A simple Syrian lyre was on her breast, And on her crimson lip was murmuring A village strain, that in the day's sweet rest Is heard in Araby round many a spring, When down the twilight vales the maidens bring The flocks to some old patriarchal well; Or where beneath the palms some desert-king Lies, with his tribe around him as they fell! The thunder burst again; a long, deep, crashing peal. The angel heard it not; as round the range Of the blue hill-tops roar'd the volley on, Uttering its voice with wild, aerial change; Now sinking in a deep and distant moan, Like the last echo of a host o'erthrown; Then rushing with new vengeance down again, Shooting the fiery flash and thunder-stone; Till flamed, like funeral pyres, the mountain chain. The angel heard it not; its wisdom all was vain. He heard not even the strain, though it had changed From the calm sweetness of the holy hymn. His thoughts from depth to depth unconscious ranged, Yet all within was dizzy, strange, and dim; The night-breeze from the mountains had begun ; Or airy citadels and battled walls; Or sunk in valleys sweet, with silver waterfalls. But, for those sights of heaven the angel's heart Yet, loveliest of the vision was the vale Sheeted with colours like an Indian mail, A tapestry sweet of all sun-painted flowers, Balsam, and clove, and jasmines scented showers, And the red glory of the Persian rose, Spreading in league on league around the towers, Where, loved of Heaven, and hated of its foes, The queen of cities shines, in calm and proud repose. And still he gazed-and saw not that the eve Was fading into night. A sudden thought Struck to his dreaming heart, that made it heave; Was he not there in Paradise?—that spot, Was it not lovely as the lofty vault That rose above him? In his native skies, Could he be happy till his soul forgot, Oh! how forget, the being whom his eyes Loved as their light of light! He heard a tempest rise Was it a dream? the vale at once was bare, And o'er it hung a broad and sulphurous cloud: The soil grew red and rifted with its glare; Down to their roots the mountain cedars bow'd; Along the ground a rapid vapour flow'd, Yellow and pale, thick seam'd with streaks of flame. Before it sprang the vulture from the shroud; The lion bounded from it scared and tame; Behind it, darkening heaven, the mighty whirlwind came. Like a long tulip bed, across the plain A caravan approach'd the evening well, A long, deep mass of turban, plume, and vane; And lovely came its distant, solemn swell Of song, and pilgrim-horn, and camel-bell. The sandy ocean rose before their eye, In thunder on their bending host it fell Ten thousand lips sent up one fearful cry; [lie. The sound was still'd at once, beneath its wave they But, two escaped, that up the mountain sprung, And those the dead men's treasure downwards drew; One, with slow steps; but beautiful and young A league of piles of silk and gems that threw man. The statelier wanderer from the height was won, And cap and sash soon gleam'd with plunder'd gold. But, now the desert rose, in pillars dun, Glowing with fire like iron in the mould, [roll'd; That wings with fiery speed, recoil'd, sprang, Before them waned the moon's ascending phase, The clouds above them shrank the reddening fold: On rush'd the giant columns blaze on blaze, The sacrilegious died, wrapp'd in the burning haze. The angel sat enthroned within a dome Of alabaster raised on pillars slight, Curtain'd with tissues of no earthly loom; For spirits wove the web of blossoms bright, Woof of all flowers that drink the morning light, And with their beauty figured all the stone A more than mortal guard around the throne, That in their tender shade one glorious diamond shone. And every bud round pedestal and plinth, The dahlia pour'd its thousand-colour'd gleam, And nestling in that arbour's leafy twine, Jacinth, and jet, and blazing carbuncle, And gold-dropt coronets, and wings of dyes Bathed in the living streams of their own Paradise. The angel knew the warning of that storm; But saw the shuddering minstrel's step draw near, And felt the whole deep witchery of her form; Her sigh was music's echo to his ear; He loved and what has love to do with fear? Now night had droop'd on earth her raven wing, But in the arbour all was splendour clear; And, like twin spirits in its charmed ring, Shone that sweet child of earth and that stardiadem'd king. For, whether 'twas the light's unusual glow, Or that some dazzling change had on her come; Her look, though lovely still, was loftier now, Her tender cheek was flush'd with brighter bloom; Yet in her azure eyebeam gather'd gloom, Like evening's clouds across its own blue star, Then would a sudden flash its depths illume; And wore she but the wing and gemm'd tiar, She seem'd instinct with might to make the clouds her car. She slowly raised her arm, that, bright as snow, Gleam'd like a rising meteor through