The Demoniac: A Poem in Seven Chapters

POEM DETAILS

The Demoniac : A Poem in Seven Chapters,

By Thomas Aird.

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Chapter I.

Miriam’s Interview With Christ.

I.In the green month of Zif, afar, beneath a palm-tree sate,
In the wide plain of Jericho, a mother desolate.
Her lips were cover’d with her robe, and on her head she cast
The dust of earth. And over her the hours unheeded pass’d.
Forth from the neighbouring trees came Christ, and steod at Miriam’s feet
                                 ;
His face with peace and ardour blent, unutterably sweet,

II.She raised her head, she saw him, knelt, clasp’d his knees fervently :—
“ Help me, great Man of Nazareth !  give back my son to me !
Take pity on a mother’s loins, broken with weary pain !
Over the cloudy hills I go—I seek him still in vain !
Hope’s but the liar and the lie :  sleep flees from me :  for food,
Thy handmaid oft is fain to pick harsh berries from the wood :

III.“ My heart breaks :  Tell me, where is he ?” — “ Daughter of Judah, how
Should I thy son know ?” — “ I have seen thy might—a prophet thou !
And I have heard thee speak great things, like arrows dipp’d in gall,
Shot from a bow, against the proud ;  have seen before them fall
The brows of haughty men :  But aye, like honey-drops, distill
Thy words, the spirits of the grieved with healing balm to fill.

IV.“ Tell me, where is my Herman wild ?  At first, I staid at home,
Till it was cruel so to rest, whilst he was forced to roam.
At morn I look’d for him, from noon on to the twilight dim ;
And when in the uncertain light the evening shadows swim,
I shaped him thence :  He came not—God from love has cast him forth ;
But he is dear to me, and I will hunt him o’er the earth.

V.“ Hear me, thou Man of Nazareth !  O !  then thy handmaid bless !
Pride dares not in thy presence live :  the tale of my distress
I hide not from thee, God had given, to glad my widowhood,
Two children fair exceedingly, but not more fair than good.
Peace to my Judith in the grave !  She died in her young days :
God took her to himself :  and I bless’d the Almighty’s ways.

VI.“ And Herman yet was left to me, my hope !  my more than joy !
Bright as a mother’s restless heart would fashion forth her boy !
With power, like an anointed child’s, with glory his brow was clad ;
His cheek with virgin health :  How bloom’d the beauty of his head !
His young eye was as when the sun shines in an eagle’s eye ;
A life within a life was there, burnish’d, and bold, and shy.

VII.

“ And scarce the silky blossom of his yellow beard was seen,37

When he the ancient forests traced with slings and arrows keen :38

Heroic daring from each limb breathed: as the posting winds39

Fleet, o’er the hills so high and bright he chased the dappled hinds.40

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Then with the men of Napthali, a lion-hunter bold,41

He toss’d his golden head afar on their snowy mountains cold.42

VIII.“ His boyhood with just joys enlarged, no guilt had spoilt, no fear ;
Nor painted women lured his youth,—hence was his spirit clear.
And I had taught him the great acts of old embattled kings,
Champions, and sainted sages, priests, judges, all mighty things,
Till, from deep thought, his eye was like a prophet’s burden’d eye :
And he was now a man indeed, built for a purpose high,

IX.“ God of my fathers !  if my hopes in him presumptuous were,
From him to me the punishment, temper’d with love, transfer !
Help us, thou Man of God! Perhaps by hopeless passions bound
And render’d weak, the mastery a demon o’er him found :
Reason and duty all, all life, his being all became
Subservience to the wild strange law that overbears his frame,

X.Dark as the blue piled thunderlofts then grew his forehead high ;
And gleam’d like their vein’d lightnings, rash and passionate, his eye ;
For he was sorely vex’d and fierce. Anon, in gentle fits,
Like idle hermit looking at the clouds, all day he sits.
At length he fled far from my care ;  he felt his life disgraced :
Pride took him to the wilderness—shame keeps him in the waste.

