Whose whole existence the next cloud may blast, Believes himself the care of heavenly powers, That God regards man, miserable man, And, preaching thus of power and providence, Will crush the reptile that may cross his path!
Fool that thou art! the Being that permits Existence, gives to man the worthless boon: A goodly gift to those who, fortune-blest, Bask in the sunshine of prosperity;
And such do well to keep it. But to one Sick at the heart with misery, and sore With many a hard unmerited affliction, It is a hair that chains to wretchedness The slave who dares not burst it!
Thinkest thou, The parent, if his child should unrecall'd Return and fall upon his neck, and cry, 'Oh! the wide world is comfortless, and full Of vacant joys and heart-consuming cares, I can be only happy in my home
With thee-my friend! my father! Thinkest thou, That he would thrust him as an outcast forth?3 Oh! he would clasp the truant to his heart, And love the trespass.»>
Whilst he spake, his eye Dwelt on the Maiden's cheek, and read her soul Struggling within. In trembling doubt she stood, Even as the wretch, whose famish'd entrails crave Supply, before him sees the poison'd food In greedy horror.
Yet, not silent long: Eloquent tempter, cease!» the Maiden cried; What though affliction be my portion here, Think'st thou I do not feel high thoughts of joy, Of heart-ennobling joy, when I look back Upon a life of duty well perform'd,
Then lift mine eyes to Heaven, and there in faith Know my reward?—I grant, were this life all, Was there no morning to the tomb's long night, If man did mingle with the senseless clod, Himself as senseless, then wert thou indeed A wise and friendly comforter!-But, fiend, There is a morning to the tomb's long night, A dawn of glory, a reward in heaven, He shall not gain who never merited. If thou didst know the worth of one good deed In life's last hour, thou wouldst not bid nie lose The power to benefit! if I but save
A drowning fly, I shall not live in vain.
I have great duties, fiend! me France expects, Her heaven-doom'd champion.>>
Of virgin-modesty, that thou shalt wish
The earth might cover thee! In that last hour, When thy bruis'd breast shall heave beneath the chains That link thee to the stake; when o'er thy form Exposed unmantled, the brute multitude
Shall gaze, and thou shalt hear the ribald taunt, More painful than the circling flames that scorch Each quivering member; wilt thou not in vain Then wish my friendly aid? then wish thine ear Had drank my words of comfort? that thy hand Had grasp'd the dagger, and in death preserved Insulted modesty ?»
Blush'd crimson; her wide eye on vacancy
Was fix'd; her breath short panted. The cold fiend, Grasping her hand, exclaim'd, « Too timid Maid, So long repugnant to the healing aid
My friendship proffers, now shalt thou behold The allotted length of life.»
He stamp'd the earth, And, dragging a huge coffin as his car,
Two Gouls came on, of form more fearful-foul Than ever palsied in her wildest dream Hag-ridden Superstition. Then Despair Seized on the Maid whose curdling blood stood still, And placed her in the seat, and on they pass'd Adown the deep descent. A meteor light Shot from the dæmons, as they dragg'd along The unwelcome load, and mark'd their brethren feast On carcasses.
Its ample bulk. « Look here!»-Despair addrest The shuddering Virgin, « see the dome of Death!>> It was a spacious cavern, hewn amid
The entrails of the earth, as though to form The grave of all mankind: no eye could reach, Though gifted with the eagle's ample ken,
Its distant bounds. There, throned in darkness, dwelt The unseen power of Death.
Here stopt the Gouls, The fiend leapt out,
Reaching the destined spot. And from the coffin as he led the Maid, Exclaim'd, « Where never yet stood mortal man, Thou standest: look around this boundless vault: Observe the dole that Nature deals to man, And learn to know thy friend.>>
She not replied, Observing where the Fates their several tasks Plied ceaseless. «Mark how long the shortest web Allow'd to man!» he cried; « observe how soon, Twined round yon never-resting wheel, they change Their snowy hue, darkening through many a shade,
«Maiden, thou hast done Till Atropos relentless shuts the shears!>>
Thy mission here,» the unbaffled fiend replied; The foes are fled from Orleans: thou, perchance, Exulting in the pride of victory, Forgettest him who perish'd! yet albeit Thy harden'd heart forget the gallant youth, That hour allotted canst thou not escape,
That dreadful hour, when contumely and shame Shall sojourn in thy dungeon. Wretched Maid! Destined to drain the cup of bitterness, Even to its dregs! England's inhuman chiefs Shall scoff thy sorrows, blacken thy pure fame, Wit-wanton it with lewd barbarity,
And force such burning blushes to the cheek
Too true he spake, for of the countless threads, Drawn from the heap, as white as unsunn'd snow, Or as the lovely lily of the vale,
Was never one beyond the little span
Of infancy untainted: few there were But lightly tinged; more of deep crimson hue, Or deeper sable dyed.4 Two genii stood, Still as the web of being was drawn forth, Sprinkling their powerful drops. From ebon urn, The one unsparing dash'd the bitter wave Of woe; and as he dash'd, his dark-brown brow Relax'd to a hard smile. The milder form
Shed less profusely there his lesser store; Sometimes with tears increasing the scant boon, Mourning the lot of man; and happy he Who on his thread those precious drops receives; If it be happiness to have the pulse Throb fast with pity, and in such a world Of wretchedness, the generous heart that aches With anguish at the sight of human woe.
