I have been near the gates of death,

  And thought I passed them thro’;

Ev’n now my spirit quivereth,

  To think of where it flew!

Oh it was hard to yield my breath;

  ’Twas hard to breathe anew;

It was hard to come to life again,

  And Earth once more to view!

To wake, and find ’twas all in vain,

  The death-pang and adieu!

             II.

Many there be who die in throes,

  And groans, and fearful anguish:

And there be those, who waste in woes;

  And many there be who languish;

But few there be, who die like me,

  Then wake again to sorrow;

Who strive with death, and feel them free,

  But are bound again to-morrow;

Who wrestle through all its agony,

And strive no more in its chains to be,

But are born again to misery,

  In the dying years they borrow.

             III.

I have been near the gates of death,

  And know ’tis hard to die;

That the mortal flesh it shuddereth

  In the spell of death to lie:

That fearful it is—the ebbing breath;

  And awful—the closing eye,

When powerless all, it curtaineth

  The soul, from its loved ones by;

When it closeth slow o’er the leaden gaze,

That wraps, like the mariner’s home, in a haze,

  The dear ones that comfort us nigh.

             IV.

’Tis awful,—the hour when death comes on,

When the voice of cheer or wail is gone;

To feel the lip o’er the dry tooth ope,

To catch half a ray through the eyelid’s scope,

Then shudder, though powerless all, to feel

The frost o’er the glazing orbs congeal,

When the breath grows low, and the heart is chill,

Though the blood creeps ghostlike around it still,

And to gasp a moment, and struggle, and try

To yield the starved spirit,—and groan,—and die,

And still to flicker a dying hour,

When life still hovers, and seems to lower,

Though voice hath no spell, and the pulse no power!

             V.

I tell ye the story this chill Halloween,

  For it suiteth the Spirit-eve;

But my trance was in Spring-time, when trees were green,

  And the hedgerows began to leave:

When the blossom put forth, and the year was new:

When Earth was so lovely—to bid it adieu

Seem’d doubly to die!—and I thought while I drew

  My death gasp, I scarcely could grieve

To die in the Autumn, when leaves come down;

When the shadows are gone from the wilderness brown,

When the flowret droops, and the glories that crown

  The hill-top, like hopes that deceive:

But to die in Spring,—the joyous Spring!

The dear young year, when Hope hath a wing!

To die amid blossoms,—the season’s sweet prime;

To go ere the summer; to fade in the time

When Earth waketh up at the Easter-bell’s chime,

  And dresseth her green, and decketh her sward,

  Like virgins, that early awaited the Lord,

On the morn of his waking sublime!

Oh, to die in the Spring-time,—the young joyous Spring,

When scarce have outbudded the sprigs that they fling

In the cold bed they hallow:—when forest birds sing

Their wood-notes too gaily for requiem due:

Oh, this did appal me, as soulless I grew!

             VI.

The Autumn wind—oh hear it howl!

Without—October’s tempests scowl,

As he troops away on the raving wind!

And leaveth dry leaves in his path behind!

        Without—without,

        Oh hear him shout,

  He is making the old trees bare;

        Oh cruel, he,

        To the old oak tree,

  And the garden hedge so fair!

Oh, a wild and tyrannous king is he,

When he playeth his frolic in every tree,

  And maketh the forest bare!

             VII.

I know that a tyrannous rod is his,

  When he maketh the forest bow;

But worse, far worse are his tyrannies,

  For he tameth the spirit now!

        Without—without,

        Oh hear him shout,

            October is going away!

’Tis the night—the night

Of the grave’s delight,

    And the warlocks are at their play!

Ye think that without,

The wild winds shout,

    But no, it is they—it is they!

             VIII.

The spirits are pulling the sere dry leaves,

  Of the shadowy forest, down;

And howl the gaunt reapers that gather the sheaves,

  With the moon, o’er their revels, to frown:

To-morrow ye’ll find all their spoils in your path,

  And ye’ll speak of the wind and the sky;

But oh could ye see them to-night, in their wrath,

  I ween ye’d be frenzied of eye!

             IX.

There is a world in which we dwell;

And yet a world invisible!

And do not think that naught can be,

Save only what with eyes ye see;

I tell ye, that, this very hour,

Had but your sight a spirit’s power,

Ye would be looking, eye to eye,

At a terrific company!

A thousand shapes are at your side,

A thousand by your bed abide,

A thousand, hellish demon sprites,

That bend ye to their foul delights;

And ye are, every day, the hand,

The tool of an infernal band,

That with you dwell,—are one with you,

And govern ye in all ye do,

Save, when ye live in prayer, or hear

A silent whisper in your ear,

From one,—your friend in heav’n and earth,

The guardian angel of your birth.

             X.

Bear with me, while in sooth I tell

  How mine own eye was purged, to see

A strange and awful miracle,

  The haunted deep of Destiny.

Ah me, I know the story well!

  And I was once as blithe as ye;

But one whose soul hath been in Hell,

  Ev’n in a dream, must sadden’d be.

             XI.

I have been near the gates of death,

  And I, once more, must there appear;

But, Lord, make sure thy servant’s faith,

  To walk that shadow-vale of fear!

For thou hast spoil’d the pang, the sting

  Of death and hell so fierce before,

Led captive in thy triumphing,

  Thy conquest of the Conqueror;

And Faith but waits thy bidding word,

  Thy spirit walking on the sea,

To leap, like Peter to his Lord,

  And pass the roaring floods to Thee;

For raging waves can never tame,

  Nor midnight dark, nor storms, confound

The soul that burns like naptha-flame,

  The brighter for the waters round.

             XII.

Oh Death! they do thee cruel wrong,

Who call thee fearful names in song,

Or on the blackened canvas, throw

Thy shape, in awfulness and woe.

They sin, who paint thee fearful shade,

A devil-shape, in shroud array’d,

With arrows in thy bony hand,

And shaking aye the sinner’s sand,

With felon grin, and demon leer,

Till Nature feels thy venom’d spear.

