THE LIFTED VEIL.

———

BY MISS H. E. GRANNIS.

———

A voice of music, borne by fragrant gales,

And echoing softly to the dimpled waves,

Stole from the bosom of Hesperia’s vales,

Whose jeweled sands the flashing water laves,

’Mid shadowy banks, and bright enchanted isles,

And fairy bowers, where joys own summer smiles.

Sweet as a spirit’s song it rose and fell

On the rich air, o’erburdened with perfume;

Each varying cadence, or voluptuous swell,

Far-breathing o’er one wilderness of bloom,

Through princely gardens ne’er by mortal drest,

Amid the broad savannas of the west.

A bark was gliding down the silvery stream

That claims its birth from far Itasca’s fount,

And bids its waves o’er many a valley gleam,

And join the well-springs of full many a mount,

Till, proud, at length, Columbia’s wealth to drain,

It sweeps, deep-freighted, to the Mexican main.

About that vessel’s prow the foam-wreaths hung,

And pearls were glancing in her wake behind;

Fair silken curtains from her casements swung,

And banners wooed aloft the balmy wind;

And where rich lamps ’mid graceful arches gleamed

O’er gilded walls, the gorgeous sunlight streamed.

The turtle dove had hushed her plain on shore, —

The whirring locusts of the woods were still —

The listening willows leaned the waters o’er —

While drooped the blue-eyed hare-bell with a thrill

Through all its filmy foliage, at the sound

That earth and wave in fond enchantment bound.

Within that bark, where flowed the golden light

O’er velvet cushions, ’mid th’ enameled flowers,

Flowed, mingling with those beams, the tresses bright

From a fair brow of girlhood, where the hours

Of earthly life had not o’erhung the bliss

Of heaven’s existence with the clouds of this.

Her hand, scarce resting from the strings it swept,

Lay on a harp whose chords yet felt its thrill,

And fain had breathed the strains that in them slept;

And her half-parted lips were tremulous still,

As on them lingered, fluttering to depart,

Th’ unuttered burden of a gushing heart,

The voiceful murmur of the waves below —

The airs of balm that whispered through the leaves —

The trill of fountains in their dazzling flow —

The soul-born song the bright-winged wild bird weaves,

The various tones of teeming nature, rife

With the warm bliss of heaven-imparted life.

Glimpses of cities through far vistas seen —

Flashes of light from garden, bower and shrine —

All forms and sounds of loveliness had been

To eye and ear as messengers divine;

And, to each glorious sight, and joyous tone,

Answered a breathing melody of her own.

But now her voice was hushed, and all unheard

The many tones that roused it; for a strain

Of richer song her spirit’s depths had stirred;

As if some angel harp that there had lain,

Untouched as yet, were thrilled in every chord,

And o’er her soul its wealth of music poured.

We all have felt such wakenings; in our hearts’

Deep treasure cells is many a gift from Heaven,

To the commissioned spirit, ere it starts

Upon earth’s pilgrimage, by seraph’s given,

To cheer life’s shadows, and illume its shrine.

With fadeless tokens of our birth divine.

Sealed and forgot they lie, till some blest gleam,

Or sacred note steal down those seals to break —

As roses, kissed to life by day’s fond beam,

Thrilled with the sense of their own beauty wake;

Or hidden streams burst forth from earth’s dark caves,

Wild at the brightness of their own sweet waves —

So gush they o’er the soul; at gems so rare

We startle, wondering at their loveliness,

But, of our heritage still unaware,

We wist not whence those sights and sounds of bliss;

And lightly recking of their priceless worth,

Let the seals close, and bind our thoughts to earth.

O, we might watch, for aye, the fountains bright

Of Paradise; or list the moving strains

Of Eden’s harps; or revel in the light

Of gems that glisten on celestial plains,

Did we but bend more anxious ear and eye,

And learn to ope the heart-cells where they lie.

Yet Eva listened; for her steps had trod,

Fearless of clouds that rose her pathway o’er,

Closer than some do to the walks of God;

And, in her own warm heart, she ever bore

A flowing urn, from whence a balm was shed

O’er sorrows wounds, where’er her footsteps led.

There had arisen from all created things

An anthem and an incense, and they came,

Rousing in her own breast those hidden springs,

With a mysterious power, that she might name

Fragrance, or motion, beauty, light, or tone —

So seemed each exquisite sense to blend in one.

“O, life is bliss!” she murmured. “Let each breath

Rise with a warm thank-offering from my heart

To Him who gave it; the blue heavens beneath,

All things a brightness and a joy impart;

And earth’s harmonious melodies have been

Rivaled but by the voice they wake within.

“The skies bend fondly o’er me; the pure air

Steals to my temples with a holy kiss;

The bright stars watch me with a kindly care;

And flowers, and streams, and birds, and winds express

Their mingled joy, around, beneath, above,

In tones whose chorus and whose freight is Love.

