Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Moore

  “The knee may bend, the lip may move,

  “But pray I cannot, without thee!

  “I’ve fed the altar in my bower

  “With droppings from the incense tree;

  “I’ve sheltered it from wind and shower,

  “But dim it burns the livelong hour,

  “As if, like me, it had no power

  “Of life or lustre without thee!

  “A boat at midnight sent alone

  “To drift upon the moonless sea,

  “A lute, whose leading chord is gone,

  “A wounded bird that hath but one

  “Imperfect wing to soar upon,

  “Are like what I am without thee!

  “Then ne’er, my spirit-love, divide,

  “In life or death, thyself from me;

  “But when again in sunny pride

  “Thou walk’st thro’ Eden, let me glide,

  “A prostrate shadow, by thy side —

  “Oh happier thus than without thee!”

  The song had ceased when from the wood

  Which sweeping down that airy height,

  Reached the lone spot whereon they stood —

  There suddenly shone out a light

  From a clear lamp, which, as it blazed

  Across the brow of one, who raised

  Its flame aloft (as if to throw

  The light upon that group below),

  Displayed two eyes sparkling between

  The dusky leaves, such as are seen

  By fancy only, in those faces,

  That haunt a poet’s walk at even,

  Looking from out their leafy places

  Upon his dreams of love and heaven.

  ’Twas but a moment — the blush brought

  O’er all her features at the thought

  Of being seen thus, late, alone,

  By any but the eyes she sought,

  Had scarcely for an instant shore

  Thro’ the dark leaves when she was gone —

  Gone, like a meteor that o’erhead

  Suddenly shines, and, ere we’ve said,

  “Behold, how beautiful!”— ’tis fled,

  Yet ere she went the words, “I come,

  “I come, my NAMA,” reached her ear,

  In that kind voice, familiar, dear,

  Which tells of confidence, of home, —

  Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near,

  Till they grow one, — of faith sincere,

  And all that Love most loves to hear;

  A music breathing of the past,

  The present and the time to be,

  Where Hope and Memory to the last

  Lengthen out life’s true harmony!

  Nor long did he whom call so kind

  Summoned away remain behind:

  Nor did there need much time to tell

  What they — alas! more fallen than he

  From happiness and heaven — knew well,

  His gentler love’s short history!

  Thus did it run — not as he told

  The tale himself, but as ’tis graved

  Upon the tablets that, of old,

  By SETH17 were from the deluge saved,

  All written over with sublime

  And saddening legends of the unblest

  But glorious Spirits of that time,

  And this young Angel’s ‘mong the rest.

  THIRD ANGEL’S STORY.

  Among the Spirits, of pure flame,

  That in the eternal heavens abide —

  Circles of light that from the same

  Unclouded centre sweeping wide,

  Carry its beams on every side —

  Like spheres of air that waft around

  The undulations of rich sound —

  Till the far-circling radiance be

  Diffused into infinity!

  First and immediate near the Throne

  Of ALLA, as if most his own,

  The Seraphs stand18 this burning sign

  Traced on their banner, “Love Divine!”

  Their rank, their honors, far above

  Even those to high-browed Cherubs given,

  Tho’ knowing all; — so much doth Love

  Transcend all Knowledge, even in heaven!

  ‘Mong these was ZARAPH once — and none

  E’er felt affection’s holy fire,

  Or yearned towards the Eternal One,

  With half such longing, deep desire.

  Love was to his impassioned soul

  Not as with others a mere part

  Of its existence, but the whole —

  The very life-breath of his heart!

  Oft, when from ALLA’S lifted brow

  A lustre came, too bright to bear,

  And all the seraph ranks would bow,

  To shade their dazzled sight nor dare

  To look upon the effulgence there —

  This Spirit’s eyes would court the blaze

  (Such pride he in adoring took),

  And rather lose in that one gaze

  The power of looking than not look!

  Then too when angel voices sung

  The mercy of their God and strung

  Their harps to hail with welcome sweet

  That moment, watched for by all eyes,

  When some repentant sinner’s feet

  First touched the threshold of the skies,

  Oh! then how clearly did the voice

  Of ZARAPH above all rejoice!

  Love was in every buoyant tone —

  Such love as only could belong

  To the blest angels and alone

  Could, even from angels, bring such song!

  Alas! that it should e’er have been

  In heaven as ’tis too often here,

  Where nothing fond or bright is seen,

  But it hath pain and peril near; —

  Where right and wrong so close resemble,

  That what we take for virtue’s thrill

  Is often the first downward tremble

  Of the heart’s balance unto ill;

  Where Love hath not a shrine so pure,

  So holy, but the serpent, Sin,

  In moments, even the most secure,

  Beneath his altar may glide in!

