THIRD ANGEL'S STORY.

Among the Spirits, of pure flame,

That in the eternal heavens abide —

Circles of light that from the same

Unclouded centre sweeping wide,

Carry its beams on every side —

Like spheres of air that waft around

The undulations of rich sound —

Till the far-circling radiance be

Diffused into infinity!

First and immediate near the Throne

Of ALLA, as if most his own,

The Seraphs standthis burning sign

Traced on their banner, “Love Divine!”

Their rank, their honors, far above

Even those to high-browed Cherubs given,

Tho’ knowing all;— so much doth Love

Transcend all Knowledge, even in heaven!

‘ Mong these was ZARAPH once — and none

E'er felt affection's holy fire,

Or yearned towards the Eternal One,

With half such longing, deep desire.

Love was to his impassioned soul

Not as with others a mere part

Of its existence, but the whole —

The very life-breath of his heart!

Oft, when from ALLA'S lifted brow

A lustre came, too bright to bear,

And all the seraph ranks would bow,

To shade their dazzled sight nor dare

To look upon the effulgence there —

This Spirit's eyes would court the blaze

( Such pride he in adoring took ),

And rather lose in that one gaze

The power of looking than not look!

Then too when angel voices sung

The mercy of their God and strung

Their harps to hail with welcome sweet

That moment, watched for by all eyes,

When some repentant sinner's feet

First touched the threshold of the skies,

Oh! then how clearly did the voice

Of ZARAPH above all rejoice!

Love was in every buoyant tone —

Such love as only could belong

To the blest angels and alone

Could, even from angels, bring such song!

Alas! that it should e'er have been

In heaven as‘ tis too often here,

Where nothing fond or bright is seen,

But it hath pain and peril near;—

Where right and wrong so close resemble,

That what we take for virtue's thrill

Is often the first downward tremble

Of the heart's balance unto ill;

Where Love hath not a shrine so pure,

So holy, but the serpent, Sin,

In moments, even the most secure,

Beneath his altar may glide in!

So was it with that Angel — such

The charm, that sloped his fall along,

From good to ill, from loving much,

Too easy lapse, to loving wrong.—

Even so that amorous Spirit, bound

By beauty's spell where'er‘ twas found,

From the bright things above the moon

Down to earth's beaming eyes descended,

Till love for the Creator soon

In passion for the creature ended.

‘ Twas first at twilight, on the shore

Of the smooth sea, he heard the lute

And voice of her he loved steal o'er

The silver waters that lay mute,

As loath, by even a breath, to stay

The pilgrimage of that sweet lay;

Whose echoes still went on and on,

Till lost among the light that shone

Far off beyond the ocean's brim —

There where the rich cascade of day

Had o'er the horizon's golden rim,

Into Elysium rolled away!

Of God she sung and of the mild

Attendant Mercy that beside

His awful throne for ever smiled,

Ready with her white hand to guide

His bolts of vengeance to their prey —

That she might quench them on the way!

Of Peace — of that Atoning Love,

Upon whose star, shining above

This twilight world of hope and fear,

The weeping eyes of Faith are fixt

So fond that with her every tear

The light of that love-star is mixt!—

All this she sung, and such a soul

Of piety was in that song

That the charmed Angel as it stole

Tenderly to his ear, along

Those lulling waters where he lay,

Watching the daylight's dying ray,

Thought‘ twas a voice from out the wave,

An echo, that some sea-nymph gave

To Eden's distant harmony,

Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea!

Quickly, however, to its source,

Tracking that music's melting course,

He saw upon the golden sands

Of the sea-shore a maiden stand,

Before whose feet the expiring waves

Flung their last offering with a sigh —

As, in the East, exhausted slaves

Lay down the far-brought gift and die —

And while her lute hung by her hushed

As if unequal to the tide

Of song that from her lips still gushed,

She raised, like one beatified,

Those eyes whose light seemed rather given

To be adored than to adore —

Such eyes as may have lookt from heaven

But ne'er were raised to it before!

Oh Love, Religion, Music — all

That's left of Eden upon earth —

The only blessings, since the fall

Of our weak souls, that still recall

A trace of their high, glorious birth —

How kindred are the dreams you bring!

How Love tho’ unto earth so prone,

Delights to take Religion's wing,

When time or grief hath stained his own!

How near to Love's beguiling brink

Too oft entranced Religion lies!

While Music, Music is the link

They both still hold by to the skies,

The language of their native sphere

Which they had else forgotten here.

How then could ZARAPH fail to feel

That moment's witcheries?— one, so fair,

Breathing out music, that might steal

Heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer

That seraphs might be proud to share!

Oh, he did feel it, all too well —

With warmth, that far too dearly cost —

Nor knew he, when at last he fell,

To which attraction, to which spell,

Love, Music, or Devotion, most

His soul in that sweet hour was lost.

Sweet was the hour, tho’ dearly won,

And pure, as aught of earth could be,

For then first did the glorious sun

Before religion's altar see

Two hearts in wedlock's golden tie

Self-pledged, in love to live and die.

