Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Moore

  Of form, as pliant as the shoots

  Of a young tree, in vernal flower;

  Yet round and glowing as the fruits,

  That drop from it in summer’s hour; —

  ’Twas not alone this loveliness

  That falls to loveliest women’s share,

  Tho’ even here her form could spare

  From its own beauty’s rich excess

  Enough to make even them more fair —

  But ’twas the Mind outshining clear

  Thro’ her whole frame — the soul, still near,

  To light each charm, yet independent

  Of what it lighted, as the sun

  That shines on flowers would be resplendent

  Were there no flowers to shine upon —

  ’Twas this, all this, in one combined —

  The unnumbered looks and arts that form

  The glory of young womankind,

  Taken, in their perfection, warm,

  Ere time had chilled a single charm,

  And stampt with such a seal of Mind,

  As gave to beauties that might be

  Too sensual else, too unrefined,

  The impress of Divinity!

  ’Twas this — a union, which the hand

  Of Nature kept for her alone,

  Of every thing most playful, bland,

  Voluptuous, spiritual, grand,

  In angel-natures and her own —

  Oh! this it was that drew me nigh

  One, who seemed kin to heaven as I,

  A bright twin-sister from on high —

  One in whose love, I felt, were given

  The mixt delights of either sphere,

  All that the spirit seeks in heaven,

  And all the senses burn for here.

  Had we — but hold! — hear every part

  Of our sad tale — spite of the pain

  Remembrance gives, when the fixt dart

  Is stirred thus in the wound again —

  Hear every step, so full of bliss,

  And yet so ruinous, that led

  Down to the last, dark precipice,

  Where perisht both — the fallen, the dead!

  From the first hour she caught my sight,

  I never left her — day and night

  Hovering unseen around her way,

  And mid her loneliest musings near,

  I soon could track each thought that lay,

  Gleaming within her heart, as clear

  As pebbles within brooks appear;

  And there among the countless things

  That keep young hearts for ever glowing —

  Vague wishes, fond imaginings,

  Love-dreams, as yet no object knowing —

  Light, winged hopes that come when bid,

  And rainbow joys that end in weeping;

  And passions among pure thoughts hid,

  Like serpents under flowerets sleeping: —

  ‘Mong all these feelings — felt where’er

  Young hearts are beating — I saw there

  Proud thoughts, aspirings high — beyond

  Whate’er yet dwelt in soul so fond —

  Glimpses of glory, far away

  Into the bright, vague future given;

  And fancies, free and grand, whose play,

  Like that of eaglets, is near heaven!

  With this, too — what a soul and heart

  To fall beneath the tempter’s art! —

  A zeal for knowledge, such as ne’er

  Enshrined itself in form so fair,

  Since that first, fatal hour, when Eve,

  With every fruit of Eden blest

  Save one alone — rather than leave

  That one unreached, lost all the rest.

  It was in dreams that first I stole

  With gentle mastery o’er her mind —

  In that rich twilight of the soul,

  When reason’s beam, half hid behind

  The clouds of sleep, obscurely gilds

  Each shadowy shape that Fancy builds —

  ’Twas then by that soft light I brought

  Vague, glimmering visions to her view, —

  Catches of radiance lost when caught,

  Bright labyrinths that led to naught,

  And vistas with no pathway thro’; —

  Dwellings of bliss that opening shone,

  Then closed, dissolved, and left no trace —

  All that, in short, could tempt Hope on,

  But give her wing no resting-place;

  Myself the while with brow as yet

  Pure as the young moon’s coronet,

  Thro’ every dream still in her sight.

  The enchanter of each mocking scene,

  Who gave the hope, then brought the blight,

  Who said, “Behold yon world of light,”

  Then sudden dropt a veil between!

  At length when I perceived each thought,

  Waking or sleeping, fixt on naught

  But these illusive scenes and me —

  The phantom who thus came and went,

  In half revealments, only meant

  To madden curiosity —

  When by such various arts I found

  Her fancy to its utmost wound.

  One night— ’twas in a holy spot

  Which she for prayer had chosen — a grot

  Of purest marble built below

  Her garden beds, thro’ which a glow

  From lamps invisible then stole,

  Brightly pervading all the place —

  Like that mysterious light the soul,

  Itself unseen, sheds thro’ the face.

  There at her altar while she knelt,

  And all that woman ever felt,

  When God and man both claimed her sighs —

  Every warm thought, that ever dwelt,

  Like summer clouds, ‘twixt earth and skies,

  Too pure to fall, too gross to rise,

  Spoke in her gestures, tones, and eyes —

  Then, as the mystic light’s soft ray

  Grew softer still, as tho’ its ray

  Was breathed from her, I heard her say: —

  “O idol of my dreams! whate’er

  “Thy nature be — human, divine,

  “Or but half heavenly — still too fair,

  “Too heavenly to be ever mine!

