Classic Poem

There is a love! 't is not the wandering fire
That must be fed on folly, or expire;
Gleam of polluted hearts, the meteor-ray
That fades, as rises Reason's nobler day;
But passion made essential , holy, bright;
Like the raised dead, our dust transform'd to light;
But, the rich foretaste of a loftier clime,
Friendship of souls, in heaven scarce more sublime!
Earth has its pangs for all; its happiest breast
Not his who meets them least, but bears them best.
Life must be toil! yet oh, that toil how drear,
But for this soother of its brief career,
The charm that virtue, beauty, fondness, bind,
Till the mind mingles with its kindred mind!
'Tis not the cold romancer's ecstasy,
The flame new lit at every passing eye,
But the high impulse that the stately soul
Feels slow engross it, but engross it whole;
Yet seeks it not, nay, turns with stern disdain
On its own weakness that can wear a chain;
Still wrestling with the angel, till its pride
Feels all the strength departed from its side.
Then, join'd, and join'd for ever, — loving, loved,
Life's darkest hours are met, and met unmoved;
Hand link'd in hand, the wedded pair pass on
Through the world's changes, still unchanging, one;
On earth one heart, one hope, one joy, one gloom,
One closing hour, one, undivided tomb!

Mysterious union! was thy beauty made
To sink with life's weak shades, itself a shade?
Was it for this thy glorious train was given?
High virtues, then first stooping from their heaven,
Round thee, and thee alone, on earth to move;
Holy fidelity, pure peace, true love;
Veil'd here, — yet emanations of a throne
Loftier than man's dull'd eye dares gaze upon.
Thou Paraclete! through earth's long pilgrimage
Shelter of infancy, support of age!
Man stain'd or sunk, as thy white wing was dim;
Till at His coming whom the Seraphim
Hymn'd to the shepherds from the midnight skies,
Thou heard'st the call that bade the world arise;
And H E , life's glory, death's captivity,
Shew'd his first might to honour, hallow thee:
And thou wert hallowed, and from life's dull gloom
Shone out the heart, the holiness of home.
From that high hour, no more a toy or slave, —
Woman, life's flow'ret, shared the peace she gave;
Nature was purity, and faith was love,
The Spirit had descended as a dove!
And shall thy gentle mission finish here?
Thou angel, — more than angel minister!
To whom youth's passion, manhood's burning zeal,
All that the heart, the wild, fond heart, can feel,
Turn, as the billow to the midnight moon,
In proud submission to thy heavenly throne;
Guide, soother, saviour, to life's final shore,
Shall then, oh then, thy task of love be o'er!

Once — in the midst of their assembly high,
And in the palace hall, where erst were held
The courts of joy and audiences of love, —
Once I essayed to speak and hearing hoped.
But, ere a word, they bound me by the hands,
And drave me out with curses, taunts and gibes.
Passing, thus manacled, the new made throne
Where sat the crowned traitress, of her crime
Conscious, and trembling 'mid the array of state
That girt her in, brightly, I spake; — but not
In anger nor revenge; for I foresaw
The wretched end of all such mortal sin,
And knew the holy purposes of Heaven
Alone eternal and essential good; —
Behold me thus; I quit thee; 'tis thy will.
Me thou forswearest, who had loved thee more
Than all the tribes of angels, love thee still,
Despite the flatteries wherewith now thy soul
Is darkened and degraded. Know me true.
The hour will come when thou shalt hold me yet
Dearer than now detested; but 'tis thou

Shalt change, not I. Watch, for I come again.
She answered with a smile, but trembled whilst:

And I departed that unhallowed hall.
In this, too, God permitted them success —
And in far more, that at the close He might
Their highest height o'ertop, and with the arms
Of love, all-conquering, fling forth more supreme
His thrice victorious standard. Such His will;
Such, even in exile, now, the due, the dear
Obedience of my heart; for well I knew
To change, or re-create, with Him perdured
As facile as to make.

The younger angel maid
Who dauntless kept her faith, and still with me
Held sad and sacred commune — though by stealth —
Was suffered to remain, close cloistered first,
In solitude religious, for that they
The Empress' mind who swayed, dared not advise
To put her quite to death; and that the tie
And natural sympathy of sisterhood,
The memory of the excellent times of old,
And flickering purposes of future years

Which played about the heart of her enthroned,
Together, wrought to spare her and preserve.
Anon, though bidden to busy herself alone
With her own matters and those mixed with them —
She, at convenient times, permission wrung
To walk abroad and tend her charities;
But only in the humblest, homeliest guise.
And as the Queen had shrunk not to abjure
All past — all present — and all future love,
Between her and myself — her whilom Lord —
The younger, in derision, they who mocked
Both, called the Bride Expectant and the Spouse.

Now, what a change came o'er that orb serene!
Through all the day was revelry and mirth —
Nor respite knew the night, till no one recked
Of natural order or of dues divine.
While the neglected damsel at the gates
Of her imperious sister — at whose beck
All luxuries started into life and use; —
In servile garb, and oft with ashes crowned
As in contempt, an outcast sat forlorn.

O! royal menial — O! imperial thrall,
Companion of the angels in their height,
How lowly art thou fallen; and yet how pure,
Seen in the sin consuming light of God —
How meek — how perfect in all servitude! —

These contumelies and worse, unvexed, she bore
Unheeding, uncomplaining. Day by day —
Her to impress with due sense of disgrace,
Was she led in, before the obsequious crowd,
In sackcloth clad, to make obeisance meet
Unto the Sisterly Majesty, which she
Coldly, for peace-sake, made; nor all hope lacked
That some few gold-grains Time might number still
Among the barren sands he measured forth; —
That Wisdom yet might wonn with them again
And her usurping sister, still beloved,
Though for this deed condemned, her seat resign
To the diviner dynasty. In this
Hope she survived, nor wholly stood alone.

While all — almost — in that strange change of rule
And law agreed, a certain few there were
Nathless, within whose hearts the echoes staid
Of those last words I uttered; and these found
Joy unconceived in hoping still they might
In act be verified; and oft — as best
They could — they comforted the angel child.

Daily and nightly, she, upon her knees,
Besought God to re-kindle, in the hot
And blinding darkness of her heart who ruled,
The lovelight of His presence, and to quench
The desolating river of their wrath —
Who first infested that fair world with sin.

At night too, in the wilderness we met —
For what was once a garden shewed but then
A drear and desert wold: and there from her,
I, banished — learned what things and how befel: —
And me she never left without a prayer —
Despite the wrongs I suffered with herself,
Wrongs which too many loudly joyed to hear —
That I for all would pray and intercede.