XI.“ Strong as the eagle’s wings of quest, on aimless errands runs
The beauteous savage of my love; but still his mother shuns.
Along the dizzy hills that reel up in the cloudy rack,
O’er tumbling chasms, by desert wells, he speeds his boundless track ;
And in the dead hours of the night, when happier children lie
In slumber seal’d, he journeys far the flowing rivers by.

XII.“ And oft he haunts the sepulchres, where the thin shoals of ghosts
Flit shivering from Death’s chilling dews :  to their unbodied hosts,
That churm through night their feeble plaint, he yells :  At the red morn
Meets the great armies of the winds, high o’er the mountains borne,
Leaping against their viewless rage, tossing his arms on high,
And hanging balanced o’er sheer steeps against the morning sky.

XIII.“ His food from honey of the rocks and old cleft trees is drawn,
From wild-fowl caught in weedy pools by the raw light of dawn,
From berries, all spontaneous fruits. In winter, in the caves
Of hills he sleeps :  the summer tree above his slumber waves :
Nature’s wild commoner, my child !  On the blear autumn eves,
When small birds shriek adown the wind, he lies among the leaves.

XIV.“ By day the sun, the frost by night, weariness, want, and pain,
Sorely his young eyes must have spoilt ;  and dried his wasted brain.
Gone are his youth’s fine hopes: And mine, what are they ?  My poor child,
Sweet Patience for thy minister, go with thee to the wild !
What shalt thou do when sickness comes ?  How much it grieveth me,
That from thy mother’s love thou shouldst, as from an enemy, flee !

XV.

“ For him these chasten’d bones of mine have stood the winter’s shock,85

I’ve crept to reach him as he sate on the bald top of the rock ;86

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When summer has enlarged the year upon the pleasant mountains,87

I’ve seen him sit long hours afar beside their spangled fountains ;88

But the coy lightning of his eye sleeps not: My art is vain :89

Swift as a roe-buck he is gone ; and I must weep again.90

XVI.“ Charmers, exorcists of old skill, wizards that muttering go,
All that deal subtly, I have tried: I add but sin to woe.
The Expiation-feast I’ve kept. Ive pray’d by many a tomb
Of prophets, fervid men of old, that God would change his doom ;—
All’s vain !  No, no, it shall not be; for I will track the earth,
Reach—hold him with strong bands of love—and drive the demon forth !”

XVII.A cry rung in the distant woods :  And Miriam rose and ran ;
But turn’d, came back, knelt, kiss’d the robe of that mild holy Man,—
For anxious hope is dutiful. With beating heart again
She turn’d away, ere Jesus spake, and sought the woody plain :
And through the rustling alleys, through the wild glades, one by one,
She wander’d half the summer day, but could not see her son.

Chapter II.

Miriam’s Interview with her Son, Herman the Demoniac.

I.On Jordan’s banks, beneath a tree, then Miriam sate and wept.
She heard a groan :  A man from out the shrubs before her crept :
And, like the Serpent damn’d of God—as if to crush the worm
Of hunger that within him gnaw’d, and ground his writhing form—
He trail’d his belly in the dust :  his eye, that keenly burn’d
With famine’s purging fire, to her—his mother—was upturn’d.

II.“ Bread !  bread !  Oh bread !”  feebly he cried. Her little store she took,
Stoop’d, gave it to his trembling clutch; brought water from the brook
In hollow leaves ;  stood, gazed on him with patience strange ;  then she
Sate, gently drew his yellow head, and laid it on her knee :
With kiss long as an exile’s kiss, she clung unto him there ;
Bedew’d his cheek with silent tears, and wiped them with her hair.

III.He slept, like an o’erwearied babe. She held her sobbing breast,
To stir him not ;  and hid his eyes, that he might longer rest ;
Arranged his far-descending locks, dishonour’d with the dust.
And long and calmly did he sleep beneath her sacred trust.
At length he started with a groan, he knelt upon his knee :—
“ Thou mother !  why hast thou not sought Jesus the Christ for me ?