“Love! Life’s gemmed key-stone! being’s single source!

Creative power, that makes all creatures one —

That speeds the rivers in their onward course,

To bless the valleys that they gleam upon —

That bids the fond birds woo the answering flowers,

And dallying breezes kiss the leafy bowers.

“They tell us of the shadow and the thorn,

And care and grief—and, though the pearly dews

Of life’s young matin still my feet adorn,

I have found thorns—the guardians of the rose

I plucked unharmed—and at their terrors laughed,

So light a touch could blunt the barbéd shaft.

“Free potions have I drank of being’s cup,

And found no bitterness; the sparkling tide

Hath grown but brighter as I quaffed it up,

And if rank weeds have sprung its rim beside,

Or serpents risen, its drops contain a spell

To blast the weed, or crush the monster fell.

“Yet one thing lack I. I have sought the flow

Of kindly sympathies, and vainly sought —

Though human hearts are with me here below

To which my own hath called, they answer not:

Kind tones I’ve met, fond eyes have round me shone,

But my soul’s holiest founts have gushed alone.

“Fair, dove-eyed children at my feet have lain

Their young affections, as an offering pure;

And when I wipe the clammy brow of pain

Pale lips will bless me: gentle smiles may lure

The gay or sad around me; and I’ve yearned

To breathe to them the speech my heart had learned —

“The mystic speech of nature; but it seemed

As a strange language to them: Marble sealed

Their lips were, to the founts that ’neath them gleamed,

And their cold, icy eyes have half congealed

The glowing tide that, in my heart, I felt

Still struggling forth to bid those ice bonds melt.

“Yet know I that man’s soul, born of the light

Of heavenly mansions, still must be divine;

Perhaps I have not learned its language right,

Or found the key that opes its holiest shrine,

And they may deem my soul hath lost the gem

Whose kindling rays I vainly sought from them.

“But there’s a hollow seeming in their mirth

That chimes not with the joy my bosom feels;

And the glad music of the teeming earth,

From breasts that men call soulless, o’er me steals

With more of sympathy than hath been given

By those who claim the heritage of heaven.

“Still hath my life led down a vale of Eden;

Where mystic foot-prints marked the dewy sod;

As if some angel’s steps had near me trodden,

Bearing blest gifts from ’neath the throne of God;

And low, sweet tones oft sooth me while I sleep,

From the kind spirits that my vigils keep,

“Like to the strain that now around me lingers,

Roused, in my breast, from some long hidden string;

While choirs of air-harps, swept by seraphs’ fingers,

Upon my listening ear responsive ring —

Lo! my eyes catch the flash of glancing wings,

And half seen visions of all glorious things.”

Half seen no longer—from the sky were rolled

Its azure curtains, and a fragrant light

Stole down, o’er glittering walks of gems and gold —

The veil was lifted from her mortal sight,

And one beside her stood, of air and mien

Familiar, like the forms our dreams have seen.

“Mine own I claim thee; thou at length hast heard

And known the voice with which I wooed thee first,

In life’s young morn. Though oft thy soul hath stirred,

Echoing the strains that from my lyre have burst,

Still too forgetful of the world of bliss,

Thou didst but hear them as the tones of this.

“Though thy young heart had found no answering tone

To its o’erflowing gladness, knewest thou not

That Heaven ne’er sends commissioned souls alone,

To bear the darkness of their earthly lot,

But each frail pilgrim of the thorny land,

Moves earthward with its kindred hand in hand?

“Through Eden’s vales we had together trod,

And quaffed its streams, before the mandate came

To rear us temples of this earthly clod,

And win from dull mortality the claim

To richer coronals; and with the flow

Of mingled hearts we sought our homes below.

“But we were severed, from terrestrial bowers

The angels called me early; yet was mine

The sweetest task, to watch thy path of flowers,

And yield thee visions of a land divine;

And even the veil that hid my form from thee

Oped the sealed fountains of thy heart to me.

“I have been with thee still—at eventide

Fanning thy temples till thy soul was free,

While the clay slept, to wander at my side;

And to its bonds at dawn restoring thee,

A child of earth, till, for a holier shrine,

Thy wings at length are fledged, and thou art mine.”

Thus spake the spirit, and the veil of light,

That round him hung, o’er Eva’s form was cast:

The bark that bore her, ne’er to mortal sight

Came up the stream from whence its keel had passed.

They watched her from the shore-girt river glide,

And float far westward o’er the boundless tide:

And where the wave is mingled with the sky,

In the bright pathway of the dying day,

’Mid clouds too luminous for human eye,

She seemed to vanish on her airy way;

While earth’s fair flowers, and ocean’s pearly shell,

Breathed a low answer to some fond farewell.