American Female Poets [an electronic edition]

Extracts from Zóphiël; or, the Bride of Seven.

DESCRIPTION OF EGLA.

(FROM ZÓPHIËL.)

BLEST were those days! Can these dull ages boast Aught to compare? though now no more beguile, Chain'd in their darkling depths, the infernal host; Who would not brave a fiend to share an angel's smile?

'T was then there lived a captive Hebrew pair; In woe the embraces of their youth had past; And blest their paler years one daughter; fair She flourish'd, like a lonely rose, the last

And loveliest of her line. The tear of joy, The early love of song, the sigh that broke From her young lip, the best beloved employ; What womanhood disclosed, in infancy bespoke

A child of passion: tenderest and best Of all that heart has inly loved and felt, Adorned the fair enclosure of her breast: Where passion is not found, no virtue ever dwelt.

Yet, not perverted, would my words imply The impulse given by Heaven's great Artisan Alike to man and worm, mere spring, whereby The distant wheels of life, while time endures, roll on:

But the collective attributes that fill, About the soul, their all-important place; That feed her fires, empower her fainting will, And write the God on feeble mortal's face.

Yet anger or revenge, envy or hate, The damsel knew not: when her bosom burned And injury darken'd the decrees of fate, She had more piteous sigh'd to see that pain return'd.

Or if, perchance, though form'd most just and pure Amid their virtue's wild luxuriance hid, Such germs, all mortal bosoms must immure Which sometimes show their poisonous heads, unbid, —

If, haply such the fair Judean finds, Self-knowledge wept the abasing truth to know; And innate Pride, that queen of noble minds, Crushed them indignant ere a bud could grow.

And such, even now, in earliest youth are seen; But would they live, with armour more deform Their breasts made soft by too much love must screen: —"The bird that sweetest sings can least endure the storm.

And yet, despite of all, the starting tear, The melting tone, the blood suffusive, proved, The soul that in them spoke could spurn at fear Of death or danger; and had those she loved

Required it at their need, she could have stood, Unmoved, as some fair-sculptured statue, while The dome that guards it earth's convulsions rude Are shivering, meeting ruin with a smile.

And this at intervals in language bright Told her blue eyes; though oft the tender lid Droop'd like a noon-day lily, languid, white, And trembling, all save love and lustre hid;

Then, as young christian bard had sung, they seem'd Like some Madonna in his soul, so sainted; But opening in their energy they beam'd As tasteful Grecians their Minerva painted;

While o'er her graceful shoulder's milky swell, Silky as those on little children seen, Yet thick as Indian fleece her ringlets fell, Nor owned Pactolus' sands a brighter sheen.

EGLA'S BOWER.

(FROM THE SAME.)

ACACIAS here inclined Their friendly heads in thick profusion, planted, And with a thousand tendrils clasp'd and twined; And when at fervid noon all nature panted,

Enwoven with their boughs, a fragrant bower Inviting rest its mossy pillow flung; And here the full cerulean passion-flower, Climbing among the leaves, its mystic symbols hung.

And, though the sun had gained his utmost height, Just as he oped its vivid folds at dawn, Look'd still, that tenderest, frailest child of light, By shepherds named "the glory of the morn."

Sweet flower, thou'rt lovelier even than the rose: The rose is pleasure, — felt and known as such — Soon past, but real, — tasted, while it glows; But thou, too bright and pure for mortal touch,

Art like those brilliant things we never taste Or see, unless with Fancy's lip and eye, When maddened by her mystic spells, we waste Life on a thought, and rob reality.

Here, too, the lily raised its snow-white head; And myrtle leaves, like friendship, when sincere, Most sweet when wounded, all around were spread; And though from noon's fierce heat the wild deer fled, A soft warm twilight reign'd impervious here.

Tranquil and lone in such a light to be, How sweet to sense and soul! the form recline Forgets it e'er felt pain; and Reverie, Sweet mother of the muses, heart and soul are thine!

AMBITION.

(FROM THE SAME.)

WOE to thee, wild ambition! I employ Despair's low notes thy dread effects to tell; Born in high Heaven, her peace thou couldst destroy; And, but for thee, there had not been a Hell.

Through the celestial domes thy clarion peal'd; Angels, entranced, beneath thy banners ranged, And straight were fiends; hurl'd from the shrinking field, They waked in agony to wail the change.

Darting through all her veins the subtle fire, The world's fair mistress first inhaled thy breath; To lot of higher beings learnt to aspire; Dared to attempt, and doom'd the world to death.