IV.“ Ha !  this is harsh :  O !  pardon me !  I know thy love, well tried,
Has me by the tall forests sought, and by the pastures wide,
Rocks, and dim sepulchres :  dear one !  O !  think me not unkind ;
The fiend has kept me from you so, wild as the wintry wind :
He takes me far, he brings me near :  athwart your path I fleet ;
But never in the green or dry wilderness you must meet.

V.

“ Blest are the dead ! What though their face no more beholds the sun,127

Though fill’d with barren ashes be the breast of each loved one,128

With dusty motes confused and dull the jewel of the eye ;129

Yet are they gone, and are at rest; how peacefully they lie !130

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Whilst I—would I were dead, smit through with blue plagues, each sore ill,131

And not a wretched vessel fill’d with an infernal will !132

VI.“ I am thy quarry of the wild !  my faithful huntress thou !
And thinkst thou not thy toils for me my spirit down must bow ?
The fiend will come again ;  leave me ere I leave thee :  Away !
Spend not thy sweet limbs ;  so shall I less truly be thy prey.”—
“ Speak not to me ;  I will not go :  thinkst thou thy youth’s first prime
Was half so dear to me as thou, now old before thy time ?

VII.“ But come with me: fear not ;  ’tis past: we’ll hear soft waters flow ;
The stock-dove in the twilight woods shall soothe us as we go,
Which aye so well thou lovedst to hear ;  the stars, that softly burn
O’er the green pasture-hills, shall light our homeward glad return ;
And then the holy moon will rise, and lead us all the way,
And the very God of peace and love will guard our home for aye !”

VIII.“ Ha !  this is vain: why art thou here ?  haste, there is but one hope :
The Man of Nazareth alone can with the demon cope :
Man ?  Nay—the Son of God ;  for oft have I, in midnight hours,
Heard in Engaddi’s howling caves whisperings of the Dark Powers
Speak of Messiah, and declare Jesus the same to be :
And, from some great event at hand, this pause is given to me.”

IX.“ To-day—O !  had I him constrain’d !  With my own thoughts oppress’d,
Even I can see him more than man :  From house to house distress’d
He breathes his noiseless peace :  by shores of lakes, on the dim hills,
He teaches men :  the lazar-house his beaming presence stills :
A new spirit whispers through the woods of him to me at eve :
All nature seems with conscious hopes of some great change to heave.”

X.“ Lord God !  the fiend !  hark !”  Herman cried.  “ He left me here at noon,
Hungry and sick among the brakes ;  and comes he then so soon ?”
Up from the shores of the Dead Sea came a dull booming sound :
The leaves shook on the trees :  thin winds went wailing all around.
Then laughter shook the sullen air. To reach his mother’s hand,
The young man grasp’d, but back was thrown convulsed upon the sand.

XI.No time was there for Miriam’s love. He rose ;  a smother’d gleam
Was on his brow ;  with fierce motes roll’d his eye’s distemper’d beam.
He smiled—’twas as the lightning of a hope about to die
The last time from the furrow’d brows of Hell’s eternity.
Like sun-warm’d snakes, rose on his head a storm of golden hair,
Tangled :  And thus on Miriam fell hot breathings of despair :—

XII.“ Perish the breasts that gave me milk !  yea, in thy mouldering heart,
Good thrifty roots I’ll plant, to stay, next time, my hunger’s smart :
Red-vein’d derived apples I shall eat with savage haste,
And see thy life-blood blushing through, and glory in the taste !” —
“ Peace !”  Miriam cried ;  “ thou bitter fiend !  ’tis thou, and not my son,
That speaks. Demon accursed !  I know, I scorn thee, thou dark One !

XIII.

