Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Moore

  I prayed, I wept, but all in vain;

  For me the spell had power no more.

  There seemed around me some dark chain

  Which still as I essayed to soar

  Baffled, alas, each wild endeavor;

  Dead lay my wings as they have lain

  Since that sad hour and will remain —

  So wills the offended God — for ever!

  It was to yonder star I traced

  Her journey up the illumined waste —

  That isle in the blue firmament

  To which so oft her fancy went

  In wishes and in dreams before,

  And which was now — such, Purity,

  Thy blest reward — ordained to be

  Her home of light for evermore!

  Once — or did I but fancy so? —

  Even in her flight to that fair sphere,

  Mid all her spirit’s new-felt glow,

  A pitying look she turned below

  On him who stood in darkness here;

  Him whom perhaps if vain regret

  Can dwell in heaven she pities yet;

  And oft when looking to this dim

  And distant world remembers him.

  But soon that passing dream was gone;

  Farther and farther off she shone,

  Till lessened to a point as small

  As are those specks that yonder burn, —

  Those vivid drops of light that fall

  The last from Day’s exhausted urn.

  And when at length she merged, afar,

  Into her own immortal star,

  And when at length my straining sight

  Had caught her wing’s last fading ray,

  That minute from my soul the light

  Of heaven and love both past away;

  And I forgot my home, my birth,

  Profaned my spirit, sunk my brow,

  And revelled in gross joys of earth

  Till I became — what I am now!

  The Spirit bowed his head in shame;

  A shame that of itself would tell —

  Were there not even those breaks of flame,

  Celestial, thro’ his clouded frame —

  How grand the height from which he fell!

  That holy Shame which ne’er forgets

  The unblenched renown it used to wear;

  Whose blush remains when Virtue sets

  To show her sunshine has been there.

  Once only while the tale he told

  Were his eyes lifted to behold

  That happy stainless, star where she

  Dwelt in her bower of purity!

  One minute did he look and then —

  As tho’ he felt some deadly pain

  From its sweet light thro’ heart and brain —

  Shrunk back and never lookt again.

  Who was the Second Spirit? he

  With the proud front and piercing glance —

  Who seemed when viewing heaven’s expanse

  As tho’ his far-sent eye could see

  On, on into the Immensity

  Behind the veils of that blue sky

  Where ALLA’S grandest secrets lie? —

  His wings, the while, tho’ day was gone,

  Flashing with many a various hue

  Of light they from themselves alone,

  Instinct with Eden’s brightness drew.

  ’Twas RUBI — once among the prime

  And flower of those bright creatures, named

  Spirits of Knowledge,5 who o’er Time

  And Space and Thought an empire claimed,

  Second alone to Him whose light

  Was even to theirs as day to night;

  ‘Twixt whom and them was distance far

  And wide as would the journey be

  To reach from any island star

  To vague shores of Infinity

  ’Twas RUBI in whose mournful eye

  Slept the dim light of days gone by;

  Whose voice tho’ sweet fell on the ear

  Like echoes in some silent place

  When first awaked for many a year;

  And when he smiled, if o’er his face

  Smile ever shone, ’twas like the grace

  Of moonlight rainbows, fair, but wan,

  The sunny life, the glory gone.

  Even o’er his pride tho’ still the same,

  A softening shade from sorrow came;

  And tho’ at times his spirit knew

  The kindlings of disdain and ire,

  Short was the fitful glare they threw —

  Like the last flashes, fierce but few,

  Seen thro’ some noble pile on fire!

  Such was the Angel who now broke

  The silence that had come o’er all,

  When he the Spirit that last spoke

  Closed the sad history of his fall;

  And while a sacred lustre flown

  For many a day relumed his cheek —

  Beautiful as in days of old;

  And not those eloquent lips alone

  But every feature seemed to speak —

  Thus his eventful story told: —

  SECOND ANGEL’S STORY.

  You both remember well the day

  When unto Eden’s new-made bowers

  ALLA convoked the bright array

  Of his supreme angelic powers

  To witness the one wonder yet,

  Beyond man, angel, star, or sun,

  He must achieve, ere he could set

  His seal upon the world as done —

  To see the last perfection rise,

  That crowning of creation’s birth,

  When mid the worship and surprise

  Of circling angels Woman’s eyes

  First open upon heaven and earth;

  And from their lids a thrill was sent,

  That thro’ each living spirit went

  Like first light thro’ the firmament!

  Can you forget how gradual stole

  The fresh-awakened breath of soul

  Throughout her perfect form — which seemed

  To grow transparent as there beamed

  That dawn of Mind within and caught

  New loveliness from each new thought?

