THE

LOVES OF THE ANGELS.

'Twas when the world was in its prime,

When the fresh stars had just begun

Their race of glory, and young Time

Told his first birth-days by the sun;

When, in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met

On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came, or Sin had drawn

’Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!

When earth lay nearer to the skies

Than in these days of crime and woe,

And mortals saw, without surprise,
In the mid-air, angelic eyes

Gazing upon this world below.

Alas, that Passion should profane,

Ev'n then, that morning of the earth!

That, sadder still, the fatal stain

Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth

And oh, that stain so dark should fall
From Woman's love, most sad of all!

One evening, in that time of bloom,
On a hill's side, where hung the ray
Of sunset, sleeping in perfume,

Three noble youths conversing lay;

And, as they look'd, from time to time,

To the far sky, where Daylight furl'd His radiant wing, their brows sublime

Bespoke them of that distant world-
Creatures of light, such as still play,

Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And through their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!

Of Heaven they spoke, and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charm'd them thence
Till, yielding gradual to the soft

And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beam'd above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,

Each told the story of his love,

The history of that hour unblest,

When, like a bird, from its high nest
Won down by fascinating eyes,

For Woman's smile he lost the skies.

The First who spoke was one, with look
The least celestial of the three-

A Spirit of light mould, that took

The prints of earth most yieldingly; Who, ev'n in heaven, was not of those Nearest the Throne, but held a place Far off, among those shining rows

That circle out through endless space, And o'er whose wings the light from Him

In the great centre falls most dim.

Still fair and glorious, he but shone

Among those youths the' unheavenliest one

A creature, to whom light remain'd
From Eden still, but alter'd, stain'd,
And o'er whose brow not Love alone

A blight had, in his transit, sent,
But other, earthlier joys had gone,

And left their foot-prints as they went.

Sighing, as through the shadowy Past Like a tomb-searcher, Memory ran, Lifting each shroud that Time had cast O'er buried hopes, he thus began: