Classic Poem

LI.

 The storm is on the embattled clouds receding,
 The purple streamers wander pale and thin,
 But o'er the pole a fiercer flame is spreading,
 Wheel within wheel of fire, and far within
 Revolves a stooping splendour crystalline.
 A throne;—but who the sitter on that throne!
 The Angel knew the punisher of sin.
 Check'd on his lip the self-upbraiding groan,
And clasp'd his dying love, and joy'd to be undone.

LII.

 And once, 'twas but a moment, on her cheek
 He gave a glance, then sank his hurried eye,
 And press'd it closer on her dazzling neck.
 Yet, even in that swift gaze, he could espy
 A look that made his heart's blood backwards fly.
 Was it a dream? there echoed in his ear
 A stinging tone—a laugh of mockery!
 It was a dream—it must be. Oh! that fear,
When the heart longs to know, what it is death to hear.

LIII.

 He glanced again—her eye was upward still,
 Fix'd on the stooping of that burning car;
 But through his bosom shot an arrowy thrill,
 To see its solemn, stern, unearthly glare;
 She stood a statue of sublime despair,
 But on her lip sat scorn.—His spirit froze,—
 His footstep reel'd,—his wan lip gasp'd for air;
 She felt his throb,—and o'er him stoop'd with brows
As evening sweet, and kiss'd him with a lip of rose.

LIV.

 Again she was all beauty, and they stood
 Still fonder clasp'd, and gazing with the eye
 Of famine gazing on the poison'd food
 That it must feed on, or abstaining die.
 There was between them now nor tear nor sigh;
 Theirs was the deep communion of the soul;
 Passion's absorbing, bitter luxury;
 What was to them or heaven or earth, the whole
Was in that fatal spot, where they stood sad, and sole.

LV.

 The Minstrel first shook off the silent trance;
 And in a voice sweet as the murmuring
 Of summer streams beneath the moonlight's glance,
 Besought the desperate one to spread the wing
 Beyond the power of his vindictive king.
 Slave to her slightest word, he raised his plume,
 For life or death, he reck'd not which, to spring;
 Nay, to confront the thunder and the gloom.
She wildly kiss'd his hand, and sank, as in a tomb.

LVI.

 The Angel sooth'd her, “No! let Justice wreak
 Its wrath upon them both, or him alone.”
 A flush of love's pure crimson lit her cheek;
 She whisper'd, and his stoop'd ear drank the tone
 With mad delight; “Oh there is one way, one,
 To save us both. Are there not mighty words,
 Graved on the magnet-throne where Solomon
 Sits ever guarded by the genii swords,
To give thy servant wings, like her resplendent Lord's?”

LVII.

 This was the sin of sins! The first, last crime,
 In earth and heaven, unnamed, unnameable;
 This from his throne of light, before all time,
 Had smitten Eblis, brightest, first that fell.
 He started back.—“What urged him to rebel?
 What led that soft seducer to his bower?
 Could she have laid upon his soul that spell,
 Young, lovely, fond; yet but an earthly flower?”—
But for that fatal cup, he had been free that hour.

LVIII.

 But still its draught was fever in his blood.
 He caught the upward, humble, weeping gleam
 Of woman's eye, by passion all subdued;
 He sigh'd, and at his sigh he saw it beam:
 Oh! the sweet frenzy of the lover's dream!
 A moment's lingering, and they both must die.
 The lightning round them shot a broader stream;
 He felt her clasp his feet in agony;
He spoke the “Words of might”,—the thunder gave reply!

LIX.

 Away! away! the sky is one black cloud,
 Shooting its lightnings down in spire on spire.
 Around the mount its canopy is bow'd,
 A fiery vault upraised on pillar'd fire;
 The stars like lamps along its roof expire;
 But through its centre bursts an orb of rays;
 The Angel knew the Avenger in his ire!
 The hill-top smoked beneath the stooping blaze,
The culprits dared not there their guilty glances raise.

LX.

 And words were utter'd from that whirling sphere,
 That mortal sense might never hear and live.
 They pierced like arrows through the Angel's ear;
 He bow'd his head; 'twas vain to fly or strive.
 Down comes the final wrath: the thunders give
 The doubled peal,—the rains in cataracts sweep,
 Broad bars of fire the sheeted deluge rive;
 The mountain summits to the valley leap,
Pavilion, garden, grove, smoke up one ruin'd heap.