  So was it with that Angel — such

  The charm, that sloped his fall along,

  From good to ill, from loving much,

  Too easy lapse, to loving wrong. —

  Even so that amorous Spirit, bound

  By beauty’s spell where’er ’twas found,

  From the bright things above the moon

  Down to earth’s beaming eyes descended,

  Till love for the Creator soon

  In passion for the creature ended.

  ’Twas first at twilight, on the shore

  Of the smooth sea, he heard the lute

  And voice of her he loved steal o’er

  The silver waters that lay mute,

  As loath, by even a breath, to stay

  The pilgrimage of that sweet lay;

  Whose echoes still went on and on,

  Till lost among the light that shone

  Far off beyond the ocean’s brim —

  There where the rich cascade of day

  Had o’er the horizon’s golden rim,

  Into Elysium rolled away!

  Of God she sung and of the mild

  Attendant Mercy that beside

  His awful throne for ever smiled,

  Ready with her white hand to guide

  His bolts of vengeance to their prey —

  That she might quench them on the way!

  Of Peace — of that Atoning Love,

  Upon whose star, shining above

  This twilight world of hope and fear,

  The weeping eyes of Faith are fixt

  So fond that with her every tear

  The light of that love-star is mixt! —

  All this she sung, and such a soul

  Of piety wa
s in that song

  That the charmed Angel as it stole

  Tenderly to his ear, along

  Those lulling waters where he lay,

  Watching the daylight’s dying ray,

  Thought ’twas a voice from out the wave,

  An echo, that some sea-nymph gave

  To Eden’s distant harmony,

  Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea!

  Quickly, however, to its source,

  Tracking that music’s melting course,

  He saw upon the golden sands

  Of the sea-shore a maiden stand,

  Before whose feet the expiring waves

  Flung their last offering with a sigh —

  As, in the East, exhausted slaves

  Lay down the far-brought gift and die —

  And while her lute hung by her hushed

  As if unequal to the tide

  Of song that from her lips still gushed,

  She raised, like one beatified,

  Those eyes whose light seemed rather given

  To be adored than to adore —

  Such eyes as may have lookt from heaven

  But ne’er were raised to it before!

  Oh Love, Religion, Music — all

  That’s left of Eden upon earth —

  The only blessings, since the fall

  Of our weak souls, that still recall

  A trace of their high, glorious birth —

  How kindred are the dreams you bring!

  How Love tho’ unto earth so prone,

  Delights to take Religion’s wing,

  When time or grief hath stained his own!

  How near to Love’s beguiling brink

  Too oft entranced Religion lies!

  While Music, Music is the link

  They both still hold by to the skies,

  The language of their native sphere

  Which they had else forgotten here.

  How then could ZARAPH fail to feel

  That moment’s witcheries? — one, so fair,

  Breathing out music, that might steal

  Heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer

  That seraphs might be proud to share!

  Oh, he did feel it, all too well —

  With warmth, that far too dearly cost —

  Nor knew he, when at last he fell,

  To which attraction, to which spell,

  Love, Music, or Devotion, most

  His soul in that sweet hour was lost.

  Sweet was the hour, tho’ dearly won,

  And pure, as aught of earth could be,

  For then first did the glorious sun

  Before religion’s altar see

  Two hearts in wedlock’s golden tie

  Self-pledged, in love to live and die.

  Blest union! by that Angel wove,

  And worthy from such hands to come;

  Safe, sole, asylum, in which Love,

  When fallen or exiled from above,

  In this dark world can find a home.

  And, tho’ the Spirit had transgrest,

  Had, from his station ‘mong the blest

  Won down by woman’s smile, allow’d

  Terrestrial passion to breathe o’er

  The mirror of his heart, and cloud

  God’s image there so bright before —

  Yet never did that Power look down

  On error with a brow so mild;

  Never did Justice wear a frown,

  Thro’ which so gently Mercy smiled.

  For humble was their love — with awe

  And trembling like some treasure kept,

  That was not theirs by holy law —

  Whose beauty with remorse they saw

  And o’er whose preciousness they wept.

  Humility, that low, sweet root,

  From which all heavenly virtues shoot,

  Was in the hearts of both — but most

  In NAMA’S heart, by whom alone

  Those charms, for which a heaven was lost.

  Seemed all unvalued and unknown;

  And when her Seraph’s eyes she caught,

  And hid hers glowing on his breast,

  Even bliss was humbled by the thought —

  “What claim have I to be so blest”?

  Still less could maid, so meek, have nurst

  Desire of knowledge — that vain thirst,

  With which the sex hath all been curst

  From luckless EVE to her who near

  The Tabernacle stole to hear

  The secrets of the Angels: no —

  To love as her own Seraph loved,

  With Faith, the same thro’ bliss and woe —

  Faith that were even its light removed,

  Could like the dial fixt remain

  And wait till it shone out again; —

  With Patience that tho’ often bowed

  By the rude storm can rise anew;

  And Hope that even from Evil’s cloud

  See sunny Good half breaking thro’!