To her the fiend, well hoping now success,
<< This is thy thread! observe how short the span, And see how copious yonder genius pours The bitter stream of woe. >> The Maiden saw Fearless. «Now gaze!» the tempter fiend exclaim'd, And placed again the poniard in her hand, For Superstition, with sulphureal torch, Stalk'd to the loom. " This, Damsel, is thy fate! The hour draws on-now drench the dagger deep! Now rush to happier worlds!»>
<< Or to prevent or change the will of Heaven, Impious I strive not: let that will be done!>>
SHE spake, and lo! celestial radiance beam'd Amid the air, such odours wafting now As erst came blended with the evening gale, From Eden's bowers of bliss. An angel form Stood by the Maid; his wings, ethereal white, Flash'd like the diamond in the noon-tide sun, Dazzling her mortal eye: all else appear'd Her Theodore.
Amazed she saw the fiend
Was fled, and on her ear the well-known voice Sounded, though now more musically sweet Than ever yet had thrill'd her charmed soul, When eloquent affection fondly told The day-dreams of delight.
« Beloved Maid! Lo! I am with thee! still thy Theodore! Hearts in the holy bands of love combined, Death has no power to sever. Thou art mine! A little while and thou shalt dwell with me, In scenes where sorrow is not. Cheerily Tread thou the path that leads thee to the grave, Rough though it be and painful, for the grave Is but the threshold of eternity.
<< Favour'd of Heaven; to thee is given to view These secret realms. The bottom of the abyss Thou treadest, Maiden! Here the dungeons are Where bad men learn repentance! souls diseased Must have their remedy; and where disease Is rooted deep, the remedy is long Perforce, and painful.»>
Thus the spirit spake, And led the Maid along a narrow path, Dark gleaming to the light of far-off flames, More dread than darkness. Soon the distant sound Of clanking anvils, and the lengthen'd breath Provoking fire are heard: and now they reach A wide-expanded den, where all around Tremendous furnaces, with hellish blaze,
Flamed dreadful. At the heaving bellows stood The meagre form of Care, and as he blew To augment the fire, the fire augmented scorch'd His wretched limbs: sleepless for ever thus He toil'd and toil'd, of toil no end to know, But endless toil and never-ending woe.
An aged man went round the infernal vault, Urging his workmen to their ceaseless task: White were his locks, as is the wintry snow On hoar Plinlimmon's head. A golden staff His steps supported; powerful talisman, Which whoso feels shall never feel again The tear of pity, or the throb of love. Touch'd but by this, the massy gates give way, The buttress trembles, and the guarded wall, Guarded in vain, submits. Him heathens erst Had deified, and bowed the suppliant knee To Plutus. Nor are now his votaries few, Even though the blessed Teacher of mankind Hath said, that easier through the needle's eye Shall the huge camel pass,5 than the rich man Enter the gates of heaven. «Ye cannot serve Your God, and worship Mammon.>>
« Mission'd Maid!» So spake the angel, « know that these, whose hands Round each white furnace ply the unceasing toil, Were Mammon's slaves on earth. They did not spare To wring from poverty the hard-earn'd mite, They robb'd the orphan's pittance, they could see Want's asking eye unmoved; and therefore these, Ranged round the furnace, still must persevere In Mammon's service; scorch'd by these fierce fires, And frequent deluged by the o'erboiling ore: Yet still so framed, that oft to quench their thirst Unquenchable, large draughts of molten gold They drink insatiate, still with pain renew'd, Pain to destroy.»>
So saying, her he led Forth from the dreadful cavern to a cell, Brilliant with gem-born light. The rugged walls Part gleam'd with gold, and part with silver ore In milder radiance shone. The carbuncle There its strong lustre like the flamy sun Shot forth irradiate; from the earth beneath, And from the roof there stream'd a diamond light; Rubies and amethysts their glows commix'd With the gay topaz, and the softer ray Shot from the sapphire, and the emerald's huc, And bright pyropus.