             XIII.

For oft, as with a seraph’s smile,

Thou dost the happy soul beguile,

And charm away, from darkest scene,

To homes of endless day serene,

Above the world,—no more to sigh

For realms where never more they die;

In worlds, to us poor earthlings, known

By thee, kind Death,—by death alone.

             XIV.

But not to me came death so bright,

For I had lov’d the world’s delight;

And oh to leave what only charm’d me,

To go with Death—that had disarm’d me,

And dragg’d me, loth to part, and fain

To struggle back to bonds again;

’Twas very hard—’twas very dread!

But from my couch, I rais’d my head,

And op’d mine eyes, to look once more

On what, for me, should soon be o’er,

And then I said—or thought, or seem’d

To be repeating, while I dream’d

Away my ebbing hour of breath—

To leave this all, oh this is death!

             XV.

My couch was by a lattic’d door,

  With diamond panes, of olden making,

That open’d on a garden floor

  Of pebbled paths, and flower-beds, waking

Bright as the year, to glad the Earth

And glory in their brilliant birth.

             XVI.

I cast mine eye athwart the scene,

And blest the soul-reviving green;

And must I go away, and must

This eye that doateth turn to dust?

Ye pleasant flowers, I said, when ye

Have turn’d to fruit, oh where shall be

The sight that sees ye, loves you, now,

And blesses ye with fervent vow!

Though all the while ’tis growing dim,

And blooms your beauty—not for him!

             XVII.

This eye hath but an hour to serve,

  And its fine work is broke forever;

The worm shall gnaw its tender nerve,

  And blessed light illume it never.

A moment more—and all is dark;

  This orb, that beauteous shapes have brighten’d,

And lighted like a diamond spark,

  Shall palsy, ne’er to be enlighten’d!

             XVIII.

Then my last look shall be at you,

  Ye blessed things that still I cherish;

’Tis well the latest things I view,

  Should charm me, even as I perish!

Farewell, farewell; life’s dream is going;

  And I shall wake to deathless years:

But oh ye flowers, so sweetly blowing,

  How can I leave you but with tears!

             XIX.

I learn’d to love ye on the knee

Of a fair nurse, in infancy,

Who taught me, with a lip as sweet

As rose-buds, your perfume to greet,

And clap my little hands with joy,

When she gave lilies to her boy.

Oh little flowers! in boyhood too

I held sweet dalliance with you,

And in my earliest passion’s hour,

Could only call my love a flower.

Oh then the starry jessamine,

I pull’d the garden walks within,

And romp’d around, from plot to plot,

Reaping, where I had strewed not,

All hues and odours; wild with glee,

So boldly mischievous to be;

And laughing when they strove to catch,

Or failing, begg’d me not to snatch;

For I had e’er a lover’s eye,

And flowers were lovely company!

A very bacchanal of heart;

And nature-taught in pleasure’s art,

A young Anacreon in my glee,

Beneath the rose-bush tossing me,

And more,—a very rogue, was I,

A pig from Epicurus’ stye;

And so my bosom would I fill

With lily, pink, and daffodil,

And gallop back, my treasures folding,

And bold of heart to bear a scolding,

My head enwreath’d from ear to ear,

And Duke, my spaniel, prancing near.

             XX.

Dear happy days, forever fled,

I too must wither, and be dead.

  I too must droop; oh bear me up!

  A look shall be my cordial cup!

  Ah this is my last glance:—nay, this!

  I feel an awful dizziness!

  Fling wide the casement—let me see

  The last dear day-light fade on me!

  Oh—and the breezes let me smell;

  I know the scent of Spring-time well!

  And there’s a little songster winging;

  And hark, ’tis Robin Red-breast singing!

And there the glorious sun goes down!

  My life’s last sun! oh hold; oh why

So hasten o’er the woodlands brown,

  And leave me in the dark to die!

Would God! that mountain were away,

  So I might see the sunset longer!

Stop, stop!—ah naught can stop the Day;

  And yet mine agony grows stronger!

Oh see how fast his golden ray

  Sinks—sinks! I’m sure, before, it never

Went half so fast! Stay, stay, oh stay!

  Ah there ’tis going!—gone forever!

             XXI.

It sunk: I swoon’d: a pang—’twas over!

Nay, nay, for still my life would hover:

The dying lamp would flicker—flicker,

Though breath was low, and sight was thicker.

And I was going, going slowly,

My heart unshrived, my soul unholy,

The sins of mis-spent years upon me,

And follies that had all undone me!

And this I knew not—for ’twas awful,

How I was fill’d with thoughts unlawful;

Thoughts that did make me all forget

  What I had left for dying minute;

And I was dying, dying, yet

  Forgot that endless death was in it.

             XXII.

I slept; but yet I was not dead

  For breath still fluttered nigh;

And now, a strain of music shed,

  Came mournful as a sigh!

Was it some spirit’s harp I heard,

  Far in the land of dreams?

Was it the song of Eden’s bird?

  Was it the lull of streams?

What was it? for I did not know

  But ’twas an angel band

Come down, to bear me from below,

  Up to the Spirit-land!

It murmur’d—rose—swell’d high and clear:

Then sunk, and sunk away, like Fear

Holding her breath. Again, it swell’d!

I thought some fairy’s death-peal knell’d.

             XXIII.

It was a wind-harp’s magic strong,

Mov’d by the breeze in dreamy song;

But I was gone too far to know

What stirr’d my troubled spirit so,

And in my fancy, came a flood

Of visions, strange to flesh and blood,

And nameless shapes that hover’d round;

Such was the wizard power of sound!

             XXIV.

Methought all lovely forms were nigh,

And Beauty, with a tearful eye

Dewing the couch where I lay to die,

    And singing my soul away.

