Their inmost powers, as though for me Existence on that knowledge hung.

Oh what a vision were the stars,
When first I saw them burn on high,
Rolling along, like living cars

Of light, for gods to journey by !
They were my heart's first passion-days
And nights, unwearied, in their rays
Have I hung floating, till each sense
Seemed full of their bright influence.
Innocent joy! alas, how much

Of misery had I shunned below, Could I have still lived blest with such; Nor, proud and restless burned to know The knowledge that brings guilt and wo. Often-so much I loved to trace The secrets of this starry raceHave I at morn and evening run Along the lines of radiance spun Like webs, between them and the sun, Untwisting all the tangled ties Of light into their different diesThen fleetly winged I off, in quest Of those, the farthest, loneliest, That watch, like winking sentinels, The void, beyond which Chaos dwells; And there, with noiseless plume, pursued Their track through that grand solitude, Asking intently all and each

What soul within their radiance dwelt, And wishing their sweet light were speech, That they might tell me all they felt.

Nay, oft so passionate my chase
Of these resplendent heirs of space,
Oft did I follow-lest a ray

Should 'scape me in the farthest nightSome pilgrim Comet, on his way

To visit distant shrines of light, And well remember how I sung

Exultingly, when on my sight

New worlds of stars, all fresh and rung, As if just born of darkness, sprung!

Such was my pure ambition then,

My sinless transport, night and morn;
Ere yet this newer world of men,

And that most fair of stars was born
Which I, in fatal hour saw rise
Among the flowers of Paradise!
Thenceforth my nature all was changed,
My heart, soul, senses, turned below;
And he, who but so lately ranged

Yon wonderful expanse, where glow
Worlds upon worlds-yet found his mind
Even in that luminous range confined-
Now blest the humblest, meanest sod
Of the dark earth where Woman trod!
In vain my former idols glistened

From their for thrones; in vain these ears To the once-thrilling music listened,

That hymned around my favorite spheres

"C'est un fait indubitable que la plupart des anciens philsophes, soit Chaldéer.s, soit Grecs, nous ont donné les astres comme animés, et ont soutenu que les astres, qui nous éclairPr, l'étoient que ou les chars, ou même les navires, des Inteligences qui les conduisoient. Pour les Chars, cela se lit partout; on n'a qu'ouvrir Pline, St. Clement," &c., &c.-Mémoire Historique, sur le Sabiisme, par M. FOURMONT.

A belief that the stars are either spirits or the vehicles of spirits, was common to all the religions and heresies of the East. Kircher has given the names and stations of the seven archangels, who were by the Cabala of the Jews distributed through the planets.

According to the cosmogony of the ancient Persians, there were four stars set as sentinels in the four quarters of the heavens, to watch over the other fixed stars, and superintend he planets in their course. The names of these four sentinel stars are, according to the Roundesh, Taschter, for the east ; Satevis, for the west; Venand, for the south; and Haftorang, for the north.

Then, too, the ever-restless zeal,

Th' insatiate curiosity

To know how shapes, so fair, must feet-
To look, but once, beneath the seal
Of so much loveliness, and see
What souls belonged to such bright eyes-
Whether, as sunbeams find their way
Into the gem that hidden lies,

Those looks could inward turn their ray,
And make the soul as bright as they :
All this impelled my anxious chase,
And still the more I saw and knew,
Of Woman's fond, weak, conquering race,
Th' intenser still my wonder grew.

I had beheld their First, their EVE,
Born in that splendid Paradise,
Which sprung there solely to receive
The first light of her waking eyes.
I had seen purest angels lean

In worship o'er her from above;
And man-oh yes, had envying seen
Proud man possessed of all her love.
I saw their happiness, so brief,
So exquisite-her error, too,
That easy trust, that prompt belief

In what the warm heart wishes true;
That faith in words, when kindly said,
By which the whole fond sex is led-
Mingled with-what I durst not blame,
For 'tis my own-that zeal to know,
Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of wo;
Which, though from heaven all pure it came,
Yet stained, misused, brought sin and shame
On her, on ine, on all below!

