The Vision Of The Maid Of Orleans. The Third Book.

The Maiden, musing on the Warrior's words,         Turn'd from the Hall of Glory. Now they reach'd         A cavern, at whose mouth a Genius stood,         In front a beardless youth, whose smiling eye         Beam'd promise, but behind, withered and old,         And all unlovely. Underneath his feet         Lay records trampled, and the laurel wreath         Now rent and faded: in his hand he held         An hour-glass, and as fall the restless sands,         So pass the lives of men. By him they past         Along the darksome cave, and reach'd a stream,         Still rolling onward its perpetual waves,         Noiseless and undisturbed. Here they ascend         A Bark unpiloted, that down the flood,         Borne by the current, rush'd. The circling stream,         Returning to itself, an island form'd;         Nor had the Maiden's footsteps ever reach'd         The insulated coast, eternally         Rapt round the endless course; but Theodore         Drove with an angel's will the obedient bark.         They land, a mighty fabric meets their eyes,         Seen by its gem-born light. Of adamant         The pile was framed, for ever to abide         Firm in eternal strength. Before the gate         Stood eager EXPECTATION, as to list         The half-heard murmurs issuing from within,         Her mouth half-open'd, and her head stretch'd forth.         On the other side there stood an aged Crone,         Listening to every breath of air; she knew         Vague suppositions and uncertain dreams,         Of what was soon to come, for she would mark         The paley glow-worm's self-created light,         And argue thence of kingdoms overthrown,         And desolated nations; ever fill'd         With undetermin'd terror, as she heard         Or distant screech-owl, or the regular beat         Of evening death-watch.                     "Maid," the Spirit cried,         Here, robed in shadows, dwells FUTURITY.         There is no eye hath seen her secret form,         For round the MOTHER OF TIME, unpierced mists         Aye hover. Would'st thou read the book of Fate,         Enter."              The Damsel for a moment paus'd,         Then to the Angel spake: "All-gracious Heaven!         Benignant in withholding, hath denied         To man that knowledge. I, in faith assured,         That he, my heavenly Father, for the best         Ordaineth all things, in that faith remain         Contented."              "Well and wisely hast thou said,         So Theodore replied; "and now O Maid!         Is there amid this boundless universe         One whom thy soul would visit? is there place         To memory dear, or visioned out by hope,         Where thou would'st now be present? form the wish,         And I am with thee, there."                      His closing speech         Yet sounded on her ear, and lo! they stood         Swift as the sudden thought that guided them,         Within the little cottage that she loved.         "He sleeps! the good man sleeps!" enrapt she cried,         As bending o'er her Uncle's lowly bed         Her eye retraced his features. "See the beads         That never morn nor night he fails to tell,         Remembering me, his child, in every prayer.         Oh! quiet be thy sleep, thou dear old man!         Good Angels guard thy rest! and when thine hour         Is come, as gently mayest thou wake to life,         As when thro' yonder lattice the next sun         Shall bid thee to thy morning orisons!         Thy voice is heard, the Angel guide rejoin'd,         He sees thee in his dreams, he hears thee breathe         Blessings, and pleasant is the good man's rest.         Thy fame has reached him, for who has not heard         Thy wonderous exploits? and his aged heart         Hath felt the deepest joy that ever yet         Made his glad blood flow fast. Sleep on old Claude!         Peaceful, pure Spirit, be thy sojourn here,         And short and soon thy passage to that world         Where friends shall part no more!                         "Does thy soul own         No other wish? or sleeps poor Madelon         Forgotten in her grave? seest thou yon star,"         The Spirit pursued, regardless of her eye         That look'd reproach; "seest thou that evening star         Whose lovely light so often we beheld         From yonder woodbine porch? how have we gazed         Into the dark deep sky, till the baffled soul,         Lost in the infinite, returned, and felt         The burthen of her bodily load, and yearned         For freedom! Maid, in yonder evening slar         Lives thy departed friend. I read that glance,         And we are there!"                 He said and they had past         The immeasurable space.                     Then on her ear         The lonely song of adoration rose,         Sweet as the cloister'd virgins vesper hymn,         Whose spirit, happily dead to earthly hopes         Already lives in Heaven. Abrupt the song         Ceas'd, tremulous and quick a cry         Of joyful wonder rous'd the astonish'd Maid,         And instant Madelon was in her arms;         No airy form, no unsubstantial shape,         She felt her friend, she prest her to her heart,         Their tears of rapture mingled.                         