Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Moore

  Came o’er me with an agony

  Beyond all reach of mortal woe —

  A torture kept for those who know.

  Know every thing, and — worst of all —

  Know and love Virtue while they fall!

  Even then her presence had the power

  To soothe, to warm — nay, even to bless —

  If ever bliss could graft its flower

  On stem so full of bitterness —

  Even then her glorious smile to me

  Brought warmth and radiance if not balm;

  Like moonlight o’er a troubled sea.

  Brightening the storm it cannot calm.

  Oft too when that disheartening fear,

  Which all who love, beneath yon sky,

  Feel when they gaze on what is dear —

  The dreadful thought that it must die!

  That desolating thought which comes

  Into men’s happiest hours and homes;

  Whose melancholy boding flings

  Death’s shadow o’er the brightest things,

  Sicklies the infant’s bloom and spreads

  The grave beneath young lovers’ heads!

  This fear, so sad to all — to me

  Most full of sadness from the thought

  That I most still live on,14 when she

  Would, like the snow that on the sea

  Fell yesterday, in vain be sought;

  That heaven to me this final seal

  Of all earth’s sorrow would deny,

  And I eternally must feel

  The death-pang without power to die!

  Even this, her fond endearments — fond

  As ever cherisht the sweet bond

  ‘Twixt heart and heart — could charm away;

  Before her looks no clouds would stay,

  Or if they did their gloom was gone,

  Their darkness put a glory on!

  But ’tis not, ’tis not for the wrong,

  The guilty, to be happy long;

  And she too now had sunk within

  The shadow of her tempter’s sin,

  Too deep for even Omnipotence

  To snatch the fated victim thence!

  Listen and if a tear there be

  Left in your hearts weep it for me.

  ’Twas on the evening of a day,

  Which we in love had dreamt away;

  In that same garden, where — the pride

  Of seraph splendor laid aside,

  And those wings furled, whose open light

  For mortal gaze were else too bright —

  I first had stood before her sight,

  And found myself — oh, ecstasy,

  Which even in pain I ne’er forget —

  Worshipt as only God should be,

  And loved as never man was yet!

  In that same garden where we now,

  Thoughtfully side by side reclining,

  Her eyes turned upward and her brow

  With its own silent fancies shining.

  It was an evening bright and still

  As ever blusht on wave or bower,

  Smiling from heaven as if naught ill

  Could happen in so sweet an hour.

  Yet I remember both grew sad

  In looking at that light — even she,

  Of heart so fresh and brow so glad,

  Felt the still hour’s solemnity,

  And thought she saw in that repose

  The death-hour not alone of light,

  But of this whole fair world — the close

  Of all things beautiful and bright —

  The last, grand sunset, in whose ray

  Nature herself died calm away!

  At length, as tho’ some livelier thought

  Had suddenly her fancy caught,

  She turned upon me her dark eyes,

  Dilated into that full shape

  They took in joy, reproach, surprise,

  As ‘twere to let more soul escape,

  And, playfully as on my head

  Her white hand rested, smiled and said: —

  “I had last night a dream of thee,

  “Resembling those divine ones, given,

  “Like preludes to sweet minstrelsy,

  “Before thou camest thyself from heaven.

  “The same rich wreath was on thy brow,

  “Dazzling as if of starlight made;

  “And these wings, lying darkly now,

  “Like meteors round thee flasht and played.

  “Thou stoodest, all bright, as in those dreams,

  “As if just wafted from above,

  “Mingling earth’s warmth with heaven’s beams,

  “And creature to adore and love.

  “Sudden I felt thee draw me near

  “To thy pure heart, where, fondly placed,

  “I seemed within the atmosphere

  “Of that exhaling light embraced;

  “And felt methought the ethereal flame

  “Pass from thy purer soul to mine;

  “Till — oh, too blissful — I became,

  “Like thee, all spirit, all divine!

  “Say, why did dream so blest come o’er me,

  “If, now I wake, ’tis faded, gone?

  “When will my Cherub shine before me

  “Thus radiant, as in heaven he shone?

  “When shall I, waking, be allowed

  “To gaze upon those perfect charms,

  “And clasp thee once without a cloud,

  “A chill of earth, within these arms?

  “Oh what a pride to say, this, this

  “Is my own Angel — all divine,

  “And pure and dazzling as he is

  “And fresh from heaven — he’s mine, he’s mine!

  “Thinkest thou, were LILIS in thy place,

  “A creature of yon lofty skies,

  “She would have hid one single grace,

  “One glory from her lover’s eyes?

  “No, no — then, if thou lovest like me,

  “Shine out, young Spirit in the blaze

  “Of thy most proud divinity,

  “Nor think thou’lt wound this mortal gaze.

  “Too long and oft I’ve looked upon

  “Those ardent eyes, intense even thus —

  “Too near the stars themselves have gone,

  “To fear aught grand or luminous.

