UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA DAVIS

This "0-P Book" is an Authorized Reprint of the Original Edition, Produced by Microfilm-Xerography by University Microfilms, Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1967

ATLANTA:

Crut ^lesscfc fslanb 0f $

A PAUL EPIC-IN THREE LUSTRA,

BY T. II. QIVERS, M. D.

(COPY RIGHT SECURED.)

MACON, GA:

I'ULNTED AT THE GEORGIA. OITIZK3 OFFICE.

1853.

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA DAVIS

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LIBRARY

OP THE

UNIVERSITY.

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Photostat negative on file. Original it not to be u*cd without special permiMion.

A T L A N T A :

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A PAUL EPIC-1N THREE LUSTRA.

JJY T. II. cniVEUS, M. 1).

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PREFACE.

Why is it that a strain of music, on being heard for the first time* thrills us as with an unearthly joy ) Because we hear it, of course. — AVIiat I mean by this is, that the organs of hearing are in a receptive vnjmi'ity to acknowledge fine sounds, The vibratory molecules of the miriuular organs are in that mtirul condition neeojwary to enable them to respond, perceptively, to the vibrations of the musical tones. But after these organs have become jaded by the continued application of the reverberatory molecules, or wavelets of the atmosphere, they lose the power to communicate these vibrations to the senaorium. The same thing is true in regard to the smelling of a rose. "NY hen too long applied, the sense of smell becomes dulled to the particles of odor. — But if a lily be applied, it will be recognized, not because it has awa kened any new power in the organ already jaded by the application of the rose — but because its particles, possessing a different molecular ac tion, stimulate that portion of the nasal organ untouched before by the effluvium of the rose.

Now, as by changing the application, of different flowers, a continual and ever varying regalement may be kept up in the organs of smell ; HO, also, by the repeated application of new and melodious imagery in u Poem — novel intonations in music — is the soul enabled to enjoy, while forever thirsting after, protracted delights.

This will, at once, reveal to us the secret of that Art necessary to. write a pure Poem— -that is, one that will give us the greatest amount of pleasure, with the least tedium, in a certain given time. As all im pressions are made upon the soul in time, which are subject to the mu tations incident to it while in this life, it is obvious that no long-con tinued effort can last without a loss in those pleasurable sensations which are consequent upon freshness of nervous energy, and always attend first impressions. It is, therefore, clear that no poem of any considerable length, from the very nature of the relations subsisting be tween the power of the soul to receive, and the impressions to be made, ran be pleasing to any well-educated person for any length of time. — The same may be said of music. This is the reason why Lyrical Poe try always has been, and always will be, pleasing to the soul.

It was a very obscure saying of Lord Bacon, that " There is no ex-' guisite beauty without some »trangene*9 in its proportions" But this cannot be the truth; because that characteristic which makes beauty enchanting is independent of mere "strangeness" — for to the perfectly- couched eyes of an illuminated Seer, all things appear beautiful that are realty so. It is the objective indefiniteness ot the charms of any pure beauty, -to an uncouched, subjective eye, which makes it appear

Strange,* Hut how could Pluto look upon the face of Jovo without having his eyes put out I

But this would be making the Ipsiety of Beauty depend upon tho munurr of her being seen, and not on the peculiar graces of her person. Lord Bacon was led astray in contemplating the Imurcssion* made upon his own miud by beauty not verv clearly jjercelved — for, who does not know that the clairvoyant soul of every true Poet — as well as every Angel in Heaven — becomes inspired by the phdsure cf pure beauty only when beheld in all her perfect entireties*. '

5fow, the novel suddenness or rare unexpectedness of those impres sions before named, will confer delight, because, at every appeal made, there will be something new— something the memory ot which will not; crowd out of the soul succeeding impressions. This Is what con- Htimtes delight. That which constitutes it in poetry, will, also, consti tute it in music — because tho ummur of receiving pleasure is always the same.

All pleasurable impressions will satiate the soul if not varied. A rose, which is the sweetest of all flowers, will not smelb so sweetly after a long continued application, as when flrst applied to tho organs of MM.'!!. But if a lily be applied immediately afterwards, it will occupy the same place, 0* a lily, that the rose did <waro.se. The reason of ;his is, because the sense of smell has become satiated with tho odor of ho rose. So, after the satiety of the application of the lily, tho pink, an a pink, will occupy the place that the rose did at first. Thus wo *ee that pleasure is the result of the application of ever varying succes sions of novel stimuli to tho organs of sense.

NY»w, the oftener we varv this application of pleasurable impressions to the senses of th«> soul — keeping our appetite forever hungry for tho iVlestial Xcvt:ir and Ambrosia of new beauties — the greater will bo nir delight. This is the Art which every real Ganymede must possess, in-fore, he can confer unearthly delights on the fastidious souls of tho Gods. In fact, this is the true mystery of those ineflable delights which the Angels enjoy in Heaven.

Xow, :us in a Parterre, it is necessary to have it variegated with dif ferent kinds of exotics, in order to give it that beauty which is most captivating to the soul, so is it necessary to confer all tho delight of which the soul is susceptible, to have tho ideas of a Poem inlloresee it with a melodious novelty of beauty — the passion to imbathe it with its radiaitt odorifcrousness as tho perfume does the flower.

Now, the reason why a Parterre gives pleasure is, because it contains an infinite- assemblage of beautiful flowers, (this always being tho pri mary object of the Floriculturist in laying it out,) the appeals made by it to the sense* being so manifold that they never produce- monoto ny, or satiety — for, as soou as the soul satiates itself upou one regale ment, it can fly oft', like tho hummingbird, to another, and suck up its ever van ing sweets.

