THE TWO ANGELS. Two Angels, one of Life, and one of Death, The dawn was on their faces; and beneath, The sombre houses capped with plumes of smoke. Their attitude and aspect were the same; Alike their features and their robes of white; And one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame, And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. I saw them pause on their celestial way :- And he who wore the crown of asphodels, The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. I recognised the nameless agony The terror, and the tremor, and the pain That oft before had filled and haunted me, And now returned with threefold strength again. The door I opened to my heavenly guest, And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice; And, knowing whatsoc'er He sent was best, Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. THE TWO ANGELS. Then with a smile that filled the house with light— On his celestial embassy he sped. 'Twas at thy door, O friend, and not at mine, Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom- All is of God! If He but wave his hand, The mists collect, the rains fall thick and loud; Lo! He looks back from the departing cloud. Angels of Life and Death alike are His; Without His leave they pass no threshold o'er; Against His messengers to shut the door? 333 Inspired by the birth of a child to the writer, and the death of Mrs. Maria Lowell, the wife of another American poet, on the same day, at Cambridge, U.S. PROMETHEUS, OR THE POET'S FORETHOUGHT. OF Prometheus, how undaunted On Olympus' shining bastions His audacious foot he planted, Myths are told and songs are chaunted, Full of promptings and suggestions. Beautiful is the tradition Of that flight through heavenly portals, The old classic superstition Of the theft and the transmission Of the fire of the Immortals! First the deed of noble daring, All is but a symbol painted Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer; PROMETHEUS. In their feverish exultations, In their triumph and their yearning, In their passionate pulsations, In their words among the nations, The Promethean fire is burning. Shall it, then, be unavailing, All this toil for human culture? Through the cloud-rack, dark and trailing, Must they see above them sailing O'er life's barren crags the vulture? Such a fate as this was Dante's, By affliction touched and saddened. But the glories so transcendent That around their memories cluster, And, on all their steps attendant, Make their darkened lives resplendent With such gleams of inward lustre ! All the melodies mysterious, Through the dreary darkness chaunted; Thoughts in attitudes imperious, Voices soft, and deep, and serious, Words that whispered, songs that haunted! All the soul in rapt suspension, With the rapture of creating! 335 |