A numerous, sullen, melancholy train Sat silent. Maiden, these,» said Theodore, « Are they who let the love of wealth absorb All other passions; in their souls that vice Struck deeply-rooted, like the poison-tree That with its shade spreads barrenness around. These, Maid! were men by no atrocious crime Blackeu'd, no fraud, nor ruffian violence: Men of fair dealing, and respectable
On earth, but such as only for themselves Heap'd up their treasures, deeming all their wealth Their own, and given to them, by partial Heaven, To bless them only: therefore here they sit, Possess'd of gold enough, and by no pain Tormented, save the knowledge of the bliss
They lost, and vain repentance. Here they dwell, Loathing these useless treasures, till the hour Of general restitution.»>
And now arrived at such a gorgeous dome, As even the pomp of eastern opulence Could never equal: wander'd through its halls A numerous train; some with the red-swoln eye Of riot, and intemperance-bloated cheek; Some pale and nerveless, and with feeble step, And eyes lack-lustre.
«Maiden!» said her guide, These are the wretched slaves of Appetite, Curst with their wish enjoy'd. The epicure Here pampers his foul frame, till the pall'd sense Loathes at the banquet; the voluptuous here Plunge in the tempting torrent of delight, And sink in misery. All they wish'd on earth, Possessing here, whom have they to accuse But their own folly, for the lot they chose? Yet for that these injured themselves alone, They to the house of Penitence may hie, And, by a long and painful regimen, To wearied Nature her exhausted powers Restore, till they shall learn to form the wish Of wisdom, and Almighty Goodness grants That prize to him who seeks it.>>
The board is spread. With bloated paunch, and eye Fat swoin, and legs whose monstrous size disgraced The human form divine, their caterer, Hight Gluttony, set forth the smoking feast. And by his side came on a brother form, With fiery cheek of purple hue, and red And scurfy-white, mix'd motley; his gross bulk, Like some huge hogshead shapen'd, as applied. Him had antiquity with mystic rites
Adored; to him the sons of Greece, and thine, Imperial Rome, on many an altar pour'd The victim blood, with godlike titles graced, Bacchus, or Dionusus; son of Jove Deem'd falsely, for from Folly's idiot form
He sprung, what time Madness, with furious hand, Seized on the laughing female. At one birth She brought the brethren, menial here below, Though sovereigns upon earth, where oft they hold High revels: 'mid the monastery's gloom, Thy palace, Gluttony, and oft to thee
The sacrifice is spread, when the grave voice Episcopal proclaims approaching day
Of visitation, or churchwardens meet
To save the wretched many from the gripe
poverty, or 'mid thy ample halls
Of London, mighty mayor! rich aldermen, Of coming feast hold converse.
Other where, For though allied in nature as in blood, They hold divided sway, his brother lifts His spungy sceptre. In the noble domes Of princes, and state-wearied ministers, Maddening he reigns; and when the affrighted mind Casts o'er a long career of guilt and blood Its eye reluctant, then his aid is sought To lull the worm of conscience to repose. fle, too, the halls of country-squires frequents, But chiefly loves the learned gloom that shades
Thy offspring, Rhedycina! and thy walls, Granta! nightly libations there to him Profuse are pour'd, till from the dizzy brain Triangles, circles, parallelograms, Moods, tenses, dialects, and demigods, And logic, and theology, are swept By the red deluge.
He revels; till the general feast comes round, The sacrifice septennial, when the sons Of England meet, with watchful care to chuse Their delegates, wise, independent men, Unbribing and unbribed, and chosen to guard Their rights and charters from the encroaching grasp Of greedy power; then all the joyful land Join in his sacrifices, so inspired
To make the important choice.
Address'd her guide: «These, Theodore, thou say'st Are men, who pampering their foul appetites, Injured themselves alone. But where are they, The worst of villains, viper-like, who coil Around the guileless female, so to sting The heart that loves them ?>>
Them,» the spirit replied, <«< A long and dreadful punishment awaits. For when, the prey of want and infamy, Lower and lower still the victim sinks, Even to the depth of shame, not one lewd word, One impious imprecation from her lips Escapes, nay not a thought of evil lurks In the polluted mind, that does not plead Before the throne of justice, thunder-tongued Against the foul seducer.>>>
Now they reach'd The house of Penitence. Credulity Stood at the gate, stretching her eager head As though to listen; on her vacant face, A smile that promised premature assent: Though her Regret behind, a meagre fiend, Disciplined sorely.
