with the noonday radiance crowned-- Lone and icy as an Alp-peak, with the circling glaciers round. But an echo of all beauty through her fine-toned spirit rang, As a golden harp re-echoes to each passing music clang, Till in thrilling, clear vibrations rang her poet-words in air, Summoning souls to lofty duties, as an _Angelus_ to prayer.

VIII.

Oh! she flung abroad her fancies, free as waves dash off the foam-- As the palm-tree flings its branches on the blue of Heaven's dome, With a genius-shadow dark'ning in the stillness of her eyes-- With her rainbow-spirit arching half the circle of the skies, Like a dark-browed Miriam chanting songs of triumph on the foe, As the rushing waters bore them to the Hades halls below, Till up through the startled ether, down the far horizon's rim, Clashed the swords of men in music to her lofty prophet-hymn.

IX.

But no beauty thrill'd my nature, noon, or night or sunset skies; For the only heaven I gazed on was the heaven of his eyes-- I'd have bartered Freedom, Justice, People's rights, or native Land, All the island homes of Ocean, for one pressure of his hand; Trembling, weak, a coward spirit, only wishing low to lie, As a flower beneath his footstep, breathe my life out, and so die. Yet he liked me--aye, he liked me--'twas the phrase--O saints above! Cold and cruel sounds this liking from the lips of one we love.

X.

They said that he was dying; could I longer silence keeping, Only pour forth my deep passion in my chamber lonely weeping? I reck'd not if 'twere womanly, cold convention little heeding, But in mine his hand enfolding, said, with tearful raised eyes pleading-- "She hath left you, left you lonely--sorrow's harvest death may reap; I say not--love me; let me only watch here by you and weep!" Then he said, his pale brow raising, with a faint, unquiet smile, And with saddest eyes upgazing upon mine for all the while--

XI.

"Sweetest friend, this sorrow-blighted, faded form, and searéd heart, To pale death, I fear, are plighted, yet 'twere bitter now to part; For the chords of life are shaken by a sympathy so true, And they tremble, in vibration, with a pleasure strange and new. Still, no love-dream may be cherished--ah! the time of love is o'er-- Youthful heart, by passion blighted, can be kindled never more; But if sympathy thou darest with a heart so wrecked as mine, I will give thee back the rarest kindred souls can intertwine."

XII.

And so bending coldly, gently, on my brow he placed his lips; While, I trembling in the shadow of that faint and brief eclipse, Murmur'd:--"Tell me, tell me truly, do you love her then so well?" And the hot tears, all unruly, through my twinèd fingers fell, And I sank down there unheeding so of maidenhood or wrong, While I told him, weeping, pleading, how I'd loved him, loved him long; Seen my hopes all faded, perished, spread around in pale dismay, Wept their pallid corses over--I alone, like Niobe!

XIII.

Thank God, that no cruel scorning dimm'd his starry eyes divine, Softly, tender, earnest gazing down the tearful depths of mine-- But with warmest splendours resting on the paleness of his cheek, As the roseate tinted sunset on a snowy Alpine peak, Bent he down upon my shoulder, murmuring loverlike and low, While his breathing softly trembled on my pale lips lying so:-- "Ah! such deep and tender loving hath recall'd me from the grave-- And this heart with soft approving bids you keep the life you gave;

XIV.