And I said, fair beings, ’tis well ye know,

And the soul of a poet would have it so,

The lovely have been my friends below,

And a soul of song, in a song should go

    To the world where they sing for aye.

             XXV.

And their fairy fingers were fain to play:

  But I was a-going, and gone too far

To listen them longer, as there I lay,

  Though each was as lovely as angels are.

And each had locks, like the beamy light,

  And lips like the crimson wine,

And eyes, like the stars of the morning, bright,

  Or the diamond’s spark divine.

             XXVI.

But one glance more—one wilder’d sight,

And I closed my eye on all delight:

One hasty glance—and I never knew

Whence was the music that thrill’d me through;

My ear but caught one fading strain,

And then it was seal’d: but it rung again

With a deathlike, piercing, frosty pain:

And o’er each limb did numbness creep,

As steals o’er the muscles the prickly sleep:

And death came on me: my breath but press’d

In a struggling gasp, from half my breast;

And a falling, falling, falling feeling,

And dark oblivion o’er me stealing,

And a hand that press’d me down, below

The deepest depth of some ocean’s flow,

And a struggle long, and a struggle dread,

And a frantic wrench to raise my head,

And a throttled gasp, and a quenching breath,

And a struggle—is all I know of death.

             XXVII.

’Twas over! But then my death began;

I was a disembodied man!

Blind, and alone, and alive—but where!

I was falling, and floating, and flitting through air;

There was darkness here, there was darkness there;

    Oh where was I, poor soul!

I had never a voice, and never a tongue,

And I felt no limbs, but still I was flung

In the darksome deep that around me hung,

    And that seem’d to have never a goal.

             XXVIII.

Alone, alone; in the deep alone,

Of an awful, soulless world unknown!

And there was I—but I could still

Think of such thoughts, as us’d to fill

Mine eyes with tears: and tears had then

Been sweet as sunlight seen again.

But tears were none, and never an eye

Save the quenchless sight of memory.

             XXIX.

The thoughts of joys our childhood gave,

Like flowers upon a mother’s grave,

How laden comes their sad perfume

With all that hath inspired their bloom!

The dear beloved—the only fair,

Our heart’s best part is mould’ring there;

And thoughts that blossom from the urn,

Are dust, and unto dust return.

             XXX.

The breeze that o’er that mother’s tomb

  Comes idly, as to garden-beds,

Is sober’d by the flowers’ perfume,

  And sadness, all around, it sheds.

The very grass it stirs to life,

Doth seem with old remembrance rife,

And every blade instinct, doth move

To wake the tenderness of love.

’Tis then, that as they wave and nod,

And shiver o’er the daisied sod,

They seem, profanely, not to know

The holy head that sleeps below;

And lovely though their petals be,

Their loveliness is agony.

             XXXI.

How awful was my memory, then,

Of hours when I abode with men:

When rose my clouded soul within

The pictur’d world, where I had been:

When all delights that I had known,

Came back, because forever flown:

When blew their fragrance o’er my sense,

  With sorrow’s fullness in their flavour,

And all the silent eloquence

  Of a remembered savour.

             XXXII.

I heard the sound of coming wings;

  ’Twas dark as the second death,

But I could see a thousand things,

  For I heard a being’s breath:

A whisper—a sigh—was here—was there,

  For darkness is Fancy’s light:

And horrible phantoms were filling the air,

  For I heard the low stroke of their flight.

Oh should they touch me!

Or oh should they clutch me!

  How shrunk my poor soul in its fright!

             XXXIII.

A terrible moment—’twas coming nigh;

  ’Twas nearer; ’twas nearer; ’twas on me!

Oh can I believe it!—it pass’d me by;

And off, in the distance, it seem’d to die,

With the creak of its wings:—but there came a cry,

And a hollow, unspeakable, fading sigh,

  And a laugh in my ears to stun me.

Ha—ha! Ha—ha! What a wretch was I,

  For I thought the devil had won me.

             XXXIV.

Ha—ha! Ha—ha! ’twas a hollow jeer;

And it broke like a thunder-clap, right in my ear,

And just when I thought not a whisper was near,

  It burst like a trumpet beside me:

And it deafen’d my hearing, with deafness that rung,

And I knew ’twas a black and a damned tongue,

  That had laugh’d such a laugh to deride me.

             XXXV.

For I had senses, and I could tell

By my spirit’s hearing, that such a yell

Was only learn’d in the bottom of hell,

  To torture a bodiless soul:

And bodiless, still I could feel the same,

And I trembled whenever a spirit came,

  Or the flap of his flying stole.

Oh why did I tremble! The deathless mind,

  It needeth no more to be human still,

Its flesh, and its beauty, it leaveth behind,

  But still it endureth—the conquerless Will.

             XXXVI.

I fell—I fell—I fell,

  Till my spirit began to tire,

I had verily thought the depths of Hell

  Were nearer to Heaven, and higher!

And I felt how terrible ’twas, to be

Falling through all Eternity,

With never an eye to gaze and see,

  But oh, such a soul to desire!

             XXXVII.

And was I to be for ages so!

A being, forever so blind to go!

Oh, I was left in my soul to know

  The wicked are like the Ocean,

That never can rest, in rise or fall,

That even in calm, is tremulous all,

That casteth up mire, and, bitter as gall,

  Is ever, and aye in motion.

             XXXVIII.

A body grew o’er my ghostly mind,

And I felt young winglets sprout behind,

A butterfly pair of gauzy things;

And I was a cherub with little wings.

But cherubs there are of weal and woe,

Angels above and imps below:

Oh, was it for good I was fashion’d so!

  Or was it for direr stings!

For now I had eyes; and now I could see

And now I was dress’d in a shape to be

A new-born soul in Eternity,

But ignorant all of my destiny,

  As the veriest bird that sings.

             XXXIX.

