Classic Poem

So Wisdom made her favourite wise of heart,
And led the loved one through all holy spheres
And dwellings of seraphic bliss, and homes
Of perfect pleasure — even as the sun
Wades through the golden waters of the world
Up to the top point of the tower of Time,
Then steep descends — down to the lowest nook
Of furthest space, where earth spins round like clay
Upon the potter's wheel, the orb where bode
The last of happy beings, and the first
Of wretched creatures — semimortal man —
Whose clay was tempered with a lymph divine,
The ante-natal wave of Paradise,
And fourfold fount of nature's heavenly flow; —
Yet so self hidden in the cloud of sin —
So misadvised by those whose souls perfused
With earth-pent vapours and the reek of time,
Falsely oracular sit and agonize,
Preaching perdition — that though high in Heaven
The sunsmile of Salvation beamed, it beamed
Unrecognized — unrecked of — undivined.
Still after all these wanderings, knowing well
One single soul more wondrous than all worlds
Which mass the skies with miracles of light,
They rapture most and sweet contentment found,
Coolly triumphant, like the restful stars
Glowing in Heaven when Time's hot day is done,
Each in their proper orb and common sphere;
To meditative converse most devote,
And strict collation of the Spirit-book
With the pretemporal volume, writ of God ;
High in the archives of eternity
Treasured, the pure original of Life.

The elder Excellence, meanwhile, who longed
For pure and mere autocracy, unchecked —
Unled — uneyed — ruled with a random hand,
And an occasional sovereignty the all
But full totality, allotted her,
Of the original myriads of her race.
These loved her well; and, willingly, themselves
Ascribed to her for ever, for that she
Gave them all freedom, wherefore in return
They were her slaves in gratitude: and ripe
Any desire to grant or scheme abet,
Which pleased herself, or those intent to please.

Counsel, however sage, and precept fair,
Which seemed to savour of superior will,
Or tendency to better ends than theirs,
Were treason held at last, and Wisdom's words,
Bewrayed by guile, into a net were wrought,
For her own shining feet; — alas, the day!
Long was a pretext sought, and baffled oft;
But never failure followed ill intent
And base success still sealed each fatal plot.

The hour of parting came and Wisdom wrung
Her high uplifted hands — nor breathed — unless
To her she loved, that youthful saint — farewell; —
Which well she wist were but a mock to make
Of valediction. How could that she left,
By any chance, fare well?

Yet still she stayed
Lingering around that once supremest sphere
Where, with the sister angels of her care,
In days of holy innocence and love,
She was of Eld so happy. Oft she made
For flight, but pausing, dropped; and thus consumed
Her last night there, till every star had waned
Into the coming light; and then her way
Upon her own bright wings she took to Heaven.

The vanishing flash of her aeonian wing
Called forth a burst of triumph from the train
Of those insinuant tempters, as they marked —
What close in deep divan they long had hoped; —
And toward the elder of the angel twain,
Those regal nymphs, inheritors of Heaven,
Laden with crown and robe and sceptre, rushed
Tumultuous — and applausive, hailed her thus.

Be thou our Queen, O lofty angel fair!
Worthy the sole, and unobstructed rule
Of every sphere and every spirit race;
Heart-honoured — Heaven-ordained — predestined heir
Of the bright line of ages numberless!
Since God , creating atoms, first began,
And ended with this universal world,
Thou hast beheld no equal, nay no like.
Thee only we acknowledge, and for this,
Hold our arrival blessed. Empress, hail! —

Then she elate, and with pride-blinded soul
The towering seat, prepared for her, assumed —
And sat a sceptred monarch.

Far and wide
The tidings flew that I and all my rule
Were thrust aside; and in the judgment seat
I sat and none attended; or but came,
With false fictitious cause, to scoff and jeer.

Then came an edict of perpetual ban
And forcible exile 'gainst myself, and all
Who dared the fallen fortunes to support
Or but to name as lawful. Thus the sword
Whose fiery emblem glared at first in air,
Reigned and divided all things. Every gate
Of every temple straight was closed — and lo!
Each high and heaven-allusive dome was filled
With hollow sounding emptiness alone.

Oh how unlike the hour of festival!
That chamber, how unlike the gorgeous hall,
Which saw that hand of faith and fondness given;
'T was on a summer day's delicious even.
Propitious splendour in the purpling skies,
The air all streaming with rich harmonies,
Sent in with fragrance of the closing flower,
Old England's royal pomp in court and bower!
The hall was thick with regal luxury; —
Studding like stars the dome, that look'd a sky,
Cressets of alabaster and of gold,
Waked all that pencil, or that steel could mould.
Central, beside the altar, on her throne,
Sat, diadem'd, the mother-queen, alone.
And round her, hush'd in awful distance, stood
Young beauty, haughty forms of field and flood,
Chiefs, who shall be a glory to all time,
Mix'd with soft shapes, like roses in their prime.