Joan of Arc — Book 9

Orleans was hush'd in sleep. Stretch'd on her couchThe delegated Maiden lay: with toilExhausted and sore anguish. Soon she closedHer heavy eye-lids; not reposing then,For busy Phantasy, in other scenes 5Awakened: whether that superior powers,By wise permission, prompt the midnight dream,Or that the soul, escaped its fleshly clog,Flies free, and soars amid the invisible world,And all things are that seem. 10Along a heath,Barren, and wide, and drear, and desolate,She roam'd a wanderer thro' the cheerless night.Black clouds, driven fast before the stormy wind,Swept shadowing; thro' their broken folds the moonStruggled sometimes with transitory ray, 15And made the moving darkness, visible.And now arrived beside a fenny lakeShe stands: amid its stagnate waters, hoarseThe thick sedge rustled to the gales of night,And loud was heard the Bittern's mournful cry. 20An age-worn bark receives the Maid, impell'dBy powers unseen; then did the moon displayWhere thro' the crazy vessel's yawning sideRush'd in the muddy wave: a female guidesAnd spreads the sail before the wind, that moan'd 25As melancholy mournful to her ear,As ever by the dungeon'd wretch was heardHowling at evening round the embattled towersOf that hell-house of France, ere yet sublimeThe Almighty people from their tyrant's hand 30Dash'd down the iron rod.Intent the MaidGazed on the pilot's form, and as she gazedShiver'd, for wan her face was, and her eyesHollow, and her sunk cheeks were furrowed deep,Channell'd by tears; a few grey locks hung down 35Beneath her hood: then thro' the Maiden's veinsChill crept the blood; for, as the night-breeze pass'd,Lifting her tatter'd mantle, coil'd around,She saw a serpent gnawing at her heart.

The plumeless Bat with short shrill note flits by, 40And the night-raven's scream came fitfully,Borne on the hollow blast. Eager the MaidLook'd to the shore, and now upon the bankLeaps, joyful to escape, yet trembling stillIn recollection.There, a mouldering pile 45Stretch'd its wide ruins, o'er the plain belowCasting a gloomy shade, save where the moonShone thro' its fretted windows: the dark Yew,Withering with age, branched there its naked roots,And there the melancholy Cypress rear'd 50Its head: the earth was heaved with many a mound,And here and there a half-demolish'd tomb.

And now, amid the ruin's darkest shade,The Virgin's eye beheld where pale blue flamesRose wavering, now just gleaming from the earth, 55And now in darkness drown'd. An aged ManSat near, seated on what in long-past daysHad been some sculptured monument, now fall'nAnd half-obscur'd by moss, and gathered heapsOf withered yew-leaves and earth-mouldering bones: 60And shining in the ray was seen the trackOf slimy snail obscene. Composed his look,His eye was large and ray less, and fix'd fullUpon the Maid; the blue flames on his faceStream'd a drear light; his face was of the hue 65Of death: his limbs were mantled in a shroud.Then with a deep heart-terrifying voice,Exclaim'd the Spectre, "Welcome to these realms,These regions of Despair! O thou whose stepsBy Grief conducted to these sad abodes 70Have pierc'd; welcome, welcome to this gloomEternal; to this everlasting night;Where never morning darts the enlivening ray,Where never shines the sun, but all is dark,Dark as the bosom of their gloomy King!" 75

So saying he arose, and by the handThe Virgin seized with such a death-cold touchAs froze her very heart; and drawing on,Her, to the abbey's inner ruin, ledResistless: thro' the broken roof the moon 80Glimmer'd a scatter'd ray: the ivy twin'dRound the dismantled column: imaged formsOf Saints and warlike Chiefs, moss-canker'd nowAnd mutilate, lay strewn upon the ground;With crumbled fragments, crucifixes fallen, 85And rusted trophies; and amid the heapSome monument's defaced legend spake,All human glory vain.The loud blast roar'dAmid the pile; and from the tower the owlScream'd as the tempest shook her secret nest. 90He, silent, led her on, and often paus'd,And pointed, that her eye might contemplateAt leisure the drear scene.He dragged her onThro' a low iron door, down broken stairs;Then a cold horror thro' the Maiden's frame 95Crept, for she stood amid a vault, and saw,By the sepulchral lamp's dim glaring light,The fragments of the dead."Look here!" he cried,"Damsel, look here! survey this house of Death;O soon to tenant it! soon to increase 100These trophies of mortality! for henceIs no return! Gaze here! behold this skull!These eyeless sockets, and these unflesh'd jaws,That with their ghastly grinning, seem to mockThy perishable charms; for thus thy cheek 105Must moulder! Child of Grief! shrinks not thy soul,Viewing these horrors? trembles not thy heartAt the dread thought, that here its life's-blood soonShall stagnate, and the finely-fibred frame,Now warm in life and feeling, mingle soon 110With the cold clod? a thought most horrible!So only, dreadful, for realityIs none of suffering here; here all is peace;No nerve will throb to anguish in the grave.Dreadful it is to think of losing life, 115But having lost, knowledge of loss is notTherefore no ill. Haste, Maiden, to repose;Probe deep the seat of life.So spake Despair.The vaulted roof echoed his hollow voice,And all again was silence. Quick her heart 120Panted. He drew a dagger from his breast,And cried again, "Haste Damsel to repose!One blow, and rest for ever!" On the FiendDark scowl'd the Virgin with indignant eye,And dash'd the dagger down. He next his heart 125Replaced the murderous steel, and drew the MaidAlong the downward vault.The damp earth gaveA dim sound as they pass'd: the tainted airWas cold, and heavy with unwholesome dews."Behold!" the fiend exclaim'd, "how gradual here 130The fleshly burden of mortalityMoulders to clay!" then fixing his broad eyeFull on her face, he pointed where a corpseLay livid; she beheld with loathing look,The spectacle abhorr'd by living man. 135