“ Glory beyond thy power, dark One ! Him in the end of days—175

My son redeem’d from thee—to Heaven my father’s God will raise ;176

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Whilst thou—ha ! outcast from that God !— forth shalt be driven to dwell177

With horned flames and Blasphemy, in the red range of Hell :178

There prey the old Cares ; the Furies there whirl their salt whips for aye,179

And faces faded in the fire look upward with dismay.180

XIV.“ And sighs are there, and doleful cries, and tongues with anguish dumb
                                 ;
And through that glaring fierce abyss of years, no hope can come.—
Fiend !  leave my child—God’s child !— Avaunt !  down to thy chambers blue
Of sulphur go !  the palaces of Sodom yawn for you.”—
“ Amen, Amen, Amen!” the fiend with yelling laughter cried ;
And like an arrow from the bow, her Herman left her side.

XV.“ Stay !”  she exclaim’d ;  “ hear me, my son ;  I spake not thus to you !”
Swift o’er the desert shore he ran ;  she hasted to pursue :
Crushing the salt-surf samphire weeds, and many a crusted cake
Of salt, stumbling o’er pits, she went: she saw Gomorrah’s lake :
She saw her son plunge in the waves ;  but fast-descending night,
Mingled with storms, fell on the deep, and hid him from her sight.

XVI.And she by the dark waters of great confusion stood ;
Call’d on her son, pray’d to her God, to save him from the flood.
She beat her breast, she cursed her tongue which to the demon gave
Suggestion thus to drown her boy. She met the lashing wave ;
And, bending forward, listen’d in each pause of the storm’s sweep,
And thought she heard her Herman cry for help from out the deep.

XVII.Then howl’d the wind its wildest staves :  she turn’d, intensely gazed,
And seem’d to see his arms above the flashing waters raised.
She felt at length that she was mock’d :  Along the barren shore
Far did she wander, and sate down when she could go no more.
The storm was now o’erblown ;  the moon rose o’er the lulled sea.
She look’d behind her—murky crags rose beetling awfully.

XVIII.Strange heads came stretching from the clefts of people shelter’d there,—
Wild tenants of the rock, waked by the cries of her despair,
Or by the tempest roused With threats, they bade her thence be gone,
Nor vex their drowsy caves of night with her untimely moan.
“ What creature of the shore art thou ?”  they cried.  “ Thee hence betake ! 
A woman ?  And hast dared to meet the storm-blast of the Lake ?

XIX.“ To hear the smother’d voices rack the Sodomitish sea,
Of Spirits pent in the whelm’d rooms ?  Whence may thy sorrows be ?
Seek’st thou the apples fair and false ?”  Thence, back did Miriam run,
Less from her dread of violence, than haste to seek her son.
She sought till dawn ;  but found him not :  Homeward she turn’d her then
                                 ;
And as she went, sobbing, she cried,  “ God help the poor drown’d men !”

Chapter III.

Miriam Follows Herman to the Sepulchres.

I.

Deep in the hollow night, a voice to Miriam’s slumbering ear217

Seem’d thus to say, “ Sleep’st thou, when I can sleep not, mother dear ?”218

She started—listen’d—all was still :— “ ’Tis but a dream’s wild freak :219

These haggard fancies vex me so, since grief has made me weak !220

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Yet, yet in that dark hour of storms, from out the wat’ry waste,221

Unseen by me, he might have come.” She rose with trembling haste ;222

II.Quickly attired, she look’d abroad :  The clouds away were gone ;
Blue ether, as if newly wash’d, with dewy gleams far shone ;
The stars were very lustrous; and in the a of night
The moon was set, severely pure, a well of living light.
Deep peace lay in the shadowy vales :  the solemn woods were still :
And nought was heard, save oft the bark of wild fox on the hill.

III.Again upon her bed she lay, sleep hover’d o’er her eyes ;
Again unto her lattice came that voice, and call’d her twice.
“ ’Tis but the tempter-fiend !”  she cried :  She wept ;  call’d on her God ; 
Yet still from hope and changeless love again she look’d abroad ;
She heard a cry—she knew that voice with beating heart she ran,
And follow’d through the glimmering trees the figure of a man.

