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 mothers love has 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 light 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 poesie 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 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 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 cross 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 mere o’er-sweeping power; yet the flashes that it sent but scorched the heart that held them. hope still was 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 hounding 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 there 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 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 wilfully refuses knowledge of his brother, lest sympathy should bid him share the griefs of others. in some envy, foul envy, the base passions which first darkened earth with death, wilfully blinds, lest the genius and the virtue of the poor should be exalted above the rich; in others it is ignorance, contempt, neglect, spring 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 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 visions 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 with 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 lowly 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 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 around, 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, aye, 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 hast 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 painful 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.