"Look here!" Despair pursued, "this loathsome massWas once as lovely, and as full of lifeAs, Damsel! thou art now. Those deep-sunk eyesOnce beam'd the mild light of intelligence,And where thou seest the pamper'd flesh-worm trail, 140Once the white bosom heaved. She fondly thoughtThat at the hallowed altar, soon the PriestShould bless her coming union, and the torch,Its joyful lustre o'er the hall of joy,Cast on her nuptial evening: earth to earth 145That Priest consign'd her, and the funeral lampGlares on her cold face; for her lover went,By glory lur'd to war, and perish'd there;Nor she endur'd to live. Ha! fades thy cheek?Dost thou then, Maiden, tremble at the tale? 150Look here! behold the youthful paramour!The self-devoted hero!"FearfullyThe Maid look'd down, and saw the well known faceOf—Theodore! in thoughts unspeakable,Convulsed with horror, o'er her face she clasp'd 155Her cold damp hands: "Shrink not," the Phantom cried,"Gaze on! for ever gaze!" more firm he grasp'dHer quiv'ring arm: "this lifeless mouldering clay,As well thou know'st, was warm with all the glowOf Youth and Love! this is the arm that cleaved 160Salisbury's proud crest, now motionless in Death,Unable to protect the ravaged frameFrom the foul Offspring of MortalityThat feed on heroes. Tho' long years were thine,Yet never more would life reanimate 165This murdered man: murdered by thee! for thouDidst lead him to the battle from his home,Else living there in peace to good old age:In thy defence he died: strike deep—destroyRemorse with Life."The Maid stood motionless, 170And wistless what she did, with trembling handReceived the dagger. Starting then, she cried,"Avaunt Despair! Eternal Wisdom dealsOr peace to man, or misery, for his goodAlike design'd; and shall the Creature cry, 175Why hast thou done this?" and with impious pride"Destroy the life God gave?" the Fiend rejoin'd:And thou dost deem it impious to destroyThe life God gave? What, Maiden, is the lotAssign'd to mortal man? born but to drag, 180Thro' Life's long pilgrimage, the wearying loadOf Being; care-corroded at the heart;Assail'd by all the numerous train of illsThat flesh inherits; till at length worn out,This is his consummation! think again: 185What, Maiden, canst thou hope from lengthen'd lifeBut lengthen'd sorrow? If protracted long,Till on the bed of Death thy feeble limbsOutstretch their languid length? Oh think what thoughts,What agonizing woes, in that dread hour, 190Assail the sinking heart! slow beats the pulse!Dim grows the eye, and clammy drops bedewThe shuddering frame; then in its mightiest force,Mightiest in impotence, the love of lifeShall seize the throbbing heart—the faltering lips 195Pour out the impious prayer, that fain would changeThe Immutable's decree—surrounding friendsSob round the sufferer—wet his cheek with tears,And all he loved in life embitters death!

"Such, Maiden, are the pangs that wait the hour 200Of calmest dissolution! yet weak manDares, in his timid piety, to live;And veiling Fear in Superstition's garb,He calls it—Resignation!"Coward wretch!Fond Coward, thus to make his Reason war 205Against his Reason! insect as he is,This sport of Chance! this being of a DayWhose whole existence the next cloud may blast!Believes himself the care of heavenly powers,That God regards Man! miserable Man! 210And preaching thus of Power and Providence,Will crush the reptile that may cross his path!

