| |
| SEPHORA held her to her heart, the while | |
| Grief had its way—then saw her gently laid, | |
| And bade her, kissing her blue eyes, beguile, | |
| Slumbering, the fervid noon. Her leafy bed | |
| |
| Sigh’d forth o’erpowering breath, increased the heat; | 5 |
| Sleepless had been the night; her weary sense | |
| Could now no more. Lone in the still retreat, | |
| Wounding the flowers to sweetness more intense, | |
| |
| She sank. ’T is thus, kind Nature lets our wo | |
| Swell till it bursts forth from the o’erfraught breast; | 10 |
| Then draws an opiate from the bitter flow, | |
| And lays her sorrowing child soft in the lap of rest. | |
| |
| Now all the mortal maid lies indolent, | |
| Save one sweet cheek which the cool velvet turf | |
| Had touch’d too rude, though all with blooms besprent, | 15 |
| One soft arm pillow’d. Whiter than the surf | |
| |
| That foams against the sea-rock, look’d her neck, | |
| By the dark, glossy, odorous shrubs relieved, | |
| That close inclining o’er her seem’d to reck | |
| What ’t was they canopied; and quickly heaved | 20 |
| |
| Beneath her robe’s white folds and azure zone, | |
| Her heart yet incomposed; a fillet through | |
| Peep’d brightly azure, while with tender moan | |
| As if of bliss, Zephyr her ringlets blew | |
| |
| Sportive;—about her neck their gold he twined, | 25 |
| Kiss’d the soft violet on her temples warm, | |
| And eyebrow—just so dark might well define | |
| Its flexile arch;—throne of expression’s charm. | |
| |
| As the vex’d Caspian, though its rage be past | |
| And the blue smiling heavens swell o’er in peace, | 30 |
| Shook to the centre, by the recent blast, | |
| Heaves on tumultuous still, and hath not power to cease— | |
| |
| So still each little pulse was seen to throb | |
| Though passion and its pains were lull’d to rest, | |
| And “ever and anon” a piteous sob | 35 |
| Shook the pure arch expansive o’er her breast. | |
| |
| Save that ’t was all tranquillity; that reign’d | |
| O’er fragrance, sound and beauty; all was mute— | |
| Save where a dove her dear one’s absence plain’d | |
| And the faint breeze mourn’d o’er the slumberer’s lute. | 40 |
| |
| It chanced, that day, lured by the verdure, came | |
| Zophiel, now minister of ill; but ere | |
| He sinn’d, a heavenly angel. The faint flame | |
| Of dying embers, on an altar, where | |
| |
| Raguel, fair Egla’s sire, in secret vow’d | 45 |
| And sacrificed to the sole living God, | |
| Where friendless shades the sacred rites enshroud;— | |
| The fiend beheld and knew; his soul was awed, | |
| |
| And he bethought him of the forfeit joys | |
| Once his in heaven;—deep in a darkling grot | 50 |
| He sat him down;—the melancholy noise | |
| Of leaf and creeping vine accordant with his thought. | |
| |
| When fiercer spirits howl’d, he but complain’d | |
| Ere yet ’t was his to roam the pleasant earth, | |
| His heaven-invented harp he still retain’d | 55 |
| Though tuned to bliss no more; and had its birth | |
| |
| Of him, beneath some black infernal clift | |
| The first drear song of wo; and torment wrung | |
| The spirit less severe where he might lift | |
| His plaining voice—and frame the like as now he sung: | 60 |
| |
| “Wo to thee, wild ambition, I employ | |
| Despair’s dull notes thy dread effects to tell, | |
| Born in high heaven, her peace thou couldst destroy, | |
| And, but for thee, there had not been a hell. | |
| |
| “Through the celestial domes thy clarion peal’d,— | 65 |
| Angels, entranced, beneath thy banners ranged, | |
| And straight were fiends;—hurl’d from the shrinking field, | |
| They waked in agony to wail the change. | |
| |
| “Darting through all her veins the subtile fire | |
| The world’s fair mistress first inhaled thy breath, | 70 |
| To lot of higher beings learn’d to aspire,— | |
| Dared to attempt—and doom’d the world to death. | |
| |
| “Thy thousand wild desires, that still torment | |
| The fiercely struggling soul, where peace once dwelt, | |
| But perish’d;—feverish hope—drear discontent, | 75 |
| Impoisoning all possest—Oh! I have felt | |
| |
| “As spirits feel—yet not for man we mourn | |
| Scarce o’er the silly bird in state were he, | |
| That builds his nest, loves, sings the morn’s return, | |
| And sleeps at evening; save by aid of thee, | 80 |
| |
| “Fame ne’er had roused, nor song her records kept | |
| The gem, the ore, the marble breathing life, | |
| The pencil’s colors,—all in earth had slept, | |
| Now see them mark with death his victim’s strife. | |
| |
| “Man found thee death—but death and dull decay | 85 |
| Baffling, by aid of thee, his mastery proves;— | |
| By mighty works he swells his narrow day, | |