Thus, as the flowers in a lieautiful garden give delight according to the art displayed by the Floriculturist ; so do the images in a poem ac cording to the art displayed by the i»oet Tho same may be said of music— for what was the Garden of Eden but an Opera of beauty

written by tho hand of God, in syllables of flower*, for the ill-light of tho Angels!

A pure poem is like those winged creatures seen by Kaekiel — as full of beauties as the Chorubim with eyes, Hut no poem can bo perfect whoso munificence of passion in not glorified by tlie loftiest intuition into tlio divine nature of Art.

No person was ever yet pleased' with the vholo of Milton1* Paradiso Lost— -nor, indeed, with any Epic of great length— tho beautiful or Hclect passages only giving him delight. The fact is, these are the only really poetical passages, the others being only the relatively connecting1 links' of the whole. It is, therefore, obvious that the idiosyncratic merit* of any poet depend entirely upon the manner in which ho has realized his dreams of the cryatultine revelation of the Divine Idea.

No Poem can be a perfect specimen of tho Art which is not complete in itnelf—in which case it would possess all the merits of the old Epics without their tcdionsncss. In fact, such a Poem would be an Epical Kong, or, in other words a melodious relation of an irrepressible yearn ing in the soul to unfold to itself its own intuitive longings after tho Divine Ilouutv.

From this it will bo seen why the present Poem wns written. It is an experiment upon tho minds of the Chontn Fei^ wrought out in or der to introduce, for their consideration, a partial fulfillment of the de mands required by the souls of all true worshippers of the Divine Beauty, as hinted at in the foregoing part of this Preface.

It is only necessary for me to stato here, that Epic Poems were com mon in Egypt, as it is related by Xaucra test hat Homer obtained many of his most sublime passages in tho Ilmds from the Epic Poems of the Egyptian Hards. T hut there were such Poems, is proven by Salvolinis* translation of tho Hieratic Papyrus, wherein is recorded the conquest of Homes?* the great. Over the gateway of tho magnificent Temple, by bomo called The MemltoniuM, by others The Ramanscsiuia^ is a hiero- glvphicul inscription which signifies, The Remedy for the Soul. Thoth, who was the same as Hermes TrisuiCgestua, that is, tho thrice great Hermes, was consider*^! by them the Lord of the Dirine Writings.

From the Pi*guh-top of the present, I look abroad upon the far- reaching Fields of the Future, into that Promised Land of Beauty, through whoso verdant Vullies the rivers of milk and honey flow, and behold the Angels with their ploughs of Pearl breaking up *thc fallow- lands of the Oriental Fields of Heaven into Auroral furrows.

As the penitent Pilgrim, on his way to Mount Zion, reclines, at the noontide hour of tho day, from tho burning heat of the tropical sun, in the cool refreshing shadow of tho Itock of lliinmon, so docs my wearied soul hide itself away into an ecstacy underneath the odorifer ous dove-wings of the Divine Queen of Heaven.

Ministering Angels wait upon tho soul of every trnc Poet to lead him into the way of all Beauty, just as tho Sephiroth, or Divine Splen dors, of the Cabalistical Doctors, guided tho hands of David into the Empyreal Ilrr.lsvs of a newer melody while striking music from his .ten-stringed Harp for tho pacification of the troubled soul of Saul.

VILLA ALLEGBA, GA., July 18th, 1842. T. H. C.

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ATLANTA:

OK, THE TRUE BLESSED ISLAND OF POESY,

•• Nay, lias uot the Atlantis, or true Blessed Inland of Powy, been, In all times, understood to lie Westward, though never rightly discov ered till now } M— Carlule.

"Arise, 0, North Wind, and blow thou South, upon my garden, that the splcis thereof may How out ! "— Sotomon't Sonyt.

LU8TKUM THE FI K8T.

Count Julian loved lauthe well. She was The fairest Maid in all the sunny South — The summer South— where there are many fair— The only Damsel in her father's house — A Farmer's daughter, beautiful as pure, Living in all the rich simplicity Of cottage life alone among the flowers— A fairer FtowEa herself— culled by her Sire, IANTIIK, LILY OF THE LAND OF LOVE. For, in the Halcyon Days of youth they met By instinct, like two Doves in Harvest time— Mating they knew not how — loving they knew Nofc why — but still they came together — still They loved, like two fond doves in mating-time — Building upon the basis of their love All hopes of joy on earth, all bliss in Heaven.

lanthe was the playmate of his youth — X7 A Lj$y on the emerald ^4 of life, <<?&

Whose saintly petals were not opened quite When he beheld her first dawn in God's smiles ; But when the bud of her pure youth began First to unfold itself to Heaven, then were The snow white petals of her lily-limbs Unfolded gently to his rapturous gaze, Disclosing to his soul her inmost heart, Lavishing upon him, with excess of joy, The virgin redolence of purest love. Her goodness was as boundless as the Heavens, Because her love was infinite — for all Pure love is infinite — knows no decay In being lavished out upon the loved,

IWani* it is Uie imasre of God's love, Which knows no diminution in its lly being lavished out upon all worlds.

Hut old Lnruorah, M'u-o of ki« Tribe, A wild Ulysses, Ik-uder of Uie How, Leader of 'Mighty Men to fruitless war, From Oostanalla to the Ohesta(ee, Where TalajHxtsa rolls her Mouutain rills— From old Echota's Iloly Land above To Ouitklaeoochce'a silver Vata below— So long Ute White-Man's friend, became his foe. The Tomahawk was now dug up again From rusting underneath the Treo of Peace; And old Lamorah swore never again To smoke the Calumet of Peace with Man. Tin* Dove began to feel the Hawk was nigh; The white Swan from the Silver Lake came back Again with blood upon her snowy wings; And never came the Angel of iwcet Peace To w ijM? it oft; until Lumorah left His native laud for lands beyond the sea.