"Fool that thou art! the Being that permitsExistence, gives to man the worthless boon:A goodly gift to those who, fortune-blest, 215Bask in the sunshine of Prosperity,And such do well to keep it. But to him,Sick at the heart with misery, and soreWith many a hard unmerited affliction,It is a hair that chains to wretchedness 220The slave who dares not burst it!"Thinkest thou,The parent, if his child should unrecall'dReturn and fall upon his neck, and cry,Oh! the wide world is comfortless, and fullOf vacant joys or heart-consuming cares! 225I can be only happy in my homeWith thee—my friend!—my father!" Think'st thou, MaidThat he would thrust him as an outcast forth?Oh! he would clasp the truant to his heart,And love the trespass."Whilst he spake, his eye 230Dwelt on the Maiden's cheek, and read her soulStruggling within. In trembling doubt she stood,Even as the wretch, whose famish'd entrails craveSupply, before him sees the poison'd foodIn greedy horror.Yet not long the Maid 235Debated, "Cease thy dangerous sophistry,Eloquent tempter!" cried she, "gloomy one!What tho' affliction be my portion here,Think'st thou I do not feel high thoughts of joy,Of heart-ennobling joy, when I look back 240Upon a life of duty well perform'd,Then lift mine eyes to Heaven, and there in faithKnow 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, 245Himself as senseless, then wert thou indeedA 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. 250If thou didst know the worth of one good deedIn life's last hour, thou would'st not bid me loseThe power to benefit; if I but saveA drowning fly, I shall not live in vain.I have great duties, Fiend! me France expects, 255Her heaven-doom'd Champion.""Maiden, thou hast doneThy mission here," the unbaffled Fiend replied:The foes are fled from Orleans: thou, perchanceExulting in the pride of victory,Forgettest him who perish'd; yet albeit 260Thy harden'd heart forget the gallant youth;That hour allotted, canst thou not escapeThat dreadful hour, when Contumely and ShameShall sojourn in thy dungeon. Wretched Maid!Destined to drain the cup of bitterness, 265Even to its dregs! England's inhuman ChiefsShall scoff thy sorrows, black thy spotless fame,Wit-wanton it with lewd barbarity,And force such burning blushes to the cheekOf Virgin modesty, that thou shalt wish 270The earth might cover thee! in that last hour,When thy bruis'd breast shall heave beneath the chainsThat link thee to the stake; when o'er thy form,Exposed unmantled, the brute multitudeShall gaze, and thou shalt hear the ribald taunt, 275More painful than the circling flames that scorchEach quivering member; wilt thou not in vainThen wish my friendly aid? then wish thine earHad drank my words of comfort? that thy handHad grasp'd the dagger, and in death preserved 280Insulted modesty?"Her glowing cheekBlush'd crimson; her wide eye on vacancyWas fix'd; her breath short panted. The cold Fiend,Grasping her hand, exclaim'd, "Too-timid Maid,So long repugnant to the healing aid 285My friendship proffers, now shalt thou beholdThe 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-foulThan ever palsied in her wildest dream 290Hag-ridden Superstition. Then DespairSeiz'd on the Maid, whose curdling blood stood still,And placed her in the seat; and on they pass'dAdown the deep descent. A meteor lightShot from the Dæmons, as they dragg'd along 295The unwelcome load, and mark'd their brethren glutOn carcasses.Below the vault dilatesIts ample bulk. "Look here!"———Despair addrestThe shuddering Virgin, "see the dome of Death!"It was a spacious cavern, hewn amid 300The entrails of the earth, as tho' to formThe grave of all mankind: no eye could reach,Tho' gifted with the Eagle's ample ken,Its distant bounds. There, thron'd in darkness, dweltThe unseen Power of Death.Here stopt the Gouls, 305Reaching the destined spot. The Fiend leapt out,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, 310And learn to know thy friend."She not replied,Observing where the Fates their several tasksPlied ceaseless. "Mark how short the longest webAllowed to man!" he cried; "observe how soon,Twin'd round yon never-resting wheel, they change 315Their snowy hue, darkening thro' many a shade,Till Atropos relentless shuts the sheers!

Too true he spake, for of the countless threads,Drawn from the heap, as white as unsunn'd snow,Or as the lovely lilly of the vale, 320Was never one beyond the little spanOf infancy untainted: few there wereBut lightly tinged; more of deep crimson hue,Or deeper sable died. Two Genii stood,Still as the web of Being was drawn forth, 325Sprinkling their powerful drops. From ebon urn,The one unsparing dash'd the bitter waveOf woe; and as he dash'd, his dark-brown browRelax'd to a hard smile. The milder formShed less profusely there his lesser store; 330Sometimes with tears increasing the scant boon,Mourning the lot of man; and happy heWho on his thread those precious drops receives;If it be happiness to have the pulseThrob fast with pity, and in such a world 335Of wretchedness, the generous heart that achesWith 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 340The bitter stream of woe." The Maiden sawFearless. "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! 345"The hour draws on—now drench the dagger deep!Now rush to happier worlds!"The Maid replied,"Or to prevent or change the will of Heaven,Impious I strive not: be that will perform'd!"