The thousand wild desires, that still torment The fiercely struggling soul, where peace once dwelt, But perish'd; feverish hope; drear discontent, Impoisoning all possest, — Oh! I have felt

As spirits feel —yet not for man we mourn, Scarce o'er the silly bird in state were he, That builds his nest, loves, sings the morn's return, And sleeps at evening; save by aid of thee.

Fame ne'er had roused, nor song her records kept;The gem, the ore, the marble breathing life, The pencil's colours: all in earth had slept, Now see them mark with death his victim's strife.

Man found thee: but Death and dull decay, Baffling, by aid of thee, his mastery proves; By mighty works he swells his narrow day, And reigns, for ages, on the world he loves.

Yet what the price? With stings that never cease Thou goad'st him on; and when too keen the smart, His highest dole he'd barter but for peace,Food thou wilt have, or feast upon his heart.

THE OBEDIENT LOVE OF WOMAN HER HIGHEST BLISS.

(FROM THE SAME.)

WHAT bliss for her who lives her little day, In blest obedience, like to those divine, Who to her loved, her earthly lord can say, 'God is thy law,' most just, 'and thou art mine.'

To every blast she bends in beauty meek;—Let the storm beats —his arms her shelter kind, — And feels no need to blanch her rosy cheek With thoughts befitting his superior mind.

Who only sorrows when she sees him pain'd, Then knows to pluck away pain's keenest dart; Or bid love catch it ere its goal be gain'd, And steal its venom ere it reach his heart.

'T is the soul's food: —the fervid must adore.—For this the heathen, unsufficed with thought, Moulds him an idol of the glittering ore, And shrines his smiling goddess, marble-wrought.

What bliss for her, ev'n in this world of woe, Oh! Sire, who mak'st yon orb-strewn arch thy throne; That sees thee in thy noblest work below Shine undefaced, adored, and all her own!

This I had hoped; but hope too dear, too great, Go to thy grave! —I feel thee blasted, now. Give me, fate's sovereign, well to bear the fate Thy pleasure sends; this, my sole prayer, allow!

ZÓPHIËL'S OFFERINGS TO EGLA.

(FROM THE SAME.)

THEN, lowly bending, with seraphic grace, The vase he proffer'd full; and not a gem Drawn forth successive from its sparkling place, But put to shame the Persian diadem.

While he, "Nay, let me o'er thy white arms bind These orient pearls, less smooth; Egla, for thee, (My thrilling substance pained by storm and wind,) I sought them in the caverns of the sea.

"Look! here's a ruby; drinking solar rays, I saw it redden on a mountain tip; Now on thy snowy bosom let it blaze; 'T will blush still deeper to behold thy lip.

"Here's for thy hair a garland; every flower That spreads its blossoms, water'd by the tear Of the sad slave in Babylonian bower, Might see its frail bright hues perpetuate here.

"For morn's light bell, this changeful amethyst; A sapphire for the violet's tender blue; Large opals, for the queen-rose zephyr-kist; And here are emeralds of every hue, For folded bud and leaflet, dropp'd with dew.

"And here's a diamond, cull'd from Indian mine, To gift a haughty queen! It might not be; I knew a worthier brow, sister divine, And brought the gem; for well I deem, for thee

"The 'arch-chymic sun' in earth's dark bosom wrought To prison thus a ray, that when dull night Frowns o'er her realms, and nature's all seems nought, She whom he grieves to leave may still behold his light."

SARDIUS IN HIS PAVILION WITH ALTHEËTOR.

(FROM THE SAME.)

BENEATH that dome, reclined the youthful king, Upon a silver couch; and soothed to mood As free and soft as perfumes from the wing Of bird, that shook the jasmines as it woo'd;

Its fitful song the mingling murmur meeting Of marble founts of many a fair device; And bees that banquet, from the sun retreating, In every full, deep flower, that crowns his paradise.

While gemmy diadem thrown down beside, And garment, at the neck plucked open, proved His unconstraint, and scorn of regal pride, When thus apart retired, he sat with those he loved.

One careless arm around the boy was flung, Not undeserving of that free caress; But warm and true, and of a heart and tongue, To heighten bliss, or mitigate distress.

Quick to perceive, in him no freedom rude Reproved full confidence; friendship, the meat His soul had starved without, with gratitude Was ta'en; and her rich wine crown'd high the banquet sweet.