  This deep, relying Love, worth more

  In heaven than all a Cherub’s lore —

  This Faith more sure than aught beside

  Was the sole joy, ambition, pride

  Of her fond heart — the unreasoning scope

  Of all its views, above, below —

  So true she felt it that to hope,

  To trust, is happier than to know.

  And thus in humbleness they trod,

  Abasht but pure before their God;

  Nor e’er did earth behold a sight

  So meekly beautiful as they,

  When with the altar’s holy light

  Full on their brows they knelt to pray,

  Hand within hand and side by side,

  Two links of love awhile untied

  From the great chain above, but fast

  Holding together to the last! —

  Two fallen Splendors from that tree19

  Which buds with such eternally,

  Shaken to earth yet keeping all

  Their light and freshness in the fall.

  Their only punishment, (as wrong,

  However sweet, must bear its brand.)

  Their only doom was this — that, long

  As the green earth and ocean stand,

  They both shall wander here — the same,

  Throughout all time, in heart and frame —

  Still looking to that goal sublime,

  Whose light remote but sure they see;

  Pilgrims of Love whose way is Time,

  Whose home is in Eternity!

  Subject the while to all the strife

  True Love encounters in this life —

  The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain;

  The chill that turns his warmest sighs

  To earthly vapor ere they rise;

  The doubt he feeds on and the pain

  That in his very sweetness lies: —

  Still worse, the illusions that betray

  His footsteps to their shining brink;

  That tempt him on his desert way

  Thro’ the bleak world, to bend and drink,

  Where nothing meets his lips, alas! —

  But he again must sighing pass

  On to that far-off home of peace,

  In which alone his thirst will cease.

  All this they bear but not the less

  Have moments rich in happiness —

  Blest meetings, after many a day

  Of widowhood past far away,

  When the loved face again is seen

  Close, close, with not a tear between —

  Confidings frank, without control,

  Poured mutually from soul to soul;

  As free from any fear or doubt

  As is that light from chill or strain

  The sun into the stars sheds out

  To be by them shed back again! —

  That happy minglement of hearts,

  Where, changed as chymic compounds are, />
  Each with its own existence parts

  To find a new one, happier far!

  Such are their joys — and crowning all

  That blessed hope of the bright hour,

  When, happy and no more to fall,

  Their spirits shall with freshened power

  Rise up rewarded for their trust

  In Him from whom all goodness springs,

  And shaking off earth’s soiling dust

  From their emancipated wings,

  Wander for ever thro’ those skies

  Of radiance where Love never dies!

  In what lone region of the earth,

  These Pilgrims now may roam or dwell,

  God and the Angels who look forth

  To watch their steps, alone can tell.

  But should we in our wanderings

  Meet a young pair whose beauty wants

  But the adornment of bright wings

  To look like heaven’s inhabitants —

  Who shine where’er they tread and yet

  Are humble in their earthly lot,

  As is the way-side violet,

  That shines unseen, and were it not

  For its sweet breath would be forgot

  Whose hearts in every thought are one,

  Whose voices utter the same wills —

  Answering, as Echo doth some tone

  Of fairy music ‘mong the hills,

  So like itself we seek in vain

  Which is the echo, which the strain —

  Whose piety is love, whose love

  Tho’ close as ‘twere their souls’ embrace.

  Is not of earth but from above —

  Like two fair mirrors face to face,

  Whose light from one to the other thrown,

  Is heaven’s reflection, not their own —

  Should we e’er meet with aught so pure,

  So perfect here, we may be sure

  ’Tis ZARAPH and his bride we see;

  And call young lovers round to view

  The pilgrim pair as they pursue

  Their pathway towards eternity.

  1 “To which will be joined the sound of the bells hanging on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind proceeding from the Throne, so often as the Blessed wish for music.” — See Sale’s Koran, Prelim. Dissert.

  2 The ancient Persians supposed that this Throne was placed in the Sun, and that through the stars were distributed the various classes of Angels that encircled it. The Basilidians supposed that there were three hundred and sixty-five orders of angels.

  3 It appears that, in most languages, the term employed for an angel means also a messenger.

  4 The name given by the Mahometans to the infernal regions, over which, they say, the angel Tabliek presides.

  5 The Kerubilna, as the Mussulmans call them, are often joined indiscriminately with the Asrafil or Seraphim, under one common name of Azazil, by which all spirits who approach near the throne of Alla are designated.

  6 A belief that the stars are either spirits or the vehicles of spirits, was common to all the religions and heresies of the East. Kircher has given the names and stations of the seven archangels, who were by the Cabala of the Jews distributed through the planets.