She drew back         And eagerly she gazed on Madelon,         Then fell upon her neck again and wept.         No more she saw the long-drawn lines of grief,         The emaciate form, the hue of sickliness,         The languid eye: youth's loveliest freshness now         Mantled her cheek, whose every lineament         Bespake the soul at rest, a holy calm,         A deep and full tranquillity of bliss.         "Thou then art come, my first and dearest friend!"         The well known voice of Madelon began,         "Thou then art come! and was thy pilgrimage         So short on earth? and was it painful too,         Painful and short as mine? but blessed they         Who from the crimes and miseries of the world         Early escape!"                 "Nay," Theodore replied,         She hath not yet fulfill'd her mortal work.         Permitted visitant from earth she comes         To see the seat of rest, and oftentimes         In sorrow shall her soul remember this,         And patient of the transitory woe         Partake the anticipated peace again."         "Soon be that work perform'd!" the Maid exclaimed,         "O Madelon! O Theodore! my soul,         Spurning the cold communion of the world,         Will dwell with you! but I shall patiently,         Yea even with joy, endure the allotted ills         Of which the memory in this better state         Shall heighten bliss. That hour of agony,         When, Madelon, I felt thy dying grasp,         And from thy forehead wiped the dews of death,         The very horrors of that hour assume         A shape that now delights."                      "O earliest friend!         I too remember," Madelon replied,         "That hour, thy looks of watchful agony,         The suppressed grief that struggled in thine eye         Endearing love's last kindness. Thou didst know         With what a deep and melancholy joy         I felt the hour draw on: but who can speak         The unutterable transport, when mine eyes,         As from a long and dreary dream, unclosed         Amid this peaceful vale, unclos'd on him,         My Arnaud! he had built me up a bower,         A bower of rest.--See, Maiden, where he comes,         His manly lineaments, his beaming eye         The same, but now a holier innocence         Sits on his cheek, and loftier thoughts illume         The enlighten'd glance."                     They met, what joy was theirs         He best can feel, who for a dear friend dead         Has wet the midnight pillow with his tears.         Fair was the scene around; an ample vale         Whose mountain circle at the distant verge         Lay softened on the sight; the near ascent         Rose bolder up, in part abrupt and bare,         Part with the ancient majesty of woods         Adorn'd, or lifting high its rocks sublime.         The river's liquid radiance roll'd beneath,         Beside the bower of Madelon it wound         A broken stream, whose shallows, tho' the waves         Roll'd on their way with rapid melody,         A child might tread. Behind, an orange grove         Its gay green foliage starr'd with golden fruit;         But with what odours did their blossoms load         The passing gale of eve! less thrilling sweet         Rose from the marble's perforated floor,         Where kneeling at her prayers, the Moorish queen         Inhaled the cool delight, [1] and whilst she asked         The Prophet for his promised paradise,         Shaped from the present scene its utmost joys.         A goodly scene! fair as that faery land         Where Arthur lives, by ministering spirits borne         From Camlan's bloody banks; or as the groves         Of earliest Eden, where, so legends say,         Enoch abides, and he who rapt away         By fiery steeds, and chariotted in fire,         Past in his mortal form the eternal ways;         And John, beloved of Christ, enjoying there         The beatific vision, sometimes seen         The distant dawning of eternal day,         Till all things be fulfilled.                      "Survey this scene!"         So Theodore address'd the Maid of Arc,         "There is no evil here, no wretchedness,         It is the Heaven of those who nurst on earth         Their nature's gentlest feelings. Yet not here         Centering their joys, but with a patient hope,         Waiting the allotted hour when capable         Of loftier callings, to a better state         They pass; and hither from that better state         Frequent they come, preserving so those ties         That thro' the infinite progressiveness         Complete our perfect bliss.                      "Even such, so blest,         Save that the memory of no sorrows past         Heightened the present joy, our world was once,         In the first ra of its innocence         Ere man had learnt to bow the knee to man.         Was there a youth whom warm affection fill'd,         He spake his honest heart; the earliest fruits         His toil produced, the sweetest flowers that deck'd         The sunny bank, he gather'd for the maid,         Nor she disdain'd the gift; for VICE not yet         Had burst the dungeons of her hell, and rear'd         Those artificial boundaries that divide         Man from his species. State of blessedness!         