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(Concluded from p. 414.)
By
Grace Aguilar
“The will of the Eternal,” he said in answer,
“produced at the same instant these lovely beings,
and breathed into both the <<456>> spirit which thou seest. Their souls are twin-born—twin-born in
sensation, in power, in beauty, formed of the
highest, most ethereal essence, and thus creating
that which earth terms genius; destined at the same
moment to animate the beautiful habitation formed
for each, and at the same moment depart from it.
Until now, their fate hath been, with little
variation, the same, differing only according to
their station: the one standing amidst the highest
and noblest of her land, findeth fit companions, for
that nobleness and refinement, indivisible from
genius; the other already feeleth there is that
within her incomprehensible to those around her;
yet is the consciousness of little moment, for
freely and joyously she roams amid the varied scenes
of nature. She mingles but with those eager and
anxious to enhance her innocent pleasures,—to give
to her exalted mind and gentle virtues the homage
naturally their due. She looks on the world from a
distance, and hath peopled it with all things fond,
and bright, and beautiful, which take their
exquisite colouring from her own lovely and loving
mind. She yearns for appreciation, as thou
seest—for the praise of the multitude won by her
talents, but she asks not to mingle with them. She
seeks but the love of one, and the proud
consciousness of doing good to many. She demands not
a statelier home, a prouder station. Thus, then,
thou seest the earthly fate of these twin-born
spirits hath rolled on the same;—but now it is the
will of the All-wise, All-merciful, All-just, that a
shadowy change should pass over the one, and bliss,
fuller, dearer, perfect as earth may feel, be
dawning for the other. Thou halt marked the quick
throb of joy, now playing on the heart of the noble
child of genius. She beholds her first triumph in
the book she clasps. The thoughts that breathe, the
words that burn, have found their echo in the
multitude, and loving friends throng around to
proclaim her dawning fame. There are tears in those
lovely eyes; but ‘tis a mother's voice of love, of
tenderness, that calls them there. See, clasped to a
parent’s bosom, the swelling fullness of the spirit
finds vent in tears, for joy, that pure, stainless
joy. which is sent as the dim whisperings of heaven,
ever turns to pain on earth and had it not relief in
tears, would bear the soul away
<<457>> to that
world of which it speaks. She hath flown from the
detaining throng, and hark!—hearest thou not the
hymn of thanksgiving ascending upon high, till the
tumultuous joy subsides, and peace is gained once
more.”
He
ceased; a brighter radiance passed over his
benignant brow, and the voice of the seraph
spontaneously flowed forth in kindred harmony with
the hymn of earth, bearing it on the wings of melody
to the realms of song. ‘Twas hushed, and the
Hierarch again spake.
“Behold!” he said, the music of his voice subdued
and softened, “Behold, yet murmur not! It is the
will of the Eternal, and therefore it is well.”
The seraph gazed on a changed and darkened scene.—As
deep, as full, as was the bliss from which his eye
had that moment turned, so deep, so intense was the
anguish he now beheld. The gentle being in whom that
twin-born spirit breathed, knelt beside the couch of
the dead. He marked the wrung and bleeding heart;
he read in its utter loneliness, its agonized
despair; he read, it was a mother’s loss she
mourned,—a more than mother, for by her, by her
alone, her child’s ethereal soul, her fond
imaginings, her strong affections, had been known,
and loved, and fostered: to her, her beautiful had
ever come, to seek and find that sympathy which she
found not in another,—and she was gone, and the dark
troubled strivings of that desolate heart not yet
could deem it love.
“She weeps, and shall we condemn, young brother,
that not yet her voice may join in the universal
hymn? She weeps, yet knows not all her woe. The
stability, the honour, the strength of her father
were derived from the mild councils, the gentle
unobtrusive virtues of her mother: in him they have
no stay. That moral evil, too darkly prevalent on
earth, once more will gain dominion, and the joys of
the innocent, the helpless, are blighted ‘neath its
poison. On earth she stands alone—Yet hark! What
means that burst of triumph in the skies?”
Ineffably brilliant was the smile on the countenance
of the angel; and Zephon, startled, yet entranced,
looked again on that bleeding heart. The dark and
troubled waves within were <<458>> stilled; there
was no voice,—no sign; but the lamp of faith was
lit; her soul had murmured Love! and bowed, adoring
and resigned.
IV.