Lo! as she spake, celestial radiance beam'd 350Amid the air; such odors wafting nowAs ever fled upon the evening gale,From Eden's blissful bowers. An angel formStood by the Maid; his wings, etherial white,Flash'd like the diamond in the noon-tide sun, 355Dazzling her mortal eye: all else appear'dHer Theodore.Amazed she saw: the FiendWas fled, and on her ear the well-known voiceSounded; tho' now more musically sweetThan ever yet had thrill'd her charmed soul, 360When eloquent Affection fondly toldThe 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! 365A little while, and thou shalt dwell with meIn scenes where Sorrow is not. CheerilyTread thou the path that leads thee to the grave,Rough tho' it be and painful, for the graveIs but the threshold of Eternity! 370

"Favour'd of Heaven! to thee is given to viewThese secret realms. In night unpierceableEnveloped, Death is there, around him waitHis ministers."

Undauntedly the MaidBeheld his ghastly train. The withered form 375Of Age: his cheek was hollow, and his eyesSunk deep, and palsied were his toothless jaws.He, as he tottered on the open grave,Look'd back, and call'd on one with earnest voiceFor aid; yet never aid from him received 380His fellow minister: all gravityHe was, a well-wigg'd form, and in his handA gold-topt cane, which ever to his lips,In thought profound, he press'd: his lofty speechWith learned phrase abounded, such as fills 385The astonish'd soul with awe: and oft his handDire incantations drew, with magic drugs,To fill the mystic phial, which who feels,With griping pains opprest, shall toss and writhe,Till Nature, wearied with disease, and sick 390Of remedy, must yield the unequal strife.Murder was there, well-vers'd in many a shapeTo serve his shadowy King; or in the ragsOf ruffian poverty, or skill'd to drugThe bowl with death, or, hid beneath his cloak, 395Sharp the stiletto for the mortal blow;Now in the form of Honor, fierce to talkOf satisfaction for his injuries,And reputation, and the jargon'd phraseThat make mankind genteely violate 400The law of God. But these are petty deedsFor this proud Fiend, that o'er the ravaged earthStalks royally, and bids his liveried slaves,His hireling train'd assassins, to go forth,And desolate, and kill!As on they pass'd 405Beyond the hideous train, thus TheodorePursued: "The bottom of the vast abyssThou treadest, Maiden! Here the dungeons areWhere bad men learn repentance; souls diseasedMust have their remedy; and where disease 410Is rooted deep, the remedy is longPerforce, 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 415Of clanking anvils, and the lengthened breathProvoking fire are heard: and now they reachA vast expanded den, where all aroundTremendous furnaces, with hellish blaze,Flamed dreadful. At the heaving bellows stood 420The meagre form of Care, and as he blewTo augment the fire, the fire augmented, scorch'dHis wretched limbs: sleepless for ever thusHe toil'd and toil'd, of toil to reap no endBut endless toil, and never-ending woe. 425