IV.His form was hid :  “ Heaven help,” she cried,  “ a mother’s weary side !
No farther can I go !”  Again his shadow she espied ;
And fast forgot her weariness ;  half wish’d to have the speed
Of demons too, to overtake—it is her son indeed !
But now she came unto the place of the white sepulchres ;
And paused—shall she pursue him there ?  Deep fear her bosom stirs.

V.For deepening clouds came o’er the moon :  darkness fell all around ;
A shuddering wind grieved in the trees, skirting the charnel ground.
Then birds obscene clamour’d :  and yells as from lean hounds of blood,
Mix’d with careering laughter rose ;  choked shrieks as from the flood ;
And gallowing cries, like gra pled fiends’ clinch’d with the last despair,
And hurried through Hell’s fire-wrought gates, thicken’d the midnight air.

VI.And Miriam saw white wispy fires dance, warp’d with vapours close,
Like exhalations kindled from the rotten churchyard gross.
She fear’d the vex’d fiend, fear’d the ghosts of milky babes to brave,
And fretted age that cannot rest within the wormy grave.
Yet there she heard oft Herman’s voice :  and morning soon shall rise :
Beneath a tree she sate to watch ;  but sleep o’ertook her eyes.

Chapter IV.

Herman’s Sickness.

I.’Twas now the time, when stepping down from her ethereal bowers,
The touch of Spring’s dew-sandall’d feet kindles the earth with flowers.
Fair rose the morn on Judah’s hills. And Miriam waked :  a band
Of earnest men drew nigh ;  there Christ led Herman by the hand.
“ Woman, thy son’s restored to thee,” the blessed Jesus said ;
And with a shriek of joy she clasp’d, she kiss’d, her Herman’s head !

II.And he, too, wept, like one in whom pride is o’ermaster’d last.
Meanwhile, with modesty divine, Jesus away had pass’d.
Then Miriam took her Herman’s hand, and led him to her home.
Quiet days pass’d :  he lived like one by some strange blight o’ercome :
Day was to him as night’s ghost :  with austere serenity
He bow’d his doom’d head, and prepared himself quickly to die.

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III.His spirit pined, his days declined. His mother watch’d the while
With silent grief, as if herself and him she could beguile :
From morn to night watch’d :  if he sigh’d, she rose at midnight oft,
Stoop’d o’er his head, and touch’d his cheek with hers so kind and soft
                                 :
And brought him food, true as the bird, that plies its little quest
Around the hedges all day long, to still its yearning nest.

Chapter V.

Herman’s Blessing.

I.’Twas now the golden autumn-tide. Herman lay on his bed :
Through a small lattice on his face the yellow light was shed :—
“ Is it the matin hour, mother ?” —for she was near at hand.
“ No, my dear boy ;  the setting sun shines sweetly o’er our land :
With songs unto the fountains go the maids in a long train ;
Why loiterest thou, dear idle one ?  Up, list to them again.

II.“ Loved wert thou by them all.—I see th’ illumined hills of oak ;
Valleys, where bow the cumber’d trees ’neath autumn’s mellow yoke ;
The glitt’ring streams ;  the upstay’d heavens of glory o’er our head.
The barley-harvest days are come,—I see the reapers spread.
Be up, my boy !  be up, fair boy !  and make thy mother glad :
Sure health is dawning on thy face ;  and we shall ne’er be sad.”

III.He raised his head with fearful haste ;  but drooping nature fail’d :
Feebly he groan’d. Yet, yet with might his filial heart prevail’d ;
Again he rose ;  he took her hand ;— “ Eternal God above,
Keep this tried mother when I die, and recompense her love !
Her very love has almost been my cursing minister,
So solemn has it made my life, so full of cares for her.

