Poems, 1799 | Page 9

Lectures of RALPH CHURTON.
If any of my readers should enquire why Titus Vespasian, the Delight
of Mankind, is placed in such a situation,--I answer, for "HIS
GENEROUS CLEMENCY, THAT INSEPARABLE ATTENDANT
ON TRUE HEROISM!]
THE VISION of THE MAID OF ORLEANS.
THE THIRD BOOK.
The Maiden, musing on the Warrior's words,
Turn'd from the Hall of
Glory. Now they reach'd
A cavern, at whose mouth a Genius stood,

In front a beardless youth, whose smiling eye
Beam'd promise, but
behind, withered and old,
And all unlovely. Underneath his feet

Lay records trampled, and the laurel wreath
Now rent and faded: in
his hand he held
An hour-glass, and as fall the restless sands,
So
pass the lives of men. By him they past
Along the darksome cave,
and reach'd a stream,
Still rolling onward its perpetual waves,

Noiseless and undisturbed. Here they ascend
A Bark unpiloted, that
down the flood,
Borne by the current, rush'd. The circling stream,

Returning to itself, an island form'd;
Nor had the Maiden's footsteps
ever reach'd
The insulated coast, eternally
Rapt round the endless
course; but Theodore
Drove with an angel's will the obedient bark.
They land, a mighty fabric meets their eyes,
Seen by its gem-born
light. Of adamant
The pile was framed, for ever to abide
Firm in
eternal strength. Before the gate
Stood eager EXPECTATION, as to

list
The half-heard murmurs issuing from within,
Her mouth
half-open'd, and her head stretch'd forth.
On the other side there stood
an aged Crone,
Listening to every breath of air; she knew
Vague
suppositions and uncertain dreams,
Of what was soon to come, for
she would mark
The paley glow-worm's self-created light,
And
argue thence of kingdoms overthrown,
And desolated nations; ever
fill'd
With undetermin'd terror, as she heard
Or distant screech-owl,
or the regular beat
Of evening death-watch.
"Maid," the Spirit cried,
Here, robed in shadows, dwells FUTURITY.

There is no eye hath seen her secret form,
For round the MOTHER
OF TIME, unpierced mists
Aye hover. Would'st thou read the book
of Fate,
Enter."
The Damsel for a moment paus'd,
Then to the Angel spake:
"All-gracious Heaven!
Benignant in withholding, hath denied
To
man that knowledge. I, in faith assured,
That he, my heavenly Father,
for the best
Ordaineth all things, in that faith remain
Contented."
"Well and wisely hast thou said,
So Theodore replied; "and now O
Maid!
Is there amid this boundless universe
One whom thy soul
would visit? is there place
To memory dear, or visioned out by hope,

Where thou would'st now be present? form the wish,
And I am
with thee, there."
His closing speech
Yet sounded on her ear, and lo! they stood
Swift
as the sudden thought that guided them,
Within the little cottage that
she loved.
"He sleeps! the good man sleeps!" enrapt she cried,
As
bending o'er her Uncle's lowly bed
Her eye retraced his features. "See
the beads
That never morn nor night he fails to tell,
Remembering
me, his child, in every prayer.
Oh! quiet be thy sleep, thou dear old
man!
Good Angels guard thy rest! and when thine hour
Is come, as
gently mayest thou wake to life,
As when thro' yonder lattice the next
sun
Shall bid thee to thy morning orisons!
Thy voice is heard, the

Angel guide rejoin'd,
He sees thee in his dreams, he hears thee
breathe
Blessings, and pleasant is the good man's rest.
Thy fame
has reached him, for who has not heard
Thy wonderous exploits? and
his aged heart
Hath felt the deepest joy that ever yet
Made his glad
blood flow fast. Sleep on old Claude!
Peaceful, pure Spirit, be thy
sojourn here,
And short and soon thy passage to that world
Where
friends shall part no more!
"Does thy soul own
No other wish? or sleeps poor Madelon

Forgotten in her grave? seest thou yon star,"
The Spirit pursued,
regardless of her eye
That look'd reproach; "seest thou that evening
star
Whose lovely light so often we beheld
From yonder woodbine
porch? how have we gazed
Into the dark deep sky, till the baffled soul,

Lost in the infinite, returned, and felt
The burthen of her bodily
load, and yearned
For freedom! Maid, in yonder evening slar
Lives
thy departed friend. I read that glance,
And we are there!"
He said and they had past
The immeasurable space.
Then on her ear
The lonely song of adoration rose,
Sweet as the
cloister'd virgins vesper hymn,
Whose spirit, happily dead to earthly
hopes
Already lives in Heaven. Abrupt the song
Ceas'd, tremulous
and quick a cry
Of joyful wonder rous'd the astonish'd Maid,
And
instant Madelon was in her arms;
No airy form, no unsubstantial
shape,
She felt her friend, she prest her to her heart,
Their tears of
rapture mingled.
She drew back
And eagerly she gazed on Madelon,
Then fell upon
her neck again and wept.
No more she saw the long-drawn lines of
grief,
The emaciate form, the hue of sickliness,
The languid eye:
youth's loveliest freshness now
Mantled her cheek, whose every
lineament
Bespake the soul at rest, a holy calm,
A deep and full
tranquillity of bliss.

"Thou then art come, my first and dearest friend!"
The well known
voice of Madelon began,
"Thou then art come! and was thy
pilgrimage
So short on earth? and was it painful too,
Painful and
short as mine? but blessed they
Who from the crimes and miseries of
the world
Early escape!"
"Nay," Theodore