A limb, a nameless limb, of that vast body
That shall bespread the world, uncheck'd, untracedLike God's own presence, every where, yet no whereTh' invisible control, by which Rome rules
The universal mind of man. On me
My Father's palace-gates no more shall open,
I own no more my proud ancestral name,
I have no property even in these weeds,
These coarse and simple weeds I wear; nor will,
Nor passion, nor affection, nor the love
Of kindred, touch this earth-estranged heart;
My personal being is absorb'd and dead.
Thou think'st it much with cilice, scourge, and fast,
To macerate thy all too pamper'd body;
That thy sere heart is seal'd to woman's love;
That child shall never climb thy knees, nor call thee
His father:-on the altar of my God
I've laid a nobler sacrifice, a soul
Conscious it might have compass'd empire. This
I've done; and in no brief and frantic fit
Of youthful lust ungratified-in the hour
Of disappointed pride. A noble, born
Of Rome's patrician blood, rich, letter'd, versed
In the affairs of men; no monkish dreamer,
Hearing Heaven's summons in ecstatic vision.
God spoke within this heart, but with the voice
Of stern deliberate duty, and I rose
Resolved to sail the flood, to tread the fire
That's nought-to quench all natural compunction,
To know nor right nor wrong, nor crime nor virtue,
But as subservient to Rome's cause and Heaven's.
I've school'd my haughty soul to subtlest craft,
I've strung my tender heart to bloodiest havoc,
And stand prepared to wear the martyr's flames
Like nuptial robes;-far worse, to drag to the stake
My friend, the brother of my soul-if thus
I sear the hydra's heads of heresy.
MARGARITA'S ACCOUNT OF HER CONVERSION.
Dost thou not remember
When Deceus was the Emperor, how he came
To Antioch, and when holy Babylas
Withstood his entrance to the Christian church,
Frantic with wrath, he bade them drag him
To cruel death? Serene the old man walk'd
The crowded streets; at every pause the yell
Of the mad people made, his voice was heard
Blessing God's bounty, or imploring pardon
Upon the barbarous hosts that smote him on.
Then didst thou hold me up, a laughing child,
To gaze on that sad spectacle. He pass'd,
And look'd on me with such a gentle sorrow;
The pallid patience of his brow towards me
Seem'd softening to a smile of deepest love.
When all around me mock'd, and howl'd, and laugh'd,
God gave me grace to weep. In after time,
That face would on my noontide dreams return;
And in the silence of the night I heard
The murmur of that voice remote, and touch'd
To an aërial sweetness, like soft music
Over a tract of waters. My young soul
Lay rapt in wonder, how that meek old man
Could suffer with such unrepining calmness,
Till late I learn'd the faith for which he suffer'd,
And wonder'd then no more.
From The Martyr of Antioch,
My way is through the dim licentious Daphne, And evening darkens round my stealthful steps; Yet I must pause to rest my weary limbs.
Oh, thou polluted, yet most lovely grove! Hath the Almighty breathed o'er all thy bowers An everlasting spring, and paved thy walks With amaranthine flowers-are but the winds, Whose breath is gentle, suffer'd to entangle Their light wings, not unwilling prisoners, In thy thick branches, there to make sweet murmurs With the bees' hum, and melodies of birds, And all the voices of the hundred fountains, That drop translucent from the mountain's side, And lull themselves along their level course To slumber with their own soft-sliding sounds; And all for foul idolatry, or worse, To make itself a home and sanctuary?
Oh, second Eden, like the first, defiled
With sin! even like thy human habitants,
Thy winds and flowers and waters have forgot
The gracious hand that made them, ministers
Voluptuous to man's transgressions-all,
Save thou, sweet nightingale! that, like myself,
Pourest alone thy melancholy song
From The Martyr of Antioch,
Love Thee!-oh, Thou, the world's eternal Sire!
Whose palace is the vast infinity,
Time, space, height, depth, oh God! are full of Thee,
And sun-eyed seraphs tremble and admire.
Love Thee!-but Thou are girt with vengeful fire,
And mountains quake, and banded nations flee,
And terror shakes the wide unfathom'd sea,
When the heavens rock with thy tempestuous ire.
