Is there amid this boundless universe 50 One whom thy soul would visit? Is there place His closing speech Yet sounded on her ear, and lo! they stood 55 "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 61 Which never morn nor night he fails to tell, 66 65 70 Thy voice is heard," the angel guide rejoin'd, "He sees thee in his dreams, he hears thee breathe Blessings, and happy is the good man's rest. Thy fame has reach'd him, for who hath not heard Thy wondrous exploits? and his aged heart Hath felt the deepest joy that ever yet 75 Made his glad blood flow fast. Sleep on, old Claude! Does thy soul own No other wish? or sleeps poor Madelon Forgotten in her grave?... Sees't thou yon star,” The spirit pursued, regardless that her eye Reproach'd him; "Seeest thou that evening star Whose lovely light so often we beheld 80 85 From yonder woodbine porch? How have we gazed He said, and they had past The immeasurable space. Then on her ear 90 The lonely song of adoration rose, Of joyful wonder roused the astonish'd Maid, No airy form, no unsubstantial shape, She felt her friend, she prest her to her heart, And eagerly she gazed on Madelon, 9.5 She drew back, 101 Then fell upon her neck and wept again. No more she saw the long-drawn lines of grief, 104 The languid eye: youth's loveliest freshness now Mantled her cheek, whose every lineament Bespake the soul at rest, a holy calm, "Thou then art come, my first and dearest friend !" The well-known voice of Madelon began, 110 "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 replied, "She hath not yet fulfill'd her mortal work. Permitted visitant from earth she comes To see the seat of rest; and oftentimes 115 In sorrow shall her soul remember this And patient of its transitory woe, 120 "Soon be that work perform'd!" the Maid ex claim'd, "O Madelon! O Theodore! my soul, Spurning the cold communion of the world, 125 131 "O earliest friend! I too remember," Madelon replied, "That hour, thy looks of watchful agony, The supprest grief that struggled in thine eye 135 The same, but now a holier innocence 140 145 They met; what joy was theirs He best can feel, who for a dear friend dead 150 Fair was the scene around; an ample vale A child might tread. Behind, an orange grove 155 159 The passing gale of eve! Less thrilling sweets prayers, 164 the Moorish queen Where kneeling at her 169 175 180 "Survey this scene!" So Theodore address'd the Maid of Arc, "There is no evil here, no wretchedness; It is the heaven of those who nurst on earth Their nature's gentlest feelings. Yet not here Centering their joys, but with a patient hope, Waiting the allotted hour when capable Of loftier callings, to a better state They pass; and hither from that better state Frequent they come, preserving so those ties Which through the infinite progressiveness Complete our perfect bliss. 185 189 Even such, so blest, Save that the memory of no sorrows past Heighten'd the present joy, our world was once, |