But an angel flew with his hands let down

A glorious angel—that wore a crown;

And he caught me up so sweet, and smil’d,

As a mother takes up her falling child;

And I was happy, and thought me then

One of the army of ransom’d men,

But oh, alas! I was left again

  In desolate wastes, and wild.

             XL.

But in mine eyes strange virtues grew;

And now the Heaven of Heavens, to view

  Rose glorious as the light!

Oh it were idle to strive to tell,

But I can remember, remember well,

  How wonderful seem’d the sight.

I was not there; but saw afar

How happy the heavenly spirits are,

Like him of old, with a gulf between

My longing soul and the glorious scene.

Oh, never shall pass that dread ravine

  A soul defiled by sin!

But there was I, and I could see

How desolate all without must be,

  How rapturous all within.

             XLI.

It seem’d as if in Heaven, they all

Were keeping some high festival:

For, far and near, they thronging came,

Angels, and shapes of living flame,

That had been wandering with their peers,

Out, o’er remotest stars and spheres,

And roaming over fields of light,

Adoring ever, at the sight

Of wondrous things, beyond our seeing,

Creations bursting into being,

New suns and planets ever making,

And new-born light forever breaking.

             XLII.

And wonder seem’d their high employ

Forever, in their homes of joy;

These are thy works—the endless song

Forever roll’d those worlds along.

And now they came, to worship flying,

From stars beyond old Saturn lying;

From far they came, all homeward winging,

And ever on their journey singing,

And trooping to their homes again

From realms beyond our utmost ken,

Legions on legions—from the coasts

Of all thine empire, Lord of Hosts!

             XLIII.

A pair of angels came apart

Of flaming soul, and flaming heart,

And flying through the holy air

From Paradise’s gardens fair,

As if two flowers that there were wreathing,

Had sprung to life, all wing’d and breathing.

Ulla and Arah, they are lovers;

Ulla with Arah ever hovers;

Ever together—twins in Heaven;

To whom, by God himself ’twas given

That loving all, and loving Him,

They should be loving cherubim,

And ever in his empire dwell,

Two heavenly souls, yet one as well,

In love that is unspeakable.

             XLIV.

Ulla and Arah, there they came

Floating in atmosphere of flame,

And hovering, in the amber blaze,

Like phantoms in a golden haze.

Oh, ye that rapt in wondrous awe,

Have seen what ancient hands could draw,

Bethink ye of the shapes divine,

With wavy grace in every line,

In rainbow rays of glory hung,

Which rapt Rafaelle’s pencil flung;

And ye can tell how there I felt,

To see those cherubs as they knelt,

Their wings and arms together twining,

Their beamy locks together shining,

And rising, falling, bathed in light,

As eagles poise them in their flight;

On waves of ether swan-like sailing,

And, in their angel-worship, veiling,

As Holy, Holy, they did call,

In music-notes seraphical.

             XLV.

And I could see, when there above,

This was thine essence, Holy Love!

For love, below, unfailing comer

To light and shade our life’s young summer;

The love that stirs each earthly bosom,

When life’s first blushing roses blossom;

That joyful, gleeful, blissful sighing,

Dying for love, yet never dying:

Oh, that sweet speech of eye to eye,

Is love, but not like love on high.

’Tis all the same in essence fair,

But mingled here—’tis perfect there:

Here, earthly, troubled, never sure,

Above, ’tis tearless, blest, and pure:

Here, never can we call our own,

Flesh of our flesh, and bone of bone;

Above, two hearts may join in one,

And never is the tie undone,

Unending still, and still begun.

             XLVI.

Oh yes! for it was born above,

That Medo-Persic law of Love!

It hath in God himself its spring,

And is like God, a holy thing.

They that love on, and love through all,

Though fortune lower, and fate appal;

The wife that wed in happy day,

Loves still when clouds come o’er the way;

The manly heart, that ne’er so warm,

Gives his own breast to brave the storm,

So he may shield her faded form;

These loving spirits—think ye these

Well moor’d at length in calmer seas,

And brighter, fairer, blest above,

Will love the less, where all is love?

Oh, there upon that happy shore

They wed, and give away no more,

But angel-lovers, they abide,

And roam the blissful regions wide,

In love sublimed and purified.

             XLVII.

And then I thought if I should ever

Reach that dear home, to leave it never,

I too would find some angel-spirit

Risen from Earth through Christ, his merit,

With whom I too might ever hover,

In heavenly love, a heavenly lover.

Then did it seem—oh pray no sin

So sweet a thought of heaven be in!

Then did it seem, that heaven the dearer

Would surely be, and joy sincerer,

To have some soul, akin to mine,

Go out o’er all the fields divine,

Link’d with mine own—some soul that I

Had known this side Eternity:

That we, no more to part asunder,

Together there, might gaze and wonder;

Praising the Lord for all things there,

For all his wondrous works and fair,

So vast, so bright: but most, that we

Safe landed there at last, should be!

And then along our starry walk,

Of this lone planet would we talk,

The dear green Earth, our once sweet home,

Of which such few, far tidings come;

Of all its joy, of all its woe,

Of many a landscape there below;

How we were children there, and grew;

How many a joyful hour we knew,

Of how we dwelt, of how we roved,

And dearer far, of how we loved!

And so together would we be

Blest, through a long Eternity;

As o’er the loving worlds we trod,

With all our love absorb’d in God.

             XLVIII.

The Heaven of Heavens is fill’d with One,

Of rays shot forth, and God the Sun:

For God is Love, and this is He,

That filleth all Immensity.

And seraphs in his sight are dim,

They are but beings out of Him!

’Tis central Glory—and its beams:

’Tis Light’s great Fountain—and its streams:

’Tis One—so great, so good, so bright,

And hosts inscrutable as light,

A Voice—and echoes of its sound;

God,—and his living smiles around!

             XLIX.

But God forbid that I should dare

Discover, what I next saw there:

Or tell the music, or the word,

That from immortal tongues I heard.