Again did the youthful spirit gaze down on earthly
joy, chastened in its fulness yet ecstatic in its
nature. Love, pure, perfect, faithful love, had
twined around that fair and gifted child of earth,
and filled the blank which yet remained; though
fame, appreciation, triumph, sympathy, affection,
all were hers. She had found a kindred soul, round
which to weave the clinging tendrils of her own;
virtues to revere, piety to support, uphold, and
cherish the soakings of her own. She had found one
whose praise might still those passionate yearnings,
the which to satisfy, she had vainly looked to
fame;—one, from whose lips, how sweet became the
praise of the world;—one to give new zest to her
exalted genius; for by him it was most valued, most
beloved. Zephon looked on the beautiful blossoming
of genius, the expansion of intellect, the
flowering of every budding hope; and he saw, too,
the chastened humility, the unwavering love, which
traced these rich gifts to their source, and lifted
up her heart in universal love and grateful
adoration; and again his voice joined hers in
thanksgiving.
Once more, at the voice of the archangel, he sought
and found the kindred essence, and love was on that
heart, deep, almighty, whelming love, hearing before
it for awhile even the sere and withered leaves,
with which its depths were strewed. He looked on the
wreck of that which he had seen so lovely,— the
wreck of all, save the gentle virtues, the meek
submission which had characterized her youth; the
rosy dreams, the glowing visions, presented but a
crushed and broken mass; their bright fragments
seeking ever to unite, but ever rudely severed.
Genius, in its deep wild burnings, its impassioned
breathing, feeding as a smothered fire upon her own
young heart, seeking ever to find a vent, an
echo,—to be known, acknowledged, loved; but falling
back with every effort, till even genius seemed
increase of sorrow,—and hope yet glimmered there,
pale, sickly, shadowy, <<459>> in its faint rays
emitting but increase of light, to be immersed in
deeper gloom. And love was there, intense,
all-mighty, yet it brought no joy.
“She loves—she was beloved,” again spake the angelic
voice; “but the sin of the father is visited upon
the child. A little while he appeared devoted unto
her, and to the memory of the departed; and though
he led her from the scenes she loved, to mingle
more closely with the world, his affection soothed,
his hopes inspired; but he knew not the ethereal
nature of that soul, and the scenes which earth
terms gay and joyous, touched no answering chord in
her, and led him once again astray. Yet for a brief
while, happiness was hers, banishing those vain
yearnings, ever proceeding from a soul too sensitive
for earth; but the same hour which awoke her to a
consciousness of love, given and returned, turned
back that fountain of bliss upon her seared and
withered heart, and changed it into gall. The child
of a dishonoured parent, was no fit mate for
nobleness and honour, and earth is gone once more.”
Tears, the sweet bright tears, that angels weep,
bedewed the eyes of the seraph; yet riveted their
gaze on that one sad child of earth, as if in its
dark and troubled chaos, there were yet more to
read. He saw, too, the slight and beautiful shell in
which that spirit was enshrined, quivering beneath
the tempest, till at length it lay prostrate, and
unhinged, and intense bodily suffering heightened
mental ill.
“‘Tis the struggle for submission and resignation,
that hath done this,” continued the angel. “Soest
thou, no dream of unbelief, no murmur of complaint
hath entered that heart; anguish may wither up the
swelling hymn; may check the voice of love; but
faith is there! and mark! though in His
unquestionable wisdom, the Eternal’s will is to
afflict, though in impenetrable darkness, save to
those beside His throne, He hideth the secret
wherefore of that will. Invisibly His ministers are
charged to hover round His favoured child, to
comfort and sustain, though lone and desolate on
earth. Behold!”
Bright, beautiful spirits robed in light and glory,
hovered round the couch of sorrow; yet, earth hid
them from their kin<<460>>dred essence. She saw them
not: felt not the mild reviving influence of their
spiritual presence, save that gradually and slowly
the chains which bound those beautiful limbs were
loosed. The whirlwind sweeping over that heart,
subsided into partial calm; and strength was given
her to struggle on and live.
Zephon looked on the child of sorrow, and a faint
shadow stole over the brilliant iris of his wings;
the living rays on his brow grew dim.
V.
