Now, like some mighty wrestler, rising With foe, it righting, struck a wreck, And, by the shock, the fiend capsizing, Had well-nigh shaken him from the deck; But, springing up, while fury blanches Gasping it lay, with ruthless arm The whirlpool clove its sides asunderAn Angel clasped my sinking form— The demon and the boat went under. THE ANGEL'S VISIT. ONE December evening cold, The spirit shore. Very lonely was my breast On that night no genial guest By its hearth-stone paused to rest; Dim the lamp of Hope did gleam O'er my young heart's darkened stream; And I sought from mystic store In that lamp new oil to pour Fresh oil to pour. Dark, and drear, and desolate, On a mossy crag I sate, Watching through the heavenly gate Many a solemn angel-band Marching to the spirit-land, When Love tapping on the door Of my heart, did there implore— A home implore. Trembling, shivering, timid-hearted, From the gates of light had drifted, And with icy fingers lifted Up the latchet of the door Of my doting heart once more Ah me once more! Then aside I dashed the tear, And all thoughtless did begin To tell Love to enter in, When an Angel sought this shore To defeat him at the door My lone heart's door. Low his golden tresses streaming As my soul he would explore- My lone heart's door. Calmly then the Angel spoke, Like the chimes in dream-land woke- Soul that heavenward dost soar, Turn this traitor from the door Thy lone heart's door. "In thy breast he seeks no home, From the blithest he will roam; He will enter the heart's dome, Filch its every jewel fair, Plant his barbèd arrow there, And then straight go out the door, Back returning never more Ah! never more ! "Search the chronicles of Love, See the nets that he has wove, To entrap the timid dove; See in Lethe's crowded domes Ashes of his hecatombs ; And I wot thou'lt keep the door Of thy heart locked ever more— For ever more. "Blossoms in thy heart may bloom, Lone thy spirit's ear will greet, 66 Ah! ever more! Therefore, mournful child of song, Leave Love to the heartless throng, Who can cope with woe and wrong; Pour thy soul's surcharge of fire On an altar holier, higher, And let Reason keep the door Of thy fond heart ever more For ever more." |