An aged man went round the infernal vaultUrging his workmen at their ceaseless task:White were his locks, as is the wintry snowOn hoar Plinlimmons head. A golden staffHis steps supported; powerful talisman, 430Which whoso feels shall never feel againThe 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 435Had deified, and bowed the suppliant kneeTo Plutus. Nor are now his votaries few,Tho' he the Blessed Teacher of mankindHath said, that easier thro the needle's eyeShall the huge cable pass, than the rich man 440Enter the gates of Heaven. "Ye cannot serveYour God, and worship Mammon.""Missioned Maid!So spake the Angel, "know that these, whose handsRound each white furnace ply the unceasing toil,Were Mammon's slaves on earth. They did not spare 445To wring from Poverty the hard-earn'd mite;They robb'd the orphan's pittance; they could seeWant's asking eye unmoved; and therefore these,Ranged round the furnace, still must persevereIn Mammon's service; scorch'd by these fierce fires, 450And frequent deluged by th' o'erboiling ore:Yet still so framed, that oft to quench their thirstUnquenchable, large draughts of molten goldThey drink insatiate, still with pain renewed,Pain to destroy!"So saying, her he led 455Forth from the dreadful cavern to a cell,Brilliant with gem-born light. The rugged wallsPart gleam'd with gold, and part with silver oreA milder radiance shone. The CarbuncleThere, it's strong lustre like the flamy sun, 460Shot forth irradiate; from the earth beneath,And from the roof a diamond light emits;Rubies and Amethysts their glows commix'dWith the gay Topaz, and the softer rayShot from the Sapphire, and the Emerald's hue, 465And bright Pyropus.There on golden seats,A numerous, sullen, melancholy train,Sat silent. "Maiden, these," said Theodore,"Are they who let the love of wealth absorbAll other passions; in their souls that vice 470Struck deeply-rooted, like the poison-treeThat with its shade spreads barrenness around.These, Maid I were men by no atrocious crimeBlacken'd; no fraud, nor ruffian violence:Men of fair dealing, and respectable 475On earth, but such as only for themselvesHeap'd up their treasures, deaming all their wealthTheir own, and given to them, by partial Heaven,To bless them only: therefore here they sit,Possessed of gold enough, and by no pain 480Tormented, save the knowledge of the blissThey lost, and vain repentance. Here they dwell,Loathing these useless treasures, till the hourOf general restitution."Thence they part,And now arrived at such a gorgeous dome, 485As even the pomp of Eastern opulenceCould never equal: wandered thro' it's hallsA numerous train; some with the red-swoln eyeOf riot and intemperance-bloated cheek;Some pale and nerveless, and with feeble step, 490And eyes lack-lustre."Maiden!" said her guide,"These are the wretched slaves of Appetite,Curst with their wish enjoyed: the EpicureHere pampers his foul frame, till the pall'd senseLoaths at the banquet: the Voluptuous here 495Plunge 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, 500They to the houe of Penitence may hie,And, by a long and painful regimen,To wearied Nature her exhausted powersRestore, till they shall learn to form the wishOf wisdom, and Almighty Goodness grants 505That prize to him who seeks it."Whilst he spake,The board is spread. With bloated paunch, and eyeFat swoln, and legs whose monstrous size disgracedThe human form divine, their caterer,Hight Gluttony, set forth the smoaking feast. 510And by his side came on a brother form,With firey cheek of purple hue, and redAnd scurfey-white, mix'd motley: his gross bulk,Like some huge hogshead shapen'd, as applied.Him had antiquity with mystic rites 515Ador'd, to him the sons of Greece, and thineImperial Rome! on many an altar pour'dThe victim blood, with godlike titles graced;Bacchus, or Dionusus, son of Jove,Deem'd falsely, for from Folly's ideot form 520He sprung, what time Madness, with furious hand,Seiz'd on the laughing female. At one birthShe brought the brethren, menial here, aboveReigning with sway supreme; and oft they holdHigh revels. Mid the monastery's gloom, 525Thy palace Gluttony! and oft to theeThe sacrifice is spread, when the grave voiceEpiscopal, proclaims approaching dayOf visitation, or Churchwardens meetTo save the wretched many from the gripe 530Of eager Poverty, or mid thy hallsOf London, mighty Mayor! rich AldermenOf coming-feast, hold converse.Otherwhere,For tho' allied in nature as in blood,They hold divided sway, his brother lifts 535His spungy sceptre. In the noble domesOf Princes, and state-wearied Ministers,Maddening he reigns; and when the affrighted mindCasts o'er a long career of guilt and bloodIts eye reluctant, then his aid is sought 540To lull the worm of Conscience to repose.He too the halls of country Squires frequents,But chiefly loves the learned gloom that shadesThy offspring Rhadycina! and thy walls,Granta! Nightly libations there to him 545Profuse are pour'd, till from the dizzy brainTriangles Circles, Parallelograms,Moods, Tenses, Dialects, and Demigods,And Logic and Theology are sweptBy the red deluge.Unmolested there 550He reigns; till comes at length the general feast,Septennial sacrifice; then when the sonsOf England meet, with watchful care to chuseTheir delegates—wise! independent men!Unbribing and unbrib'd! and cull'd to guard 555Their rights and charters from the encroaching graspOf greedy Power: then all the joyful landJoin in his sacrifices, so inspir'dTo make the important choice.The observing MaidAddress'd her guide, "These Theodore, thou sayest 560Are men, who pampering their foul appetites,Injured themselves alone. But where are they,The worst of villains, viper-like, who coilAround the guileless female, so to stainThe heart that loves them?""Them," the spirit replied 565"A long and dreadful punishment awaits.For when the prey of want and infamy,Lower and lower still the victim sinksEven to the depth of shame. Not one lewd word,One impious imprecation from her lips 570Escapes, nay not a thought of evil lurksIn the polluted mind, that does not pleadBefore the throne of Justice thunder-tonguedAgainst the foul Seducer."Now they reach'dThe house of Penitence. Credulity 575Stood at the gate, stretching her eager headAs tho' to listen ; on her vacant face,A smile that promised premature assent ;Tho' her Regret behind, a meagre Fiend!Disciplin'd sorely.Here they entered in, 580And now arrived where as in study trancedShe sat the Mistress of the Dome. Her faceSpake that compos'd severity, that knowsNo angry impulse, no weak tenderness,Resolved, and calm. Before her lay that Book 585That hath the words of Life; and as she read,Sometimes a tear would trickle down her cheek,Tho' heavenly Joy beam'd in her eye the while.