This old Lamorah had two sons — both brave— Hut his Yaijiasso, Eagle of his heart, /y\_ The elder loved the better of the two, Heeause he was the White-Man's foe. For many times Lamorah, in his ire, Would fling the White-Man's children in the air, And catch them falling, on his pointed kiiife. One day, when he was doing this, he saw one smile, With his blue laughing eyes, right in his face, And from that fatal hour, until his death, Jle never siuil- <J, but hell raged in his heart— , Feeding upon his soul forever more — A Vulture that could never have enough, But, ever £uuUhed, like the hungry grave, Fed on, forever hungry — never full. Jv> to relieve his burning thirst for blood,— The eternal Hell that raged within his heart- He swore eternal vengeance on the Whites. 80, to the Cuscovilla's Vale he went Against great Simighan, his father's foe, 1 'anting, like hell-hounds, for the White-Man's blood! They fought — his Tribe was slain — slain every man, Except his son Yaifcassa — he alone ^Vw

EscajHxl — was taken captive in the fight — IVound fast in chains — borne from the field Hack to the White-Man's Tents where he had slain The innocent children, where he lay confined In heavy chains, waiting his awful doom !

So, old Lamorah, to avenge his death, Went, at the midnight hour, with torch in hand, And lired the old man'* house — that good old man— r And as they fled, escaping from the flames, Ho caught his young Moon-Daughter in his arms, And bore her swift away with him — away To some far distant land unknown to man — For never tidings came of where he went, Leaving young Julian mourning for her loss — Mourning that he could never more behold The beauty of her Angel-face, nor drink Delight again out of her heavenly smiles, Wherein his soul had sunned itself to peace. She was the Virgin of the first fond love, "Who lay upon his bosom like the Swan Upon clear waters, while his soul grew white To imago back her form — the very first That made him t>ee the young Hind in his dreams. Now, in the Spring-time of the year, when all Things show their love to God — tho birds show theirs—* The Earth, exprest in syllables of flowers, Her love, (which is the Poetry of Earth — ) Sweet syllables of rarest redolence — While sitting in her BOWKII OF BLISS one day, AVooed by the odorous Winds which played around Her brow of living pearl, with downy touch Soft as caresses from some Angel's hand — She saw two Doves, tho mother with her mate, Building their nest low in a cedar tree. Long did she watch them there, until the nest AVas built, wherein tho mother sat, from day To day, until she 1 lid two little eggs ; AVhen Ostenf e, Lamorah's living son, From jealousy, because she watched them so- Watched any thing but his dark, ugly face — Drew forth his Locust-Bow and shot them dead I So, after this, one day, when he was gone, She clomb up to the nest — took out the eggs, And with her lily, snow white hafitl, placed them, With love-like innocence, in heavenly nest, Between the oval apples of her breast, AVherein they nestled in divine content, Until they hatched two little doves, snowwhite, Caught from the fair complexion of her breast, AVhich ministered not only vitalizing warmth, But gave, with her maternal tenderness, A parent's Angel-nature to them like her own— r Making them meeker than the other birds, Because their Angel-mother was more meek— AVhich she caressed until they both were grow»..

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So, one day, while die Mt within her BOWER

Alone, unwatched by Ostenfe, who would ^

Not let her rest by day nor night, for hU

Exceeding love for her, — she wrote upon

White satin with her own heart's blood,

And tied it to the snow-white Pigeon's wiug,

And, whispering Angel's language in its ear —

Language of purest love, (as it now sate

Perched on the snow-white bough of her soft arm,

Fluttering its saintly wings with joy to hear

The amorous tidings she conveyed to it,)

She bade it fly to her dear Julian's Bower ;

And, instantly, instinct with all her love—

(As instinct with the knowledge of the way,

Unknown — un traveled through the pathless air — )

Up from the bough of her soft arm it rose,

(Not by its absence lonely left, but clothed

With such celestial fairness that it seemed

A living Heaven of many suppliant Doves)

A living, swift-winged ship, full-sailed,

\Vith God-directed instinct for the gale —

Like some pure Virgin's soul, at death, to Heaven—

And bent its flight swift for her Julian's Bower.

Three hours, with swift unerring wing, it flew,

And, at the fourth, anchored her rosy feet,

Love-laden in the harbor of his hand.

llapt with surprise — with wonder more than new—

To see such heavenly Messenger on earth —

Fluttering so tamely on his tremulous arm —

Thinking it was Innthe's soul from Heaven,

He took the satin letter from its wings,

The soft, love-laden letter — which he read —

Thrilling with tears of pure ecstatic joy— ,

Which after kissing many thousand times, —

Kissing the saintly Messenger as oft —

(As tame as love in its own Mistress' heart—)

Pressing it, fluttering, to his panting breast —

He placed it in his bosom near his heart,

And sitting down upon the moss-clad rock,

Bec'ide the spring where he was waiting now,

(Waiting to hear some tidings of his love — )

He wrote on paper of the purest silk,

And, fastening his sweet answer to itn wing,

Brimful of love, returned it back again,

And, straightway, started for St. Mary's Lake,

LUSTRUM THE SECOND.