  Slow as o’er summer seas we trace

  The progress of the noontide air,

  Dimpling its bright and silent face

  Each minute into some new grace,

  And varying heaven’s reflections there —

  Or like the light of evening stealing

  O’er some fair temple which all day

  Hath slept in shadow, slow revealing

  Its several beauties ray by ray,

  Till it shines out, a thing to bless,

  All full of light and loveliness.

  Can you forget her blush when round

  Thro’ Eden’s lone, enchanted ground

  She lookt, and saw the sea — the skies —

  And heard the rush of many a wing,

  On high behests then vanishing;

  And saw the last few angel eyes,

  Still lingering — mine among the rest, —

  Reluctant leaving scenes so blest?

  From that miraculous hour the fate

  Of this new, glorious Being dwelt

  For ever with a spell-like weight

  Upon my spirit — early, late,

  Whate’er I did or dreamed or felt,

  The thought of what might yet befall

  That matchless creature mixt with all. —

  Nor she alone but her whole race

  Thro’ ages yet to come — whate’er

  Of feminine and fond and fair

  Should spring from that pure mind and face,

  All waked my soul’s intensest care;

  Their forms, souls, feelings, still to me

  Creation’s strangest mystery!

  It was my doom — even from the first,

  When witnessing the primal burst

 
; Of Nature’s wonders, I saw rise

  Those bright creations in the skies, —

  Those worlds instinct with life and light,

  Which Man, remote, but sees by night, —

  It was my doom still to be haunted

  By some new wonder, some sublime

  And matchless work, that for the time

  Held all my soul enchained, enchanted,

  And left me not a thought, a dream,

  A word but on that only theme!

  The wish to know — that endless thirst,

  Which even by quenching is awaked,

  And which becomes or blest or curst

  As is the fount whereat ’tis slaked —

  Still urged me onward with desire

  Insatiate, to explore, inquire —

  Whate’er the wondrous things might be

  That waked each new idolatry —

  Their cause, aim, source, whenever sprung —

  Their inmost powers, as tho’ for me

  Existence on that knowledge hung.

  Oh what a vision were the stars

  When first I saw them born on high,

  Rolling along like living cars

  Of light for gods to journey by!6

  They were like my heart’s first passion — days

  And nights unwearied, in their rays

  Have I hung floating till each sense

  Seemed full of their bright influence.

  Innocent joy! alas, how much

  Of misery had I shunned below,

  Could I have still lived blest with such;

  Nor, proud and restless, burned to know

  The knowledge that brings guilt and woe.

  Often — so much I loved to trace

  The secrets of this starry race —

  Have I at morn and evening run

  Along the lines of radiance spun

  Like webs between them and the sun,

  Untwisting all the tangled ties

  Of light into their different dyes —

  The fleetly winged I off in quest

  Of those, the farthest, loneliest,

  That watch like winking sentinels,7

  The void, beyond which Chaos dwells;

  And there with noiseless plume pursued

  Their track thro’ that grand solitude,

  Asking intently all and each

  What soul within their radiance dwelt,

  And wishing their sweet light were speech,

  That they might tell me all they felt.

  Nay, oft, so passionate my chase,

  Of these resplendent heirs of space,

  Oft did I follow — lest a ray

  Should ‘scape me in the farthest night —

  Some pilgrim Comet on his way

  To visit distant shrines of light,

  And well remember how I sung

  Exultingly when on my sight

  New worlds of stars all fresh and young

  As if just born of darkness sprung!

  Such was my pure ambition then,

  My sinless transport night and morn

  Ere yet this newer world of men,

  And that most fair of stars was born

  Which I in fatal hour saw rise

  Among the flowers of Paradise!

  Thenceforth my nature all was changed,

  My heart, soul, senses turned below;

  And he who but so lately ranged

  Yon wonderful expanse where glow

  Worlds upon worlds, — yet found his mind

  Even in that luminous range confined, —

  Now blest the humblest, meanest sod

  Of the dark earth where Woman trod!

  In vain my former idols glistened

  From their far thrones; in vain these ears

  To the once-thrilling music listened,

  That hymned around my favorite spheres —

  To earth, to earth each thought was given,

  That in this half-lost soul had birth;

  Like some high mount, whose head’s in heaven

  While its whole shadow rests on earth!

  Nor was it Love, even yet, that thralled

  My spirit in his burning ties;

  And less, still less could it be called

  That grosser flame, round which Love flies

  Nearer and near till he dies —

  No, it was wonder, such as thrilled

  At all God’s works my dazzled sense;

  The same rapt wonder, only filled

  With passion, more profound, intense, —

  A vehement, but wandering fire,

  Which, tho’ nor love, nor yet desire, —

  Tho’ thro’ all womankind it took

  Its range, its lawless lightnings run,

  Yet wanted but a touch, a look,

  To fix it burning upon One.

