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By
Grace Aguilar
Milton.
It
is now ten years when a friend placed in our hand
Friendship’s Offering for 1842, containing a
beautiful sketch of Miss Aguilar, then for the first
time become popular as the author of the Spirit of
Judaism. But few of those who now admire our gifted
sister are, perhaps, aware of the existence of this
little piece, in which she so feelingly depicts the
blissful effect of a trusting faith in the human
mind.
She charmingly paints the daughter of wealth,
surrounded by her offspring and friends, content,
because everything admonishes her to be thankful;
and, on the other side, she lifts the veil from a
heart equally high in its aspiration, from a soul
equally noble, wasting away in the chill routine of
a school-room, cast off by those she loved, and her
genius neglected, still glorifying the Father who
never tries his children more than they can bear.
No doubt Miss A. gives us, in the last character,
some of the feelings which animated her, after the
change of fortune in her family induced her to
devote herself to the duties of educating a limited
number of scholars, although, unlike her ideal
heroine, she was blessed with a worthy father and a
virtuous mother, like whom, we trust, there may be
many more in Israel. Yet Miss A. evidently yearned
for a happiness which was denied her on earth; but
let us hope that now she has found that light which
was too strong for the eyes of flesh, for the spirit
immersed in the perishing tabernacle of clay.
Let our readers weigh well the lesson Miss A. meant
to convey, and not become faint in spirit nor weak
in faith when friends desert them, and the light of
their prosperity is dimmed. There is a reward for
endurance, and a happiness in suffering for the
glory of God, which the proud, in their prosperity,
cannot appreciate. “Whatever the Lord does, He does
for our good,” is the true philosophy of life but it
is attainable only in the path of religion. Cold scepticism may teach suicide; but never perseverance
unto the end.—Ed. Oc.
<<407>>
I.
It
was a scene of unrivalled beauty; yet might some
marvel, wherefore was thus created, so far removed
from mortal ken, so severed from the habitations of
sin and death, that foot of man had never sullied
the pure fresh green of the velvet grass; mortal
hand had never culled the brilliant flowers, gemming
each silvery stream; corporeal sense had never been
regaled by their fragrant breath, or lulled by the
sweet music of the waters. The leafy branches of the
ancient trees stretched forth their deep green
shadows, and hill, and stream, and valley, each
clothed in its own peculiar beauty, derived fresh
charms, as the seasons softly and silently sped by,
leaving bright tokens as they sped. The stars still
smiled at their own sparkling rays gleaming in from
the gushing water; the pensive moon still touched
the glossy leaves with her diamond pencil, still
lingered on the verdant mount, leaving rich shadows
on the luxuriant vales; the sun still sent forth his
bright beams, to revive and cherish the glistening
flowers, to whisper of his unfailing love: still did
he bid them drink up the dew-drops, which, trembling
beneath his earnest gaze, yet sprung up from their
homes at his first call, eager to lose themselves in
him. Day, in his mirth and light, gave place to
silent and shadowy night; and night again to day.
Yet man was not there and wherefore had such
loveliness birth?—wherefore was it so continually
renewed?
Man would joy in the contemplation of beauty, such
as this scene presented; yet his imperfect vision
would see no further than mount and vale, and trees
and shrubs, and streams and flowers; he would hear
nought but the rustle of the leaf, the murmur of the
breeze, the music of the brook. The luscious scents
floating on the breeze, would be but indistinctly
distinguished, and his fancy perchance yearn
towards them, and long for perfume more defined,
even as we sometimes seek to unite into sweet
melody, the thrilling notes, which one by one, at
dreamy intervals, linger on the distant air; and
things he would hear, and feel, and see, and dream
not there were sights and sounds hovering around
him, too pure, too spiritual for earthly sense.