Leaving her undisturb'd, to the first wardOf this great Lazar-house, the Angel led 590The favour'd Maid of Orleans. Kneeling downOn the hard stone that their bare knees had worn,In sackcloth robed, a numerous train appear'd:Hard-featur'd some, and some demurely grave;Yet such expression stealing from the eye, 595As tho', that only naked, all the restWas one close-fitting mask: a scoffing Fiend(For Fiend he was, tho' wisely serving here)Mock'd at his patients, and did often pourAshes upon them, and then bid them say 600Their prayers aloud, and then he louder laughed:For these were Hypocrites, on earth reveredAs holy ones, who did in public tellTheir beads, and make long prayers, and cross themselves,And call themselves most miserable sinners, 605That so they might be deem'd most pious saints;And go all filth, and never let a smileBend their stem muscles, gloomy sullen men!Barren of all affection! and all thisTo please their God, forsooth! and therefore Scorn 610Grinn'd at his patients, making them repeatTheir solemn farce, with keenest railleryTormenting; but if earnest in their prayer,They pour'd the silent sorrows of the soulTo Heaven, then did they not regard his mocks 615Which then came painless, and HumilitySoon rescued them, and led to Penitence,That She might lead to Heaven.From thence they came,Where, in the next Ward, a most wretched bandGroan'd underneath the bitter tyranny 620Of a fierce Dæmon; his coarse hair was red,Pale grey his eyes, and blood-shot; and his faceWrinkled by such a smile as Malice wearsIn ecstasy. Well-pleased he went around,Plunging his dagger in the hearts of some, 625Or probing with a poison'd lance their breasts,Or placing coals of fire within their wounds;Or seizing some within his mighty graspHe fix'd them on a stake, and then drew back,And laughed to see them writhe."These," said the Spirit, 630"Are taught by Cruelty, to loath the livesThey led themselves. Here are those wicked menWho loved to exercise their tyrant powerOn speechless brutes; bad husbands undergoA long purgation here; the Traffickers 635In human flesh here too are disciplin'dTill by their sufferings they have equall'd allThe miseries they inflicted, all the massOf wretchedness caused by the wars they waged,The towns they burnt, (for they who bribe to war 640Are guilty of the blood) the widows leftIn want, the slave or led to suicide,Or murdered by the foul infected airOf his close dungeon, or more sad than all,His virtue lost, his very soul enslaved, 645And driven by woe to wickedness."These next,Whom thou beholdest in this dreary room,So sullen, and with such an eye of hateEach on the other scowling, these have beenFalse friends. Tormented by their own dark thoughts 650Here they dwell: in the hollow of their heartsThere is a worm that feeds! and tho' thou seestThat skilful leech who willingly would healThe ill they suffer, judging of all elseBy their own evil standard, they suspect 655The aid he vainly proffers, lengthening thusBy vice its punishment.""But who are these,"The Maid exclaim'd, "That robed in flowing lawn,And mitred, or in scarlet, and in capsLike Cardinals, I see in every ward 660Performing menial service at the beckOf all who bid them?"Theodore replied,"These men are they who in the name of ChristDid heap up wealth, and arrogating power,Did make men bow the knee, and call themselves 665Most Reverend Graces and Right Reverend Lords:They dwelt in palaces, in purple cloathed,And in fine linen: therefore are they here;And tho' they would not minister on earth,Here penanced they perforce must minister: 670For he, the lowly man of Nazareth,Hath said, his kingdom is not of the world."

So saying on they past, and now arrivedWhere such a hideous ghastly groupe abode,That the Maid gazed with half-averting eye, 675And shudder'd: each one was a loathly corpse!The worm did banquet on his putrid prey,Yet had they life and feeling exquisite,Tho' motionless and mute."Most wretched menAre these," the angel cried. "These, JOAN, are Bards, 680Whose loose lascivious lays perpetuateTheir own corruption. Soul-polluted slaves,Who sat them down, deliberately lewd,So to awake and pamper lust in minds,Unborn; and therefore foul of body now 685As then they were of soul, they here abideTheir punishment, and here they must abideLong as the evil works they left on earthShall live to taint mankind. A dreadful doom!Yet amply merited by that bad man 690Who prostitutes the sacred gift of song."