Beneath an aged Oak, whose hundred arms Were lifted up, as in mute prayer, to God, Silvered with many hundred years, whose locks Of argent moss hung waving to the ground, Fringing the margin of that Inland Sea, Jeweled with myriad multicolored Shells — Prone on the silver sand, alone, the last Of all his Tribe, the Chief; Lamorah sat Beside him lay his Bow upon the ground ; Upon his back the well-stored Quiver hung, His great Herculean form was clad in skins Fantastically fringed with down of Swans, And ornamented with the rarest beads. His feet were sandaled with red Moccassins ; His Wampum Belt was fastened round his waist, An Eagle-Plume crested his head, which waved Aloft, swayed by the odorous winds which camo Laden with perfumes from the Isle of Flowers— An Emblem of his mighty heart now free. Close to his ear, in his right hand, he held A rose-tipped Shell, which sung irysterious songs, And soothed his weary soul to peace ; for in Its soft -Eolian cadences it seemed The soul of his Yaifiassa — his dead son — /far CJkme back to lead him to the LAND OF SOULS. Long did he thus apply it to his ear, Listening, entranced, with muto response to hoar, As if his soul found music in its song, For often have the souls of mighty men Come back, at midnight, to their native land To rest, by moonlight, in the Ruby-Bells. Rapt with the sense of its sweet melody, He lost all memory of his native Isle, Forgetting all things in the living world Remembering nothing but his own deep joy, Born of his memory of the Olden Time, In days gone by, when he was in his prime, And young Yamossa was his son on earth. /Vl/ Long held he thus the Shell unto his ear, Until the tears in one clear stream profuse Of briny dew, born of the ever deep And fiery joy that reveled in his heart, Gushed down in torrents on his high check bone—

The rugged highway of his burning thoughts—

Like«ome dear stream rushing at noon

From the red bosom of die Ochre-Hills,

Through the warm Valliea of the Summer South,

Hinging of childhood in its happiness.

Beneath this Jupiterian Oak,

The Tride of Pan, he sate him down,

Where he had sunk to silence on that day,

Far from the gardens of his Eden-Isle,

From which came perfumes floating on the breeze,

Making delicious all the air around—

Close by his rustic Boat, whose tarring prow

Lay moored supine upon the pebbly beach.

The golden cloud U}kc coucht* of the blest—

(Like that which'Israel out of Egypt led — )

In dreary languor lay in mountain-piles

Half way to Heaven — sweet dreams of days well spent—

Like Beauty bleeping on the breast of Love;

While, far beyond, the binding Heavens, serene,

Looked down upon the abject world at rest,

Rolling beneath the singing Stars— the Choir

Of God's great universe — the azure vault

Resounding with the everlasting song

Of Man's great heart — the music of the storms—

(Jreat Ocean1* loud, sonorous, troublous voice—

And the eternal voices of the stare.

For three long fallings of the leaf, with four

Moons more, had he been living on this Isle.

For three long fallings of the leaf, had ho

Been free from all mankind — from all his foes —

From all things, save the perfect peace ho sought—

The presence of his God, whoso voice he heard

In thunders of the storms, the only thing '

He feared, or felt superior to his soul.

Then came young Julian to the great old Chief, l>rest in the garb that young Yainussa woro When he was taken captive in the light, But whom Lamorah thought was dead, lie knew, At every falling of the leaf, the old man camo From some far distant land unknown to man, Like spirits from the dead to those they love, To strew rich Cor:d on his father's grave, And pray beside him while ho wept. So, when Lamorah saw him in his own son's garb, He ran to meet him from the silver sand, Where he aat musing by the lonely Luke — (For long had he IKJCII waiting there to »«o Home stranger in the person of his son — ) And, rushing with impatient speed, fell on

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The brcnat of Julian, crying out, a Afy ton !

My nun! Yaf^assaf is it you, my ton t ^

ffast thou returned from JJeattt — the LAND OF SOULS t

Thy face is pale f— thou hast the WHiTE-MAN'e/ace/

>'afia«*a, is it you ? — caw J&fcth do this t

Or has Manito tent thee hereto mock

My soul by i/lving thee the White-Man's face ? —

/ luite thy face—hate it as I do Hell !

Sjxak to my soul, Yai^assa ! speak, my son ! "

" Father," said Julian, " I am thine own son,

All souls nro pale-face in the LAND OF SOULS.

W lii-iv in my mother ? brother Otitoiicu \

CKLUTA, that young Dove! the White-man's child ?

The LILY that Yuijws.su loved so well ?"

When thus Lumorah cried aloud again :

" Art tliou my son ? — This is his Wampum-Belt!

This is his How ! — this is his Quiver here !

These arc, the garments that ho wore when slain!"

" Father ! " said Julian, " I am thine own son !

All souls arc pale-face in the Land of Souls ! "

Then loud Lamorah cried, — " This is my son I

Yamuna from the Land of Souls/— Come home!"

Then on the silver-shining level Lake

Stretched out in measureless expanse beneath

The snowy splendors of the full-orbed Moon

That, though the silvered quiet of the night,

Came down to smile thereon with matron joy,

Liko some fon-l mother on her infant child —

Laying there couched in dreamless, sweet repose

Low in the cradle of the rolling world —

They both embarked in their divine Canoe.

For now, beneath her Angel-smiles it lay,

Like some great happy soul in prayer to God,

Naked before high Heaven, stretched out upon

His death-bed, while around his lightning-soul,

Drawing God-loving strength from pious prayer,

Angels, invisible to all besides,

In shining garments, minister to him.

So, in their crescent-like Canoe, all night,

Unfettered from the pebbly breath, with one lone oar

Worked by Lamorah's brawny arms — they ploughed,

(Leaving no track behind of who sailed there

For after years, should any seek to find — )

The level field of waters till the dawn.