  “Wonderful Spirit who dost make

  “Slumber so lovely that it seems

  “No longer life to live awake,

  “Since heaven itself descends in dreams,

  “Why do I ever lose thee? why

  “When on thy realms and thee I gaze

  “Still drops that veil, which I could die,

  “Oh! gladly, but one hour to raise?

  “Long ere such miracles as thou

  “And thine came o’er my thoughts, a thirst

  “For light was in this soul which now

  “Thy looks have into passion burst.

  “There’s nothing bright above, below,

  “In sky — earth — ocean, that this breast

  “Doth not intensely burn to know,

  “And thee, thee, thee, o’er all the rest!

  “Then come, oh Spirit, from behind

  “The curtains of thy radiant home,

  “If thou wouldst be as angel shrined,

  “Or loved and claspt as mortal, come!

  “Bring all thy dazzling wonders here,

  “That I may, waking, know and see;

  “Or waft me hence to thy own sphere,

  “Thy heaven or — ay, even that with thee!

  “Demon or God, who hold’st the book

  “Of knowledge spread beneath thine eye,

  “Give me, with thee, but one bright look

  “Into its leaves and let me die!

  “By those ethereal wings whose way

  “Lies thro’ an element so fraught

  “With living Mind that as they play

  “
Their every movement is a thought!

  “By that bright, wreathed hair, between

  “Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind

  “Of Paradise so late hath been

  “And left its fragrant soul behind!

  “By those impassioned eyes that melt

  “Their light into the inmost heart,

  “Like sunset in the waters, felt

  “As molten fire thro’ every part —

  “I do implore thee, oh most bright

  “And worshipt Spirit, shine but o’er

  “My waking, wondering eyes this night

  “This one blest night — I ask no more!”

  Exhausted, breathless, as she said

  These burning words, her languid head

  Upon the altar’s steps she cast,

  As if that brain-throb were its last —

  Till, startled by the breathing, nigh,

  Of lips that echoed back her sigh,

  Sudden her brow again she raised;

  And there, just lighted on the shrine,

  Beheld me — not as I had blazed

  Around her, full of light divine,

  In her late dreams, but softened down

  Into more mortal grace; — my crown

  Of flowers, too radiant for this world,

  Left hanging on yon starry steep;

  My wings shut up, like banners furled,

  When Peace hath put their pomp to sleep;

  Or like autumnal clouds that keep

  Their lightnings sheathed rather than mar

  The dawning hour of some young star;

  And nothing left but what beseemed

  The accessible, tho’ glorious mate

  Of mortal woman — whose eyes beamed

  Back upon hers, as passionate;

  Whose ready heart brought flame for flame,

  Whose sin, whose madness was the same;

  And whose soul lost in that one hour

  For her and for her love — oh more

  Of heaven’s light than even the power

  Of heaven itself could now restore!

  And yet, that hour! —

  The Spirit here

  Stopt in his utterance as if words

  Gave way beneath the wild career

  Of his then rushing thoughts — like chords,

  Midway in some enthusiast’s song,

  Breaking beneath a touch too strong;

  While the clenched hand upon the brow

  Told how remembrance throbbed there now!

  But soon ’twas o’er — that casual blaze

  From the sunk fire of other days —

  That relic of a flame whose burning

  Had been too fierce to be relumed,

  Soon passt away, and the youth turning

  To his bright listeners thus resumed: —

  Days, months elapsed, and, tho’ what most

  On earth I sighed for was mine, all —

  Yet — was I happy? God, thou know’st,

  Howe’er they smile and feign and boast,

  What happiness is theirs, who fall!

  ’Twas bitterest anguish — made more keen

  Even by the love, the bliss, between

  Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell

  In agonizing cross-light given

  Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell

  In purgatory9 catch of heaven!

  The only feeling that to me

  Seemed joy — or rather my sole rest

  From aching misery — was to see

  My young, proud, blooming LILIS blest.

  She, the fair fountain of all ill

  To my lost soul — whom yet its thirst

  Fervidly panted after still,

  And found the charm fresh as at first —

  To see her happy — to reflect

  Whatever beams still round me played

  Of former pride, of glory wreckt,

  On her, my Moon, whose light I made,

  And whose soul worshipt even my shade —

  This was, I own, enjoyment — this

  My sole, last lingering glimpse of bliss.

  And proud she was, fair creature! — proud,

  Beyond what even most queenly stirs

  In woman’s heart, nor would have bowed

  That beautiful young brow of hers

  To aught beneath the First above,

  So high she deemed her Cherub’s love!