I had seen this; had seen Man, armed,
As his soul is, with strength and sense,
By her first words to ruin charmed;

His vaunted reason's cold defence,
Like an ice-barrier in the ray
Of melting summer, smiled away.
Nay, stranger yet, spite of all this-

Though by her counsels taught to err, Though driven from Paradise for her, (And with her-that, at least, was bliss), Had I not heard him, ere he crost

The threshold of that earthly heaven, Which by her wildering smile he lostSo quickly was the wrong forgiven ! Had I not heard him, as he prest The frail, fond trembler to a breast Which she had doomed to sin and strife, Call her-even then-his Life! his Life Yes, such the love-taught name, the first, That ruined Man to Woman gave,

Chavah, or, as it is in Arabic, Havah (the name by which Adam called the woman after their transgression), meani "Life."

Even in his outcast hour, when curst
By her fond witchery, with that worst

And earliest boon of love, the grave'
She, who brought death into the world.

There stood before him, with the light
Of their lost Paradise still bright
Upon those sunny locks, that curled
Down her white shoulders to her feet-
So beautiful in form, so sweet
In heart and voice, as to redeem

The loss, the death of all things dear,
Except herself-and make it seem

Life, endless Life, while she was near! Could I help wondering at a creature,

Thus circled round with spells so strong-
One, to whose ev'ry thought, word, feature,

In joy and wo, through right and wrong,
Such sweet omnipotence Heaven gave,
To bless or ruin, curse or save?

Nor did the marvel cease with her

New Eves in all her daughters came,

As strong to charm, as weak to err,

As sure of man through praise and blame,
Whate'er they brought him, pride or shame,

He still th' unreasoning worshipper,

And they, throughout all time, the same,
Enchantresses of soul and frame,
Into whose hands, from first to last,

This world with all its destinies,
Devotedly by Heaven seems cast,

To save or ruin as they please!
Oh, 'tis not to be told how long,

How restlessly I sighed to find
Some one, from out that witching throng,
Some abstract of the form and mind
Of the whole matchless sex, from which
In my own arms beheld, possest,
I might learn all the powers to witch,
To warm, and (if my fate unblest
Would have it) ruin, of the rest!
Into whose inward scal and sense

I might descend, as doth the bee
Into the flower's deep heart, and thence
Rifle, in all its purity,

The prime, the quintessence, the whole
Of wondrous Woman's frame and soul!

At length, my burning wish, my prayer-
(For such-oh what will tongues not dare,
When hearts go wrong ?-this lip preferred)—
At length my ominous prayer was heard-
But whether heard in heaven or hell,
Listen and thou wilt know too well.

There was a maid, of all who move

Like visions o'er this orb, most fit
To be a bright young angel's love,

Herself so bright, so exquisite !
The pride, too, of her step, as light
Along th' unconscious earth she went,
Seemed that of one, born with a right
To walk some heavenlier element,
And tread in places where her feet
A star at every step should meet.
'Twas not alone that loveliness

By which the wildered sense is caught-
Of lips, whose very breath could bless;
Of playful blushes, that seemed naught
But luminous escapes of thought;
Of eyes that, when by anger stirred,
Were fire itself, but, at a word

Of tenderness, all soft became

As though they couid, like the sun's bird,
Dissolve away in their own flame-
Of form, as pliant as the shoots

Of a young tree, in vernal flower;
Yet round and glowing as the fruits,
That drop from it in summer's hour;
Twas not alone this loveliness

That falls to loveliest woman's shar Though, even here, her form could spare From its own beauty's rich excess

Enough to make even them more fair-
But 'twas the Mind, outshining clear
Through her whole frame-the soul, still near.
To light each charm, yet independent
Of what it lighted, as the sun
That shines on flowers, would be resplenden.
Were there no flowers to shine upon-
'Twas this, all this, in one combined-
Th' unnumbered looks and arts that form
The glory of young woman kind,

Taken, in their perfection, warm,
Ere time had chilled a single charm,
And stamped with such a seal of Mind,
As gave to beauties, that might be
Too sensual else, too unrefined,
The impress of Divinity.