<<408>>
There were glorious spirits—angelic beings floating
on the ambient air, and lingering beside the waters,
and sporting with the jewelled buds. There were rich
tones lingering on the breeze—sweet thrilling voices
mingling with golden harps, and silvery flutes;
there were luscious scents ascending to the arching
heaven; even, as if guided by ministering spirits,
each floweret sent up her grateful incense to the
throne of her Creator. As the dazzling flash of the
diamond, the softer gleam of the emerald, the
radiant gleam of the sapphire, the intense rays of
the ruby: so shone these beautiful beings, as they
fleeted to and fro on their respective tasks. Some
replenishing the brooks with living waters from
vases which seemed moulded from precious gems; some
tending the flowers, inhaling and bestowing
fragrance, or whispering those sweet memories, with
which man ever finds the flowers of the desert
filled. Some lingering in groups upon the mount,
crowning its flowery brow as with a circlet of
living rays. Some flying downwards, agitating the
valley with soft delicious winds, and others
freshening the rich tints of the far-spreading
foliage; and far and near, their voices sounded in
one rich hymn of praise, whose theme was love; and
the golden harps prolonged the hallelujahs, sounding
up through the blue realms of space, till they
mingled with the deeper, mightier harmonies around
the Eternal’s throne; bearing along its thrilling
echo, joined by innumerable voices, till the whole
air seemed filled with song, and still that song was
Love.
Beautiful as were these celestial spirits—beautiful
and blessed above all conception of finite man; yet
they were not of the highest class of angels.
Incapable of sin, unconscious of pain or sorrow, but
not yet admitted to hover over the dwelling of man,
to minister unto the afflicted, to tend the couch of
the dying; to whisper of rest to the weary, hope to
the desponding, joy to the mourner.
Sensible of the Eternal’s presence, their bliss made
perfect in His glory, their task was to watch and
tend inanimate creation;—to sing his praises amidst
the glorious shrines of nature, till His works
proclaimed him unto man.
Activity and obedience were the sole virtues
demanded of <<409>>
these celestial beings in the
tasks above enumerated, and when these had been
sufficiently exercised, they graduated to a higher
order of angels, nearer the Eternal’s throne, who
were permitted to receive His will and make it known
to man. The desire to obtain this privilege was
lively in all, but far removed from that grosser
passion, known to man, as ambition. In them it did
but add zest to enjoyment, give energy to love,
inspiration to obedience. Faith, they needed not;
for to them the Eternal was revealed. Anticipation
was lost in fulfillment—hope in completion. Their
nature was not susceptible of a deeper sense of
bliss; but as they ascended higher and higher in the
scale of angels, the deeper, fuller, more glorious
blessedness, was met by a nature yet more purified,
spiritualized, exalted, fitted for its reception,
and strengthened to retain it.
II.
Reposing on a sunbeam, lingering on the brow of a
hill, a spirit lay, apart from his fellows. His brow
was wreathed with the opal, emerald, and ruby; so
blending their several rays, that they seemed but as
a circlet of ever-changing light. His long flowing
hair shone as if each clustering ringlet had been
bathed in the liquid diamond. His downy wings, woven
of every shade, gently waved in air, wafting the
richest perfume, and dyeing the sunbeam on which he
lay, in every brilliant tint. A light mist enveloped
his angelic form,—softening, not lessening, his
resplendent loveliness. His eye shone as the
midnight star; a bloom, softer, lovelier, purer than
the earliest rose, played on his cheek; sparkling
smiles wreathed his lips. He spoke, and his voice
was music,—though his golden harp lay silent by his
side.
“Love! love!” he murmured; " Hallelujah to the Lord
of love! Let the full choirs of heaven chaunt forth
the immortal theme; proclaim, proclaim Him Love!
Earth! air! ocean! shout with your hundred tongues,
send up your echo to the voice of heaven! Man, art
thou insensible?—Hearest thou not these living
tones?—Can doubt be thine, as I have heard whispered
in the celestial courts? Created by Love,—placed in
a world <<410>> of love,—distant as thou art, yet
cherished, and beloved by Love, destined for
immortal union with the Love that gave thee
being:—canst thou be faithless, canst thou be
senseless?—when above, below, around, within, soundeth the deep, eternal voice of Love! Oh
insensates, if such things be! Immortal glory, bliss
unfading, can it be for ye?”
Awhile he paused. A slight shadow passed athwart the
brilliant rays with which he was encircled. He
folded his wings around him, and laid his brow upon
them.
“My thought has been rebuked,” he said; “I have done
ill.— Enough for me, the consciousness of love.
Wherefore should I condemn, as yet unworthy to look
on man? Let the hallelujahs sound forth again. Glory
to the Eternal!—His works are wisdom, His thoughts
are love!”