Oh, Thou! too vast for thought to comprehend,
That wast ere time-shalt be when time is o'er;
Ages and worlds begin-grow old—and end,
Systems and suns thy changeless throne before,
Commence and close their cycles:-lost, I bend
To earth my prostrate soul, and shudder and adore!
Love Thee!-oh, clad in human lowliness,
-In whom each heart its mortal kindred knows-
Our flesh, our form, our tears, our pains, our woes―
A fellow-wanderer o'er earth's wilderness!
Love Thee! whose every word but breathes to bless!
Through Thee, from long-seal'd lips, glad language flows;
The blind their eyes, that laugh with light, unclose;
And babes, unchid, Thy garment's hem caress.
-I see Thee, doom'd by bitterest pangs to die,
Up the sad hill, with willing footsteps, move,
With scourge, and taunt, and wanton agony,
While the cross nods, in hideous gloom, above,
Though all—even there-be radiant Deity!
-Speechless I gaze, and my whole soul is Love!
A PRIZE POEM RECITED IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD, IN THE YEAR MDCCCXN.
Heard ye the arrow hurtle in the sky?
Heard ye the dragon monster's deathful cry?
In settled majesty of calm disdain,
Proud of his might, yet scornful of the slain,
The heav'nly Archer stands-no human birth,
No perishable denizen of earth;
Youth blooms immortal in his beardless face,
A God in strength, with more than godlike grace;
All, all divine-no struggling muscle glows,
Through heaving vein no mantling life-blood flows,
But animate with deity alone,
In deathless glory lives the breathing stone.
Bright kindling with a conqueror's stern delight,
His keen eye tracks the arrow's fateful flight;
Burns his indignant cheek with vengeful fire,
And his lip quivers with insulting ire:
Firm fix'd his tread, yet light, as when on high
He walks th' impalpable and pathless sky:
The rich luxuriance of his hair, confined
In graceful ringlets, wantons on the wind,
That lifts in sport his mantle's drooping fold,
Proud to display that form of faultless mould.
Mighty Ephesian! with an eagle's flight
Thy proud soul mounted through the fields of light,
View'd the bright conclave of Heaven's blest abode,
And the cold marble leapt to life a God:
Contagious awe through breathless myriads ran,
And nations bow'd before the work of man.
For mild he seem'd, as in Elysian bowers,
Wasting in careless ease the joyous hours;
Haughty, as bards have sung, with princely sway
Curbing the fierce flame-breathing steeds of day;
Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep.
By holy maid on Delphi's haunted steep,
'Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove,
Too fair to worship, too divine to love.
Yet on that form in wild delirious trance
With more than rev'rence gazed the Maid of France; Day after day the love-sick dreamer stood
With him alone, nor thought it solitude!
To cherish grief, her last, her dearest care,
Her ore fond hope--to perish of despair.
Oft as the shifting light her sight beguiled,
Blushing she shrunk, and thought the marble smiled:
Oft breathless list'ning heard, or seem'd to hear,
A voice of music melt upon her ear.
Slowly she waned, and cold and senseless grown,
Closed her dim eyes, herself benumb'd to stone.
Yet love in death a sickly strength supplied:
Once more she gazed, then feebly smiled and died.
CHORUS OF BABYLONIANS BEFORE THE PALACE.
Awake! awake! put on thy garb of pride,
Array thee like a sumptuous royal bride,
O festal Babylon!
Lady, whose ivory throne
Is by the side of many azure waters!
In floating dance, like birds upon the wing,
Send tinkling forth thy silver-sandal'd daughters;
Send in the solemn march,
Beneath each portal arch,
Thy rich-robed lords to crowd the banquet of their King.
They come! they come from both the illumined shores;
Down each long street the festive tumult pours;
Along the waters dark
Shoots many a gleaming bark,
Like stars along the midnight welkin flashing,
And galleys, with their masts enwreath'd with light,
From their quick oars the kindling waters dashing;
In one long moving line
Along the bridge they shine,
And with their glad disturbance wake the peaceful night.
Hang forth, hang forth, in all your avenues,
The arching lamps of more than rainbow hues,
O, gardens of delight!
With the cool airs of night
Are lightly waved your silver-foliaged trees,
The deep-embower'd yet glowing blaze prolong
Height above height the lofty terraces;
Seeing this new day-break,
The nestling birds awake,
The nightingale hath hush'd her sweet untimely song.
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