ZOPHIEL.
CANTO I.
I.
The time has been—this holiest records say—
In punishment for crimes of mortal birth,
When spirits banished from the realms of day
Wandered malignant o'er the nighted earth.(1)
And from the cold and marble lips declared,
Of some blind-worshipped—earth-created god,
Their deep deceits; which trusting monarchs snared
Filling the air with moans, with gore the sod. [FN#7]
Yet angels doffed their robes in radiance dyed,
And for a while the joys of heaven delayed,
To watch benign by some just mortal's side—
Or meet th' aspiring love of some high gifted maid. [FN#8]
Blest were those days!—can these dull ages boast
Aught to compare? tho' now no more beguile—
Chain'd in their darkling depths th' infernal host—
Who would not brave a fiend to share an angel's smile?
[FN#7] The god who conducted the Hebrews sent a malignant spirit to speak from the mouth of the prophets, in order to deceive king Achab.
[FN#8] It is useless to note this stanza, as two well-known poems have lately been founded on the same passage of the Pentateuch to which it alludes.
II.
'Twas then there lived a captive Hebrew pair;
In woe th' embraces of their youth had past,
And blest their paler years one daughter—fair
She flourished, 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 Artizan
Alike to man and worm—mere spring, whereby
The distant wheels of life, while time endures, roll on—
But the collective ministry that fill
About the soul, their all-important place—
That feed her fires—empower her fainting will—
And write the god on feeble mortals face.
III.
Yet anger, or revenge, envy or hate
The damsel knew not: when her bosom burned
And injury darkened the decrees of fate,
She had more pitious wept to see that pain returned.
Or if, perchance, tho' formed most just and pure,
Amid their virtue's wild luxuriance hid,
Such germ all mortal bosoms must immure
Which sometimes show their poisonous heads unbid—
If haply such the lovely Hebrew finds,
Self knowledge wept th' abasing truth to know,
And innate pride, that queen of noble minds,
Crushed them indignant ere a bud could grow.
IV.
And such—ev'n now, in earliest youth are seen—
But would they live, with armour more deform,
Their love—o'erflowing breasts must learn to screen:
"The bird that sweetest sings can least endure the storm."
V.
And yet, despite of all the gushing tear—
The melting tone—the darting heart-stream—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.
VI.
And this, at intervals in language bright
Told her blue eyes; tho' oft the tender lid
Like lilly drooping languidly; and white
And trembling—all save love and lustre hid.
Then, as young christian bard had sung, they seemed
Like some Madonna in his soul—so sainted;
But opening in their energy—they beamed
As tasteful pagans their Minerva painted;
While o'er her graceful shoulders' milky swell,
Like those full oft on little children seen
Almost to earth her silken ringlets fell
Nor owned Pactolus' sands more golden sheen.
VII.
And now, full near, the hour unwished for drew
When fond, Sephora hoped to see her wed;
And, for 'twould else expire, impatient grew
To renovate her race from beauteous Egla's bed.
VIII.
None of their kindred lived to claim her hand
But stranger-youths had asked her of her sire
With gifts and promise fair; he could withstand
All save her tears; and harkening her desire
Still left her free; but soon her mother drew
From her a vow, that when the twentieth year
Its full, fair finish o'er her beauty threw,
If what her fancy fed on, came not near,
She would entreat no more but to the voice
Of her light-giver hearken; and her life
And love—all yielding to that kindly choice
Would hush each idle wish and learn to be a wife.
IX.
Now oft it happ'd when morning task was done
And for the virgins of her household made
And lotted each her toil; while yet the sun
Was young, fair Egla to a woody shade,
Loved to retreat; there, in the fainting hour
Of sultry noon the burning sunbeam fell
Like a warm twilight; so bereft of power,
It gained an entrance thro' the leafy bower;
That scarcely shrank the tender lilly bell
Tranquil and lone in such a light to be,
How sweet to sense and soul!—the form recline
Forgets it ere felt pain; and reverie,
Sweet mother of the muses, heart and soul are thine. [FN#9]
[FN#9] Every one talks and reads of groves, but it is impossible for those who never felt it, to conceive the effect of such a situation in a warm climate. In this island the woods which are naturally so interwoven with vines as to be impervious to a human being, are in some places, cleared and converted into nurseries for the young coffee-trees which remain sheltered from the sun and wind till sufficiently grown to transplant. To enter one of these "semilleros," as they are here called, at noon day, produces an effect like that anciently ascribed to the waters of Lethe. After sitting down upon the trunk of a fallen cedar or palm-tree, and breathing for a moment, the freshness of the air and the odour of the passion flower, which is one of the most abundant, and certainly the most beautiful of the climate; the noise of the trees, which are continually kept in motion by the trade winds; the fluttering and various notes, though not musical, of the birds; the loftiness of the green canopy, for the trunks of the trees are bare to a great height, and seem like pillars supporting the thick mass of leaves above; and the rich mellow light which the intense rays of the sun, thus impeded, produce; have altogether such an effect that one involuntarily forgets every thing but the present, and it requires a strong effort to rise and leave the place.