  Then too that passion hourly growing

  Stronger and stronger — to which even

  Her love at times gave way — of knowing

  Everything strange in earth and heaven;

  Not only all that, full revealed,

  The eternal ALLA loves to show,

  But all that He hath wisely sealed

  In darkness for man not to know —

  Even this desire, alas! ill-starred

  And fatal as it was, I sought

  To feed each minute, and unbarred

  Such realms of wonder on her thought

  As ne’er till then had let their light

  Escape on any mortal’s sight!

  In the deep earth — beneath the sea —

  Thro’ caves of fire — thro’ wilds of air —

  Wherever sleeping Mystery

  Had spread her curtain, we were there —

  Love still beside us as we went,

  At home in each new element

  And sure of worship everywhere!

  Then first was Nature taught to lay

  The wealth of all her kingdoms down

  At woman’s worshipt feet and say

  “Bright creature, this is all thine own!”

  Then first were diamonds from the night,

  Of earth’s deep centre brought to light

  And made to grace the conquering way

  Of proud young beauty with their ray.

  Then too the pearl from out its shell

  Unsightly, in the sunless sea,

  (As ‘twere a spirit, forced to dwell

  In form unlovely) was set free,

  And round the neck of woman threw

  A light it lent and borrowed too.

  For never did this maid — whate’er

  The ambition of the hour — forget

  Her sex’s pride in being fair;

  Nor that adornment, tasteful, rare,

  Which makes the mighty magnet, set

  In Woman’s form, more mighty yet.

  Nor was there aught within the range

  Of my swift wing in sea or air,

  Of beautiful or grand or strange,

  That, quickly as her wish could change,

  I did not seek, with such fond care,

  That when I’ve seen her look above

  At some bright star admiringly,

  I’ve said, “Nay, look not there, my love,10

  “Alas, I can not give it thee!”

  But not alone the wonders found

  Thro’ Nature’s realm — the unveiled, material,

  Visible glories, that abound

  Thro’ all her vast, enchanted ground —

  But whatsoe’er unseen, ethereal,

  Dwells far away from human sense,

  Wrapt in its own intelligence —

  The mystery of that Fountainhead,

  From which all vital spirit runs,

  All breath of Life, where’er ’tis spread

  Thro’ men or angels, flowers or suns —

  The workings of the Almighty Mind,

  When first o’er Chaos he designed

  The outlines of this world, and thro’

  That depth of darkness — like the bow,

  Called out of rain-clouds hue by hue11

  Saw the grand, gradual picture grow; —

  The covenant with human kind

  By ALLA made — the chains of Fate

  He round himself and them hath twined,

  Till his high task he consummate; —

  Till good from evi
l, love from hate,

  Shall be workt out thro’ sin and pain,

  And Fate shall loose her iron chain

  And all be free, be bright again!

  Such were the deep-drawn mysteries,

  And some, even more obscure, profound,

  And wildering to the mind than these,

  Which — far as woman’s thought could sound,

  Or a fallen, outlawed spirit reach —

  She dared to learn and I to teach.

  Till — filled with such unearthly lore,

  And mingling the pure light it brings

  With much that fancy had before

  Shed in false, tinted glimmerings —

  The enthusiast girl spoke out, as one

  Inspired, among her own dark race,

  Who from their ancient shrines would run,

  Leaving their holy rites undone,

  To gaze upon her holier face.

  And tho’ but wild the things she spoke,

  Yet mid that play of error’s smoke

  Into fair shapes by fancy curled,

  Some gleams of pure religion broke —

  Glimpses that have not yet awoke,

  But startled the still dreaming world!

  Oh! many a truth, remote, sublime,

  Which Heaven would from the minds of men

  Have kept concealed till its own time,

  Stole out in these revealments then —

  Revealments dim that have forerun,

  By ages, the great, Sealing One!12

  Like that imperfect dawn or light13

  Escaping from the Zodiac’s signs,

  Which makes the doubtful east half bright,

  Before the real morning shines!

  Thus did some moons of bliss go by —

  Of bliss to her who saw but love

  And knowledge throughout earth and sky;

  To whose enamored soul and eye

  I seemed — as is the sun on high —

  The light of all below, above,

  The spirit of sea and land and air,

  Whose influence, felt everywhere,

  Spread from its centre, her own heart,

  Even to the world’s extremest part;

  While thro’ that world her rainless mind

  Had now careered so fast and far,

  That earth itself seemed left behind

  And her proud fancy unconfined

  Already saw Heaven’s gates ajar!

  Happy enthusiast! still, oh! still

  Spite of my own heart’s mortal chill,

  Spite of that double-fronted sorrow

  Which looks at once before and back,

  Beholds the yesterday, the morrow,

  And sees both comfortless, both black —

  Spite of all this, I could have still

  In her delight forgot all ill;

  Or if pain would not be forgot,

  At least have borne and murmured not.

  When thoughts of an offended heaven,

  Of sinfulness, which I — even I,

  While down its steep most headlong driven —

  Well knew could never be forgiven,