Nearer and nearer, till he diesNo, it was wonder, such as thrill'd At all God's works my dazzled sense; The same rapt wonder, only fill'd
With passion, more profound, intense-
A vehement, but wandering fire,
Which, though nor love, nor yet desire,
Though through all womankind it took
Its range, as vague as lightnings run,
Yet wanted but a touch, a look,
To fix it burning upon One.
Then, too, the ever-restless zeal,
Th' insatiate curiosity
To know what shapes, so fair must feel-
To look, but once, beneath the seal
Of so much loveliness, and see
What souls belong'd to those bright eyes-
Whether, as sunbeams, find their way
Into the gem that hidden lies,
Those looks could inward turn their ray,
To make the soul as bright as they!
All this impell'd my anxious chance,
And still the more I saw and knew
Of Woman's fond, weak, conquering race,
Th' intenser still my wonder grew.
I had beheld their First, their EVE,
Born in that splendid Paradise,
Which God made solely to receive
The first light of her waking eyes.
I had seen purest angels lean
In worship o'er her from above;
And man-oh yes, had envying seen
Proud man possess'd of all her love.
I saw their happiness, so brief,
So exquisite-her error, too,
That easy trust, that prompt belief
In what the warm heart wishes true;
That faith in words, when kindly said,
By which the whole fond sex is led-
Mingled with (what I durst not blame,
For 'tis my own) that wish to know,
Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of wo;
Which, though from heaven all pure it cam
Yet stain'd, misus'd, brought sin and shame
On her, on me, on all below!
I had seen this; had seen Man-arm'd
As his soul is with strength and sens e→
By her first words to ruin charm'd;
His vaunted reason's cold defence,
Like an ice-barrier in the ray
Of melting summer, smil'd away!
Nay-stranger yet-spite of all this-
Though by her councils taught to err,
Though driy'n from Paradise for her,
(And with her-that, at last, was bliss)
Had I not heard him, ere he crost
The threshold of that earthly heaven,
Which by her wildering smile be lost-
So quickly was the wrong forgiven--
Had I not heard him, as he prest
The frail, fond trembler to a breast
Which she had doom'd to sin and strife,
Call her think what-his Life! his Life!*
* Chavah, the name by which Adam called the woman after their transgression, means "Life." See Note.
Yes-such the love-taught name-the first,
That ruin'd Man to Woman gave,
Ev'n in his out-cast hour, when curst,
By her fond witchery, with that worst
And earliest boun of love-the grave!
She who brought death into the world,
There stood before him with the light
Of their lost Paradise still bright
Upon those sunny locks, that curl'd
Down her white shoulders to her feet-
So beautiful in form, so sweet
In heart and voice, as to redeem
The loss, the death of all things dear, Except herself—and make it seem
Life, endless Life, while she was near!
Could I help wondering at a creature,
Enchanted round with spells so strong-
One, to whose every thought, word, feature,
In joy and wo, through right and wrong,
Such sweet omnipotence heaven gave,
To bless or ruin, curse or save?
Nor did the marvel cease with her-
New Eves in all her daughters came.
As strong to charm, as weak to err,
As sure of man through praise and blame,
Whate'er they brought him, pride or shame
Their still unreasoning worshipper-
And, whereso'er they smil'd, the same
Enchantresses of soul and frame,
Into whose hands, from first to leat,
This world with all its destinies,
Devotedly by heaven seems cast,
To save or damn it, as they please!
Oh, 'tis not to be told how long,
How restlessly I sigh'd to find
Some one, from out that shining thong,
Some abstract of the form and mind
Of the whole matchless sex, from which,
In my own arms beheld, possest,
I might learn all the powers to which,
To warm, and (if my fate unblest
Would have it) ruin, of the rest!
Into whose inward soul and sense
I might descend as doth the bee
Into the flower's deep heart and thence
Rifle, in all its purity,
The prime, the quintessence, the whole
Of wondrous Woman's frame and soul!
At length, my burning wish, my prayer,—
(For such-oh what will tongues not dare,
When hearts go wrong?-this lip preferr'd)
At length my ominous prayer was heard-
But whether heard in heaven or hell,
Listen--and you will know too well.
There was a maid, of all who move
Like visions o'er this orb, most fit
To be a bright young angel's love,
Herself so bright, so exquisite !
The pride, too, of her step, as light
Along the unconscious earth she went, Seem'd that of one, born with a right
To walk some heavenlier element, And tread in places where her feet A star at every step should meet, Was not alone that loveliness
By which the wilder'd sense is caught-
of lips, whose very breath could bless-
Of playful blushes, that seem'd nought
But luminous escapes of thought-
Of eyes that when by anger stirr'd,
Were fire itself, but, at a word
Of tendernes, all soft became
As though they could like the sun's bird,
Dissolve away in their own flame-
Of form, as pliant as the shoots
Of a young tree, in vernal flower;
Yet round and glowing as the fruits
That drop from it in summer's hour-
'Twas not alone this loveliness
That falls to loveliest woman's share, Though, even here, her form could spare From its own beauty's rich excess
Enough to make all others fairBut 'twas the Mind, sparkling about Through her whole frame-the soul brought To light each charm, yet independent Of what it lighted as the sun,
That shines on flowers, would be resplendent Were there no flowers to shine upon'Twas this, all this, in one combin'd,
Th' unnumber'd looks and arts that form
|