Classic Poem

THE FIRST BOOK

Orleans was hush'd in sleep. Stretch'd on her couch
The delegated Maiden lay; with toil
Exhausted, and sore anguish, soon she closed
Her heavy eyelids; not reposing then,
For busy phantasy in other scenes
Awaken'd: whether that superior powers,
By wise permission, prompt the midnight dream,
Instructing best the passive faculty;
Or that the soul, escaped its fleshly clog,
Flies free, and soars amid the invisible world,
And all things are that seem .
Along a moor,
Barren, and wide, and drear, and desolate,
She roam'd, a wanderer through the cheerless night.
Far through the silence of the unbroken plain
The bittern's boom was heard; hoarse, heavy, deep,
It made accordant music to the scene.
Black clouds, driven fast before the stormy wind,
Swept shadowing; through their broken folds the moon
Struggled at times with transitory ray,
And made the moving darkness visible.
And now arrived beside a fenny lake
She stands, amid whose stagnate waters, hoarse
The long reeds rustled to the gale of night.
A time-worn bark receives the Maid, impell'd
By powers unseen; then did the moon display
Where through the crazy vessel's yawning side
The muddy waters oozed. A Woman guides,
And spreads the sail before the wind, which moan'd
As melancholy mournful to her ear,
As ever by a dungeon'd wretch was heard
Howling at evening round his prison towers.
Wan was the pilot's countenance, her eyes
Hollow, and her sunk cheeks were furrow'd deep,
Channell'd by tears; a few gray locks hung down
Beneath her hood; and through the Maiden's veins
Chill crept the blood, when, as the night-breeze pass'd,
Lifting her tatter'd mantle, coil'd around
She saw a serpent gnawing at her heart.
The plumeless bats with short, shrill note flit
And the night-raven's scream came fitfully,
Borne on the hollow blast. Eager the Maid
Look'd to the shore, and now upon the bank
Leapt, joyful to escape, yet trembling still
In recollection.
There, a mouldering pile
Stretch'd its wide ruins, o'er the plain below
Casting a gloomy shade, save where the moon
Shone through its fretted windows: the dark day
Withering with age, branch'd there its naked root
And there the melancholy cypress rear'd
Its head; the earth was heaved with many a moun
And here and there a half-demolish'd tomb.

And now, amid the ruin's darkest shade,
The Virgin's eye beheld where pale blue flame
Rose wavering, now just gleaming from the earth
And now in darkness drown'd. An aged man
Sate near, seated on what in long-past days
Had been some sculptured monument, now fall
And half-obscured by moss, and gather'd heaps
Of wither'd yew-leaves and earth-mouldering bore
His eye was large and rayless, and fix'd full
Upon the Maid; the tomb-fires on his face
Shed a blue light; his face was of the hue
Of death; his limbs were mantled in a shroud
Then with a deep heart-terrifying voice,
Exclaim'd the spectre: " Welcome to these real
These regions of Despair, O thou whose steps
Sorrow hath guided to my sad abodes!
Welcome to my drear empire, to this gloom
Eternal, to this everlasting night,
Where never morning darts the enlivening ray
Where never shines the sun, but all is dark,
Dark as the bosom of their gloomy King. "

So saying, he arose, and drawing on,
Her to the abbey's inner ruin led,
Resisting not his guidance. Through the roof
Once fretted and emblazed, but broken now
In part, elsewhere all open to the sky,
The moon-beams enter'd, checker'd here, and
With unimpeded light. The ivy twined
Round the dismantled columns; imaged form
Of saints and warlike chiefs, moss-canker'd
And mutilate, lay strown upon the ground,
With crumbled fragments, crucifixes fallen,
And rusted trophies. Meantime overhead
Roar'd the loud blast, and from the tower the
Scream'd as the tempest shook her secret nest
He, silent, led her on, and often paused,
And pointed, that her eye might contemplate
At leisure the drear scene.
He dragg'd her
Through a low iron door, down broken stairs;
Then a cold horror through the Maiden's frame
Crept, for she stood amid a vault, and saw,
By the sepulchral lamp's dim, glaring light,
The fragments of the dead.
" Look here! " he cried,
" Damsel, look here! survey this house of death;
O, soon to tenant it; soon to increase
These trophies of mortality — for hence
Is no return. Gaze here; behold this skull,
These eyeless sockets, and these unflesh'd jaws,
That with their ghastly grinning seem to mock
Thy perishable charms; for thus thy cheek
Must moulder. Child of grief! shrinks not thy soul,
Viewing these horrors? trembles not thy heart
At the dread thought that here its life's-blood soon
Shall stagnate, and the finely-fibred frame,
Now warm in life and feeling, mingle soon
With the cold clod? thing horrible to think, —
Yet in thought only, for reality
Is none of suffering here; here all is peace;
No nerve will throb to anguish in the grave.
Dreadful it is to think of losing life,
But having lost, knowledge of loss is not,
Therefore no ill. Oh, wherefore then delay
To end all ills at once? "
So spake Despair.
The vaulted roof echoed his hollow voice,
And all again was silence. Quick her heart
Panted. He placed a dagger in her hand,
And cried again, " Oh, wherefore then delay!
One blow, and rest forever! " On the fiend
Dark scowl'd the Virgin with indignant eye,
And threw the dagger down. He next his heart
Replaced the murderous steel, and drew the Maid
Along the downward vault.
The damp earth gave
A dim sound as they pass'd: the tainted air
Was cold, and heavy with unwholesome dews.
" Behold! " the fiend exclaim'd, " how loathsomely
The fleshly remnant of mortality
Moulders to clay! " then fixing his broad eye
Full on her face, he pointed where a corpse
Lay livid; she beheld with horrent look
The spectacle abhorr'd by living man.

" Look here! " Despair pursued; " this loathsome mass
Was once as lovely, and as full of life
As, Damsel, thou art now. Those deep-sunk eyes
Once beam'd the mild light of intelligence,
And where thou seest the pamper'd flesh-worm trail,
Once the white bosom heaved. She fondly thought
That at the hallow'd altar, soon the priest
Should bless her coming union, and the torch
Its joyful lustre o'er the hall of joy,
Cast on her nuptial evening: earth to earth
That priest consign'd her, for her lover went
By glory lured to war, and perish'd there;
Nor she endured to live. Ha! fades thy cheek?
Dost thou then, Maiden, tremble at the tale?
Look here! behold the youthful paramour!
The self-devoted hero! "
Fearfully
The Maid look'd down, and saw the well-known face
Of Theodore. In thoughts unspeakable,
Convulsed with horror, o'er her face she clasp'd
Her cold, damp hands. " Shrink not, " the phantom cried;
" Gaze on! " and unrelentingly he grasp'd
Her quivering arm: " this lifeless, mouldering clay,
As well thou know'st, was warm with all the glow
Of youth and love; this is the hand that cleft
Proud Salisbury's crest, now motionless in death,
Unable to protect the ravaged frame
From the foul offspring of mortality
That feed on heroes. Though long years were thine,
Yet never more would life reanimate
This slaughter'd youth; slaughter'd for thee! for thou
Didst lead him to the battle from his home,
Where else he had survived to good old age:
In thy defence he died: strike then! destroy
Remorse with life. "
The Maid stood motionless,
And, wistless what she did, with trembling hand
Received the dagger. Starting then, she cried,
" A vaunt, Despair! Eternal Wisdom deals
Or peace to man, or misery, for his good
Alike design'd; and shall the creature cry,
" Why hast thou done this?" and with impious pride
Destroy the life God gave? "
The fiend rejoin'd,
" And thou dost deem it impious to destroy
The life God gave? What, Maiden, is the lot
Assign'd to mortal man? born but to drag,
Through life's long pilgrimage, the wearying load
Of being; care-corroded at the heart;
Assail'd by all the numerous train of ills
That flesh inherits; till at length worn out,
This is his consummation! — Think again!
What, Maiden, canst thou hope from lengthen'd life,
But lengthen'd sorrow? If protracted long,
Till on the bed of death thy feeble limbs
Stretch out their languid length, oh, think what thoughts,
What agonizing feelings, in that hour,
Assail the sinking heart! slow beats the pulse,
Dim grows the eye, and clammy drops bedew
The shuddering frame; then in its mightiest force,
Mightiest in impotence, the love of life
Seizes the throbbing heart; the faltering lips
Pour out the impious prayer that fain would change
The Unchangeable's decree; surrounding friends
Sob round the sufferer, wet his cheek with tears,
And all he loved in life imbitters death.

" Such, Maiden, are the pangs that wait the hour
Of easiest dissolution! yet weak man
Resolves, in timid piety, to live;
And veiling Fear in Superstition's garb,
He calls her Resignation!
" Coward wretch!
Fond coward, thus to make his reason war
Against his reason! Insect as he is,
This sport of chance, this being of a day,
Whose whole existence the next cloud may blast,
Believes himself the care of heavenly powers;
That God regards man, miserable man,
And preaching thus of power and providence,
Will crush the reptile that may cross his path!

