Ere the Morning's rosy wing, Has brushed the damp night-shades away, Ere the birds their matins sing, Choiring to the new-born day, Though its bright birth-hour be near, Many a sigh, and many a tear, Shall attest the mystic might, Of those who walk the world by night.

Werner (solus).

The ruin of the living! if that be Your only task, you have a poor employ.

Give man his three score years, and he will make A wreck, the skill of h.e.l.l might show forth as A sample of its handiwork, and then, Exult at the completeness of its ruin.

The troubling of the dead!--if memory lives In that far world, to which the spirit hastens, When she casts off the clay that clogs her wings, E'en there ye are forestalled, for man will need No curse, to make his second life a h.e.l.l, If be retains the memory of his first.

Had the clear waters of this gurgling brook, The pow'r to wash time's blots from th' mind's page, And all earth's mountains were compact of gold, Her rivers nectar, and her oceans wine, Her hills all fruitful, and her valleys fresh, And full of loveliness as Eden was, Ere sin's sad blight fell on its living bow'rs, And all were mine, I'd give them but to lay My weary limbs along this streamlet's bed, And sleep in full forgetfulness awhile.

But, I forget my task--now let me to it!

[He takes a vial from his bosom, and flings its contents into the air, chanting,

Spirit Wherever be thy home, In earth or air, My message hear, And fear it.

By the power which I have earned, To which thy knee has knelt, By the spell which I have learned, A spell which thou, hast felt, I bid thee hither come!

[A white cloud appears in the distance, floating up the glen, and a voice is heard, singing as it approaches,

I.

I saw from port a vessel steer, The skies were clear, the winds were fair, More swiftly than the hunted deer, Upon her snowy wings of air, She flew along the silv'ry water, As fearlessly as if some sprite, Familiar with the deep, had taught her, A spell by which to rule the might Of winds and waves, when met to try Their strength, up midway in the sky.

II.

Along her trackless watery way, With unabated speed she flew, Still gay and careless, till the day Waned past: night came: the heavens grew Black, dread and threat'ning. Then the storm Came forth in its devouring wrath; Before it fled Fear's pallid form; Destruction followed in its path; It pa.s.sed: the morning came: in vain, I look for that lost bark again.

III.

Far down beneath the deep blue waves, Within some merman's coral hall, Her fated crew have found their graves; Above them, for their burial pall, The mermaids spread their flowing tresses; The waters chant their requiem; From many an eyelid, Pity presses Her tender, dewy tears for them: The natives of the ocean weep, To view them sleeping death's pale sleep.

IV.

Thou, mortal, wast the bark I saw; The waters, were the sea of life; And thou, alas! too well dost know, What storms were imaged in the strife Of winds and waves. The hopes of youth, Thou, in that bark's lost crew, may'st see,-- All buried now within that smooth, Vast, boundless deep,--eternity:-- And I, a spirit though I be, Can pity still, and weep for thee.

[The cloud settles near the fountain, and, unclosing, discovers a beautiful form looking steadily at Werner.

WERNER (addressing it).

How beautiful!

If intercourse between all living worlds, Had not been barr'd by Him who gave them life, I should believe thou wert the guardian spirit, Of that which men have named the Queen of Night.

Like her, thou art majestic, pale and sad, And of a tender beauty: those bright curls That press thy brow, and cling about thy neck, Seem made of sunbeams, caught upon their way To earth, by some creative hand, and woven Into a fairy web, of light and life, Conscious of its high source, and proud to be A part of aught so beautiful as thou.

I have seen many full, bright mortal eyes, That were a labyrinth of witching charms, In which the heart of him who looked was lost; But none like thine; their light is not of earth; Their loveliness not like what man calls lovely.

Beside the smoothness of thy brow and cheek, The lily's lip were rough; each of thy limbs, Is, in itself, a being and a beauty.

If that the orb thou didst inhabit, ere Thou wert a portion of eternity, Was worthy of such dwellers, oh! how fair And glorious, must have been its fields and bow'rs!

How clear its streams! how pure and fresh its airs!

How mellow were its fruits! how bright its flow'rs!

How strong and brave the beings, fit to share It with thee! 'Tis most strange that He, whose hand Fashions such wondrous things, should take delight In striking them to nothingness again!

Perchance the author of all evil had Invaded it, and made it quite unfit To be a part of G.o.d's great universe.