'Twas this a union, which the hand
Of Nature kept for her alone,
Of everything most playful, bland,
Voluptuous, spiritual, grand,

In angel-natures and her own-
Oh this it was that drew me nigh
One, who seemed kin to heaven as I,
A bright twin-sister from on high-
One, in whose love, I felt, were given
The mixed delights of either sphere,
All that the spirit seeks in heaven,

And all the senses burn for here.

Had we-but hold-hear every part
Of our sad tale-spite of the pain
Remembrance gives, when the fixed dart
Is stirred thus in the wound again-
Hear every step, so full of bliss,

And yet so ruinous, that led

Down to the last, dark precipice,

Where perished both-the fallen, the dead! From the first hour she caught my sight,

I never left her-day and night
Hovering unseen around her way,

And 'mid her loneliest musings near,

I soon could track each thought that lay,
Gleaming within her heart, as clear
As pebbles within brooks appear;
And there, among the countless things

That keep young hearts for ever glowing, Vague wishes, fond imaginings,

Love-dreams, as yet no object knowingLight, winged hopes, that come when bid, And rainbow joys that end in weeping; And passions, among pure thoughts hid,

Like serpents under flowerets sleeping:
'Mong all these feelings-felt where'er
Young hearts are beating-I saw there
Proud thoughts, aspirings high-beyond
Whate'er yet dwelt in soul so fond-
Glimpses of glory, far away

Into the bright, vague future given;
And fancies, free and grand, whose play,
Like that of eaglets, is near heaven!
With this, too-what a soul and heart
To fall beneath the tempter's art !—
A zeal for knowledge, such as ne'er
Enshrined itself in form so fair,
Since that first, fatal hour, when Eve,
With every fruit of Eden blest,
Save one alone-rather than leave
That one unreached, lost all the rest.

It was in dreams that first I stole,
With gentle mastery o'er her mind-
In that rich twilight of the soul,

When reason's beam, half hid behind
The clouds of sleep, obscurely gilds
Each shadowy shape the Fancy builds-
'Twas then, by that soft light, I brought
Vague, glimmery visions to her view;-
Catches of radiance, lost when caught,
Bright labyrinths, that led to naught,

And vistas, with no pathway through;

Dwellings of bliss, that opening shone,
Then closed, dissolved, and left no trace-
All that, in short, could tempt Hope on,

But give her wing no resting-place;
Myself the while, with brow, as yet,
Pure as the young moon's coronet,
Through every dream still in her sight,

Th' enchanter of each mocking scene, Who gave the hope, then brought the blight, Who said, 'Behold, yon world of light,'

Then sudden dropt a veil between!

At length, when I perceived each thought,
Waking or sleeping, fixed on naught

But these illusive scenes, and me-
The phantom, who thus came and went,
In half revealments only meant

To madden curiosity

When by such various arts I found
Her fancy to its utmost wound,
One night-'twas in a holy spot,
Which she for prayer had chose—a grot
Of purest marble, built below

Her garden beds, through which a glow
From lamps invisible then stole,

Brightly pervading all the place—
Like that mysterious light, the soul,
Itself unseen, sheds through the face.
There, at her altar, while she knelt,
And all that woman ever felt,

When God and man both claimed her sighsEvery warm thought, that ever dwelt,

Like summer clouds, 'twixt earth and skies, Too pure to fall, too gross to rise, Spoke in her gestures, tones, and eyesThen, as the mystic light's soft ray Grew softer still, as though its ray

Was breathed from her, I heard her say :

'Oh idol of my dreams, whate'er

Thy nature be-human, divine, Or but half heavenly-still too fair, Too heavenly to be ever mine!

Wonderful Spirit, who dost make
Slumber so lovely that it seems

No longer life to live awake,

Since heaven itself descends in dreams,

Why do I ever lose thee? why,

When on thy realms and thee I gaze, Still drops that veil, which I could die, Oh gladly, but one hour to raise ?

Long ere such miracles as thou

And thine came o'er my thoughts, a thirst For light was in this soul, which now

Thy looks have into passion nursed.

There's nothing bright above, below,

In sky-earth-ocean, that this breast, Doth not intensely burn to know,

And thee, thee, thee, o'er all the rest!