I saw, but oh I must not tell,

The vision was unspeakable!

Millions on millions, bright to see,

All crowding through Immensity:

Myriads on myriads, far away,

To keep the worship of that day,

That stood in serried, close array,

And bent, and sway’d them, to the breeze

Of soul-controlling harmonies;

As if the heavenly fields were sown

With wavy light, to harvest grown.

             L.

I saw them like the elders fall,

  Whom once in Patmos’ lonely isle,

In dream apocalyptical

  The Prophet saw, and quak’d the while:

But mine was nothing but a dream;

  A phantasy, a fearful vision,

Reflected in a troubled stream,

  A soul that long’d for sights elysian;

Mine was an agony of thought,

By grief, and subtle fancy wrought,

And what I saw I only tell

As my deep slumber’s miracle;

For well I know, that nothing gives,

And nought is known by man that lives,

Nor earth hath heard, nor thought conceived,

Nor Fancy into vision weaved,

What joys the Faithful have in store,

Where our dear Lord is gone before.

             LI.

But God has told us by his Son,

How that triumphant church is one

With all the saints, on Earth, who go

Campaigning through a world of woe;

And one with that dear army blest,

Whose fight is o’er, yet calmly rest,

In Paradise—not mute, nor dumb,

Praying with us, Thy kingdom come,

And ready, at the Master’s call,

To rise where Christ is all in all.

Oh ye baptised, and cross’d beside,

Ye soldiers of the Crucified,

That stand in phalanx deep and broad,

The one Church Catholic of God!

Know ye full well, that every day

With you, the old Apostles pray;

With you, as if on Earth they stood,

The prophets’ goodly brotherhood

Are praising God; and with them bright,

The martyrs’ noble host in light.

             LII.

These that from great afflictions came,

The martyrs with their tongues of flame,

And spirits of the Just, as well,

In companies innumerable;

With our still further voices blend,

All one with those that there ascend.

I heard their clouds of song arise

In full liturgic sacrifice!

One song from all their legions given

Came rolling through the deep of Heaven;

And far as vision’d eye could gaze,

Alike they worshipp’d in amaze;

And holy lauds, that I could hear

Far off the same, the same a-near,

Uprose before the living throne,

Where dwells the Infinite Unknown;

Where lives in light—the nameless Name,

Whose presence is a burning flame,

A flame of love—a flame of fire,

A God of mercy—and of ire!

             LIII.

Gone! and the vision roll’d away,

As Heaven shall roll that dreadful day!

The stars, with Earth’s great star, the Sun,

Our God shall quench when time is done,

But in that day, that direful day,

When blotted out is every ray,

’Twill all be light, yes, glorious light,

To that unfathomable night,

That, in a moment, leap’d around,

And chang’d the vision of my swound.

             LIV.

I saw a picture in the air,

  A shape that bleeding hung:

It caught from some far fires a glare,

  That fearful shadows flung:

As when the culprit in his cell,

Sees him he slew, and knows him well,

So did my conscience cry, ’tis He;

  So did I know the sight!

A being, bleeding patiently,

  In that terrific light!

A flickering blaze it was, that threw

Upon his form, a light so blue,

And gave pale limbs, a livid hue,

  To fright me down to Hell!

Each sinew strain’d—a writhing frame,

The figure in the subtle flame,

How fearfully it went and came,

  How lighted up—and fell!

             LV.

A glorious being suffering,

A thorny crown’d and bleeding king,

  His patient arms spread wide;

The trickling drops were on his brow,

  The scar was on his side;

I gaz’d—methinks I see it now!

  It was the Crucified!

             LVI.

A lamb before his shearers dumb!

I heard no sound or murmur come,

Though, but to look, mine eyes did ache,

To see the very gibbet shake,

And know it was in agony

The Lord himself endur’d for me.

Methought on me, the tortur’d eye

Fell meek, and so forgivingly!

But Oh, the worst reproach it seem’d,

To see how merciful it beam’d;

So like the look that broke, of old,

The heart that could no longer hold,

But burst to bitter tears abhorr’d,

Of him, that had denied his Lord.

             LVII.

And I had wept—but had no tears!

I had denied him many years!

And ’twas the second death, I trow,

To look upon that Saviour now,

And think, what I on earth had done,

To pierce afresh that Holy One

I yearn’d to think ’twas all a dream!

  But no—I see him there!

I strove to waken with a scream,

  But voices mock’d in air:

I strove to cry—I yearn’d to pray:

And a voice broke in on my wild dismay,

Go—go, poor creature, begone for aye!

And a demon laugh ha-ha’d away.

             LVIII.

There is another world than this,

  And there ’twas mine to fall:

’Tis never a world of joy or bliss,

But a world where fear and darksomeness,

  And gloom, enshroudeth all.

Oh pray ye now, while pray ye can,

  That never ye come, where then I came;

For never return’d a tell-tale man,

  That once went down to that world of flame.

             LIX.

Oh where was my poor soul to run!

  I came to light once more,

And knew it was the blessed sun

  That such a flood did pour!

Oh yes, it was that gorgeous one,

  As glorious as before!

And I was league on league from here,

  Away the stars among:

I could not see our little sphere,

  Or know how sweet she sung;

But I had been so far to roam,

I called the Solar System—home.

             LX.

And still I gaz’d upon the sun!

It was that old familiar one!

And I remember’d how it seem’d,

When daily, o’er the earth, he beam’d.

For I had often seen him rise

In splendor up the golden skies,

With varied clouds, around to curl,

Like hues that paint the mother-pearl.

And I remember’d, true and well,

His glory, o’er the Ocean’s swell,

When oft, beneath his path of fire,

The sea’s calm bosom would respire,

Or bid each foam-capp’d ocean sprite

Leap up, and clap his wild delight.

             LXI.

The same dear sun was shining yet,

Whose setting sheen, I’ll near forget,

When oft at eve, the hills among,

O’er the deep West I saw him hung,

Till stretch’d the woodland shadows brown,

And bright apparell’d, he went down.