Blest union! by that Angel wove,

And worthy from such hands to come;

Safe, sole, asylum, in which Love,

When fallen or exiled from above,

In this dark world can find a home.

And, tho’ the Spirit had transgrest,

Had, from his station‘ mong the blest

Won down by woman's smile, allow'd

Terrestrial passion to breathe o'er

The mirror of his heart, and cloud

God's image there so bright before —

Yet never did that Power look down

On error with a brow so mild;

Never did Justice wear a frown,

Thro’ which so gently Mercy smiled.

For humble was their love — with awe

And trembling like some treasure kept,

That was not theirs by holy law —

Whose beauty with remorse they saw

And o'er whose preciousness they wept.

Humility, that low, sweet root,

From which all heavenly virtues shoot,

Was in the hearts of both — but most

In NAMA'S heart, by whom alone

Those charms, for which a heaven was lost.

Seemed all unvalued and unknown;

And when her Seraph's eyes she caught,

And hid hers glowing on his breast,

Even bliss was humbled by the thought —

“What claim have I to be so blest”?

Still less could maid, so meek, have nurst

Desire of knowledge — that vain thirst,

With which the sex hath all been curst

From luckless EVE to her who near

The Tabernacle stole to hear

The secrets of the Angels: no —

To love as her own Seraph loved,

With Faith, the same thro’ bliss and woe —

Faith that were even its light removed,

Could like the dial fixt remain

And wait till it shone out again;—

With Patience that tho’ often bowed

By the rude storm can rise anew;

And Hope that even from Evil's cloud

See sunny Good half breaking thro’!

This deep, relying Love, worth more

In heaven than all a Cherub's lore —

This Faith more sure than aught beside

Was the sole joy, ambition, pride

Of her fond heart — the unreasoning scope

Of all its views, above, below —

So true she felt it that to hope,

To trust, is happier than to know.

And thus in humbleness they trod,

Abasht but pure before their God;

Nor e'er did earth behold a sight

So meekly beautiful as they,

When with the altar's holy light

Full on their brows they knelt to pray,

Hand within hand and side by side,

Two links of love awhile untied

From the great chain above, but fast

Holding together to the last!—

Two fallen Splendors from that tree

Which buds with such eternally,

Shaken to earth yet keeping all

Their light and freshness in the fall.

Their only punishment, ( as wrong,

However sweet, must bear its brand. )

Their only doom was this — that, long

As the green earth and ocean stand,

They both shall wander here — the same,

Throughout all time, in heart and frame —

Still looking to that goal sublime,

Whose light remote but sure they see;

Pilgrims of Love whose way is Time,

Whose home is in Eternity!

Subject the while to all the strife

True Love encounters in this life —

The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain;

The chill that turns his warmest sighs

To earthly vapor ere they rise;

The doubt he feeds on and the pain

That in his very sweetness lies:—

Still worse, the illusions that betray

His footsteps to their shining brink;

That tempt him on his desert way

Thro’ the bleak world, to bend and drink,

Where nothing meets his lips, alas!—

But he again must sighing pass

On to that far-off home of peace,

In which alone his thirst will cease.

All this they bear but not the less

Have moments rich in happiness —

Blest meetings, after many a day

Of widowhood past far away,

When the loved face again is seen

Close, close, with not a tear between —

Confidings frank, without control,

Poured mutually from soul to soul;

As free from any fear or doubt

As is that light from chill or strain

The sun into the stars sheds out

To be by them shed back again!—

That happy minglement of hearts,

Where, changed as chymic compounds are,

Each with its own existence parts

To find a new one, happier far!

Such are their joys — and crowning all

That blessed hope of the bright hour,

When, happy and no more to fall,

Their spirits shall with freshened power

Rise up rewarded for their trust

In Him from whom all goodness springs,

And shaking off earth's soiling dust

From their emancipated wings,

Wander for ever thro’ those skies

Of radiance where Love never dies!

In what lone region of the earth,

These Pilgrims now may roam or dwell,

God and the Angels who look forth

To watch their steps, alone can tell.

But should we in our wanderings

Meet a young pair whose beauty wants

But the adornment of bright wings

To look like heaven's inhabitants —

Who shine where'er they tread and yet

Are humble in their earthly lot,

As is the way-side violet,

That shines unseen, and were it not

For its sweet breath would be forgot

Whose hearts in every thought are one,

Whose voices utter the same wills —

Answering, as Echo doth some tone

Of fairy music‘ mong the hills,

So like itself we seek in vain

Which is the echo, which the strain —

Whose piety is love, whose love

Tho’ close as‘ twere their souls’ embrace.

Is not of earth but from above —

Like two fair mirrors face to face,

Whose light from one to the other thrown,

Is heaven's reflection, not their own —

Should we e'er meet with aught so pure,

So perfect here, we may be sure

‘ Tis ZARAPH and his bride we see;

And call young lovers round to view

The pilgrim pair as they pursue

Their pathway towards eternity.