Then come, oh Spirit, from behind

The curtains of thy radiant home, If thou wouldst be as angel shrined,

Or loved and clasped as mortal, come!

Bring all thy dazzling wonders here,

That I may, waking, know and see; Or waft te hence to thy own sphere

Thy heaven or-ay, even that with thee! Demon or God, who hold'st the book

Of knowledge spread beneath thine eye, Give me, with thee, but one bright look Into its leaves, and let me die!

By those ethereal wings, whose way
Lies through an element, so fraught
With living Mind, that, as they play,
Their every movement is a thought!

By that bright, wreathed hair, between Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind Of Paradise so late hath been,

And left its fragrant soul behind!

By those impassioned eyes, that melt
Their light into the inmost heart:
Like sunset in the waters, felt

As molten fire through every part

I do implore thee, oh most bright

And worshipped Spirit, shine but o'er My waking, wondering eyes this night, This one blest night-I ask no more " Exhausted, breathless, as she said These burning words, her languid head Upon the altar's steps she cast,

As if that brain-throb were its last

Till, startled by the breathing, nigh,
Of lips, that echoed back her sigh,
Sudden her brow again she raised:

And there, just lighted on the shrine,
Beheld me-not as I had blazed

Around her, full of light divine,
In her late dreams, but softened down
Into more mortal grace;-my crown
Of flowers, too radiant for this world,
Left hanging on yon starry steep;
My wings shut up, like banners furled,
When Peace hath put their pomp to sleep
Or like autumnal clouds, that keep
Their lightnings sheathed, rather than mar
The dawning hour of some young star;
And nothing left, but what beseemed

Th' accessible, though glorious mate
Of mortal woman-whose eyes beamed
Back upon hers, as passionate;
Whose ready heart brought flame for flame,
Whose sin, whose madness was the same;
And whose soul lost, in that one hour,
For her and for her love-oh more
Of heaven's light than even the power
Of heaven itself could now restore!
And yet, that hour!".

The Spirit here
Stopped in his utterance, as if words
Gave way beneath the wild career
Of his then rushing thoughts-like chords,
Midway in some enthusiast's song,
Breaking beneath a touch too strong;
While the clenched hand upon the brow
Told how remembrance throbbed there now!

But soon 'twas o'er-that casual blaze
From the sunk fire of other days-
That relic of a flame, whose burning
Had been too fierce to be relumed,

Soon passed away, and the youth, turning
To his bright listeners, thus resumed :-

"Days, months elapsed, and though what most
On earth I sighed for was mine, all--
Yet was I happy? God, thou know'st,
Howe'er they smile, and feign, and boast,

What happiness is theirs, who fall!
Twas bitterest anguish-made more keen
Even by the love, the bliss, between
Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell
In agonizing cross-light given
Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell

In purgatory catch of heaven!

Called by the Mussulmans Al Araf-a sort of wall or pat tition which, according to the 7th chapter of the Koran, sepa rates hell from paradise, and where they, who have not merits sufficient to gain them immediate admittance into heaven are supposed to stand for a certain period, alternately tanta lized and tormented by the sights that are on either side presented to them.

Manes, who borrowed in many instances from the Platonists, placed his purgatories, or places of purification, in the Sun and Moon.-Beausobre, liv. iii., chap. 8.

Happy enthusiast! still, oh still-
Spite of my own heart's mortal chill,
Spite of that double-fronted sorrow,

Which looks at once before and back,
Beholds the yesterday, the morrow,

And sees both comfortless, both black-
Spite of all this, I could have still
In her delight forgot all ill;

Or, if pain would not be forgot,

At least have borne and murinured not.
When thoughts of an offended Heaven,
Of sinfulness, which I—even I,

While down its steep most headlong driven-
Well knew could never be forgiven,

Came o'er me with an agony
Beyond all reach of mortal wo-
A torture kept for those who know,
Know every thing, and-worst of all-
Know and love Virtue while they fall!
Even then, her presence had the power
To sooth, to warin-nay, even to bless-
If ever bliss could graft its flower,

On stem so full of bitterness-
Even then her glorious smile to me

Brought warmth and radiance, if not balm; Like moonlight o'er a troubled sea,

Brigl tening the storm it can not calm.