’Twas sweet to think, so far away,

Of youth and its romantic day,

Of blue Owasco, and my joy

To frolic there, a sailor-boy,

Till sunlight went, and many a tune

Beguil’d my voyage beneath the moon;

Of all the mountain streams, and groves,

That yet my memory keeps and loves,

That dearer, brighter, lovelier, were

To me, star-wandering voyager,

For memories, golden as the day,

Of morn, or evening’s lingering ray.

             LXII.

I saw the little world from far,

  And did not know my home;

But bless’d the little fairy star

  That did so lonely roam;

’Twas spinning round, and round, and round,

  And singing all the while,

As went, until Apollo bound,

  Latona’s holy isle:

Away the constellations shone

  Like stellar Cyclades,

And spun the little Earth alone,

  Upon the airy seas.

             LXIII.

The Earth, it is a little ball

  That sails thro’ ether clear,

And beautiful it moves, through all

  The silent atmosphere;

Ten thousand, thousand, miles away

  From any sister star,

It is a lonely thing, they say,

  Yet shineth from afar;

To each remotest star it smiles,

  And flieth all the time,

And all its airy way, beguiles,

  With some celestial chime.

             LXIV.

Oh do not smile! it is not vain,

Though envy sneer, and doubt complain;

They do not dream, who say they hear

The music of each little sphere,

On some clear evening, when aloft

The stars are out, and shining soft.

Oh Earth, it is a lonely thing

Through empty regions wandering,

Yet charm’d forever, by a sound

From all the deep blue Heaven around;

The Heaven above, the Heaven below,

The Heaven wherever she may go,

The starry vault through which she flies,

The deep, unfathom’d, pathless skies.

             LXV.

Oh Earth, it is a little gem,

  The green Earth, and the bright;

An emerald, in a diadem

  Of sapphire, blue as night;

As night—when all the stars are dim,

  Because the moon shines fair,

And Nature sends her holy hymn,

  Up, through the stilly air.

And now I know that angels bright

Are ever with it, in its flight,

And dance around it, as it rolls,

And spinneth on its silver poles.

They flit anear its azure coasts,

The legions of the Lord of Hosts;

Ten thousand, thousand, angel wings

Are with it in its journeyings,

And these are they, whose simple smile

Is starlight to the little isle;

And oft their troops are visible

  In changing columns, quick and glancing,

As if the skies, by miracle,

  Were full of angel-lustres dancing.

And these in bright successive changes,

The boy, that through the woodland ranges

Beholds appall’d, and in his fear

Believes the judgment-day is near;

While duller wits are gravely set

With glass, and tube and tourniquet,

And eyes asquint,—at what they call

Naught but Aurora-Boreal;

Unweeting that the sign is there,

As God in flesh, did once declare,

That all the world might know before,

How earth should rock, and ocean roar,

And nations quake, and empires wail,

And man’s strong heart with terror fail.

             LXVI.

The Earth, it is a tiny thing,

  That hath all colours bright;

And zones, that gird it like a ring,

  With green and snowy white!

And ocean gives it fields of blue,

  And mountains boss it fair;

It carries every blessed hue

  Through all the deep of air.

Oh yes, I’m coming nearer, nearer,

I see my little dwelling clearer,

And yonder—yes—it is the moon,

Up gleaming from her highest noon!

             LXVII.

I saw the fairy vision ope,

Such as ye ken through the telescope:

Now, ’twas a globe of frost-work hung

High up in air, the stars among;

Then as it came to daylight more,

’Twas a blister’d orb of silver ore;

And lo! as the nearer sunbeams steal,

’Tis an orange stripp’d of its golden peel.

And so was the night-queen lost in light;

Oh ye should look on the moon at night!

             LXVIII.

I saw it was only our planet’s shade,

That men call night, and are sore afraid;

And ever, ’tis so, with the mortal breast,

With the gloom of its own dark soul distress’d;

He feareth a shadow, that only can be

A speck in the sunshine of happiness free;

For man, like his planet, must ever be going

  Half dark, and half light, on his wonderful way,

While ever his God, like the sunlight, is throwing

  His merciful, glorious, unquenchable ray.

             LXIX.

I never lik’d the world so well,

  It never seem’d so dear:

For I beheld it, as I fell,

  And bless’d the little sphere.

And now I breathed the air again,

  And felt ’twas native breath;

And I long’d to speak once more to men,

  And tell them what is death:

But I was high in the sky-vault yet,

  And slow I sunk, and slower:

Oh, how I long’d my foot to set

  On the dear green Earth once more!

             LXX.

There cometh a winged form!

  What meanest thou, so high?

His wing was wet from a lower storm,

  And he wafted, slowly by,

For his was a spirit warm,

  And his was a quenchless eye!

And I knew ’twas the eagle—untameable bird!

  For he came with the earth’s perfumes;

And a mountain scent, wherever he stirr’d,

  He shook from his glittering plumes.

             LXXI.

Another—another! dear bird of my love,

Stay, stay thy worn winglet, thou beautiful dove!

His bosom was heaving, and panting for breath;

His maiden-like eye, it was filmy as death;

And the dear little creature, he wing’d me by

So faint, and so feeble, I knew he would die:

And he seem’d like a spirit broke loose from earth,

That long’d to be off to a purer birth,

That rose into heaven, and joyously there

Was happy a moment, in heavenly air,

But wearied anon of its hope, and its wing,

Was dropping to earth again: poor little thing!

             LXXII.

A hawk—a hawk in chase above!

Oh fast! fly fast, my little dove!

A hawk!—a hawk! I’ve come again

To breathe the atmosphere of men,

For ever and aye, in the world ’twas so,

Where a dove was flying, a hawk would go!

             LXXIII.