And now arrived where, as in study tranced, They saw 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 Which hath the words of life; and as she read, Sometimes a tear would trickle down her cheek, Though 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 which 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 though, that only naked, all the rest Was one close-fitting mask. A scoffing fiend, For fiend he was, though 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 laugh'd: For these were hypocrites, on earth revered As holy ones, who did in public tell
Their beads, and make long prayers, and cross them-Have made men bow the knee, and call'd 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 demon. 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.
<< Are taught by Cruelty, to loathe 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 villages they burnt, the widows left In want, the slave or led to suicide,
Or murder'd 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.
Most reverend graces and right reverend lords. They dwelt in palaces, in purple clothed, And in fine linen: therefore are they here; And though they would not minister on earth, Here penanced they perforce must minister : Did not the Holy One of Nazareth
Tell them, his kingdom is not of the world?»
So saying, on they pass'd, and now arrived Where such a hideous ghastly group 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, Though motionless and mute.
« Most wretched men Are these,» the angel cried. «These, JOAN, are bards Whose loose lascivious lays perpetuated Their own corruption. Soul-polluted slaves, Who sate 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! »
« These,» said the spirit, And now they reach'd 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 still Lived in the dread of danger still delay'd. They enter'd there a large and lofty dome, O'er whose black marble sides a dim drear light Struggled with darkness from the unfrequent lamp. Enthroned around, the murderers of mankind, Monarchs, the great! the glorious! the august! Each bearing on his brow a crown of fire, Sat stern and silent. Nimrod, he was there, First king, the mighty hunter; and that chief Who did belie his mother's fame, that so He might be called young Ammon. In this court Cæsar was crown'd, accurst liberticide; And he who murdered Tully, that cold villain, Octavius, though the courtly minion's lyre Hath hymn'd his praise, though Maro sang to him, And when death levell'd to original clay The royal carcass, Flattery, fawning low, Fell at his feet, and worshipped the new god. Titus was here,7 the conqueror of the Jews, He the delight of human kind mis-named; Cesars and Soldans, emperors and kings, Here they were all, all who for glory fought, Here in the court of glory, reaping now The meed they merited.
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 though 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 he vainly proffers, lengthening thus By vice its punishment.>>
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?>
<< These men are they who in the name of Christ Have heap'd up wealth, and arrogating power,
The Virgin mark'd the miserable train,
A deep and hollow voice from one went forth; « Thou who art come to view our punishment,
Maiden of Orleans! hither turn thine eye,
For I am he whose bloody victories
Thy power hath rendered vain. Lo! I am here, The hero conqueror of Agincourt, Henry of England!-wretched that I am, I might have reign'd in happiness and peace, My coffers full, my subjects undisturb'd, And Plenty and Prosperity had loved
To dwell amongst them: but mine eye beheld The realm of France, by faction tempest-torn, And therefore I did think that it would fall An easy prey. I persecuted those
And desolated nations; ever fill'd
With undetermined 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 eternal mists Hover. If thou wouldst read the book of fate, Go in !»>
The Damsel for a moment paused,
Who taught new doctrines, though they taught the Then to the angel spake: « All-gracious Heaven! truth:
And when I heard of thousands by the sword
Cut off, or blasted by the pestilence,
I calmly counted up my proper gains,
And sent new herds to slaughter. Temperate Myself, no blood that mutinied, no vice Tainting my private life, I sent abroad Murder and rape; and therefore am I doom'd, Like these imperial sufferers, crown'd with fire, llere to remain, till man's awaken'd eye Shall see the genuine blackness of our deeds, And warn'd by them, till the whole buman race, Equalling in bliss the aggregate we caused Of wretchedness, shall form one brotherhood, One universal family of love.»>
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 Beatn'd promise, but behind, wither'd 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 pass'd Along the darksome cave, and reach'd a stream, Still rolling onward its perpetual waves, Noiseless and undisturb'd. 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 fram'd, 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 little glow-worm's self-created light, And argue thence of kingdoms overthrown,
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 vision'd out by hope,
Where thou wouldst now be present? Form the wish, And I am with thee, there.»>
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 As bending o'er her uncle's lowly bed Her eye retraced his features. «See the beads Which 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 through 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 happy is the good man's rest. Thy fame has reach'd him, for who has not heard Thy wondrous 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!
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, return'd, and felt The burthen of her bodily load, and yearn'd For freedom! Maid, in yonder evening star 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,
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