  “Then doubt me not — oh! who can say

  “But that this dream may yet come true

  “And my blest spirit drink thy ray,

  “Till it becomes all heavenly too?

  “Let me this once but feel the flame

  “Of those spread wings, the very pride

  “Will change my nature, and this frame

  “By the mere touch be deified!”

  Thus spoke the maid, as one not used

  To be by earth or heaven refused —

  As one who knew her influence o’er

  All creatures, whatsoe’er they were,

  And tho’ to heaven she could not soar,

  At least would bring down heaven to her.

  Little did she, alas! or I —

  Even I, whose soul, but halfway yet

  Immerged in sin’s obscurity

  Was as the earth whereon we lie,

  O’er half whose disk the sun is set —

  Little did we foresee the fate,

  The dreadful — how can it be told?

  Such pain, such anguish to relate

  Is o’er again to feel, behold!

  But, charged as ’tis, my heart must speak

  Its sorrow out or it will break!

  Some dark misgivings had, I own,

  Past for a moment thro’ my breast —

  Fears of some danger, vague, unknown,

  To one, or both — something unblest

  To happen from this proud request.

  But soon these boding fancies fled;

  Nor saw I aught that could forbid

  My fu
ll revealment save the dread

  Of that first dazzle, when, unhid,

  Such light should burst upon a lid

  Ne’er tried in heaven; — and even this glare

  She might, by love’s own nursing care,

  Be, like young eagles, taught to bear.

  For well I knew, the lustre shed

  From cherub wings, when proudliest spread,

  Was in its nature lambent, pure,

  And innocent as is the light

  The glow-worm hangs out to allure

  Her mate to her green bower at night.

  Oft had I in the mid-air swept

  Thro’ clouds in which the lightning slept,

  As in its lair, ready to spring,

  Yet waked it not — tho’ from my wing

  A thousand sparks fell glittering!

  Oft too when round me from above

  The feathered snow in all its whiteness,

  Fell like the moultings of heaven’s Dove,15 —

  So harmless, tho’ so full of brightness,

  Was my brow’s wreath that it would shake

  From off its flowers each downy flake

  As delicate, unmelted, fair,

  And cool as they had lighted there.

  Nay even with LILIS — had I not

  Around her sleep all radiant beamed,

  Hung o’er her slumbers nor forgot

  To kiss her eyelids as she dreamed?

  And yet at morn from that repose,

  Had she not waked, unscathed and bright,

  As doth the pure, unconscious rose

  Tho’ by the fire-fly kist all night?

  Thus having — as, alas! deceived

  By my sin’s blindness, I believed —

  No cause for dread and those dark eyes

  Now fixt upon me eagerly

  As tho’ the unlocking of the skies

  Then waited but a sign from me —

  How could I pause? how even let fall

  A word; a whisper that could stir

  In her proud heart a doubt that all

  I brought from heaven belonged to her?

  Slow from her side I rose, while she

  Arose too, mutely, tremblingly,

  But not with fear — all hope, and pride,

  She waited for the awful boon,

  Like priestesses at eventide

  Watching the rise of the full moon

  Whose light, when once its orb hath shone,

  ‘Twill madden them to look upon!

  Of all my glories, the bright crown

  Which when I last from heaven came down

  Was left behind me in yon star

  That shines from out those clouds afar —

  Where, relic sad, ’tis treasured yet,

  The downfallen angel’s coronet! —

  Of all my glories, this alone

  Was wanting: — but the illumined brow,

  The sun-bright locks, the eyes that now

  Had love’s spell added to their own,

  And poured a light till then unknown; —

  The unfolded wings that in their play

  Shed sparkles bright as ALLA’S throne;

  All I could bring of heaven’s array,

  Of that rich panoply of charms

  A Cherub moves in, on the day

  Of his best pomp, I now put on;

  And, proud that in her eyes I shone

  Thus glorious, glided to her arms;

  Which still (tho’, at a sight so splendid,

  Her dazzled brow had instantly

  Sunk on her breast), were wide extended

  To clasp the form she durst not see!16

  Great Heaven! how could thy vengeance light

  So bitterly on one so bright?

  How could the hand that gave such charms,

  Blast them again in love’s own arms?

  Scarce had I touched her shrinking frame,

  When — oh most horrible! — I felt

  That every spark of that pure flame —

  Pure, while among the stars I dwelt —

  Was now by my transgression turned

  Into gross, earthly fire, which burned,

  Burned all it touched as fast as eye

  Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes;

  Till there — oh God, I still ask why

  Such doom was hers? — I saw her lie

  Blackening within my arms to ashes!

  That brow, a glory but to see —

  Those lips whose touch was what the first

  Fresh cup of immortality

  Is to a new-made angel’s thirst!