" Fool that thou art! the Being that permits
Existence, gives to man the worthless boon;
A goodly gift to those who, fortune-blest,
Bask in the sunshine of prosperity,
And such do well to keep it. But to one
Sick at the heart with misery, and sore
With many a hard, unmerited affliction,
It is a hair that chains to wretchedness
The slave who dares not burst it!
" Thinkest thou,
The parent, if his child should unrecall'd
Return and fall upon his neck, and cry,
" Oh! the wide world is comfortless, and full
Of fleeting joys and heart-consuming cares;
I can be only happy in my home
With thee — my friend! — my father!" Thinkest thou,
That he would thrust him as an outcast forth?
Oh! he would clasp the truant to his heart,
And love the trespass. "
Whilst he spake, his eye
Dwelt on the Maiden's cheek, and read her soul
Struggling within. In trembling doubt she stood,
Even as a wretch, whose famish'd entrails crave
Supply, before him sees the poison'd food
In greedy horror.
Yet, not silent long,
" Eloquent tempter, cease! " the Maiden cried;
" What though affliction be my portion here,
Thinkest thou I do not feel high thoughts of joy,
Of heart-ennobling joy, when I look back
Upon a life of duty well perform'd,
Then lift mine eyes to heaven, and there in faith
Know my reward? — I grant, were this life all,
Was there no morning to the tomb's long night,
If man did mingle with the senseless clod,
Himself as senseless, then wert thou indeed
A wise and friendly comforter! — But, fiend,
There is a morning to the tomb's long night,
A dawn of glory, a reward in heaven,
He shall not gain who never merited.
If thou didst know the worth of one good deed
In life's last hour, thou wouldst not bid me lose
The precious privilege, while life endures
To do my Father's will. A mighty task
Is mine, — a glorious call. France looks to me
For her deliverance.
" Maiden, thou hast done
Thy mission here, " the unbaffled fiend replied:
" The foes are fled from Orleans: thou, perchance
Exulting in the pride of victory,
Forgettest him who perish'd: yet albeit
Thy harden'd heart forget the gallant youth,
That hour allotted canst thou not escape,
That dreadful hour, when contumely and shame
Shall sojourn in thy dungeon. Wretched Maid!
Destined to drain the cup of bitterness,
Even to its dregs, — England's inhuman chiefs
Shall scoff thy sorrows, blacken thy pure fame,
Wit-wanton it with lewd barbarity,
And force such burning blushes to the cheek
Of virgin modesty, that thou shalt wish
The earth might cover thee. In that last hour,
When thy bruis'd breast shall heave beneath chains
That link thee to the stake, a spectacle
For the brute multitude, and thou shalt hear
Mockery more painful than the circling flames
Which then consume thee; wilt thou not in vain
Then wish my friendly aid? then wish thine ear
Had drank my words of comfort? that thy hand
Had grasp'd the dagger, and in death preserved
Insulted modesty? "
Her glowing cheek
Blush'd crimson; her wide eye on vacancy
Was fix'd; her breath short panted. The cold fiend
Grasping her hand, exclaim'd, " Too timid Maid,
So long repugnant to the healing aid
My friendship proffers, now shalt thou behold
The allotted length of life. "
He stamp'd the earth
And dragging a huge coffin as his car,
Two Gouls came on, of form more fearful-foul
Than ever palsied in her wildest dream
Hag-ridden Superstition. Then Despair
Seized on the Maid whose curdling blood stood still
And placed her in the seat, and on they pass'd
Adown the deep descent. A meteor light
Shot from the demons, as they dragged along
The unwelcome load, and mark'd their brethrer feast
On carcasses.
Below, the vault dilates
Its ample bulk. " Look here! " — Despair address
The shuddering Virgin; " see the dome of Death
It was a spacious cavern, hewn amid
The entrails of the earth, as though to form
A grave for all mankind: no eye could reach
Its distant bounds. There, throned in darkness dwelt
The unseen power of Death.
Here stopt the Gouls
Reaching the destined spot. The fiend stept out
And from the coffin as he led the Maid,
Exclaim'd, " Where mortal never stood before,
Thou standest: look around this boundless vault
Observe the dole that Nature deals to man,
And learn to know thy friend. "
She answer'd not
Observing where the Fates their several tasks
Plied ceaseless. " Mark how long the shortest we
Allow'd to man! " he cried; " observe how soon
Twined round yon never-resting wheel, they change
Their snowy hue, darkening through many a shade,
Till Atropos relentless shuts the shears. "
Too true he spake, for of the countless threads
Drawn from the heap, as white as unsunn'd snow
Or as the spotless lily of the vale,
Was never one beyond the little span
Of infancy untainted; few there were
But lightly tinged: more of deep crimson hue,
Or deeper sable dyed. Two Genii stood,
Still as the web of being was drawn forth,
Sprinkling their powerful drops. From ebon urn
The one unsparing dash'd the bitter drops
Of woe; and as he dash'd, his dark-brown brow
Relax'd to a hard smile. The milder form
Shed less profusely there his lesser store;
Sometimes with tears increasing the scant boon,
Compassionating man; and happy he
Who on his thread those precious tears receives;
If it be happiness to have the pulse
That throbs with pity, and in such a world
Of wretchedness, the generous heart that aches
With anguish at the sight of human woe.

To her the fiend, well hoping now success,
" This is thy thread; observe how short the span;
And little doth the evil Genius spare
His bitter tincture there. " The Maiden saw
Calmly. " Now gaze! " the tempter fiend exclaim'd,
And placed again the poniard in her hand,
For Superstition, with a burning torch,
Approach'd the loom. " This, Damsel, is thy fate!
The hour draws on — now strike the dagger home!
Strike now, and be at rest! "
The Maid replied,
" Or to prevent or change the will of Heaven,
Impious I strive not: let that will be done! "