They enter'd now a large and lofty dome,O'er whose black marble sides a dim drear lightStruggled with darkness from the unfrequent lamp.Enthroned around, the Murderers of Mankind! 695Monarchs, 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 ChiefWho did belie his mother's fame, that so 700He might be called young Ammon. In this courtCæsar was crown'd, accurst liberticide;And he who murdered Tully, that cold villain!Octavius, tho' the courtly minion's lyreHath hymn'd his praise, tho' Maro sung to him, 705And when Death levelled to original clayThe royal carcase, Flattery, fawning low,Fell at his feet, and worshipp'd the new God!Titus was here, the Conqueror of the Jews,He the Delight of human-kind misnamed; 710Cæsars and Soldans, Emperors and Kings;Here they were all, all who for glory fought,Here in the Court of Glory, reaping nowThe meed they merited.As gazing roundThe Virgin mark'd the miserable train, 715A deep and hollow voice from one went forth;"Thou who art come to view our punishment,Maiden of Orleans! hither turn thine eyes,For I am he whose bloody victoriesThy power hath rendered vain. Lo! I am here, 720The hero conqueror of Azincour,Henry of England!—wretched that I am!I might have reigned in happiness and peace,My coffers full, my subjects undisturb'd,And Plenty and Prosperity had loved 725To dwell amongst them: but mine eye beheldThe realm of France, by faction tempest-torn;And therefore I did think that it would fallAn easy prey. I persecuted thoseWho taught new doctrines, tho' they taught the truth: 730And when I heard of thousands by the swordCut off, or blasted by the pestilence,I calmly counted up my proper gains,And sent new herds to slaughter: temperateMyself, no blood that mutinied, no vice 735Tainting my private life, I sent abroadMurder and Rape; and therefore am I doom'd,Like these imperial Sufferers, crown'd with fire,Here to remain, till Man's awaken'd eyeShall see the genuine blackness of our deeds, 740And warn'd by them, till the whole human race,Equalling in bliss the aggregate we caus'dOf wretchedness, shall form one brotherhood.One universal Family of Love."

The Maiden, musing on the Warriors words, 745Turn'd from the Hall of Glory. Now they reach'dA cavern, at whose mouth a Genius stood,In front, a beardless youth, whose smiling eyeBeam'd promise, but behind withered and old,And all unlovely. Underneath his feet 750Lay records trampled, and the laurel wreathNow rent and faded: in his hand he heldAn hour-glass, and, as fall the restless sands,So pass the lives of men. By him they pastAlong the darksome cave, and reach'd a stream, 755Aye rolling onward its perpetual waves,Noiseless and undisturb'd. Here they ascendA Bark unpiloted, that down the flood,Borne by the current, rush'd. The circling stream,Returning to itself, an island form'd; 760Nor had the Maiden's footsteps ever reach'dThe insulated coast, eternallyRapt round the endless course; but Theodore,With force angelic, drove the obedient bark.

They land, a mighty fabric meets their eyes, 765Seen by its gem-born light. Of adamantThe pile was framed, for ever to abideFirm in eternal strength. Before the gateStood eager Expectation, as to listThe half-heard murmurs issuing from within, 770Her 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 knewVague suppositions and uncertain dreams,Of what was soon to come, for she would mark 775The paley glow-worm's self-created light,And argue thence of kingdoms overthrown,And desolated nations; ever fill'dWith undetermined terror, as she heardOr distant screech owl, or the regular beat 780Of 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, unpierced mistsAye hover. Would'st thou read the book of Fate, 785Enter."The Damsel for a moment paus'd,Then to the Angel spake: "All-gracious Heaven!Benignant in withholding, hath deniedTo man that knowledge. I, in faith assur'd,That he, my heavenly Father, for the best 790Ordaineth all things, in that faith remainContented.""Well and wisely hast thou said,"So Theodore replied; and as he spake,Seizing her hand (for Spirits have such powerThat there they are where they but wish to be, 800Swift as the thought that guides them) in a valeThey stood; a fairer spot industrious ManMade never, tho' in climes where Nature poursProfuse her bounty. Forest-waving hillsBosom'd the tranquil scene, beneath whose feet 805A river roll'd along its willowy course,And as it wound between the neighbouring coomb,Allured the charmed eye. Here, as they passBeneath a woodbine bower, a manly formThey saw of open visage, who from wood 810Of odorous Myrtle form'd the shafts of Love.Yet whilst Humanity thus plied his toil,Deceit would steal away the precious shaftsAnd in their stead the evil darts return,Form'd from the Cypress or the Aspin wood, 815Or from that tree that on the traveller dropsThe dews of death. And as the Genius form'dHis shafts, he plunged them in the urn of bliss:But brooding evil to the race of man,Sat shameless Vice behind, and fann'd her fire, 820Hell-kindled, heating in it's flames the dartsDeceit had form'd, and Avarice venom'd themWith his cold drugs that petrify the heart."These are the Dæmons that pervert the powerOf Love," said Theodore. "The time was once 825When Love and Happiness went hand in hand,In that blest aera of the infant worldEre man had learnt to bow the knee to man.Was there a youth whom warm affection fill'd,He spake his honest heart; the earliest fruits 830His toil produced, the sweetest flowers that deck'dThe sunny bank, he gather'd for the maid,Nor she disdain'd the gift—for Vice not yetHad burst the dungeons of her hell, and rear'dThose artificial boundaries that divide 835Man from his species. State of blessedness!Till that ill-omen'd hour when Cain's stern sonDelved in the bowels of the earth for gold,Accursed bane of virtue! of such forceAs poets feign dwelt in the Gorgon's locks, 840Which whoso saw, felt instant the life-bloodCold curdle in his veins, the creeping fleshGrew stiff with horror, and the heart forgotTo beat. Accursed hour! for man no moreTo Justice paid his homage, but forsook 845Her altars, and bow'd down before the shrineOf Wealth and Power, the Idols he had made.Then Hell enlarg'd herself, her gates flew wide,Her legion fiends rush'd forth. Oppression cameWhose frown is desolation, and whose breath 850Blasts like the Pestilence; and Poverty,A meagre monster, who with withering touchMakes barren all the better part of man,Mother of Miseries; then the goodly earthWhich God had framed for happiness, became 855One theatre of woe, and all that GodHad given to bless free men, these tyrant fiendsHis bitterest curses made. Yet for the bestHath he ordained all things, the All-wise!For by experience rous'd shall man at length 860Dash down his Moloch-gods, Samson-likeAnd burst his fetters—only strong whilst strongBelieved; then in the bottomless abyssOppression shall be chain'd, and PovertyDie, and with her, her Brood of Miseries; 865And Virtue and Equality preserveThe reign of Love, and Earth shall once againBe Paradise, whilst Wisdom shall secureThe state of bliss which Ignorance betrayed."

