Delirious with her beauty. He doth roam Nightly by hill and valley.-Near the stream Which wanders round Marpesus' marble caves Goes he by night, and with the silver waves, Singing unto the pale lamp of the heaven, He doth unite his low and mournful song; And then, upon its bank he lieth down, List'ning the flowers grow; and they do tell Their secrets to his ear; for he replies,
And holds sweet converse with them.-He is now A fair celestial thing, like those which fill The air when it is clearest-when the gales Come laden with ambrosial odours, brought From flowery beds of Paradise upon
The spirits' golden wings.-Disturb him not- He who can treasure for himself a source Of happiness, unsought of brother man, Is surely wise. So, in his wisdom, let My loved Leontine rest.
Basil. Not so, old man- He who doth in the dungeons of his soul His pains and pleasures thus in bondage hide, Disdaining help and pity from mankind, Is of mankind no longer; he hath loosed The girdle of mortality, and stands Without its friendly circle.-He who hath
No friends deserves them not.-Thy son hath thrown Human compassion from him, and hath found
Peace, where man should not seek it.-Were his bliss Thus innocent, as thou deem'st it, would it be Veil'd from his tender father, and his friend, By the huge marble curtains of the caves Of high Marpesus' mountain? It is said Thy son hath union made with that wild man From the far distant East, who hid his crimes From justice in those caverns. It is said,
That when some few weeks since he closed his eyes, And yielded to the demons his dark soul, It was on thy son's bosom, who became His pupil and his heir, and from his lip Received the secrets of another world, To outrage things of this. His wanderings Are not alone, for he hath still been heard In invocation loud; but 'tis decreed This crime shall not endure, since we will spy Upon his wand'rings; and, if he have done That which the angels shriek at, he shall die.- The church, the state, alike demand his life- The sorcerer shall perish!-Look where comes Thy Leontine.-Now rend the secret from him, Or dread the arm of justice.
Leontine. Lingers upon the world!-Methinks it knows That I would have it gone, and stays to mark How I will curb my spirit, and resign My will in silence, and by patience prove My worthiness of that most precious gift Which is my nourishment of life-my sire! Ah, pardon me, and on this thoughtless head Breathe a fond father's blessing.
Gentle son,
High Heaven's should be more valued.-I did hope Such was thy holy thought-but there are those Who say, thou art at war with all of good- That Heaven's blessings are as things of nought, And gifts of darker worlds have won thy soul From its God-vow'd obedience.-Dearest son, I would not give thee pain, for I rejoice To see thee thus collected; but there are Some who, in this most wondrous sudden change, See much of mystery and secret sin;
And thy lone wanderings are at length become The sad theme of the island.-Wilt thou not Tell to thy father's ear thy source of joy? Think'st thou he could betray thee?
But I am not permitted-should I once Reveal my secret, all contentment ends, And I am lost again.-Oh, do not deem My thoughts unsanctified!-Yon sacred light, When first from the Eternal's hand it came, Before its glows had kindled flames on earth, Or its bright eye gazed on the sins of man, Was not more pure than is this sinless heart. In those lone heavenly wanderings-they were given A blessing to my spirit, and from Heaven Alone the blessing came. Ah, doubt me not! It is communion with my God I hold,
And with his cherish'd Spirits-Should I say My secret, it were silent-Earth nor Heaven Would have a voice for me-Look on this ring; It is the source of this dear happiness. Should I betray its virtues, thou wouldst gain Nought; but thy son would lose his all-his soul! It were a sin, my father; it would draw The hatred of all nature on my head. Who would not shrink from that ingratitude To him who gave the gift, and him who deigns To serve me with its uses! From the Man, The holiest of thousands, I received
The wondrous gift; and from his lips I learn'd Its virtues and its powers-he who died In pale Marpesus' cave. Now, sire beloved, Urge thy poor son no farther-not thy hand Should pluck his only rose.
The rage of frenzy, which we hasten from,
But mourn it as we fly. The wild bull's wrath, Which spurneth at the earth, defacing her
With wounds, which her young son, the smiling Spring, Uplifted on the snowy wings of Time,
Heals with his soft'ning breath-Oh! heed it not ! And for the malice of the wondering world- That cannot harm me, while within my breast I bear the talisman of peace. Should I Resign the gift of that same holy man, Marpesus, some time hermit, I should be Once more a ruin, for the Fiend Despair To stride above in triumph. I should be The lone-the miserable-the living dead- The spectre of the past. Oh, sire beloved! When Mother Earth into her arms received My Zoe's beauteous form, I did not deem That even for thy peace-that I could live- Now, I am reconciled; Oh open not
The deep, scarce closed wound! Thou weep'st, ah me, Melt me not, oh my father, with thy tears! Thou knowest, to withstand their gentle force I have no power. I should resign my bliss, And bow my head, and die.-
That I have given the pain. Again no more Will I hold question with thee. Go in peace- Preserve thy treasure ;-mayst thou keep it still The sun of thy sad day.—
SCENE-The stream near the Marble Cave.-Time-night. Leontine (alone.) Again, again returns the blessed night, The hour of holiness, and of repose- To me, of triumph over death and woe: Let me delay my joy, that I may dwell.. On that which doth await me.