IV.“ Keen as the wild wolf’s following o’er the glazed wintry waste,
Biting the blast, whetting his fangs, upon the prey to haste,
She hunted my distemper’d life—her heart could ne’er stand still !—
Even where the sun unseals the snows, high on the perilous hill.
Of whom but thee ?  of none but thee, thou mother, dearest, best !
Speak I :  Beneath thy weight of love my spirit lies oppress’d.

V.“ I die from thee :  I soon must go :  my days are a swift stream :
Thy fond hopes must be shatter’d like the frailty of a dream.
Yet fear not ;  He that heal’d thy son, shall soothe thee o’er my dust ;
And thou shalt raise thy forehead crown’d with an immortal trust ;
And, with salvation beautified, to thee it shall be given
To walk, with the redeem’d on high, the starry floor of Heaven.

VI.“ What shall I say, that when I die my mother may not weep ?
My blood, my life, would I could frame into one blessing deep !
Spring, and dew-dropping heaven, each star of goodliest influence,
Trees weeping balms, all precious things—O !  I would not go hence,
Till I could bless thee with all things !  Hear me yet—”  
“ Nay :  cease, cease !
I love thee so !  I love thee so !  I cannot he at peace !

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VII.“ But to the Holy City I this night, this hour, will haste :
Jesus is there :  mercy I’ll have.” Beside his. bed she placed
Food—would not hear his kind reproof—hasted away—paused—turn’d—
Again bent o’er him, and with love unutterable burn’d—
Pray’d leave to go—staid not to hear denial or assent :
And all the night led by the moon, wide o’er the hills she went.

Chapter VI.

Miriam at the Hill of Calvary.

I.At dawn she reach’d Jerusalem. But Jesus was not there ;
For he was gone to Galilee :  She turn’d with mute despair ;
With weary limbs retraced her path. Months slowly roll’d away ;
Yet Herman lived, passing through each gradation of decay,
Then Miriam was assured that Christ was in Jerusalem.
And through the silent night again she went in quest of him.

II.The morn arose. And Miriam heard the sound of camel bells.
Another step—before her far a whiten’d valley swells :
For from wide lands, and distant isles, the Passover could still
Bring up the scatter’d tribes of God unto his holy hill :
With tents the gorgeous vale was fill’d ;  but all deserted stood,
Save that some slaves went here and there to give the camels food.

III.To Miriam’s question they replied that men were gone to see
A strange impostor crucified with thieves on Calvary.
Then went she on until she saw, above the city fair,
The Temple like a snowy mount far up in the clear air.
Around its upward-circling courts, she saw the forms of men,
That bending westward look’d as if some distant thing to ken.

IV.Still was the sky. At once on them a mighty whirlwind fell,
And toss’d their garments seen afar ;  and brought with many a swell
The city’s din tumultuous. A blind and smothering fear
On Miriam came ;  with breathless haste she to the gates drew near,
Pass’d through the hurrying streets, and gain’d the foot of Calvary.
She turn’d—a pomp processional, and shouting crowds, were nigh.

V.She saw—blind to all else, she saw Him whom she came to seek
Bearing his cross :  and thorns were crush’d around that brow so meek !
Immortal anguish held his face ;  yet temper’d with a look
That seem’d prepared, no shame, no pain, from mortal man to brook ;
Ready to burst all bands, to flash, put indignation on,
To shake—to thunder-strike—to quell his foes as from a throne.

VI.This was his majesty. Yet still patience his aspect bound.
How can she ask, in such an hour, his help ?  He turn’d half round ;
She felt that he read all her heart, when on her face was stay’d
That eye, like an abyss of love :  With clasped hands she pray’d,
Mute lips, eyes veil’d with reverent hope. He turn’d from her again ;
Yet left her to believe, with joy, her prayer had not been vain.

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VII.How can she selfish be ?  How dare she leave that hill ?  She burn’d
With holy gratitude to Christ :  Upward she slowly turn’d ;
She saw the throngs go closing up ;  the winding pomp before
A lustre all unnatural upon its ensigns bore,
Beneath a burning sun that smote the summit of the hill.
An ominous cloud, behind, o’erhung the City dark and still.