For as the Dawn broke slowly in the East,

Withering the Moon into the light of Heaven,

Afar oft' in tho bosom of tho Lake

Tinged with tho radiance of tho rising sun

All golden in tho Temple of the Morn —

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Looking like some great sea of molten gold — (Like home great Emerald Mountain rising up-—) They saw the EDEN ISLE burst on their sight ! The Hills, like some great Caravan encamped, At noontide, on the desert of the world- Still billows of the World's great terrene sea — . (As if they were the mighty graves of Gods— ^» The rising stcpstones to the Deity- Bristled with lo% pines, that in the distance looked Like mystic muss covering their purple backs- Spread out in undulating lines afar — ) Were deluged with rich radiance, as they lay Propping the thunder-clouds of Heaven, beneath The golden glory of the springing Sun Rising in such Empyreal pomp from out The Emerald splendor of the Eastern Sea — Flooding, with his great Seraph-splendor, all The cavalcade of gidden glory-clouds That rolled, in lofty mountain-piles, on high, Like incense from an Altar up to God — Or that great Ladder Jacob saw at night, On Bethel-plain, reaching from Earth to Heaven — ravillioning his glory. While,to the right, As they rowed on, neuring tins BLKBSED ISLE, •A flock of wild Swans, from the Jasper reeds, With aide-long wings, rose up, darkening the sun, "Whose : clamorous shouts, redoubled by me Ilills, Filled the wide Heavens with jubilations loud ; And after circling on their snowy wings, Glinting the glory of the golden sun — Chequering the Lake with moving shadows — down They all descended, with Seraphic sail, On moveless wings, upon the Lake again, Like living pearl, or Angels out of Heaven, Far out of reach of farthest shot of man, Floating among the reeds in jocund joy. Upon the sand, close by the water's edge, \\ here smote their little boat upon the shore, Clusters of luscious grapes were scattered round In prodigal profusion on the ground, And ebon Muscadines of lustrous black, Like drops of polished night, weighed down their vines, So, that, the cool lips of uie crystal wave, Swayed by the presence of the noontide breeze, Lapped them with liquid kisses from the shore, Till they went dangling far away from land, Like little ebon barques upon the Lake.

So, as he wandered through the ISLE OF FLOWER*, lie stiw lanthe, like the crescent Moou

s

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Cloudiest in Heaven, in her own beauty clad, As glorious to the Isle as she to night — The Angel of the place— the joy of life- Swimming about through all the placid Lake, Drawn by two silver Swans together yoked, Like some fair Naiad in her native stream ; While from the emerald Alleys crowned with flowers, Born from the bosom of the oval Hills, Replenishing the treasures of the Lake, With waters jmre, in serpentine soft flow,— A liquid music came from nil the streams, Rising up, odor-like, around her form, From out the bosom of the limpid Lake, Soothing her sighing soul to heavenly peace. This was the music of Celestial Love, Speaking, in mystic language to her soul, Sweet as the Choral Symphony of Stars, Or heavenly harmony of the Pleiades. A Lily among lilies throned she lay, Lolling upon the hyaline Lake aWve, When, suddenly, alarmed at his approach, — Thinking that Ostfiw; had come again To mar her rich felicity — she rose — When from her lily-limbs, fair as the Moon To young Endymion on the Carian Mount, The soft pellucid waves, in beaded dews, Made odorous by the sweetness of her form, Trickled in amorous showers, like dewy rain Wept by the Evening's azure eyes from out The snow-white petals of some lily-bell. So rose she from the bosom of the Lake, Like bright Naitha from her Sais-throne, Or Rhodope, the Beautiful, from out Th1 Eternal Pyramid— so dewy-bright — Like lily in the morning sun — she looked Like Venus when she rose up from the sea, Wafted by Zephyrs to the Cvprian Isle, Where all the seasons waited with delight, With open arms, to welcome her on shore. So stood his soul to welcome her to bliss. Mild as an incarnation of the Moon, She rose as pure in her own innocence As thought-encircled Truth from out the tout Of him who contemplates the works of God In silent adoration — like that Boy, The Grecian God of Silence, clothed in light, Half risen from the Mystic Lotus Flower — As graceful as that Abysinian tree Bending before the face of him who seeks Its shade— her Coral Clmplet on her brow—

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The ebon Cross Uiat Julian gave to* her, With VIA OEU written on its front, In rich mosaic of pure gold, with chain Of virgin gold suspended round her neck. The lute-like voices of the Dryades Hid in the Willows weeping on the Lake, In mystic sweetness, liailed her as she rose. Thus looked she, when she first arose, to him. For, as the Grecian Sculptor gazed with joy Ineffable, upon his matchless* work of Art — The rich emlwdiment of all his dreams Of Infinite Perfection — so ho gazed, Enraptured, on the naked loveliness Of that bright IV-nuty, shrined in nil her rich Perfection*, in the hyaline Luke alone, Whose soft pellucid sparkles rippKul round The WHITE ISI.L of her Heavenly Form, us if Keluctant now to lose so soon so much Of heavenly loveliness on earth — which she Perceiving, conscious of her innocence — Now hid her fare, blushing witii purest shame, Which he observing, rapt with perfect joy, With manly modesty, retired uwliila I'ohiud the moss-clad rock which stood upon The margin of the Lake, from which he watched Her all unseen. Then, turning round, with lialf Averted face, to see if he wore gone— (Her eyelids drooping on her violet eyes—) Sin- made her Naiad -like retreat out at The other side — leaving the sighing Lake Sighing that it should lose so much of Heaven— While, from th-.! opening rose-bud of her form, In delicate lYcshiifss of divinest youth, , An amorous odor came of virgin love, AnthoMuial in its redolence divine, Which Edened nil the Isle. Then, snatching up Her snow-white /one from oil' the hhoro, she fled Into the neighboring 1 lower, where, all alone, fleen only by the blushing Flowers, that kissM With their delicious, amorous, odorous lips Her more delicious, amorous, odorous form A fairer Flower herself — she clad herself — Or, rather, she was by the graces clad. The robe slid wore was made of down of Swans. The Sandals of her delicate feet were black- Made by Lamorah of the J toe-buck'* skin — lk»th jeweled from the instep to the toes With multi-colored beads of various sha The languid quarters folded down below Her oval instep, snowy white, were gemmed