ZÓPHIËL'S LAMENT OVER ALTHEËTOR.

(FROM THE SAME.)

AND thus, at length his plaintive lip express'd The mitigated pang; 't is sometimes so When grief meets genius in the mortal breast, And words, most deeply sweet, betray subsided woe.

"Thou'rt gone, Altheëtor; of thy gentle breath Guiltless am I, but bear the penalty! Oh! is there one to whom thine earthly death Can cause the sorrow it has caused to me?

"Cold, cold, and hush'd, is that fond, faithful breast; Oh! of the breath of God too much was there! It swell'd, aspired, it could not be compress'd — But gain'd a bliss fair nature could not bear.

"Oh! good and true beyond thy mortal birth! What high-soul'd angel help'd in forming thee? Haply thou wert what I had been, if earth Had been the element composing me.

"Banish'd from heaven so long, what there transpires, This weary exiled ear may rarely meet. But it is whisper'd that the unquell'd desires Another spirit for each forfeit seat,

"Left vacant by our fall. That spirit placed In mortal form, must every trial bear, 'Midst all that can pollute; and, if defaced But by one stain, it may not enter there.

"Though all the earth is wing'd, from bound to bound; Though heaven desires, and angels watch, and pray To see their ranks with fair completion crown'd; So few to bless their utmost search are found, That half in heaven have ceased to hope the day; And pensive seraphs' sighs, o'er heavenly harps resound.

"And when, long wandering from his blissful height, One like to thee some quick-eyed spirit views, He springs to heaven, more radiant from delight, And heaven's blue domes ring loud with rapture at the news.

"Yet oft the being, by all heaven beloved, (So doubtful every good, in world like this;) Some fiend corrupts ere ripe to be removed: And tears are seen in eyes made but to float in bliss."

MIDNIGHT.

(FROM THE SAME.)

'T IS now the hour of mirth, the hour of love, The hour of melancholy. Night, as vain Of her full beauty, seems to pause above, That all may look upon her ere it wane.

The heavenly angel watched his subject's star O'er all that's good and fair benignly smiling; The sighs of wounded love he hears, from far; Weeps that he cannot heal, and wafts a hope beguiling.

The nether earth looks beauteous as a gem; High o'er her groves, in floods of moonlight laving, The towering palm displays his silver stem, The while his plumy leaves scarce in the breeze are waving.

The nightingale among his roses sleeps; The soft-eyed doe in thicket deep is sleeping; The dark green myrrh her tears of fragrance weeps, And, every odorous spike in limpid dew is steeping.

Proud prickly cerea, now thy blossom 'scapes Its cell; brief cup of light; and seems to say, "I am not for gross mortals; blood of grapes — And sleep for them! Come spirits, while ye may!"

A silent stream winds darkly through the shade, And slowly gains the Tigris, where 't is lost; By a forgotten prince, of old, 't was made, And, in its course, full many a fragment crost

Of marble fairly carved; and by its side Her golden dust the flaunting lotus threw O'er her white sisters, throned upon the tide, And queen of every flower that loves perpetual dew.

THE GNOME'S SONG.

(FROM THE SAME.)

PRELUDING low, in notes that faint and tremble, Swelling, awakening, dying, plaining deep, While such sensations in the soul assemble, As make it pleasure to the eyes to weep.

Is there a heart that ever loved in vain, Though years have thrown their veil o'er all most dear, That lives not each sensation o'er again In sympathy with sounds like those that mingle here?

Still the fair Gnome's light hand the chime prolongs; And while his utmost art the strain employs, Cephroniel's softened son in gushing songs, Pour'd forth his sad, deep sense of long departed joys.

SONG.

Oh, my Phronema! how thy yellow hair Was fragrant, when, by looks alone carest, I felt it, wafted by the pitying air, Float o'er my lips, and touch my fervid breast!

How my least word lent colour to thy cheek! And how thy gentle form would heave and swell, As if the love thy heart contain'd, would break That warm pure shrine where nature bade it dwell.

We parted; years are past, andthou art dead; Never, Phronema, can I see thee more! One little ringlet of thy graceful head Lies next my heart; 'tis all I may adore.

Torn from thy sight, to save a life of gloom, Hopes unaccomplish'd, warmest wishes crost —How can I longer bear my weary doom? Alas! what have I gain'd for all I lost?

MORNING.

(FROM THE SAME.)