Oft, too, when that disheartening fear,
Which all who love, beneath yon sky,
Feel, when they gaze on what is dear-

The dreadful thought that it must die!
That desolating thought, which comes
Into men's happiest hours and homes;
Whose melancholy boding flings
Death's shadow o'er the brightest things,
Sicklies the infant's bloom, and spreads
The grave beneath young lovers' heads!
This fear, so sad to all-to me

Most full of sadness, from the thought
That I must still live on, when she
Would, like the snow that on the sea
Fell yesterday, in vain be sought;
That Heaven to me this final seal

Of all earth's sorrow would deny,
And I eternally must feel

The death-pang, without power to die! Even this, her fond endearments-fond As ever cherished the sweet bond 'Twixt heart and heart-could charm away; Before her look no clouds would stay, Or, if they did, their gloom was gone, Their darkness put a glory on! But 'tis not, 'tis not for the wrong, The guilty, to be happy long; And she, too, now, had sunk within The shadow of her tempter's sin, Too deep for even Omnipotence To snatch the fated victim thence!

Listen, and, if a tear there be
Left in your hearts, weep it for me.

'Twas on the evening of a day,
Which we in love had dreamed away;
In that same garden, where--the pride
Of seraph splendor laid aside,

• Pococke, however, gives it as the opinion of the Mahom. ean doctors, that all souls, not only of men and of animals, ing either on land or in the sea, but of the angels also, must necessarily taste of death.

And those wings furled, whose open light
For mortal gaze were else too bright-
I first had stood before her sight,
And found myself-oh, ecstasy,

Which even in pain I ne'er forget-
Worshipped as only God should be,
And loved as never man was yet!
In that same garden were we now,
Thoughtfully side by side reclining,
Her eyes turned upward, and her brow
With its own silent fancies shining

It was an evening bright and still

As ever blushed on wave or bower, Smiling from heaven, as if naught ill Could happen in so sweet an hour. Yet, I remember, both grew sad

In looking at that light-even she, Of heart so fresh, and brow so glad, Felt the still hour's solemnity, And thought she saw, in that repose, The death-hour not alone of light, But of this whole fair world-the close Of all things beautiful and brightThe last, grand sunset, in whose ray Nature herself died calm away!

At length, as though some livelier though:
Had suddenly her fancy caught,
She turned upon me her dark eyes,
Dilated into that full shape
They took in joy, reproach, surprise,
As 'twere to let more soul escape,
And, playfully as on my head

Her white hand rested, smiled and said:

'I had, last night, a dream of thee,

Resembling those divine ones, given,
Like preludes to sweet minstrelsey,

Before thou cam'st thyself from heaven.
The same rich wreath was on thy brow,
Dazzling as if of starlight made;
And these wings, lying darkly now,

Like meteors round thee flashed and played.

Thou stoodst all bright, as in those dreams,
As if just wafted from above;
Mingling earth's warmth with heaven's beams,
A creature to adore and love.

Sudden I felt thee draw me near

To thy pure heart, where, fondly placed, I seemed within the atmosphere

Of that exhaling light embraced;

And felt, methought, th' ethereal flame
Pass from thy purer soul to mine;
Till-oh, too blissful-I became,
Like thee, all spirit, all divine!

Say, why did dream so blest come o'er me,
If, now I wake, 'tis faded, gone?
When will my Cherub shine before me
Thus radiant, as in heaven he shone?
When shall I, waking, be allowed

To gaze upon those perfect charms,
And clasp thee once, without a cloud,
A chill of earth, within these arms?

Oh what a pride to say, this, this
Is my own Angel-all divine,

And pure, and dazzling as he is,

And fresh from heaven-he's mine, he's mine

Thinkst thou, were LILIS in thy place,
A creature of yon lofty skies,
She would have hid one single grace,
One glory from her lover's eyes?

No, no-then, if thou lov'st like me,

Shine out, young Spirit, in the blaze