"Oh age of happiness!" the Maid exclaim'd, 870"Roll fast thy current, Time till that blest ageArrive! and happy thou my Theodore,Permitted thus to see the sacred depthsOf wisdom!""Such," the blessed Spirit replied,"Beloved! such our lot; allowed to range 875The vast infinity, progressive stillIn knowledge, and encreasing blessedness,This our united portion. Thou hast yetA little while to sojourn amongst men:I will be with thee! there shall not a breeze 880Wanton around thy temples, on whose wingI will not hover near! and at that hourWhen from it's fleshly sepulchre let loose,Thy phœnix soul shall soar, O best-beloved!I will be with thee in thine agonies, 885And welcome thee to life and happiness,Eternal infinite beatitude!"

He spake, and led her near a straw-roof'd cot,Love's Palace. By the Virtues circled there,The cherub listen'd to such melodies,As aye, when one good deed is register'd 890Above, re-echo in the halls of Heaven.Labor was there, his crisp locks floating loose,Clear was his cheek, and beaming his full eye,And strong his arm robust; the wood-nymph HealthStill follow'd on his path, and where he trod 895Fresh flowers and fruits arose. And there was Hope,The general friend; and Mercy, whose mild eyeWept o'er the widowed dove; and, loveliest form,Majestic Chastity, whose sober smileDelights and awes the soul, a laurel wreath 900Restrain'd her tresses, and upon her breastThe snow-drop hung its head, that seem'd to growSpontaneous, cold and fair: still by the maidLove went submiss, with eye more dangerousThan fancied basilisk to wound whoe'er 905Too bold approached, yet anxious would he readHer every rising wish, then only pleasedWhen pleasing. Hymning him the song was rais'd.

"Glory to thee whose vivifying powerPervades all Nature's universal frame! 910Glory to thee Creator Love! to thee,Parent of all the smiling Charities,That strew the thorny path of Life with flowers!Glory to thee Preserver! to thy praiseThe awakened Woodlands echo all the day 915Their living melody; and warbling forthTo thee her twilight song, the NightingaleHolds the lone Traveller from his way, or charmsThe listening Poet's ear. Where Love shall deignTo fix his seat, there blameless Pleasure sheds 920Her roseate dews; Content will sojourn there,And Happiness behold Affection's eyeGleam with the Mother's smile. Thrice happy heWho feels thy holy power! he shall not drag,Forlorn and friendless, along Life's long path 925To Age's drear abode; he shall not wasteThe bitter evening of his days unsooth'd;But Hope shall cheer his hours of Solitude,And Vice shall vainly strive to wound his breast,That bears that talisman; and when he meets 930The eloquent eye of Tenderness, and hearsThe bosom-thrilling music of her voice;The joy he feels shall purify his Soul,And imp it for anticipated Heaven."