Nearer to earth, it seem’d no more,

That beautiful, glorious, fairy shore;

Already, so many a mile in air,

I felt that a poison’d taint was there;

And the hawk and dove, they brought me back

To earth’s dark scenes, and its beaten track;

And then I remember’d, remember’d well,

As nearer, and nearer, and nearer I fell,

How often my spirit had groan’d, to be

On the dull time-side of Eternity;

How oft I had hated and loath’d my home,

And long’d to be off where the soul might roam,

And sigh’d as I gaz’d on the starlight above;

Oh—oh had I only the wings of a dove!

             LXXIV.

O Earth, it is a weary place,

  A never lighten’d gloom;

The charnel of a dying race;

  The soaring spirit’s tomb.

Oh Earth, ’tis a dismal nook at best,

  I never can bear it more;

As eaglets never can bear their nest,

  When once they have learn’d to soar!

             LXXV.

Dids’t ever fall in a fearful dream!

  For now I was falling so:

And ye who have dream’d a fall, may deem

  It was fearful to fall so low.

Falling, and falling, and falling—Hark!

  ’Twas a voice from the Earth that caught me;

’Twas wild as the song of the morning lark,

  Or the laugh that my mother taught me!

             LXXVI.

But where is it I ope mine eyes!

Oh, can I be in Paradise!

That voice so innocent—so gay,

Seem’d but to laugh as angels may!

A wild, full, childish peal of joy,

The halloo of a noble boy,

And something like a sister’s glee,

Ha-ha-ing in full harmony.

             LXXVII.

Mine eyes were scarcely yet unclos’d;

And half awake, I half repos’d;

It needed yet another peal

The spell of spirit to unseal:

  Again it broke,

  I woke—I woke!

Oh, do I wake to woe, or weal!

             LXXVIII.

Two laughing cherubs bent above me,

That look’d like Cupids sent to love me,

Laughing with all their elfin might,

The very sculpture of delight;

Their curly locks, and merry eyes,

And their full voices’ melodies,

The very vision, to recall

My soul, without too sad a fall;

The very link I needed, given,

So wild with Earth, so full of Heaven!

And as I woke, they flew away,

A pair of cherubs—imp and fay,

In mischief, merry o’er their fun,

That they had plagu’d a sleepy one,

Yet screaming in their happy laughter,

Lest I should up, and follow after.

             LXXIX.

I could not stir—I heard them run,

Two rosy children, full of fun:

And now I knew the bright blue eye,

The ruddy lip that kiss’d me nigh,

The voice that woke, the flaxy curl,

Were all a dear beloved girl,

That out had scamper’d, with her brother,

To pull young flowers, and hide from mother.

             LXXX.

I knew it all: but there I lay,

  My eyes were op’d—I could not stir!

I felt as some tir’d pilgrim may,

  That hath been years a traveller!

A breeze was through my casement blowing,

  And oh I heard the warblers sing;

And rarest plants their scents were throwing,

  And every breath was full of Spring

And I was waking up from death,

  As one who hath been drown’d;

Oh, how my spirit shuddereth

  To tell ye of that swound!

I could not thank the Lord enow,

  That it was all a dream;

The sweat was cold upon my brow,

  And ’twas a blessed stream;

I felt the sweet life-giving air,

In every tangle of my hair,

But could not stir—for there was I,

In more than rapture’s reverie.

And was I yet in this green world,

  Was yet my spirit here!

Was I safe home, that had been hurl’d

  Out o’er the farthest sphere!

Oh—had I time to strive for Heaven!

  Or, was I dreaming still!

Would God this riddle’s end were given!

  I said—and like a thrill,

Over the hills, and over the dells,

I heard your music, bells, sweet bells!

             LXXXI.

I knew from earth it must arise;

’Tis always Sunday in the skies,

And save on earth, there is no where

That spirits need a call to prayer.

The bells, the bells, the same old chime!

It brought me back to childhood’s time;

I saw the gray old church’s towers,

The ivied porch, the funeral flowers,

And smelt the very scent they flung,

So full of joy, when I was young!

I heard the organ’s swell once more,

Through window-arch and portal pour,

While throng’d the villagers to pray,

In groups along the rustic way,

And saw, the shadow’d walk adown,

The dear old rector’s reverend gown.

             LXXXII.

My soul grew strong; and up I rose,

  Oh yes, I have been all night dreaming;

But now the ruddy morning glows,

  And up the golden sun is streaming:

I’ll out upon the pebbled path,

  Mine easy robe about me folding,

And see how bright the season hath

  Put forth fresh flowers, for my beholding.

Green Earth is all around reviving,

  And strong is every living thing;

And all is pleasant health, and thriving,

  In thy sweet season, lovely Spring!

Yes, every knoll its wealth unbosoms,

  And laugheth o’er the winter flown,

And see the dead old trunk hath blossoms,

  And moss is on the cold gray stone.

             LXXXIII.

And up the butterfly is springing

  From out the shroud, that lately wound him;

And off on gentle zephyrs winging,

  How spurneth he the clod that bound him.

So our Lord did break his prison,

  So he wafted to the skies;

So my soul, thou too hast risen!

  So the dead in Christ shall rise.

             LXXXIV.

It was the holy Easter-day,

And Nature, like an infant lay,

When soft its breathing comes and goes,

No sound, no stir, but cool repose.

A calm soft sleep was in the air,

And every breeze, that whisper’d there,

Came sweet as from a seraph’s mouth,

With odours from the sunny South.

And so the garden-walks along

I saunter’d pleas’d, and humming song,

And knew that Heaven itself above,

Did keep with Earth that feast of Love.

             LXXXV.

When Christ, our Lord, was born of old,

An angel choir his coming told;

And from the manger where he lay,

All up along the starry way,

Were seraphs set, and watchwords given,

To pass the story up to Heaven.

And so in sooth, they stand as well,

Though not to mortals visible,

Where’er the Church’s anthems rise,

To waft our homage to the skies.