| And reigns, for ages, on the world he loves. | |
| |
| “Yet what the price? with stings that never cease | |
| Thou goad’st him on; and when, too keen the smart | 90 |
| He fain would pause awhile—and sighs for peace, | |
| Food thou wilt have, or tear his victim heart.” | |
| |
| Thus Zophiel still,—“though now the infernal crew | |
| Had gain’d by sin a privilege in the world, | |
| Allay’d their torments in the cool night dew, | 95 |
| And by the dim star-light again their wings unfurl’d.” | |
| |
| And now, regretful of the joys his birth | |
| Had promised; deserts, mounts and streams he crost, | |
| To find, amid the loveliest spots of earth, | |
| Faint likeness of the heaven he had lost. | 100 |
| |
| And oft, by unsuccessful searching pain’d, | |
| Weary he fainted through the toilsome hours; | |
| And then his mystic nature he sustain’d | |
| On steam of sacrifices—breath of flowers. | |
| |
| Sometimes he gave out oracles, amused | 105 |
| With mortal folly; resting on the shrines; | |
| Or, all in some fair Sibyl’s form infused, | |
| Spoke from her quivering lips, or penn’d her mystic lines. | |
| |
| And now he wanders on from glade to glade | |
| To where more precious shrubs diffuse their balms, | 110 |
| And gliding through the thick inwoven shade | |
| Where the young Hebrew lay in all her charms, | |
| |
| He caught a glimpse. The colors in her face— | |
| Her bare white arms—her lips—her shining hair— | |
| Burst on his view. He would have flown the place; | 115 |
| Fearing some faithful angel rested there, | |
| |
| Who ’d see him—rest of glory—lost to bliss— | |
| Wandering and miserably panting—fain | |
| To glean a scanty joy—with thoughts like this— | |
| Came all he ’d known and lost—he writhed with pain | 120 |
| |
| Ineffable—But what assail’d his ear, | |
| A sigh?—surprised, another glance he took; | |
| Then doubting—fearing—gradual coming near— | |
| He ventured to her side and dared to look; | |
| |
| Whispering, “yes, ’t is of earth! So, new-found life | 125 |
| Refreshing, look’d sweet Eve, with purpose fell | |
| When first sin’s sovereign gazed on her, and strife | |
| Had with his heart, that grieved with arts of hell, | |
| |
| “Stern as it was, to win her o’er to death!— | |
| Most beautiful of all in earth, in heaven, | 130 |
| Oh! could I quaff for aye that fragrant breath, | |
| Couldst thou, or being likening thee, be given | |
| |
| “To bloom for ever for me thus—still true | |
| To one dear theme, my full soul flowing o’er, | |
| Would find no room for thought of what it knew— | 135 |
| Nor picturing forfeit transport, curse me more. | |
| |
| “But oh! severest pain!—I cannot be | |
| In what I love, blest even the little span— | |
| (With all a spirit’s keen capacity | |
| For bliss) permitted the poor insect man. | 140 |
| |
| “The few I ’ve seen and deem’d of worth to win | |
| Like some sweet floweret mildew’d, in my arms, | |
| Wither’d to hideousness—foul even as sin— | |
| Grew fearful hags; and then with potent charm | |
| |
| “Of mutter’d word and harmful drug, did learn | 145 |
| To force me to their will. Down the damp grave | |
| Loathing, I went at Endor, and uptorn | |
| Brought back the dead; when tortured Saul did crave. | |
| |
| “To view his pending fate. Fair—nay, as this | |
| Young slumberer, that dread witch; when, I array’d | 150 |
| In lovely shape, to meet my guileful kiss | |
| She yielded first her lip. And thou, sweet maid— | |
| What ’s it I see?—a recent tear has stray’d | |
| And left its stain upon her cheek of bliss.— | |
| |
| “She ’s fallen to sleep in grief—haply been chid, | 155 |
| Or by rude mortal wrong’d. So let it prove | |
| Meet for thy purpose: ’mid these blossoms hid, | |
| I ’ll gaze; and when she wakes, with all that love | |
| |
| “And art can lend, come forth. He who would gain | |
| A fond full heart, in love’s soft surgery skill’d, | 160 |
| Should seek it when ’t is sore; allay its pain— | |
| With balm by pity prest ’t is all his own;—so heal’d, | |
| |
| “She may be mine a little year—even fair | |
| And sweet as now—Oh! respite! while possest | |
| I lose the dismal sense of my despair— | 165 |
| But then—I will not think upon the rest. | |
| |
| “And wherefore grieve to cloud her little day | |
| Of fleeting life?—What doom from power divine | |
| I bear eternal! thoughts of ruth, away! | |
| Wake pretty fly!—and—while thou mayst,—be mine. | 170 |
| |
| “Though but an hour—so thou suppliest thy looms | |
| With shining silk, and in the cruel snare | |
| Seest the fond bird entrapp’d, but for his plumes | |
| To work thy robes, or twine amidst thy hair.”. | |
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