He
swept his hand across his harp.—the shadow hail
departed from his wings:—his chaplet shot forth
again its living light. Celestial music flowed forth
from his voice and hand:—
The spirit smiled once more. Suddenly the
hallelujahs ceased. To the eye of man twilight had
descended: the stars began to light up the dark blue
heavens. Mortal vision might trace the semblance of
a falling meteor of unwonted brilliance, dropping
into space. The purified orbs of the seraph crowd
knew that one of the highest class of angels was
departing from his resplendent seat, and winging
his flight towards them. Instantly they rose up from
their several resting-places, forming in files, of
unutterable brilliance. Increased happiness shed a
new lustre on their brows, and heightened the
glowing iris of their wings. One alone felt
penetrated with an awe which slightly lessened the
feelings of joy, which the visit of an angel ever
caused. He feared it was to him the celestial
mission came: that his condemnation of beings,
whose nature and whose trials he knew not, had
exposed him to censure, perhaps, to a longer
banishment from the higher spheres of glory; and
while his brother spirits thronged round the favoured minister, to bask in the resplendent
brightness of his smiles, to list to the words of
melody flowing from his lips, to gaze on the mild
yet thrilling softness of his celestial features,
Zephon stood aloof, for the first time
shrinking <<411>> from the glance and voice he loved.
He saw not that the glittering helm and dazzling
sword were laid aside, that his brow was wreathed
with the softly-gleaming pearl, his shining wings
glistening through silvery radiance, bespeaking
tenderness and mercy, and not now the wrath and
chastisement of which, at his Maker’s will, he was
at times the minister.
His voice, melodious and thrilling as the silver
trumpets of the empyreal heavens, sounded through
space as it called “Zephon!” The seraph paused not a
moment, but darting through the incensed air,
prostrated himself at the archangel’s feet.
“Arise, and fear not, youthful brother!” spoke the
messenger of the Eternal, departing not from the
grave majesty of his demeanour, but smiling with
such ineffable sweetness, the seraph felt its
reviving influence, and spread forth his silken
pinions rejoicingly again. “I come, the harbinger of
peace and love. Thine impassioned zeal was checked
ere it became a fault,—checked ere it led thee to
desire forbidden knowledge. Charged with a message
of love and mercy from the Most High, I have
besought and obtained permission to take thee, as my
companion. To thine imperfect vision, it seemeth
strange that man, so especially the beloved, the
cherished of the Eternal, framed to display, to
uphold His stupendous power, to proclaim His might,—
His love—should ever fail either in obedience or
adoration.
Thou hast heard that such has been; for where sin
hath so fearfully prevailed, that an immortal
spirit has been excluded from these glorious realms,
a dim shadow hath spread over Heaven’s resplendent
courts, and the celestial spirits of every rank have
prostrated themselves before the invisible, yet
terrible Presence, adoring justice, while they
supplicated mercy. Zephon! not yet may be revealed
to thee the glorious mystery of the Eternal’s secret
ways. Thou mayst gaze with me on the earthly beings
I have charge to tend; but it is forbidden thee to
ask or seek the wherefore of what thou seest. Thou
wilt behold, even in this limited glance, enough to
prove, that even if the human heart refuseth to send
up its thrilling echo to the theme of Love, which
thy zeal demandeth, the unfathomable love of its
benignant <<412>> Creator will receive and bless its
faintest sigh; for to Him, and to Him alone, is
known the extent of its trial,—the bitterness of its
grief,—the difficulty of its belief in an
ever-acting love. Zephon if still thou wilt, thou
shalt look on the human heart yet pause awhile;—is
thy love sufficiently strong to uphold thee in the
contemplation of decrees, whose motives thou art not
yet permitted to conceive In thy blissful dwelling,
thou hast no nod of Faith; thou knowest not even its
name; but if with me thou goest, Faith must be thy
safeguard. Here thine eye seeth, thine ear heareth,
nought but love; there it may be darkly hidden from
thee. Yet if thy faith or thy love should fail, if
thou demandest the wherefore of what thou seest, it
is our Father’s will that thou shalt be banished
unto earth—banished from this glorious
abode—condemned to struggle with the ills and
sorrows of mortality, till pure and perfect faith
shine forth, and fit thee once again for heaven.
Speak, then, my brother: wilt thou depart with me,
or still linger here? The choice is now thine own.”
Awhile the seraph paused: the face of the archangel
beamed on him with compassionating tenderness and
redoubled love. The looks of his brother spirits,
the soft fluttering of their wings seemed to woo him
to remain, to intreat him not to tempt the fate
threatened if his love should fail, and therefore
did he pause.