And yet thou lookest as if thou wert beyond The power of temptation to a.s.sail.

Hast thou too sinned?

Spirit.

I have lived as thou livest, died as thou Wilt have to die, and am what thou shalt be.

Werner

I have not questioned thee of life or death, Nor of the state which shall succeed them both; I care not for the first, nor fear the second; The last I leave to Him who gave to man Eternity for his inheritance.

But I would know if the unceasing war, Which good and evil wage upon the earth, Has reached beyond, its confines.

Spirit.

Have I not answered thee?

The Begetter of worlds, stars, suns, and systems!

The Father of Creation! the Bridegroom Of the Spirit! hath He not written that Death has dominion only over sin?

And thou would'st know if other worlds have felt The curse that fell upon, and blighted thine.

Poor simple child of clay! no doubt thou know'st The story of the Eden of thy sire, And think'st that there, in its fresh, stainless breast, The baleful seeds of evil first were sown, Which since have spread so fearfully abroad,-- When the sad doom, that came on him and his, Was but the spray, cast from the wave of fate, Which just then reached thy newly finished orb.

Where it first started--whither tends its course-- Where it shall stop--how many wrecks of worlds-- Once fairer far than thine was at its birth-- Shall strew its desolate way,--is not for things Brought forth from dust to know.

What wouldst thou of me?

Werner.

The sole remaining good, if good it be, That yet is mine to share. I have tried all That earthly hope holds out to satisfy The longings of man's nature. I have loved, And made an idol of the thing I loved, And worshipped it with all my soul's intensity; And, for awhile, the frenzy of my dream Shut out all other thoughts. But it was short; Death plucked my lovely flower from my grasp, And then, the icy chill of desolation Came, like a snowy avalanche, upon My heart, and froze the fountains of its feeling.

I was ambitious. I have striven for, And worn, the gaudiest wreath of fame, and when I would have placed it on my brow, it grew A mountain in its weight. I courted much The notice of the world, and when men praised, The very breath that bore their praise to me, Seemed clogged with pestilence.

Wealth, too, I coveted, And heaped its shining dust in h.o.a.rds around me, And yet it was but dust, as barren of Enjoyment as the ground we tread upon.

I clad myself in purple--heaped my board With all the fairest, sweetest fruits of earth, And filled my golden goblets with bright juice, Pressed from the goodliest grapes, and made my couch Of down, and yet, I was most wretched still.

My garments were but c.u.mbersome; my couch Could give no rest, and e'en my generous wines Could not remove the crushing weight that sat, Nightmare-like, on my heart, until it grew A palpable and keenly aching pang.

There is, one path which yet remains untrod; To be my guide in it, I called thee hither,-- 'Tis that of knowledge.

Spirit.

The same In which the mother of thy race was lost, With e'en a wiser, mightier guide than I.

She thirsted, too, for knowledge, and she gave Her innocence--her home in Paradise-- The happiness of him--who shared her lot-- To know--what? That her own rebellious hand Had raised the flood-gates of a sea of crime, Which would for ever pour its bitter waves Upon the helpless unprotected race, Which her rash deed had ruined.

Think of the sighs--the groans--the floods of tears-- The woes--too deep for these--which have no end, Save but in heart-breaks! Think upon the toil-- The sweat--the pain--the strife--the crime--the blood-- The myriads of souls with which this one Sad lesson was obtained! whose price is yet Not fully paid, nor shall be so, until The last poor son of earth mingles with dust!

Dost thou not fear to tread a path like this?

Werner.

I have no fear; It is so long since I have felt its thrill That 'twere a pleasure now to feel it.

Spirit.

What wouldst thou know?

Thou art familiar with all earthly lore.

More: Thou hast gained, and wield'st a power, to which The rulers of the elements do bow; The hurricane, at thy command goes forth, Walking where'er thou bid'st it, and the storm Ceases to howl when thou hast said,--"Be still!"

Thine anger stirs the ocean, and thy wrath Finds out the deep foundations of the mountains, And shakes them with its strength; the subtle fire, That lights the tempest on its gloomy way, Starts from its cloud-rocked slumber, at thy call, To be thy messenger.

Canst thou not be content when thou art feared By those who rule a world? What is there yet Which thy insatiate mind desires to know?

Would'st learn immortal mysteries? Reflect Thou art but mortal.