THE SPIRIT LOVERS

AND THE SPIRIT BRIDAL.

———

BY MISS L. VIRGINIA SMITH.

———

The twilight deepened—and its dusky shades

Crept through the crimson of the sunset clouds,

To nestle darkly where some shining star

Looped up the gorgeous foldings, as they hung

Like Eden-banners, waving far around

The purple arches of a southern sky.

From the deep forest aisles came up the wind,

Low singing in its wand’ring, with the voice

Of softly chanting waves, and whisp’ring leaves.

The silver moon came floating from the east,

Like a young angel sleeping on the wing,

Whose dream-smile glittered o’er the dewy earth,

And trembling through an open casement, kissed

A brow of maiden beauty slumbering there.

The velvet drapery of her couch was tossed

In crimson waves around her, and above

Fell snowy veilings, bending like a wreath

Of silvery vapor o’er a rosy sea;

Carelessly graceful in her sweet repose,

She rested like a lily on the stream,

When drooping gently ’neath its own perfume.

The dew of early youth was gleaming yet

Upon her pure heart-blossoms, and the first

Faint blush of love within her spirit, wrought

Rich blazonry upon their mystic leaves.

In slumber, through her softly rounded limbs

A radiant soul in bright expression stole,

Like glimpses of the evening star amid

The pure white veiling of a pearly cloud.

She watched the sunlight fade upon the hills,

And star-flames kindle in the dusky sky—

But now she rested in the land of dreams,

To wait the coming of her Spirit-Love.

He came—a vision whose bewildering eyes

Seemed light ineffable in midnight skies—

While plumes of waving frost-work, dashed with flakes

Of golden sunbeams, glittered ’mid the folds

Of woven radiance floating round his form,

Snow-flake and fire-drop wreathing into life,

His gorgeous pinion shadowed o’er his Bride,

His breath upon her cheek—his lightning glance

Stole through the visions of her dreaming soul,

As when the passion of the dying sun

Glows o’er the bosom of a sleeping cloud,

Till love’s wild worship wakes returning flame,

And each in burning blushes dies away!

As a fair volume, and a golden lyre,

Wreathed by the tendrils of an opening rose,

Her Mind, and Soul, and fresh expanding Heart,

Lay bright before his spirit-searching ken,

As one by one he softly laid aside

The crimson petals of that folded heart,

To drink the honied fragrance of its love,

The rose-bud thrilled and trembled into bloom,

Its breeze his sigh—its sun his burning glance—

Its dew-drop life his kisses wild and warm.

He lingered o’er the pure, unsullied leaves

Of Mind’s mysterious volume, and there came,

Where’er he breathed upon the virgin page,

Bright gems of glowing fancy, and deep thought,

As magic characters come stealing forth

In loveliness before the breath of flame!

His being brightened with a God-like smile,

As, closely blended with each pictured thought,

His image, flashing into glorious life,

Smiled back upon him from the glowing page

So truthfully—then with the soft excess

Of dreamy rapture ’wildered, fainting bowed,

And blessed the sweet love-mirror, silently.

Her soul in beauty, an Æolian lyre,

Gleamed forth before him, where the voice of Song

Slept like its spirit in a singing shell.

His light caressing pinion swept its chords,

And Joy’s bird-carol—Hope’s aerial tone—

Pride’s sounding anthem—and the pæan wild

Of young Ambition rolled in glory forth.

He breathed upon it—and anon there swelled

(As tears will gush from rapture-laden hearts)

Her pure religion’s diapason deep;—

Sweet under-tones of dreamy melancholy—

And chords of feeling that erewhile had slept

In voiceless music, and o’er all the theme

An ever-changing, ever-sounding tone,

Was deep, immaculate, immortal Love!

THE SPIRIT-BRIDAL.

The Night had closed her eye of softest blue,

And, like a wearied infant, sank to rest

On Nature’s gentle bosom—Silence, pale,

With a white finger on her marble lip,

From which no lightest whisper ever came,

Was bending o’er the dim and murmured death

Of every sound—and even Echo dreamed,

As though a spirit’s wand had charmed her there

To slumber deep as that Creation held

When Night was in the heavens!

Still as the moonlight quivered through the vines

That overhung the casement, it revealed

The rosy couch, beneath its silvery veil,

As by its side the maiden knelt to pray.

Oh! if there be on earth one blessing left—

One leaf from out our faded Paradise—

One ray of glory from the heaven we lost—

It is, that we may pray for those we love!

Without it man may live—his nature knows

No soft dependence—panoplied in self,

His haughty heart may burn to dash aside

The hand that formed it—and he may defy

The love that made him what he is—a god!

But woman never—for her ivy soul

Must have an oak to cling to; proud and high

Its crest may be, or ruined, lightning-scathed,

It matters not—and for it she must pray!

Prayer is her nature’s pure necessity,

To calm the sorrow that with lava streams,

Pours its bewildering torrent o’er the soul,

And when she feels it crushing darkly through

A bosom all too soft to stem its tide

Of bitter, burning waters—then, for power

To “suffer and be still,” that bosom prays.

And oh! when human love has taught her heart

To dream of one and Heaven, how pants her soul

To pour that gushing feeling freely forth,

In all its truth and deep intensity, before

The “God of love” who gave it!

’Twas for this

The gentle maiden meekly knelt to God

Till each pure love-beam from her violet eye

Seemed melting into passion’s orison.

Warm feeling folded up its starry plumes

To bow before the altar-shrine of faith,

And holy hopes looked from the golden shades

That lay upon her soul, as angels bend

O’er the bright foldings of the summer clouds,

To woo us to the sky, from whence they come.

Her eye grew dreamy, and her bosom heaved,

As though within its cell some pleasant thought

Were singing, and it rose and fell upon

The waves of that delicious melody.

Her loosened hair swept o’er the sacred page,

And, as her soul went forth in whispers low,

It stirred the shadows with the breath of prayer.

She oped the holy book, and as her lip

Trembled upon the words, they sank within

Her woman’s nature as the snow-flake falls

And melts away into the earth’s warm bosom.

Time, as he wandered by, had sighed the hour

Of “twelve,” and for a moment midnight’s hush

Grew tremulous, and echo as it fell,

Swept o’er the tension of her listening ear

Softly and thrillingly, and like to Love’s

First breathings o’er an unawakened heart.

Her voice grew fainter, as a music-vow

Stole sweetly in the cadence of her own—

She felt the glory of an angel-wing

Around her waving, and she knew the hour—

Her Spirit-Lover claimed his Spirit-Bride!

With pinions intertwining, arms enwreathed

And fervid glances bathed in passion’s dream,

They swept along the cloud-land pathway, where

The constellations, from their silver urns,

Poured incense light far down the “Milky-Way,”

And o’er its misty pavement Cynthia flung

A thousand rainbows, like the wreathed bloom

Of bridal blossoms. Still they floated on,

Far through the starry armaments that sweep

In endless circle round the battlements

Of Paradise—an everlasting guard

High flaming round the Infinite;—at length,

Within the presence-chamber of the Blest,

They knelt before the Great Unchangeable,

Whose love and mercy whispered audibly,

“Forever be ye one—as God is One!”