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With van-colored beads profusely placed, Three rows of beads different from all the rest, With beads of different kinds in every row. The Cap she wore was lined with down of Swan*, And plumed with feathers from the Heron's wing, And rare Flamingoes, tipped with down of Doves. Her hair, in one rich flood of wavy cold, Poured down upon her alabaster neck Like rays of morning light, unshorn by clouds, Upon some fur-oft' hill of virgin snow. Upon her lily-finger, emblem of her truth, In memory of the man she loved, she wore The jeweled ring that Julian gave to her Mefore they parted — long before the great Lamorah, Mico of hi* Tribe, stole her Away to wander on this DLKBSKD ISLE. Ueskle her stood her dappled Fawn, whose head, Of delicate whapp, wan lilted hi^h above Its shoulder now in princely pride, whereon, In graceful carel^sMiieas, her lily-hand Of rosy-white, like lilies in the sun, Was placed caressingly, whose touch did seem To tamo it to the meekness of the lamb, Ami sooth its HOU! to peaceful human joy ; While, with its gokleu sparkling eyes that burnt AVith the celestial light of one in love— (Two Heavens of innocence meek as the Dove—) Kyod its ft UK I mother o i the neighboring hill, Cropping thu velvet emerald moss that Tuccd, With verdant sheen, the ponderous rocks around. Thus on its tapering limbs it mutelv stood, With lustrous, golden eyes, in childlike joy, Courting her blandishments with artless ease, And the soft southings of her delicate hand— Seeming, in guileless joy, though standing still, An incarnation of most perfect pence, And instinct with the soul of swiftest flight. Its trumpet-nostrils, lifted high in air, Clear as the Hollyhock when first in bloom — Seemed scenting odors from the ISLE OF HALM, Its velvet skin, soil IIH the down of Swans, Was dappled with pure white on cither side, And looked like petals of the snow-white pea On Autumn's russet leaves clropt sparingly.

Such was the plaything of her inn An emblem ot herself — her Sylph-

innocent youth-

ylph-like bhape— love

All innocence — all truth — all love — as pure As Heaven — the Angel-Dinn of the l*le- Loved for it* rare simplicity — its wild,

B

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Untamcable docility — which seemed An incarnatiou of swift Liberty — The birth of motion ever to be born, For by the gentle wafture of her hand, Would it skip playfully from hill to hill, In wanton gambols various as the winds ; Then, after joyful vaultings in the air, Printing the greensward with its silver feet — Threshing out harvests of the newblown flowers- Till rose* mixed with lilies made it seem Like dam:isked snow — (an emblem of her cheeks — ) Return to her again, like Joy to Love — l>rlighted with the joy of giving joy — Which she, with pensive smiles, returned again, By combing back, with her soft, lily-hand, The velvet down upon its tender skin, Till, ravished with the fullest joy within, Born of the sense of her magnetic touch — N«»w growing weary of the glorious world, (Its languid lids, fringc-d with the purest jet Tight-closing over its bright golden eyes—) Would fall asleeii standing there by her side. Tim* would it slet'p for hours, did she not cull It with hor soft sweet voice to wake again ; For when she cried, GAZELLR ! up it w ould jump, Alive again, as if her voice had given To its new-wakened soul an Angel's wings. But Julian soon arose *rom where he sat. Impatient grown to gaze once more on Heaven— (On whose blight thrcshhold he now seemed to stand. And hear the songs of Seraphim within — ) And followed her to her sweet Hiding-place. Seeing him thus approach her Sacred 1 lower, Blushing rich crimson as he entered in— ' With down-cast eyes she turned away from him, And would have Aed, had ho not stayed her thus: " Jiinthi'f 'v'tftfhi iJittn of thin Jute! Worthy to be the QiU'cn of oil the world ! fa i rent of all the fair-ones ci'ci' bom f My Morning Star ! wy u'cr-nc.w JJeltyht ! Jl/y joy on earth f )iiy hoju'S of bliss in Heaven f Riltold ! it is yitur Julian clasps you now ! " « WJutt! Julian? Julian! is this you ? Oh! God! Is this my Julian f this my love ? tny Heaven ? " When Julian clasped htr to liis panting breast, Glowing with rapture far too big for words,— \nd, that she looked so beautiful in tears, Tept tears of perfect joy to see her wee})— ibracing her ten thousand, thousand times,

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In one long embrace of entwining love—

Prolonged till they seemed melted into one —

She hanging, weeping, on his panting breast —

Panting like some sweet Dove in mating-time— -

Her lily-hands clasped firmly round his neck —

The white sea of her bosom, passioned-stormed,

Beating in milky waves against his own —

Such deep Angelic love now filled her soul

It could not bo exprest but by the aid

( )f Sorrow — Christian-sister of pure Joy —

As if an Angel now should weep because

She was in Heaven — had too much heavenly bliss.