Again did the seraph look down on earth, again did
he gaze on the favoured child of joy. The ecstatic
sense of bliss, he had marked before, had subsided
into happiness as full, as pure, as thrilling, yet
chastened in its fulness. There were young, and
lovely forms around her; a mother’s love had added
its unutterable sweetness to her lot. He looked on
her heart, and marked how sweetly and beautifully
its every dream, its every hope, had bloomed to full
maturity. How softly its slight cares were soothed
by sympathy, and love on earth, and trust and hope
in Heaven; how earnestly it sought to pour back its
every gift into the gracious hand from which it
sprung, and lead her children as herself to the
threshold of Eternal joy. He looked on that unveiled
heart, as, wandering with those she loved, amid the
glorious shrines of nature, she found in every leaf
and stream. and bird, and flower, somewhat to bid
her children love, and add to the inexhaustible
spring of poesy and genius, which rested still
within, and gave new zest, new brightness to her
simplest joy.
He
gazed on her alone, amidst the books she loved, the
studies her genius had craved; he read the deep,
pure, shadowless joy: it was to feel, that gift had
done its work, and sent its pure and lucid flame
amidst the unthinking crowd, and carried blessings
with it; that its rich music had left its impression
on many a thoughtless heart; had shed sweet balm
over hours of sad, lonely sickness; had spoken its
soft sympathy to the diseased and sorrowing mind,
and sent new, brighter, purer joyance
<<461>> to the
young, eager, and imaginative soul. It had done
these things, and was it marvel she rejoiced!
Zephon gazed; but the shadow passed not from his
wings, and hastily and silently he turned once more
to seek the kindred essence. The whelming woe had
given place to a strangely complicated mass, of
crossed and twisted strings, which tightly fettered
down each glorious gift, each cherished hope, each
fond aspiring; yet gave them space to throb, and
live and whisper still. The bright undying flame of
genius never seemed to burn with more o’er-sweeping
power; yet, the flashes that it sent but scorched
the heart that held them. Hope was still there
sending forth her lovely blossoms; but to be nipped
and blighted ’neath the close and icy strings that
stretched above them. There were chains upon that
spirit, binding it to earth, when most it longed to
spring on high. And the shell, the lovely shell
which held it, was dwindling ’neath its withering
spell. The seraph marked the tension of each vein
and nerve, and pulse, till it seemed as if the very
next breath of emotion, however faint, would snap
them in twain; the painful effort to restrain the
irritation of bodily and mental suffering, the agony
of remorse, which, the slightest ebullition of
impatience caused.
He
beheld her hour by hour, the centre of a noisy group
of children, possessing not one attribute to call
forth that torrent of love and tenderness, with
which her soul was filled. He marked the starting of
each nerve, the bounding of each pulse, at every
shout of rude and noisy revelry, the inward fever
attending every effort to restrain and instruct. He
saw her, when midnight enwrapped the earth, alone
for a brief space, in a poor and comfortless room;
the bright visions of genius thronging tumultuously
on mind and brain; incongruous and wild, from their
having been so long pent up in darkness and woe. He
beheld the effort to give the burning fancies vent;
the utter failing of the mortal frame; the
prostration of all power, save that which yet would
lift up heart and hands in the low cry: “Father, it
is thy will; I know not wherefore; yet, oh! yet, if
Thou willest it, it is, it must be well!” And he
heard unnumbered harps bear up that voice of Faith,
in melody overpowering in its deep rich
<<462>>
tones. He marked the spirits of light and
loveliness, still hovering around, moulding those
burning tears into precious .gems, changing each
quivering sigh to songs of glory. Yet still his
sight seemed strangely dim—the shadow passed not
from his wings.
“And man, her brother man, hath he no love, no
tenderness, no thoughts for sorrow such as hers?”
the seraph asked; “knows he not of the precious
gifts, the gentle virtues that frail shell enfolds?
Wherefore is she thus lone?—hath man no answering
chord?”
“Man sees not the interior of that heart, as thou
dost,” rejoined the Hierarch. “When through
disobedience sin entered yon beautiful world, man’s
eyes became darkened towards his fellows, and but
too often his rebellious and perverted mind
willfully refuses knowledge of his brother; lest
sympathy should bid him share the griefs of others.