  Those clasping arms, within whose round —

  My heart’s horizon — the whole bound

  Of its hope, prospect, heaven was found!

  Which, even in this dread moment, fond

  As when they first were round me cast,

  Loosed not in death the fatal bond,

  But, burning, held me to the last!

  All, all, that, but that morn, had seemed

  As if Love’s self there breathed and beamed,

  Now parched and black before me lay,

  Withering in agony away;

  And mine, oh misery! mine the flame

  From which this desolation came; —

  I, the curst spirit whose caress

  Had blasted all that loveliness!

  ’Twas maddening! — but now hear even worse —

  Had death, death only, been the curse

  I brought upon her — had the doom

  But ended here, when her young bloom

  Lay in the dust — and did the spirit

  No part of that fell curse inherit,

  ‘Twere not so dreadful — but, come near —

  Too shocking ’tis for earth to hear —

  Just when her eyes in fading took

  Their last, keen, agonized farewell,

  And looked in mine with — oh, that look!

  Great vengeful Power, whate’er the hell

  Thou mayst to human souls assign,

  The memory of that look is mine! —

  In her last struggle, on my brow

  Her ashy lips a kiss imprest,

  So withering! — I feel it now —

  ’Twas fire — but fire, even more unblest

  Than was my own, and like that flame,

  The angels shudder but to name,

  Hell’s everlasting element!

  Deep, deep it pierced into my brain,

  Maddening and torturing as it went;

  And here, mark here, the brand, the stain

  It left upon my front — burnt in

  By that last kiss of love and sin —

  A brand which all the pomp and pride

  Of a fallen Spirit cannot hide!

  But is it thus, dread Providence —

  Can it indeed be thus, that she

  Who, (but for one proud, fond offence,)

  Had honored heaven itself, should be

  Now doomed — I cannot speak it — no,

  Merciful ALLA! ’tis not so —

  Never could lips divine have said

  The fiat of a fate so dread.

  And yet, that look — so deeply fraught

  With more than anguish, with despair —

  That new, fierce fire, resembling naught

  In heaven or earth — this scorch I bear! —

  Oh — for the first time that these knees

  Have bent before thee since my fall,

  Great Power, if ever thy decrees

  Thou couldst for prayer like mine recall,

  Pardon that spirit, and on me,

  On me, who taught her pride to err,

  Shed out each drop of agony

  Thy burning phial keeps for her!

  See too where low beside me kneel

  Two other outcasts who, tho’ gone

  And lost themselves, yet dare to feel

  And pray for that poor mortal one.

  Alas, too well,
too well they know

  The pain, the penitence, the woe

  That Passion brings upon the best,

  The wisest, and the loveliest. —

  Oh! who is to be saved, if such

  Bright, erring souls are not forgiven;

  So loath they wander, and so much

  Their very wanderings lean towards heaven!

  Again I cry. Just Power, transfer

  That creature’s sufferings all to me —

  Mine, mine the guilt, the torment be,

  To save one minute’s pain to her,

  Let mine last all eternity!

  He paused and to the earth bent down

  His throbbing head; while they who felt

  That agony as ‘twere their own,

  Those angel youths, beside him knelt,

  And in the night’s still silence there,

  While mournfully each wandering air

  Played in those plumes that never more

  To their lost home in heaven must soar,

  Breathed inwardly the voiceless prayer,

  Unheard by all but Mercy’s ear —

  And which if Mercy did not hear,

  Oh, God would not be what this bright

  And glorious universe of His,

  This world of beauty, goodness, light

  And endless love proclaims He is!

  Not long they knelt, when from a wood

  That crowned that airy solitude,

  They heard a low, uncertain sound,

  As from a lute, that just had found

  Some happy theme and murmured round

  The new-born fancy, with fond tone,

  Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own!

  Till soon a voice, that matched as well

  That gentle instrument, as suits

  The sea-air to an ocean-shell,

  (So kin its spirit to the lute’s),

  Tremblingly followed the soft strain,

  Interpreting its joy, its pain,

  And lending the light wings of words

  To many a thought that else had lain

  Unfledged and mute among the chords.

  All started at the sound — but chief

  The third young Angel in whose face,

  Tho’ faded like the others, grief

  Had left a gentler, holier trace;

  As if, even yet, thro’ pain and ill,

  Hope had not fled him — as if still

  Her precious pearl in sorrow’s cup

  Unmelted at the bottom lay,

  To shine again, when, all drunk up,

  The bitterness should pass away.

  Chiefly did he, tho’ in his eyes

  There shone more pleasure than surprise,

  Turn to the wood from whence that sound

  Of solitary sweetness broke;

  Then, listening, look delighted round

  To his bright peers, while thus it spoke: —

  “Come, pray with me, my seraph love,

  “My angel-lord, come pray with me:

  “In vain to-night my lips hath strove

  “To send one holy prayer above —