Till that ill-omen'd hour when Cain's stern son         Delved in the bowels of the earth for gold,         Accursed bane of virtue! of such force         As poets feign dwelt in the Gorgon's locks,         Which whoso saw, felt instant the life-blood         Cold curdle in his veins, the creeping flesh         Grew stiff with horror, and the heart forgot         To beat. Accursed hour! for man no more         To JUSTICE paid his homage, but forsook         Her altars, and bow'd down before the shrine         Of WEALTH and POWER, the Idols he had made.         Then HELL enlarged herself, her gates flew wide,         Her legion fiends rush'd forth. OPPRESSION came         Whose frown is desolation, and whose breath         Blasts like the Pestilence; and POVERTY,         A meagre monster, who with withering touch         Makes barren all the better part of man,         MOTHER OF MISERIES. Then the goodly earth         Which God had fram'd for happiness, became         One theatre of woe, and all that God         Had given to bless free men, these tyrant fiends         His bitterest curses made. Yet for the best         Hath he ordained all things, the ALL-WISE!         For by experience rous'd shall man at length         Dash down his Moloch-Idols, Samson-like         And burst his fetters, only strong whilst strong         Believed. Then in the bottomless abyss         OPPRESSION shall be chain'd, and POVERTY         Die, and with her, her brood of Miseries;         And VIRTUE and EQUALITY preserve         The reign of LOVE, and Earth shall once again         Be Paradise, whilst WISDOM shall secure         The state of bliss which IGNORANCE betrayed."         "Oh age of happiness!" the Maid exclaim'd,         Roll fast thy current, Time till that blest age         Arrive! and happy thou my Theodore,         Permitted thus to see the sacred depths         Of wisdom!"              "Such," the blessed Spirit replied,         Beloved! such our lot; allowed to range         The vast infinity, progressive still         In knowledge and encreasing blessedness,         This our united portion. Thou hast yet         A little while to sojourn amongst men:         I will be with thee! there shall not a breeze         Wanton around thy temples, on whose wing         I will not hover near! and at that hour         When from its fleshly sepulchre let loose,         Thy phoenix soul shall soar, O best-beloved!         I will be with thee in thine agonies,         And welcome thee to life and happiness,         Eternal infinite beatitude!"         He spake, and led her near a straw-roof'd cot,         LOVE'S Palace. By the Virtues circled there,         The cherub listen'd to such melodies,         As aye, when one good deed is register'd         Above, re-echo in the halls of Heaven.         LABOUR was there, his crisp locks floating loose,         Clear was his cheek, and beaming his full eye,         And strong his arm robust; the wood-nymph HEALTH         Still follow'd on his path, and where he trod         Fresh flowers and fruits arose. And there was HOPE,         The general friend; and PITY, whose mild eye         Wept o'er the widowed dove; and, loveliest form,         Majestic CHASTITY, whose sober smile         Delights and awes the soul; a laurel wreath         Restrain'd her tresses, and upon her breast         The snow-drop [2] hung its head, that seem'd to grow         Spontaneous, cold and fair: still by the maid         LOVE went submiss, wilh eye more dangerous         Than fancied basilisk to wound whoe'er         Too bold approached; yet anxious would he read         Her every rising wish, then only pleased         When pleasing. Hymning him the song was rais'd.         "Glory to thee whose vivifying power         Pervades all Nature's universal frame!         Glory to thee CREATOR LOVE! to thee,         Parent of all the smiling CHARITIES,         That strew the thorny path of Life with flowers!         Glory to thee PRESERVER! to thy praise         The awakened woodlands echo all the day         Their living melody; and warbling forth         To thee her twilight song, the Nightingale         Holds the lone Traveller from his way, or charms         The listening Poet's ear. Where LOVE shall deign         To fix his seat, there blameless PLEASURE sheds         Her roseate dews; CONTENT will sojourn there,         And HAPPINESS behold AFFECTION'S eye         Gleam with the Mother's smile. Thrice happy he         Who feels thy holy power! he shall not drag,         Forlorn and friendless, along Life's long path         To Age's drear abode; he shall not waste         The bitter evening of his days unsooth'd;         But HOPE shall cheer his hours of Solitude,         And VICE shall vainly strive to wound his breast,         That bears that talisman; and when he meets         The eloquent eye of TENDERNESS, and hears         The bosom-thrilling music of her voice;         The joy he feels shall purify his Soul,         And imp it for anticipated Heaven."