In some, envy, foul envy, the base passion which
first darkened earth with death, willfully blinds,
lest the genius and the virtue of the poor should be
exalted above the rich; in others it is ignorance,
contempt, neglect, springing from that rank
poison—selfishness, or the loathsome weed
indifference, which flings a thick veil over others’
woe, and so confines the gaze, it sees no farther
than itself. To mortal vision yon gentle being is
composed and calm. Man marks but the outward frame;
love alone might trace the decline of strength, the
failing of bodily power; but there is none near to
love. Poverty hath flung those chains upon the
heart, confining the ethereal spirit, dragging it
down to earth; yet deadening not its power. Poverty,
privation, have thrown her amongst those whose
grosser, more material natures, are incapable of
appreciating the heavenly rays of genius; of
comprehending its effect upon the temperament and
the frame. They deem her lot a happy one, for they
cannot know how much more she needs,—what cause she
has for sorrow. They would laugh in bitter scorn at
those griefs which have their birth in feeling,
whose intensity, whose depth of suffering, are to
them utterly unknown. No! man may not alleviate woes
like hers. In the dark circle her fate is fixed:
earth, mortal fading earth is all; they have no time
for dreams <<463>> and thoughts of heaven. A spirit
like to hers, bearing on its brow a stamp of glory
not its own. Alas! my brother, man will not mark
such things. Sin, foul sin hath dimmed its gaze.”
The seraph folded his beautiful wings around him.
There was a strange dim sense of pain upon him,
undefined, yet sad, as the first clouding of mortal
vision unto man, ere sight departs for ever. When he
looked forth again, the scene was changed, and it
was bright and beautiful, though death was there.
The blessed, the loved, the cherished!—she lay
there, calm, yet rejoicing,—though the loved around
her wept. Recalled to its native home, ere age or
sorrow dimmed the spirit’s glory; joyfully,
willingly, she heard the call, for death had no pang
for her. She knew she parted from her beloved to
meet again, “where never sounds farewell.” She knew
she was departing to that blissful bourne, whose
glorious light had beamed so softly and beautifully
on her earthly course, gilding MORTAL happiness
IMMORTAL glory; to that goal, where each bright gift
would be made perfect, her finite wisdom find
completion in infinity. Still, still the comfort of
her voice consoled the hearts that wept around; her
lip yet sent forth gentle words to soothe and bless
when she was gone; the mind, the beautiful mind, yet
shone in all its living light. Death had no power to
dim its lustre; brighter and brighter, gleamed the
departing soul; and thoughts, sweet thoughts, came
thronging on that heart, of duties done, of life
that sought but good, of universal love,
benevolence, and peace. And blessings of the poor,
the needy, and the sorrowing, hovered round her as
angels robed in light. Joy! Joy! Oh, still was that
gentle spirit wreathed in joy,—the grave had lost
its sting, and death was swallowed up in victory!
Irresistibly and rapidly the seraph sought the
twin-born spirit, —which, at the same hour, was to
wing her flight from earth. There were none to weep
around her couch of loneliness and pain; but one, a
kind and lonely hireling, was near to mark that
spirit’s parting pang,—to smooth the pillow, and
whisper of repose. No sign of luxury was there, no
gentle hand with luscious fruit or cooling draught,
to tempt the fevered lip, the parched and tasteless
tongue. Dark, close, confined, the chamber of the
<<464>> dying—but a few pale flowers, children of
field and brook alone stood beside her, to whisper
’twas a poet’s dying home. Save that, perchance, the
treasured volumes still round, disclosed that the
mind was bright, and strong, and lovely still. Her
thin hand still clasped a book, her eyes lit up as
they gazed upon the page, and for a brief space, her
cheek shone with a bloom that scarce could seem of
death. Zephon looked within the heart and started.
Hope gleamed up amidst its crushed and broken
chords; hope, ay, and one bright flash of joy
darting forth as a sunbeam midst the shrouding mass
of clouds, and momentary, coeval with that joy, the
wish, fond wish to live.
“Start not, my brother!”—the thrilling accents of
the angel once more spake. “She gazes on her own
fond dreams, her own pure visions,—she clasps their
record in the volume that she holds. Acknowledged,
sought. appreciated; her genius has burst through
the veil of obscurity and woe; and fame, undying
fame, hath wreathed his laurels to adorn the dead.
Man will weep upon her grave, will wreath her name
with glory, will reverence too late the genius that
hath gone,—and therefore would she live. It is the
last struggle, the last pang,—the spirit is too
pure, too free, to fold too long the chain which
earth holds forth, even though its links are joy.
Behold!”
The seraph looked once more. There had been a
struggle—a brief and anguished pang; joy and hope
lay crushed for ever, beneath the sickening
consciousness ’twas all too late, and she must die!
