Mourning her hapless doom. There, too, as well Ye know, the seraphs oft lament o'er those Who in their youthful morn bright promise made Of virtue, but, by pleasure's smile seduced, Shatter the buds of early hope, thence doomed To ceaseless woe, while angels mourn their fall With tears unwept of mortals. Here I found The soul of my Lebbeus, in thin clouds Enveloped, and in deep sensation thrilled, Listening the pensive murmurs, murmurs mute To earthly beings, yet the mournful sounds Impressed his mortal frame, true to the tone Of its celestial essence. Him I bore To earth, laid in the soft lap of a cloud Of morning. There, within a grove of palms, His mother bore him; from their waving tops Descending all unseen, the tender babe
I fanned with cooling gales. But even then
He shed, in more than mortal bitterness,
Those tears which earth's frail children, at their birth Weep, in sad presage of their future death! Compassionate his youth, to every woe
Of man, and sorrow of his friend. So thus He lived with Jesus. O'er him shall I grieve When his Redeemer dies; that dreadful hour Shall fill him with dismay. O Saviour then Thy pitying hand extend, and bid him live! Lo! where he comes, with silent steps entranced In grief; here, seraph, may'st thou him behold, Of men the gentlest he; and as he spoke, Approached the mild Lebbeus. The bright throng Of spirits to the mortal's steps gave way,
Opening their ranks, as move the vernal winds Before the sad voice of the nightingale,
That mourns her ravished young; thenclosed they swift, Encompassing him, like a band of meu
Touched at a brother's woe. But he the while Who deemed himself all solitary, poured His soul in bitter anguish, o'er his head Smiting his trembling hands. Ah me! no more I find him; one sad day, two mournful nights, Are sped and yet he comes not; in their toils Him have his impious pursuers bound. Wretched survivor! Shall I live, while death O'ertakes thee, Jesus? Sinners in thy blood, O Son of God, have their red hands imbrued. Thou diest, and I am far, and may not catch Thy parting breath, or press thy closing eyes! Where, traitors, have ye slain him? to what field, To what wild desert waste, what sepulchre,
'Midst the cold dead, have your hands borne him, then Robbed him of life? O heavenly friend, thou liest Pale and disfigured, 'midst the dreary graves! Silent thine angel smile, and quenched the light Of thine eyes' bright compassion! far away, Thy friends lament! would that this bursting heart Might throb no more, that my sad spirit, steeped In deepest woe, might sink like yonder cloud In death's dark night. Despair o'erwhelms my soul.' So mourned he, and his gentle senses fell In sleep resolved; while Elim o'er him waved, Soft shadowing, the olive's tenderest boughs; Then, all unseen, bade breathe delicious airs Of heaven upon his face, and o'er his head Shed life and balmy rest. He slept, and saw, Such power the seraph inspired, in holy dreams The Mediator, God-like, o'er him pass.
With tearful eyes, and looks compassionate, Selia hung o'er him, when one came in sight, Ascending, near the graves. O name me yon, The seraph said, who upon the mountain comes Majestic towards us? O'er his shoulders broad
Thick flow his raven tresses; stern his face In manly beauty; in his stature tali, His fellows all surpassing, and his steps With dignity pre eminent! yet, friends, Within his soul there dwells, if err I not, Disquietude; not that the abode, methinks, Of honour, yet is he chosen, and shall come With Christ to judge the earth! ye speak not yet? Still are ye silent, heavenly friends? your souls With sorrow have I filled at this surmise, Forgive me that I erred! and thou forgive, Holy Disciple, and repress thy wrath! I will atone for this, when thou shalt come, A martyr in full glory to the heavens!
With tender friendship will I hail thee then, Before these seraphs, and absolve my fault.
Then to the seraph with deep sighs, and hands He wrung for grief, Ithuriel turned and spoke: Must I then answer thee, my friend? alas, Eternal silence, for my grief, thy peace, Were preferable. Yet then must I speak? Iscariot is he whom thou seest: these tears I would not shed, and would unmoved behold, And shun in holy scorn the reprobate,
Had not Messiah in his early heart Virtue instilled, and he had led his youth In innocence, and him had Jesus deemed Worthy our guardianship. But he, alas- Yet here I pause, nor add fresh grief to grief! Remember'st thou when, near the throne of God. Of the disciples' souls, and of their birth, We spoke, Eloa, at the nod of him, The Judge of all, descended mournfully;
And of the golden thrones which to the twelve Were given, one with a cloud obscured; this was The cause, and that Iscariot's darkened throne.
Then with veiled countenance, in silent woe, Gabriel passed o'er me in the dreadful hour His wretched mother Judas bore. Ah! well Hadst thou been never born, nor of thy soul Seraph had ever heard, outcast of God! Then hadst thou ne'er the friendship of thy Lord, And the high calling of his Saints, profaned! Ithuriel spake, and stood with downcast eyes, Drooping before the seraph. Selia then-
Thou load'st my heart with grief, and a cold shade, Like twilight dims my eyes! and of the twelve Shall one, and thine Iscariot, profane
The sacred call? This had the immortals ne'er Conjectured, nor for sorrow e'er had uttered. Say what his crime? and whence the high dishonour To Jesus, and to thee, and all the blest? Ithuriel, speak freely, though my heart Fail at thy words. O seraph, secret pride Hath thus his heart revolted: John he hates, Since he of all, most honour from his Lord
Hath won! His Lord himself he hates, though scarce His heart avows it; in unhappy hour,
Deep in his soul, though once so pure, dire thirst Of gold found entrance. Blinded thus, he deems To John 'twill be vouchsafed first to behold The Mediator's kingdom, and the rich First-fruits thereof to gather. This have I Oft heard him in his solitary walks
Lament; and once,-long will the horrid sight Live in my eyes, and steep my heart in woe,- I saw him through Benhinnon's valley pass, Thought racked his mind with impious wishes filled Joyless, in meditation sad I stood,
And, as I raised my eyes, Satan beheld Departing from Iscariot. Me he passed
With bitter scorn, and condescending smile,
Contemptuous. Now is Judas' heart so torn By passion's gust, some dreadful deed I fear May hurl him to perdition! God of light! Oh, that thine awful hand on hell's dark rock Had Satan bound in Adamantine gyves, That the immortal spirit, formed for life Eternal, from her sad revolt might now Return, that worthy of her heavenly birth, And the creating voice of God which breathed Her immortality, and called her forth
To the discipleship, invincible
She might arise, and like a seraph bright Amid the dreadful panoply of Heaven Abash the grim destroyer!
Ithuriel, what deems the Mediator
Of his lost follower? His benignant eye
Yet bends he on him? Doth he love him stil!? How manifest his heart compassionate ?
Selia, thou urgest me, Ithuriel said,
And I must all confess, else better hid,
Even from the angels! Jesus loves him still! With God-like friendship, not with empty words, But looks of fervent love, as late he sate
With his disciples, at the frugal board Familiar, to Iscariot he spoke;
Alas! thou wilt betray me! Lo, where now Judas approaches us, no more these eyes Shall view the traitor. Seraph, let us haste. So spake Ithuriel, and fled; and him Selia in sorrow followed; nor remained Jobu's sacred angel, Salem, a bright youth; For Jesus to his loved disciple John Had given two holy guardians, Raphael, One of the seraphs, the chief.
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