And when the rapture of divine delight

Had settled to the calmness of sweet peace—

The quick short beVfnjjp of deep joy were merged /

Into the slow, sad sighing* of content —

Printing her lovely iips with kisses pure — *

United now never to part again —

Twined in each other's arms, they laid them down,

Couched upon Swan-down, where they spent, unseen,

The whole night long in passion's amorous play —

Mingling their burning, rapturous souls in one —

Happy beyond all else that Karth could give —

Till, sated with excexs of heavenly bliss —

CniiMUined by their own tires they fill iislcep,

Nor woke again im'il the next day noon.

LUSTRUM JTHE THIRD,

Within this Temple's grand magnificent nave, Studding with ever-variant hues the dome, Mvriads of crystals blazed, like diamond flowers, Afl hyaline, immortal in their bloom, A petrified Parterre, bright us tho Palace-homo Of Genii in the realms of Fairy-Land. Columns of glittering granite — pillars high Of crimson Porphyry, like trophies torn From mighty Kings in battle for the world. Such was the splendor of the place, when seen By torchlight, blazing now in glory bright, Like fragments of pure Beauty torn from out The burning Stars — forever burning there — More beautiful than that delightful Cavo In th1 Hesperian Land, where Saturn, with His People, spent the Golden Age in peace.

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For, in Um subterranean Vatican, Were Nature's most superior workmanship— The rich embodiment of myriad forms, Expressed in crystals, far surpassing all The richest Statuary in the world — As if thev were the leisure thoughts of Gods, In emulation of some work divine Done by the Maker of the world in Heaven. Into this Cave they went to live alone, Celuta bearing flowers to deck their couch — Mantling their sweetness with the down of Swans — Where, on their rich Pelisse of costly furs, Garnished with beautiful prismatic Pearls, They laid them down in one another's arms, She on his arm pillowing her tender head — Gazing with pensive eyes into his face, llevenling all her heavenly charms to him— To take their fill of sweet, voluptuous toil — Where the crushed roses underneath their forms, In amorous play, exhaled such sweet perfume, That all the Cave was filled with ropy clouds, Like incense from an Altar, till the plat-e Became like Eden in that heavenly hour When Adam first cohabited with Eve. This feeling, old as Death, ancient as Life, With immemorial sweetness, took Entire possession of their raptured souls — Until, exhausted by their amorous sport, — Now overcame by that sweet lassitude That earthly pleasure ever leaves behind — They sank, entwined in one another's arms, To sleep delicious as the sleep of him Who dies, knowing that he will go to Heaven. For, it was more secluded than that Cave, , Where, fleeing Persecution's fires, there slept, Unseen by man, th' Ephesian youth*, for years.

So, on the morning, when they woke again,

They rose with hearts filled with the tenderest joy,

And through the Violet Valley, arm in arm,

Went on, inhaling perfumes, as they went.

From twice ten thousand Urns of fragrant flower*-—

Into their labyrinthine Bower of Bliss —

A Sylvan, soft Pavillion of pure joy —

Starred with ten thousand flowers of purest gold,

With rich Carnations, Pansies, Pinks —

While through the emerald Alleys softly came,

From twice ten thousand birds, of various dyts,

Poured forth, rich gushes of ecstatic song,

Whose sweet jocundity went high as Heaven —

Celestial songs such as are heard in dreams. There sung the plaintive Nightingale, that, all Night lotig, beneath the vigils of the Moon, Whose pale, cold glory sitteth now in Heaven, Tinging, with melancholy, all the world- Poured forth rich gushes of luillitiUions wail To his sweet Rose, whose thorn was in his heart — Mounting her shortlived beauty, all the while, In lamentation loud. They heard him sing, And loved him for the sweetness of his song.

Then on the mow-clad rock they sate them down, Hi* languid head reclined upon her lap, Pillowed on rich Carnations, Pansics, 1'inks, While, with her Know-white hand, soft as the down That xones the Cygnet's breast, she soothed his brow, Counting his anxious sighing* one by one— As on her opon face, ringletted brow, Itandoaucd with Corals of the richest dyes, While pendants of pure Pearl hung in her ears — Smiles of ineffable sweetness passed, Haunting his soul with heavenly peace. Then, like the Dove upon her amorous mate, With mire, xad pleasure, calm, yet kindling, oyo, As mild ns Meekness in the hour of death— .she gazed upon the face of him she loved, The rich inheritor of all her charms, lieuiuse the only owner of her love— Who, from tho saintly petals of her roso Of womanhood, had rilled all the sweets, Opening to him with redolence divine — Rivaling the budding beauty of the rose — Such as no flower in Eden ever knew ; Cioing behind tho Vail of her sweet form— Her Holy of Holies — there to live Her Priest, her Levitc — loved forever more. Then, with tho Oil of Violets, she bathed His manly brow, his dark, long raven locks, As he lay there in Love's divine embrace, Couched in her Paradisial lap, nsleep, I Breaming of newer bliss when he should wake. Then, with Rose-water, Orange-water pure, Made by her own fair hands, she laved his limbs, Until he seemed, aunointed as he was, An incarnation of pure redolence. So, when ho woke, she fed him with her own Fair hands, on fruits plucked from tho Eden-treet— On golden luscious Neet'rines, Ayrdes Pears, And Mangoes, yellow Plums, delicious Dates- Conserve of Roses mixed with Damson Cheese,

22

And Curd, made of the creamy milk of Does, Sweetened with sugar from the Maple-tree — Sweeter than King-Dove; Turkey, or the Swan, Or softly macerated flesh of Deer.