“No no! wherefore should I fear?” he cried; I will
go with thee, minister of love. I will look upon my
Father’s dearest work, and despite of mystery and
gloom,—of sorrow—of pain, I will love and bless Him
still!”
A
fuller, richer burst of melody filled the realms of
air; thousands and thousands of voices swelled
forth in triumphant harmony. A starry cloud
descended, and, folded in its spangled robe, the
departing spirits vanished into space.
III.
“Thy wish is fulfilled; the peculiar treasure of our
Father is revealed. Zephon, behold:” the angel
spake, as the shrouding cloud rolled away towards
the fields of ether, and the celestial spirits
hovered over the abode of man. A sudden, an
inde<<413>>scribable consciousness of increased
powers, of heightened intellect, shot from the
starry eyes of the youthful seraph. Man in his
majesty, his beauty,—bearing in his every movement,
his exquisitely-formed frame, his complicated
economy of being, yet more impressive, more
startling evidence of the might, the wisdom, the
benevolence of his glorious Maker, than even the
source of the river, the structure of the flower,
the growth of the tree, over which the seraph had
presided, finding even in such things ample scope
for the soaring intellect which characterized his
race; man, proceeding from, destined for,
immortality,—the beloved, the peculiar care and
treasure of the Eternal,—man, beautiful man, stood
revealed before him.
Yet amidst the thronging multitude on which he
gazed, but one HEART, in all its varied impulses,
its hidden throbs and incongruous thoughts and
ever-changing fancies—but one beautiful intellect,
in all its secret powers and extent, was open to his
inspection: and lovely, even to the eyes of a
spirit, was the being in whom such glorious things
were shrined.
She was a young and noble maiden, perfect in form
and face; her virtues, scarce sullied by a stain of
earth, although from the Spirit of Poetry, the
living fount of Genius, dwelling within, open to
grief and trial, even from the faintest breath too
rudely jarring on the heavenly-strung chords with
which her heart was filled. A deep, lowly, clinging
piety, was ever ready to check the first impulse of
impatience, to turn to the sweet joys of sympathy
and universal love, the too vivid sense of sorrow,
either for herself or others. Humility was there, to
lift up that young spirit in thankfulness to its
Creator, and to devote that powerful intellect, ever
seeming to bear all difficulties before it, to His
service in the good of her fellow-creatures.
Zephon saw that the praise of man was a source of
pure inspiring pleasure; but instead of filling her
soul with pride, it ever bore it up in increased
devotion to its God. He marked her graceful form,
sporting to and fro amid the stately domains of her
lordly ancestors. He marked the love of parents,
brothers, friends, that ever thronged around her,
and the fulness of joy that love bestowed. He saw,
too, the impassioned longings for
<<414>> yet
stronger love, the yearnings for fame; the
appreciation, not alone from the noble and the gay,
but from the gifted and the good: the desire to
awake, by the magic touch of Genius, the same
thrilling chords in other hearts, as the spell of
others had revealed in hers.
The seraph looked long and earnestly. Suddenly he
saw her standing in the centre of a lordly room, and
loving and admiring friends around her; her lip, her
eye, her heart breathed joy, well-nigh as full and
shadowless as the blessedness of heaven. After
awhile the angel spake:
“There is nought here to call for Faith,” he said.
“Yon favoured child of genius but awakens deeper,
yet more adoring love. Her lot is blessedness; her
heart so pure, earth hath scarce power to stain that
bliss. But now look, yonder, Zephon. Seest thou
amidst the multitude, a being equally, though
differently lovely,—equally powerful in intellect,
equally the child of genius, as richly gifted, alike
in wisdom as in virtue, as fully susceptible of joy
and sorrow; the same feelings, the same desires,
the same deep yearnings for love on which to rest
for appreciation, fame;—the same strung heart,
thrilling to melody as keenly as to neglect. Mark
well, young brother, and thou wilt trace these
things.
Anxiously the seraph gazed, and again he was
conscious of sufficient power to read the human
heart. Again, amidst the multitude, one gentle being
stood unveiled before him; and save for the
difference in form and face, he had thought
perchance it was the same on whom he had gazed
before, so similar were their virtues, powers,
temperament, and genius;—similar in all things save
that the sense of bliss in the one already appeared,
more chastened, more timid, than in the other. He
looked, then turned inquiringly towards his
companion.
(To be continued.) |