There came one murmuring doubt, one paining
question—wherefore she was thus called away, when
earth gave promise of such sweet reviving flowers?
And darkness spread forth her pall, and shrouded up
that heart; but speedily it passed; a soft and
mellowed light gleamed up; the blackened shade
rolled up and fled; the ruin and its chains were
gone, and PEACE, and Faith and Joy, twined hand in
hand together.
VI.
Zephon looked not on the abodes of man. The Hierarch
alone stood before him, surrounded by a blaze of
glory. Ineffable brilliance shone forth, from his
brow and wings; yet softened <<465>> into
compassionating tenderness, was his radiant look,
his thrilling voice. A trembling awe spread over
the seraph, and involuntarily he bowed before him.
“Thy will is accomplished, youthful brother, thou
hast glanced on man,” spake the angelic voice; “yet
know, that which thou hast seen is but as a single
grain amid the spreading panda of the boundless
desert; as a single spark of earthly fire amid the
countless stars and blazing suns of heaven, compared
with the scenes of woe yon world of beauty bolds.
When Sin entered, Joy fled trembling up to the
heaven whence he came. Twined as he was with purity
and innocence, without them, earth could have for
him no stay, no resting;—man reaps the fruit he
sows,—for not in a guilty world, may the Eternal
mark the distinction between the righteous and the
wicked. In that which thou hast seen there was no
guild no sin. Twinborn in purity as in their high
ethereal essence, yet from the imperfection of
earth, so widely severed their mortal fates, so
strangely parted, if such things are, is’t marvel
that the hymn of love, of praise, from lips of man
should be so faint and weak? Zephon! thou hast
looked on earth; thou hast marked the dealings of
our Father with His children. Speak then, my
brother! oh, speak! will the song of joy—of
adoration, still flow from thy lips, still, still
canst thou proclaim Him Love?”
The harps of heaven were stilled. The invisible
choirs hushed their full title of song. Darker and
darker, for a brief space, became the shadow around
the youthful seraph; and his radiant brow was buried
in its shrouding folds. Deep, awful was that
momentary pause, for it seemed as if the hosts of
heaven themselves were hushed in sympathy and dread.
A
sudden flood of dazzling effulgence burst through
the gloomy shade, dispersing it as a thin vapour on
either side. Beams of living lustre illumined that
glorious brow, and in liquid music his voice flowed
forth.
“Shall I be less than mortal—I, who serve my Father
amidst His chosen choirs, who knew Him, unobstructed
by the veil of earth? Let the full song burst forth;
let the bright seraphim strike, the bold harps
again; let the rich hymn swell out in
<<466>> deeper
glory; Hallelujah to our Father and our King! His
ways are dark, but His will is love! Praise Him, ye
myriads of angels; praise Him, ye heaven of heavens;
proclaim, proclaim Him Love! His ways are
pleasantness, His paths are peace,—Praise Him, ye
glorious hosts—Hallelujah, He is Love!”
VII.
There was rejoicing amidst the heavenly choirs,
rejoicing amidst the seraph band; for a bright and
beautiful spirit, whose lot, even on earth, was joy,
released from mortal chains, had joined their
glittering files. Wafted from earth amidst strains
of glory, lifting up her voice with theirs in
thanksgiving, and consummating in the centre of that
glorious band, the hymn of beauty and of love
commenced on earth.
There was rejoicing amid the angelic choirs, beside
the shrouding veil, which softened even from their
purified orbs, the transcendent glory of their
Father’s throne—rejoicing amidst the archangelic
choirs; for a bright and beautiful spirit, whose
earthly doom had been shrouded in the impenetrable
mists of darkness and woe, was wafted towards them
on a golden cloud, amid a rich burst of glad
triumphant harmony, rejoicing!—for mystery and gloom
were removed from a child of God, and unsealed for
her, the secret of his ways.
There was rejoicing in the angelic hosts,—rejoicing
through the central choirs,—for a youthful seraph,
springing upon the bright wings of faith and love,
had joined their glittering files, and songs of joy
and melody encircled him, rejoicing!—above, below,
within, till each resplendent court of heaven darted
forth rays of inexpressible brilliance, and the
whole universe of space, peopled with its myriads of
angelic and archangelic spirits, sent forth its
mighty depths of harmony, its thrilling voice of
song; and still, oh still, its theme was
Love!—Eternal, changeless, unfathomable Love! |