  Then too the ever-restless zeal,

  The insatiate curiosity,

  To know how shapes so fair must feel —

  To look but once beneath the seal

  Of so much loveliness and see

  What souls belonged to such bright eyes —

  Whether as sunbeams find their way

  Into the gem that hidden lies,

  Those looks could inward turn their ray,

  And make the soul as bright as they:

  All this impelled my anxious chase.

  And still the more I saw and knew

  Of Woman’s fond, weak, conquering race,

  The intenser still my wonder grew.

  I had beheld their First, their EVE,

  Born in that splendid Paradise,

  Which sprung there solely to receive

  The first light of her waking eyes.

  I had seen purest angels lean

  In worship o’er her from above;

  And man — oh yes, had envying seen

  Proud man possest of all her love.

  I saw their happiness, so brief,

  So exquisite, — her error, too,

  That easy trust, that prompt belief

  In what the warm heart wishes true;

  That faith in words, when kindly said.

  By which the whole fond sex is led

  Mingled with — what I durst not blame,

  For ’tis my own — that zeal to know,

  Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of woe;

  Which, tho’ from heaven all pure it came,

  Yet stained, misused, brought sin and shame

  On her, on me, on all below!

  I had seen this; had seen Man, armed

  As his soul is with strength and sense,

  By her first words to ruin charmed;

  His vaunted reason’s cold defence,

  Like an ice-barrier in the ray

  Of melting summer, smiled away.

  Nay, stranger yet, spite of all this —

  Tho’ by her counsels taught to err,

  Tho’ driven from Paradise for her,

  (And with her — that at least was bliss,)

  Had I not heard him ere he crost

  The threshold of that earthly heaven,

  Which by her bewildering smile he lost —

  So quickly was the wrong forgiven —

  Had I not heard him, as he prest

  The frail, fond trembler to a breast

  Which she had doomed to sin and strife,

  Call her — even then — his Life! his Life!8

  Yes, such a love-taught name, the first,

  That ruined Man to Woman gave,

  Even in his outcast hour, when curst

  By her fond witchery, with that worst

  And earliest boon of love, the grave!

  She who brought death into the world

  There stood before him, with the light

  Of their lost Paradise still bright

  Upon those sunny locks that curled

  Down her white shoulders to her feet —

  So beautiful in form, so sweet

  In heart and voice, as to rede
em

  The loss, the death of all things dear,

  Except herself — and make it seem

  Life, endless Life, while she was near!

  Could I help wondering at a creature,

  Thus circled round with spells so strong —

  One to whose every thought, word, feature.

  In joy and woe, thro’ right and wrong,

  Such sweet omnipotence heaven gave,

  To bless or ruin, curse or save?

  Nor did the marvel cease with her —

  New Eves in all her daughters came,

  As strong to charm, as weak to err,

  As sure of man thro’ praise and blame,

  Whate’er they brought him, pride or shame,

  He still the unreasoning worshipper,

  And they, throughout all time, the same

  Enchantresses of soul and frame,

  Into whose hands, from first to last,

  This world with all its destinies,

  Devotedly by heaven seems cast,

  To save or ruin as they please!

  Oh! ’tis not to be told how long,

  How restlessly I sighed to find

  Some one from out that witching throng,

  Some abstract of the form and mind

  Of the whole matchless sex, from which,

  In my own arms beheld, possest,

  I might learn all the powers to witch,

  To warm, and (if my fate unblest

  Would have it) ruin, of the rest!

  Into whose inward soul and sense,

  I might descend, as doth the bee

  Into the flower’s deep heart, and thence

  Rifle in all its purity

  The prime, the quintessence, the whole

  Of wondrous Woman’s frame and soul!

  At length my burning wish, my prayer —

  (For such — oh! what will tongues not dare,

  When hearts go wrong? — this lip preferred) —

  At length my ominous prayer was heard —

  But whether heard in heaven or hell,

  Listen — and thou wilt know too well.

  There was a maid, of all who move

  Like visions o’er this orb most fit.

  To be a bright young angel’s love —

  Herself so bright, so exquisite!

  The pride too of her step, as light

  Along the unconscious earth she went,

  Seemed that of one born with a right

  To walk some heavenlier element,

  And tread in places where her feet

  A star at every step should meet.

  ’Twas not alone that loveliness

  By which the wildered sense is caught —

  Of lips whose very breath could bless;

  Of playful blushes that seemed naught

  But luminous escapes of thought;

  Of eyes that, when by anger stirred,

  Were fire itself, but at a word

  Of tenderness, all soft became

  As tho’ they could, like the sun’s bird,

  Dissolve away in their own flame —