Poems | Page 5

in,?And lay her in the bosom of delight??O dove, white dove, now at the gate of Heaven!?Wilt thou wing homeward ere the eventide,?On shining pinions to thine own soft nest?
[A pause.
O wonderful! Thou mansion tenantless,?Unswept by memory, untrod by thought,?Where all lies tranced in motionless repose;?No whisper stirring round the silent place,?No foot of guest across the startled halls,?No rustling robes about the corridors,?No voices floating on the waveless air,?No laughters, no sweet songs like angel dreams?On silver wings among the archèd domes,--?No swans upon the mere--no golden prow,?Parting the crystal tide to Pleasure's breeze,--?No flapping sail before the idle wind,--?No music pulsing out its great wild heart?In sweetest passion-beats the noontide through,--?No lovers gliding down sun-chequer'd glades,?In dreams that open wide the Eden gate,?And waft them past the guardian Seraphim.?Sleep over all the Present and the Past--?The Future standing idle at the gate,?Gazing amazed, like one who, in hot haste?Bearing great tidings to some palace porch,?Findeth the place deserted.
[_A noise without; enter in haste Father,?Maurice and Roger._
How now?--Friends, you are welcome!
FATHER.
Where's my child,?That you maltreat, most rash and guilty man?
ORAN.
Sir, you are over hasty in your words--?Your child is here.--
[Points to Mabel, who still lies entranced.
FATHER.
Mabel! wake, Mabel--O my God! she's dead!
MAURICE.
How!--Dead!
ROGER.
Ay, murder'd!
FATHER.
O! my child! my child!
ORAN.
Peace! she is well--Sleep folds her in his arms,?And each upheaving of his drowsy breast?Is like a billow upon pleasure's sea,?Wafting her on to far Hesperides.
FATHER.
This is no healthy sleep that wraps her now,?Else would she waken at my anxious cry;?'Tis death-sleep, wretched man.
MAURICE.
Let's bear her hence.
ROGER.
Nay! let him now unwind his magic spells,?Or fall our vengeance on his guilty head.
ORAN.
Dismiss your fears, and cease your threats. Old man,?Soon shall I prove how much you wrong my love;?Thus do I call the spirit home again,?And wave the slumber backward from her eyes.
[_Makes passes to awaken her, but without
effect after long persistence_.
FATHER.
Impostor! would you mock e'en Death itself,?Calling it sleep!--You see, Death mocks you back.
MAURICE.
In vain! no further seek to blind our fears.
ORAN.
'Tis strange!... stand back, Sirs ... 'tis your influence?Hath neutralized my power--stand off, I say!
[Continuing the passes in great agitation.
ROGER.
By Heaven!--It is too much--Let fall the mask!?O villain! you have done your worst at last,?And ta'en the sweetest life in all the land;?But vengeance swift shall follow on your track.
ORAN.
Hold! hold! young man, talk not of vengeance here;?This sleep shall pass and shame your blood-hot words--?If it pass'd not the vengeance were forestall'd.
[A silence--continuing the passes.
O Mabel! Mabel! hear me where thou art!?Come to the lonely heart that yearns for thee,--?Come to the eyes that seek thee through salt tears!?Patience, Sirs, now methinks the sense returns;?A smile steals o'er her lips, and roseate hues?Make morning on her downy cheek again:?Back ... back--my anguish shall unwind the charm!
[A silence.
FATHER.
Sir, I acquit you--pity you--perceive?You loved her, and have err'd against yourself;?But cease these struggles that but mock us now,?They nought avail--my child is dead!...
ORAN.
Mabel! Mabel!
HEBE.
Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in!
What?--Pour in Strength!?Strength for the struggle through good and ill;?Through good--that the soul may be upright still,?Unspoil'd by riches, unswerving in will,?To walk by the light of unvarnish'd truth,?Up the flower-border'd path of youth;--?Through ill--that the soul may stoutly hold?Its faith, its freedom through hunger and cold,?Steadfast and pure as the true men of old.?Strength for the sunshine, strength for the gloom,?Strength for the conflict, strength for the tomb;?Let not the heart feel a craven fear--?Draw from the fountain deep and clear;?Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in!
Pour in Strength!
Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in!
What--Pour in Truth!?Drink! till the mists that enshroud the soul,?Like sleep's drowsy shadows backward roll,?And show the spirit its radiant goal,?That nought may blind it all its days,?Or tempt it down earth's crooked ways;?Drink! till the soul in the eastern skies?Behold the glorious star arise,?That guides its steps to the promised prize;?Drink! till the strong elixir fire?Each aim of the being with pure desire,?Nerve the courage to dare the world,?Though a thousand scoffers their arrows hurl'd;?Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in!
Pour in Truth!
Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in!
What?--Pour in Love!?To quench the thirst of the longing heart,?Heal all its sorrows with wondrous art,?And freshness and joy to its hopes impart;?To make the blossoms of life expand,?And shed their sweetness on every hand;?To melt the frost of each sullen mood,?Cement the bond of true brotherhood,?Subdue the evil of Time with good,?And join the links which death hath riven?Betwixt this fallen sphere and Heaven,?Raising the soul above the sky?On wings of Immortality.?Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in!
Pour in Love!
Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in!
What?--Pour in Hope!?The soul looks out through the coming years,?Blinded by doubts, and blinded by tears,?Sear'd with the iron of tyrant fears:--?Is there a break in Life's gloomy sky??Can the heart reach it before it die??The path is weary, the desert wide,?And Sorrow stalks