Hie golden grapes hung clustering in the sun,

Oozing their luscious Nectar on the ground —

Hare Vintage ripe of rich deliciousneas— -

Tempting the soul to eat continually.

Large Orange-trees that blossom while they bear,

Burthened with fruit of pure exquisiteness

Like globes of vegetable gold on boughs

<Jf lustrous emerald growing, flourished there—*

Fruit of Ambrozial richness tit for Gods.

Thus did she minister to his delight

In many other most delicious ways,

Soothing his appetite, from day to day,

On Juleps, nectared fruits, delicious sweets,

Which, while they satisfied his appetite, '

Brought not disease, but joyful, blooming health.

So easy of digestion were they all,

Imbibed with so much joy from her fair hand,

That even intemperate he was temperate.

So, by Riitfointing her sweet limbs each day

With Violet-oil, when tired of timorou* pport,

She grew to be as nimble as the Dec r ;

For, like the Persian Virgins, she now bathed

Her limbs for pure deliciousness of life,

As for the cherishing of amorous joys.

Thus did they bathe together in one stream

Each to the other ministering delight —

Living- upon the pure air of the Isle,

Like Adam with his Eve in Paradise,

In perfect health, not thinking they could die ;

For, in the Golden Age of their deep love,

They felt they wore immortal — could not die.

There was no death could make her more divine—

None could exalt him into higher bliss.

The Golden Age is always in the world

To those who love. AH things wore gold to them.

They saw beyond Time's confines far away

Into the golden Portal of the skies,

Where bloomed th1 immortal Amaranth of Peace,

Which they now gathered from their mutual love.

Therefore, they needed not to die to find

A happier Eden than this Blessed Isle —

This rich Atlanta of the sunn) South.

For in this Aphroditean Isle they lived

A sinless, pastoral life among the flowers,

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Tending the Fawns, living on rarest fruits—- Richer than any that were ever grown In King Alcinous' Garden, rich in fruits — Like those Hesperian Apples, fumed of old, Guarded by no fierce Dragon but pure Love— In all the rich simplicity of Truth, Like Saturn with his People, all their lives — Thus realizing, here on earth, their dreams Of Heaven, while wandering on from Bower to Bower, Through fairest Sylvan scenes of various view, Whose undefiled perspective wooed the soul ; Through ever-verdant lawns purpled with Thyme, Bordered by ramparts of the richest groves ; Through emerald Meadows damasked with rich flowers, Meandered by soft crystal streams whose shores Were graced, down to the water's edge, with flowers— Adowu whoso serpentine soft flow, at even, The Breezes, with delicious coolness, brought An ocean of sweet odor to the soul, 1 MtluHii^ such vitality through all Their veins, celestial vigor tilled their limbs, While, in the eddying sinuosities, Among the Jasper Heeds, all day were seen The milk-white Swan winding his pliant neck Around 1m amorous mate in constant joy, Singing rich Canticle* of rapturous love,

Thus did they realize the Golden Age In All its luxury of natural pomp — Interpreting the Pythagorean dream Of man's perfectibility on earth.

It was not sensual, but with mental, love, That sweet luntho loved her Julian now — Although that modified her spiritual love— Giving Much fervent rapture to her soul ; But such us Angels feel in loving God, Or one another — pure celestial love For, in the Angel-meekness of her face— The melting tenderness of her blue eyes- He saw glimpses of that Celestial State Where Angels dwell in all their perfectnesa.

With eyes upturned, swimming in tears of pure Delight, they gazed upon the Sylvan scene In silent peace, filled with the joys of Heaven — While, in the East, they saw the full-orbed Moon, With mild, resplendent lu.stre, look from Heaven Upon the mirror of the quiet Lake that lay, Like liquid silver, showing baek, in all Its calm benignity, her placed face,

Smiling on its original iu Heavt Even as lauthe, iu her body there, Imaged the form that was to be above, For she was J ulian'a Moon— Endy iniou he To her upon the Oorian Moaitt of Time.

Tims did they wander through the Bower of Bliss, A* Eden-like as that sweet Laud of Love, Where, iu perpetual pulchritude, now rove The souls of the departed of this world, Encircling, with Cherubic Choir, the throne Of Atiensic, clad in robes of light, Now hastening to embrace, with pure delight, The long lost objects of their earnest love — (Souls newly entered in the Land of Soul* — ) barn-ing in concert to celestial song, Never to die again. Thus in the Fields Of Immortality by living streams That never dry— where Sowers forever grow, But never fade — where Winter never comes— But where eternal Spring forever reigns — Beyond that soft, Lethean stream that rolls, In solemn silence, through the Vale of Death, Under the grave — oblivious to the soul— The Indian thinks that, after death, the souls Of the departed go to rove alway Amid the flowery lawns, soft, dewy meads, All odoriferous with divine perfume, B«*ide the Summer Seas, among their friends, Who join each other in the happy Chase— Living iu death as they have lived in life. So did Count Julian, in his Bower of Bliss, Beside the golden-sanded streams that ran Along the Violet Valley near the Cave, Whose crystal-fretted, rich magnificence ] >id emulate the glory of the skv— (Treading, as valueless, beneath his feet, Kich Kuhifs, Amethysts, Cornelian Stones ; Bright Garnets, Jacinths, Emeralds, Almondi Take such divine voluptuous delight With his sweet ravi.-hing llouri of the Isle, That his lost Paradise seemed now restored To him again with all its former joys, And they were two immortals living there, Filled with the plenitudes of boundless bliss.

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