How beauteous art thou, O thou morning sun! —The old man, feebly tottering forth, admires As much thy beauty, now life's dream is done, As when he moved exulting in his fires.

The infant strains his little arms, to catch The rays that glance about his silken hair; And Luxury hangs her amber lamps, to match Thy face, when turned away from bower and palace fair.

Sweet to the lip, the draught, the blushing fruit; Music and perfumes mingle with the soul; How thrills the kiss, when feeling's voice is mute; And light and beauty's tints enhance the whole.

Yet each keen sense were dulness but for thee; Thy ray to joy, love, virtue, genius, warms; Thou never weariest; no inconstancy But comes to pay new homage to thy charms.

How many lips have sung thy praise, how long! Yet, when his slumbering harp he feels thee woo, The pleasured bard pours forth another song, And finds in thee, like love, a theme for ever new.

Thy dark-eyed daughters come in beauty forth In thy near realms; and, like their snow-wreaths fair, The bright-hair'd youths and maidens of the North, Smile in thy colours when thou art not there.

'T is there thou bid'st a deeper ardour glow, And higher, purer reveries completest; As drops that farthest from the ocean flow, Refining all the way, from springs the sweetest.

Haply, sometimes, spent with the sleepless night, Some wretch impassion'd, from sweet morning's breath, Turns his hot brow and sickens at thy light; But Nature, ever kind, soon heals or gives him death.

TWILIGHT THOUGHTS.

(FROM THE SAME.)

SWEET is the evening twilight; but, alas! There's sadness in it: day's light tasks are done, And leisure sighs to think how soon must pass Those tints that melt o'er heaven, O setting sun,

And look like heaven dissolved. A tender flush Of blended rose and purple light, o'er all The luscious landscape spreads like pleasure's blush, And glows o'er wave, sky, flower, cottage, and palm-tree tall.

'T is now that solitude has most of pain; Vague apprehensions of approaching night Whisper the soul, attuned to bliss, and fain To find in love equivalent for light.

The bard has sung, God never form'd a soul Without its own peculiar mate, to meet Its wandering half, when ripe to crown the whole Bright plan of bliss, most heavenly, most complete!

But thousand evil things there are that hate To look on happiness; these hurt, impede; And leagued with time, space, circumstance, and fate, Keep kindred heart from heart to pine, and pant, and bleed.

And, as the dove to far Palmyra flying From where her native founts of Antioch beam, Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing, Lights sadly at the desert's bitter stream,—

So —many a soul o'er life's drear desert faring, Love's pure congenial spring unfound, —unquaff'd — Suffers —recoils —then, thirsty and despairing Of what it would, descends and sips the nearest draught.

SONG.

(FROM THE SAME.)

DAY, in melting purple dying, Blossoms, all around me sighing, Fragrance, from the lilies straying, Zephyr, with my ringlets playing, Ye but waken my distress: I am sick of loneliness.

Thou to whom I love to hearken, Come, ere night around me darken;

Though thy softness but deceive me,Say thou'rt true, and I'll believe thee;Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent, Let me think it innocent.

Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure; All I ask is friendship's pleasure; Let the shining ore lie darkling, Bring no gem in lustre sparkling; Gifts and gold are nought to me; I would only look on thee!

Tell to thee the high-wrought feeling, Ecstasy but in revealing; Paint to thee the deep sensation, Rapture in participation, Yet but torture, if comprest In a lone unfriended breast.

Absent still? Ah! come and bless me! Let these eyes again caress thee; Once, in caution, I could fly thee; Now, I nothing could deny thee; In a look if death there be, Come and I will gaze on thee!

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.

(FROM THE SAME.)

"CALL me no longer Hariph: I but took, For love of that young pair, this mortal guise; And often have I stood, beside Heaven's book, And given in record there, their deeds and sighs.

"From infancy I've watch'd them, —far apart, —Oppress'd by men and fiends; yet, form'd to dwell Soul blent with soul, and beating heart 'gainst heart; 'T is done. — Behold the angel Raphael.

"That blest commission, friend of men, I bear, To comfort those who undeservedly mourn; And every good resolve, kind tear, heart-prayer,'T is mine to show before the Eternal's throne.

"And oft I haste, and when the good and true Are headlong urged to deep pollution, save; Just as my wings receive some drops of dew, Which else must join Asphaltites' black wave."

He said; all o'er to radiant beauty warming, While they, in doubt of what they look'd upon, Beheld a form —dissolving — dazzling — charming —But, ere their lips found utterance, it was gone.