VIII.Softly she join’d a company of women. And they stood
Afar, and oft with quick short look the glancing summit view’d.
They saw not what was done,—from this the greater was their fear.
Mute, with white lips, forward they bent as if some shriek to hear.
Horror on Miriam fell :  she thought of Herman, and was glad
That in his sickness a just cause to haste away she had.

IX.She went ;  yet oft look’d back :  She saw th’ uplifted cross at last,
And shriek’d, and faster went till she the gates of Zion pass’d.
She pass’d the silent vale of tents, the camels grazing wide ;
The glittering streams shone in the sun, and shone the mountain side ;
A forest near, when she its first outstanding trees had won,
A horror of great darkness fell :  the quenched day was done.

X.She went into the night-lock’d wood. Silence reign’d, like th’ old sleep
That watch’d life’s gates, ere God call’d up Being from the hoar deep.
Then a sound shook the mountain bars, as when some fallen pile
Of ages sends a dull far voice o’er sea and sounding isle.
Without a breath the forest shook and then the earth was rock’d ; 
And trees fell crashing all around ;  and birds of night were shock’d

XI.From out their rifted nests :  screaming, with helpless wings they beat
The ground, and came and fiercely peck’d, fluttering o’er Miriam’s feet.
Steps, as if shod with thunder, ran. Through the infested wood,
Slowly had Miriam groped her way, and in its skirts she stood,
When all at once burst forth the day from out the folds of night ;
And with rebounding glory flash’d along the heavens of light.

XII.Wedges of terror clove her heart :  stumbling she hasted on
With dazzled eyes, she reach’d her home—her Herman’s life was gone !
Reeling she turn’d—rush’d blindly forth—wildly her sorrow burst—
Back to her couch she flew—she kiss’d his dead lips :  then she cursed
Her journey, cursed that darkness jest and beat her breast, and cried,
“ Had I not gone—had I been here, my Herman had not died !”

Chapter VII.

Miriam’s Interview with her Sainted Daughter, Judith.

I.

The “ bread of men,”* and “cup” were o’er, the minstrels‡ forth were gone ;385

And in the middle watch of night sate Miriam all alone,386

Sleepless, in silent sorrow rock’d, with fixed gaze intense387

On him dress’d for the grave, her last, still dear, inheritance.388

* Ezekiel, xxiv, 17.

† Jeremiah, xxvi. 7.

‡ Matthew, ix, 23.

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“ Peace !” said a voice, like the far-off whisper of a soft wave ;389

She started, turn’d, she saw— “ My child ! my Judith from the grave !”390

II.With lips apart, with heaving heart, gazed Miriam on a form,
Lovely beyond the power of death, the grave’s polluting worm.
A lucid air enswathed her head. How excellent are they,
Dear God, thy ransom’d ones !  On her consummate forehead lay
The moonlight of eternal a solemn and very sweet.
A snowy vesture beautiful came flowing o’er her feet.

III.“ I see !  I do !  methinks I see my dear immortal child !
Come near me, God-given !  Be not these the garments undefiled ?
Those eyes, the spirit’s sainted wells, o’erflowing still with love,
I know them !  Ever look on me, my own celestial dove !
Art thou not come to take me hence, the awful worlds to see ?
I long to go—I long to go, to dwell in Heaven with thee !

IV.“ Ah !  no, ’tis but a dream !” — “ Fear not, for I am ever thine !”
With beautiful tranquillity, with majesty divine,
Forth stepp’d th’ unblemish’d Child of Life, and with a meek embrace,
Folded her mother’s crowding heart, and kiss’d her breathing face :—
“ Fear not :  trust thou in Christ, who died this day mankind to save,
By whose dear leave I come to thee, redeem’d from out the grave.