Oh then, how blest each festal morn,

When Christ arose, when Christ was born,

And who but loves thee, Easter-day,

Queen of old feasts, so bright, so gay,

So dear to every Christian soul,

O’er all the Earth, from pole to pole!

             LXXXVI.

For Heaven comes down to Earth, in thee,

That worship may be harmony.

And years on years away have roll’d,

But still the Easter chimes are toll’d.

From land to land they peal and ring,

How Jesu is our Lord and King;

And hark! once more—from yonder fane,

Outpeal those gushing sounds again,

Responsive to the anthem, hurl’d

From land to land, around the world.

             LXXXVII.

Yes,—the Easter-bells are ringing!

  Yes,—it is the Easter-day!

Hark,—their merry chimes are singing,

  In their sweet old fashioned way!

  Listen,—for they seem to say,

In their ivied turret swinging,

  Hear oh Earth, ’tis Easter-day!

              1.

     Christ is arisen,

       Joy to thee, mortal!

     Out of his prison,

       Forth from its portal!

     Christ is not sleeping,

       Seek him no longer;

     Strong was his keeping;

       Jesus was stronger!

              2.

     Christ is arisen,

       Seek him not here,

     Lonely his prison,

       Empty his bier;

     Vain his entombing,

       Spices, and lawn;

     Vain the perfuming:

       Jesus is gone!

              3.

     Christ is arisen,

       Joy to thee, mortal!

     Empty his prison,

       Broken its portal:

     Rising, he giveth

       His shroud to the sod;

     Risen,—he liveth,

       And liveth to God!

             LXXXVIII.

Yes,—and all the world around,

So those Easter chimings sound:

All the Earth is gay and bright,

Risen with the Lord to light;

Yes,—and yonder sun doth see

Many a Christian on his knee,

Singing, as he bends to pray,

Christ, our Lord, is risen to-day!

             LXXXIX.

Think, my soul, in every land

How, in holy aisles, they stand;

Christians—who with every tongue,

Lauds, and anthems high, have sung;

And all night long, pale vigil kept,

As Magdalene and Mary wept,

With lowly heart, but lifted eye,

Gazing raptly on the sky,

Blessing there the Paschal moon,

And longing, as she pass’d her noon,

To see her silver melt away,

In all the golden glow of day!

             XC.

Think of those who watch’d the dawn,

Pilgrims, o’er the desert drawn,

Round the Sepulchre afar,

Where the turban’d Paynims are!

Think, who, there, His love to shew,

Rose two thousand years ago!

Think, how Mary wept to say,

They have ta’en my Lord away;

Think, when Christ appear’d to her

How she call’d Him—gardener:

Picture then the fond reply,

Mary———and her swimming eye.

             XCI.

Think along the Grecian isles

How each dark-eyed lady smiles,

As, at incense-hour, she goes,

Singing sweetly—Jesus rose!

Think of Roman, Goth, and Hun,

Praising and adoring One!

While, the solid world around,

Rises one symphonious sound,

From choirs, and bells, and organs blown,

Cathedral chaunt, and matins lone,

One burst—one loud adoring voice,

The Lord is risen—Earth rejoice!

             XCII.

A thousand vintages to-day,

The dear Redeemer’s blood display,

From Samos’ isle of ruddy vines,

To where the Finland chalice shines;

And where the Hindu hand hath crush’d

The grape that in the jungle blush’d;

Or where the Huron’s cluster wild,

Is on the altar, undefiled.

And grain that hath to harvest grown,

Upon a thousand mountains sown,

From green Arkansas, to Cathay,

Is bless’d for Jesu’s flesh to-day.

             XCIII.

And every altar, Greek and Goth,

Is cover’d with its snowy cloth;

And kneeling Christians, every where,

Are fed with sacramental fare.

In farthest Ind, I see them bow,

The naked shape, the swarthy brow,

Where Gunga’s wave, so dark before,

Hath borne the northern bishop’s prore;

Aye there, ’neath vault and swelling dome,

And oh, in my green forest home,

All—all are kneeling!—and on high,

There’s one communion in the sky:

For there all angels, and the dead,

Are one, in Him that suffered!

             XCIV.

To-day the chimes of England call

A nation to the festival;

And I can see the glorious light,

That makes the minster-window bright,

And throws a gorgeous stain, in flood,

Upon the blessed bread and blood.

I see, beside the altar, stand,

The bishop, with the Cup in hand,

A solemn light around him shed,

And holy hues upon his head!

I see the priests in snowy white,

And tombs with blazon’d scutcheons dight;

I see the people kneeling round;

I hear the organ’s host of sound,

With angels and archangels high,

The Saviour laud and magnify!

And I can feel, to worship there,

Is living on the mount of prayer!

             XCV.

Oh, utter’d in an humbler tone,

The same high service is mine own.

And hark again, the bells, the bells!

The music, what a tale it tells!

It calleth all, and calleth me;

Nor vain shall its sweet warning be,

For I this morn, through Him that bled,

Am doubly risen from the dead;

If but my Lord will hear to-day

The vows repentant I would pay,

And, as once more He gives me breath,

Give me to win a holier death,

With ministers of mercy round,

And pard’ning grace, and prayer’s sweet sound,

And sacramental strength to break

The bonds of flesh—and then to wake,

As now I waken, from a dream,

And hail this holy Easter-beam

That bids me sing my Saviour’s love,

And risen, seek the things above.

             L’ENVOI.

Oft my dull hours, poor Song, thou hast deceived,

  And borne me back to that enchanted dream,

In which I made thee. In thee have I weaved

  More than to shallow eyesight there will seem.

  And thou hast liv’d, as, in the darling beam

Of one bright lady, the cag’d bird doth dwell,

  Where he that gave it, envies it the gleam

Of her admiring smiles. But from her cell

Now thou art loos’d, poor Song—thou’lt not be lov’d so well.