the air, Shedding white lustre on her turban'd brow; And gazed on heaven, as wrapt in solemn prayer; She still look'd woman, yet more proudly fair; And as she stood and pointed to the sky, With that fix'd look of loveliness and care, The angel thought, and check'd it with a sigh, He saw some spirit fallen from immortality. The silent prayer was done; and now she moved Faint to his footstool, and, upon her knee, Besought her lord, if in his heaven they loved, That, as she never more his face must see, She there might pledge her heart's fidelity. Then turn'd, and pluck'd a cluster from the vine, And o'er a chalice waved it, with a sigh, Then stoop'd the crystal cup before the shrine. In wrath the angel rose—the guilty draught was wine! She stood; she shrank; she totter'd. Down he sprang, Clasp'd with one hand her waist, with one upheld The vase-his ears with giddy murmurs rang; His eye upon her dying cheek was spell'd; Up to the brim the draught of evil swell'd Like liquid rose, its odour touch'd his brain; He knew his ruin, but his soul was quell'd; He shudder'd-gazed upon her cheek again, Press'd her pale lip, and to the last that cup did drain. The enchantress smiled, as still in some sweet dream, Then waken'd in a long, delicious sigh, And breathless pressing, with her ringlets fair, From his bright eyes the tears of passion and despair. The heaven was one blue cope, inlaid with gems Thick as the concave of a diamond mine, But from the north now fly pale, phosphor beams That o'er the mount their quivering net entwine; The smallest stars through that sweet lustre shine; Then, like a routed host, its streamers fly : Then, from the moony horizontal line A surge of sudden glory floods the sky, Ocean of purple waves, and melted lazuli. But wilder wonder smote their shrinking eyes: A vapour plunged upon the vale from heaven, Then, darkly gathering, tower'd of mountain size; From its high crater column'd smokes were driven; It heaved within, as if pent flames had striven With mighty winds to burst their prison hold, Till all the cloud-volcano's bulk was riven With angry light, that seem'd in cataracts roll'd, Silver, and sanguine steel, and streams of molten gold. Then echoed on the winds a hollow roar, An earthquake groan, that told convulsion near: Out rush'd the burden of its burning core, Myriads of fiery globes, as day-light clear. The sky was fill'd with flashing sphere on sphere, Shooting straight upward to the zenith's crown. The stars were blasted in that splendour drear, The land beneath in wild distinctness shone, From Syria's yellow sands to Libanus' summit stone. The storm is on the embattled clouds receding, Check'd on his lip the self-upbraiding groan, 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 It was a dream-it must be. Oh! that fear, When the heart longs to know, what it is death to hear. He glanced again-her eye was upward still, brows As evening sweet, and kiss'd him with a lip of rose. What was to them or heaven or earth, the whole Was in that fatal spot, where they stood sad, and sole. 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. 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: "O 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, [Lord's?" To give thy servant wings, like her resplendent 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. 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; [reply! He spoke the "Words of might,"-the thunder gave 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 glancesraise. 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. The storm stands still! a moment's pause of terror! All dungeon-dark!-Again the lightnings yawn, Showing the earth as in a quivering mirror, The prostrate angel felt but that the one, Whose love had lost him Paradise, was gone: He dared not see her corpse !-he closed his eyes; A voice burst o'er him, solemn as the tone Of the last trump,-he glanced upon the skies, He saw, what shook his soul with terror, shame, surprise. The minstrel stood before him; two broad plumes Spread from her shoulders on the burden'd air; Her face was glorious still, but love's young blooms Had vanish'd for the hue of bold despair; A fiery circle crown'd her sable hair; And, as she look'd upon her prostrate prize, Her eyeballs shot around a meteor glare, Her form tower'd up at once to giant size; "Twas Eblis! king of Hell's relentless sovereignties. The tempter spoke-❝ Spirit, thou mightɛt have stood, But thou hast fallen a weak and willing slave. Till the sun rolls the grand concluding year; Till earth is Paradise; then shall thy crime be clear. The angel listen'd, risen upon one knee, The giant grasp'd him as he fell to earth, Mingled with shriekings through the tempest swung; His arm around the fainting angel clung. Then on the clouds he darted with a groan; A moment o'er the mount of ruin hung, [cone, Then burst through space, like the red comet's Leaving his track on heaven a burning, endless zone. A SCENE FROM CATILINE. Catiline. FLUNG on my pillow! does the last night's wine Perplex me still? Its words are wild and bold. (Reads) "Noble Catiline! where you tread, the earth is hollow, though it gives no sound. There is a storm gathering, though there are no clouds in the sky. Rome is desperate; three hundred patricians have sworn to do their duty; and what three hundred have sworn, thirty thousand will make good." Why, half the number now might sack the city, With all its knights, before a spear could come From Ostia to their succour.