V.“ Many have been, greatly beloved !  thy days of trial sore,
Bereavement, grief, wanderings, and pain ;  but these shall soon be o’er
                                 :
And loss, woe, weariness, all pain, each want, each earthly load,
Work the strange fiercely-linked chain that draws earth up to God.
But look to Christ, th’ assured One, and thou for aye shalt stand
In the Lord’s palaces of Life, in th’ uncorrupted land.

VI.O !  it is well with me, mother !  No sin is there, no night ;
There be the bliss-enamell’d flowers bathed with the showers of light ;
Rivers of crystal, shaded with the nations’ healing trees,
Whose fadeless leaves, life-spangled, shake in the eternal breeze ;
The shining, shining multitudes ;  the angels’ burning tiers ;
And there God’s face ineffable lights the perpetual years !”

VII.“ Speak of thy father, holy Babe !  my youth’s spouse, where is he ?
Thy brother—he has left me too—O !  are they saved like thee ?
Then with great joy would I rejoice, and calmly wait the time
To join you all in Heaven. But speak, child of th’ unfailing prime !
Thy mother’s yet on earth—how lone? Shall they not also rise,
And come this night anew to bless these old o’erwearied eyes ?”

VIII.“ Fear not :  rest thou in hope and peace. To thee, on earth below,
More of the Spirits’ hidden world ’tis not allow’d to know.
Now let me see my brother’s face ;  night’s mid watch passes fleet,
And in the Holy City I the risen saints must meet,
To pass with them into the Heavens.” Silent, with trembling hands,
Miriam from Herman’s face slowly undid the linen bands :—

IX.

“ Judith, draw near and see his face ; upon thy brother look.”433

And she drew near. Her glistering stole one moment ruffed shook ;434

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Like light in tremulous water gleam’d her eyes divine, as they435

Gazed on young Herman’s face as he in his bloodless beauty lay.436

With earth’s dear frailty temper’d still—Heaven’s great and perfect years437

Not yet attain’d—her eyes’ sweet cups ran o’er with silver tears.438

X.She parted on his lofty brow his locks of yellow hair ;
She Kiss’d his forehead and his lips ;  then with a sister’s care,
Around his imaged face serene, the grave’s white folds she tied ;
She took her mother by the hand, and led her from his side ;
Then stood th’ ethereal creature clothed with waveless peace:— “ Thy leave,
Sweet mother, let me go ;  and say, dear one !  thou wilt not grieve.”

XI.“ I shall not grieve ;  I will not grieve. But come, through the dark woods
Thy mortal mother shall thee guide, and o’er the crossing floods.
O !  I am greatly glad for thee, my young lamb of the fold !
Come near, and let me lead thee thus :  thy mother gently hold !
For thou art wash’d in our Christ’s blood !  For thou art passing fair !
The very Spirit of God’s Heavens has breathed upon thy hair !

XII.“ Now let me guide thee forth. Nay, nay, the thought is foolish all,
That thou canst wandering err, that aught of ill can thee befall.
Young dweller of the Heavens! mine own! the angels pure that be,
Primeval creatures of God’s hand, in light excel not thee !
Those vivid eyes can look through night !  No monster of the wild,
Demon, or bandit of the cave, dares harm my sealed child !

XIII.“ In dazzling globes those angels wait, to bear thee with swift might,
O’er the bow’d tops of tufted woods to Zion’s holy height.
Go then—Ah !  thou must go indeed !”  She smiled—she turn’d to go ;
But Miriam caught her shining skirts with a mother’s parting woe,
And knelt, and clasp’d her hands :  Then turn’d the daughter of the skies,
Raised—led the mourner to a couch, and breathed upon her eyes.

XIV.Deep sleep on Miriam fell, With face meek as the moon of night,
Far down in waveless water seen, a sleeping pearl of light,
A moment gazed that child on her ;  then brightening went. At morn,
With hope through sorrow, Miriam saw to dust her Herman borne.
Her faith was perfect now in Him whose blood for men had flow’d.
Calm shone her evening life, and set in the bosom of her God.

End of the Demoniac.

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