Upon the throne of my felicity,
Gazing upon the couch where tranquil lies Mine own, mine only love, awaiting calm The signal, and the hour, and the charm That brings her to my side, the immortal maid, Beside her mortal lover. Can this be
Transgression! No! Would the Eternal Lord Permit these visits were they for my harm !— Yet doth he sometimes punish us by grant Of that which we do pray for; but the Sage, Who, in compassion to my anguish, gave This wondrous ring,-and in the sacred stream, Where the moon kiss'd it, bade me lave the gem And the encircling gold, had not reveal'd The secret in the solemn hour of death, Had it been sinful in the eye of Heaven !— In that last hour our mortal sense is clear, And the stern King doth with a steady hand Unveil the face of Truth, howe'er in life The form divine was hidden-he had done With earth and earthly things—and he was then About to render up a strict account
Of his well-doings; would he then have seal'd The record with a sin-would he, who was About to hear the sentence of his fate
From his Almighty Judge, have counsell'd me,
Yea, hurried me to guilt, by raising up My buried love to my transported eye! Ah, no!-it is no crime! Ye Elements, I do attest ye; and Thou, Mightiest Mind, Soul of those elements, bear witness here, That I am free of sin! Yea, and their smiles, The holy stillness of this sacred spot, And the bright radiance of yon gazing moon, Do bear my bosom witness-Then once more To my delightful task,-pardon me, air, And clouds, and water, and celestial fire, That I do rob ye of a spirit bright,
The fairest in your realms, and give her back For some short hours solely to the earth, Of which she is no longer.-Dearest, come! I am alone, no human breath shall 'file The air made pure for thee, for I do watch With zealous care the secret,-Come, O come! In all the beauty of this world, but shrined In the glory of another. See, I dip The Ring into the Stream, and I will sing The song of holiness, to charm thee back To this earth, and to me:
THE INVOCATION.
When we shall meet In bowers of bliss; When we shall greet With a holy kiss; When we shall look, With a soften'd eye, On the closed book
Of the things gone bye,
When we shall think of this short, dark night, As the rest that prepares for eternal light, And look on the bed where they laid us last, As only the grave of the weary past ; Then shall we smile to think a tear Should e'er have fallen on a mortal bier!-
But till the beam
Of that holy day Shall chase the dream
Of hope away: Till Fate shall burn With her kindling eye, This casing urn Of the spirit high.-
Come from thy couch of holiest dew,
Which the moonbeam shines and sparkles through,
Turning each drop to gems, which might
Circle an angel's brow of light,
To sooth, as heaven hath willed thee,
The anguish of mortality!
[A cloud rises from the water and approaches Leontine, then gradually unfolding, discovers a beautiful female figure reclining in it.]
Leontine. Beautiful spirit of mine only love,
I kiss the spot o'er which thy silver cloud, Wreathing itself in curls of light, reclines, And bid thee, Sweetest, welcome: Oh, the joy
To gaze upon thy face, and see thine eye Beam once again with life! Yet this is death!! Beautiful death! Oh, why do mortals shrink From thy embrace !—
Because encumber'd with A load of earth, the spirit scarce can look Beyond the senses-and that beaming hope Which is, thou knowest, of immortal birth, O'ermaster'd is by fear, the earth-born, who, Is stronger in their bosoms-thou art bless'd Above mankind, for terror will not stand By thy departing couch-for thee, the cloud That hid the grave, is like the ponderous stone, Roll'd from before its portals-thou hast look'd Into the dark, and see'st how much to hope, How little is to fear; but since we met Thy spirit hath been tortured; greater yet The trial that awaits thee: when 'tis past Thou hast no more to fear.
Leontine. So that I lose Not thee, my sacred love, I am content To bear all lighter sorrows. I have nought To tell thee, dear; for in thine absence I Have only life to bear me silent through The long and weary day; then I lie down At eve upon this bank, and watch the sun, Or wait the rising moon, and mark the stars Starting from out the heaven, and then I guess In which of those bright orbs thy beauteous soul Is wandering; but now I pray thee, love,
Tell me from whence my charm hath summon'd thee? Where wast thou when the words of power broke The laws of death's stern empire?
The son of time, was yesternight, I sat
In a huge cloud, which, to its very edge,
Was charged with winds, and tempests. I did wish To mark its bursting in full majesty
Over the earth, uncheck'd by mortal fears. So, gathering up mine essence, I reclined Upon the lightning's flash, and o'er the world Shot a wild wond'rous light. At first, I deem'd The meteor flame was harmless, but I found It was the red bolt of the wrath of God, And big with desolation: so I left
My throne of vengeance, for I could not bear To be the instrument of justice, and Couch'd from its terrors and its glories, in The fragrant bosom of a half-blown rose. There, lull'd by music, which the unseen airs Do bring from the melodious choirs above, I slept such sleep as holy spirits do
Who are not yet all heaven. When I woke, I borrow'd from the rose an ærial robe Of its young delicate hues, and darted far Upcn a golden cloud unto the realms Of snow and frost eternal-the white point Most northern of your earth-then I forsook Mine ether couch, and, for a throne of ice, Exchanged its melting softness, and it fell In mist down to the earth. I rested long, Gazing upon that world, and, when I rose,
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