-'Twere a deed!(Reads) "You have been betrayed by the senate, betrayed by the consuls, and betrayed by the people. You are a Roman, can you suffer chains? You are a soldier, can you submit to shame? You are a man; will you be ruined, trampled on, disdained ?" (Flings away the paper.) Disdain'd! They're in the right.-It tells the The quickest cure! . But 'tis the coward's cure; Of vapourish fantasies as a sick girl's! I will abandon Rome,-give back her scorn Nor warm me with her fire, nor let my bones Mix with her sepulchres. The oath is sworn. [Aurelia enters with papers. Aurelia. What answers for this pile of bills, my lord? Catiline. Who can have sent them here? Aurelia. Your creditors! As if some demon woke them all at once, The interest on your bond, ten thousand more. Here, for your Persian horses-your trireme : Aurelia. It must be now; this day! My gold, my father's presents, jewels, rings,— Catiline. Aurelia!-wife! All will be well: but hear me-stay-a little; Aurelia, indignantly and surprised. Rome? Aurelia. Let me look on you; are you Catiline? Catiline, wildly. Not yet-not yet! Aurelia. Let them take all? Catiline. The gods will have it so! Catiline. Seize my last sesterce! Let them have their will. We must endure. Ay, ransack-ruin all; Catiline. What's to be done? Aurelia. Hear me, Lord Catiline : The day we wedded,-'tis but three short years! You were the first patrician here, and I Was Marius' daughter! There was not in Rome An eye, however haughty, but would sink When I turn'd on it: when I pass'd the streets My chariot wheel was follow'd by a host Of your chief senators; as if their gaze Beheld an empress on its golden round; An earthly providence! Catiline. "Twas so!-'twas so! But it is vanish'd-gone. Aurelia. By yon bright sun! That day shall come again: or, in its place, Catiline, eagerly. What's in your thoughts? Has left us strangers to each other's souls: But now we think alike. You have a sword,— Have had a famous name i' the legions! Catiline. Hush! Aurelia. Have the walls ears! Great Jove! I And tongues too, to bear witness to my oath, Catiline. Would you destroy? Rome's ship is rotten: Who'd face the pestilence in his foe's house? Who, when the poisoner drinks by chance the cup, That was to be his death, would squeeze the dregs To find a drop to bear him company? Catiline, shrinking. It will not come to this. Aurelia, haughtily. Shall we be dragg'd, A show to all the city rabble;-robb'd,— Down to the very mantle on our backs,— A pair of branded beggars! Doubtless CiceroCatiline. Cursed be the ground he treads! Name him no more. Aurelia. Doubtless he'll see us to the city gates; "Twill be the least respect that he can pay To his fallen rival. Do you hear, my lord? Deaf as the rock (aside.) With all his lictors shouting, "Room for the noble vagrants; all caps off For Catiline! for him that would be consul." Catiline, turning away. Thus to be, like the scorpion, ring'd with fire, Till I sting mine own heart! (aside.) There is no hope! Aurelia. One hope there is, worth all the restrevenge! The time is harass'd, poor, and discontent; With passion's pencil. We might have pitched our tents and slept on gold. I by my father's side, cuirass'd and helm'd, Catiline, with coldness. The world was yours. Aurelia. Rome was all eyes; the ancient totter'd forth; The cripple propp'd his limbs beside the wall; Catiline, sternly, interrupting her. Those tri umphs are but gewgaws. All the earth What is it? Dust and smoke. I've done with life! Aurelia, coming closer, and looking steadily upon him. Before that eve-one hundred senators, And fifteen hundred knights, had paid-in blood, The price of taunts, and treachery, and rebellion! Were my tongue thunder-I would cry, Revenge! Catiline, in sudden wildness. No more of this! In, to your chamber, wife! There is a whirling lightness in my brain [As Aurelia moves slowly towards the door. I think, by the hour. Who sups with us to-night? If 'tis our last;-it may be-let us sink I feel a nameless pressure on my brow, ASTROLOGY. Look there! the hour is written in the sky. Jove rushes down on Saturn,-'tis the sign Of war throughout the nations. In the east The Crescent sickens;-and the purple star, Perseus, the Ionian's love, lifts up his crest, And o'er her stands exulting! |