Poems, 1799 | Page 7

on her vacant
face,
A smile that promis'd premature assent;
Tho' her REGRET
behind, a meagre Fiend,
Disciplin'd sorely.
Here they entered in,
And now arrived where, as in study tranced,

She sat, the Mistress of the Dome. Her face
Spake that composed
severity, that knows

No angry impulse, no weak tenderness,

Resolved and calm. Before her lay that Book
That hath the words of

Life; and as she read,
Sometimes a tear would trickle down her cheek,

Tho' heavenly joy beam'd in her eye the while.
Leaving her undisturb'd, to the first ward
Of this great Lazar-house,
the Angel led
The favour'd Maid of Orleans. Kneeling down
On the
hard stone that their bare knees had worn,
In sackcloth robed, a
numerous train appear'd:
Hard-featured some, and some demurely
grave;
Yet such expression stealing from the eye,
As tho', that only
naked, all the rest
Was one close fitting mask. A scoffing Fiend,

For Fiend he was, tho' wisely serving here
Mock'd at his patients, and
did often pour
Ashes upon them, and then bid them say
Their
prayers aloud, and then he louder laughed:
For these were Hypocrites,
on earth revered
As holy ones, who did in public tell
Their beads,
and make long prayers, and cross themselves,
And call themselves
most miserable sinners,
That so they might be deem'd most pious
saints;
And go all filth, and never let a smile
Bend their stern
muscles, gloomy, sullen men,
Barren of all affection, and all this
To
please their God, forsooth! and therefore SCORN
Grinn'd at his
patients, making them repeat
Their solemn farce, with keenest raillery

Tormenting; but if earnest in their prayer,
They pour'd the silent
sorrows of the soul
To Heaven, then did they not regard his mocks

Which then came painless, and HUMILITY
Soon rescued them, and
led to PENITENCE,
That She might lead to Heaven.
From thence they came,
Where, in the next ward, a most wretched
band
Groan'd underneath the bitter tyranny
Of a fierce Daemon. His
coarse hair was red,
Pale grey his eyes, and blood-shot; and his face

Wrinkled by such a smile as Malice wears
In ecstacy. Well-pleased
he went around,
Plunging his dagger in the hearts of some,
Or
probing with a poison'd lance their breasts,

Or placing coals of fire
within their wounds;
Or seizing some within his mighty grasp,
He
fix'd them on a stake, and then drew back,
And laugh'd to see them
writhe.

"These," said the Spirit,
Are taught by CRUELTY, to loath the lives

They led themselves. Here are those wicked men
Who loved to
exercise their tyrant power
On speechless brutes; bad husbands
undergo
A long purgation here; the traffickers
In human flesh here
too are disciplined.
Till by their suffering they have equall'd all
The
miseries they inflicted, all the mass
Of wretchedness caused by the
wars they waged,
The towns they burnt, for they who bribe to war

Are guilty of the blood, the widows left
In want, the slave or led to
suicide,
Or murdered by the foul infected air
Of his close dungeon,
or more sad than all,
His virtue lost, his very soul enslaved,
And
driven by woe to wickedness.
These next,
Whom thou beholdest in this dreary room,
So sullen,
and with such an eye of hate
Each on the other scowling, these have
been
False friends. Tormented by their own dark thoughts
Here
they dwell: in the hollow of their hearts
There is a worm that feeds,
and tho' thou seest
That skilful leech who willingly would heal
The
ill they suffer, judging of all else
By their own evil standard, they
suspect
The aid be vainly proffers, lengthening thus
By vice its
punishment."
"But who are these,"
The Maid exclaim'd, "that robed in flowing lawn,

And mitred, or in scarlet, and in caps
Like Cardinals, I see in every
ward,
Performing menial service at the beck
Of all who bid them?"
Theodore replied,
These men are they who in the name of CHRIST

Did heap up wealth, and arrogating power,
Did make men bow the
knee, and call themselves
Most Reverend Graces and Right Reverend
Lords.
They dwelt in palaces, in purple clothed,
And in fine linen:
therefore are they here;
And tho' they would not minister on earth,


Here penanced they perforce must minister:
For he, the lowly man of
Nazareth,
Hath said, his kingdom is not of the world."
So Saying on
they past, and now arrived
Where such a hideous ghastly groupe
abode,
That the Maid gazed with half-averting eye,
And shudder'd:

each one was a loathly corpse,
The worm did banquet on his putrid
prey,
Yet had they life and feeling exquisite
Tho' motionless and
mute.
"Most wretched men
Are these, the angel cried. These, JOAN, are
bards,
Whose loose lascivious lays perpetuate
Who sat them down,
deliberately lewd,
So to awake and pamper lust in minds
Unborn;
and therefore foul of body now
As then they were of soul, they here
abide
Long as the evil works they left on earth
Shall live to taint
mankind. A dreadful doom!
Yet amply merited by that bad man

Who prostitutes the sacred gift of song!"
And now they reached a
huge and massy pile,
Massy it seem'd, and yet in every blast
As to
its ruin shook. There, porter fit,
REMORSE for ever his sad vigils
kept.
Pale, hollow-eyed, emaciate, sleepless wretch.
Inly he groan'd,
or, starting, wildly shriek'd,
Aye as the fabric tottering from its base,

Threatened its fall, and so expectant