The Mask of the Red Death - Graham's Magazine, May 1842 — reading text

electric flame. I know not—nor shall care to know ; Yes ! when the Harp of Nature roll’d remembers tioresere ona For e’en REPENTANCE will not dart Its midnight hymn from chords of gold, From her pure realm, a light below, And awful silence seemed to own, Upon my agony of heart ; Throughout the world, its wizard tone, Nor hath Remorse—that mad’ning fire— Ive stood and wildly wished to float PARTE lange, wtinr Secor seen RO EOC NOSE ALAS That final minister of pain Into that music’s liquid strain— And deadliest offspring of deep ire— Oh! heavenly as its sweetest note— E’er flashed across my tortured brain : Nor ever walk the earth again. Yet! yet there isa something here Of hideous vacancy and fear, What change is this? Hate, fiercest Hate, (Not fear which cowards merely feel, Where once these angel-yearnings burned Who hear the damnéd’s thunder peal,) Like torches set by Heaven’s bright gate, A trembling—which the brave confess Hath all to deadly poison turned. In this their last and worst distress— Part of the soul it burns a spell, The Best can only feel the fire, er a ert tanner ne ae =e And like her indestructible— But once, which flashes from the clime Which only those who feel that woe, Where love sits beaming o’er the lyre Brought by an unrepented deed, That strikes the mystic march of Time. Can in its fiercest aching know— The tree of most luxuriant stem For only they are doomed to bleed. Whose every leaflet glows a gem Beneath its oriental sky, Go thou, whose cunning spirit hears When once its emerald diadem The mystic music of the spheres— Hath felt the simoon sweeping by. Who gazest with unquailing eye Can never more in southern bowers Through this star-isled immensity— Renew its fragrant idol-flowers. Whose soul would feed on brighter flowers So with the great in soul—whose bloom Than earth’s—and sit with pinion furl’d Of Heart hath felt the thunder-doom Where in its lonely grandeur towers Which mankind, trusted, may bestow The ouiside pillar of your world— On him who little dreamed the blow— Go ! go with all thy boasted art— Theirs be the joy !—But ours the woe! And read one mystery of the Heart. What! think creation in a sphere! I was my father’s only child— The real universe is here— (The cherished scion ofa race Here! here eternally enshrined Whose monuments of fame are piled Within the secret caves of Mind. On glory’s mighty dwelling-place) I need not tell how oft he smiled Blood! blood is reddening on these hands! When counting o’er to me each deed, The blood of more than one is here; In gallant barque, on champing steed, Unfaded too its crimson brands Of ancestors in battle wild ; eg rene ee eteer is ha renee se i id Pa + eee ret wneae i a  PERDITI. 267 Nor how he gazed upon my face What! will the grave its events tell? And there by hours would fondly trace The iron tomb dissolve its speil ? The lines which as they manlier grew, It has! it has! And there she stands He deemed the signs of Glory, too. Mocking me with her outstretched hands ; And oft her icy fingers press Isaw at last the sable pall My hot brow through the long, long night ; Gloom in our lordly castle’s hall, And voices as of deep distress, And heard the Friar’s burial rite Like prisoned wind, whose wailing sound Keeping the watches of the night. Seems madly struggling under ground, Another noble form was laid Peal dirge-like on my ear: away! Where Lorro’s dead together meet— Nor wait, oh! horrid shape, for day And I, in ducal robes arrayed, Such as these gloomy realms display— Took Lorro’s castled seat. E’er thou shalt quit my tortured sight.— I need not tell how passed the days, And we were wed! I need not say I need not tell of pleasure’s ways— How heavenly came and went each day, Where bright-eyed mirth flung dewy flowers Enough ! our souls together beat Beneath the silver-feet of hours, While Time himself o’er music’s strings Like two sweet tunes that wandering meet, Then so harmoniously they run Lean’d panting on his weary wings. The hearer deems they are but one. At last there came unto our gate One looking worn and desolate, There are mailed forms in Lorro’s halls, Who asked compassion for his fate. And rustling banners on its walls, He said he was an orphan lad; And nodding plumes o’er manya brow, In sooth my lonely heart was glad— That moulders on the red field now. For I was weary of my state Where only courtiers crowded round; The wave of battle swells around ! I wished some fair and gentle mate, Shali Lorro’s chieftain thus be found And such I fondly hoped I found. In revelry or idlesse bound, When Glory hangs her blood-red sign Months rolled away and still he grew, Above the castellated Rhine? Beneath my care a lovely boy And day by day I found anew Away ! away, I flew in pride In hima very father’s joy.— With those who mustered by my side: But not, I ween, did Lorro miss And eighteen summers now have died The ruler from its ducal throne, Since thou cam’st here my own heart’s pride: *Till many a wild and burning kiss And still thy voice of silver seems Of woman's sweet lips warmed his own. Sweet as sweet music heard in dreams; And still thy softly radiant eye And Julio, too, (for such the name Looks innocent as yonder sky, I gave the orphan boy,) with tears And all as fair—when rainbows rest And choking sob, and trembling came Like angel-plumes upon its breast ; To whisper me his rising fears. And still thy soul seems richly set Within its form, like some bright gem That I his father—I whose love Which might by worshippers be met Had sheltered long his feeble form In Purity’s own diadem. FE’en as some stronger bird the dove All mateless wandering in the storm,— In Lorro’s hall the tone of lutes That I borne down amid the stern And harp is wafted through the air, And bloody shapes of battle wild, Such as the glad most fitly suits Would never from its wreck return When mirth and rosy wine are there. To sooth his lonely orphan child; In Lorro’s castle, wreathed in light And then on bended knees he prayed— And flowers, I ween a holy rite, (God! why availed not his prayer?) Most cherished with the young and bright, That I would give him steed and blade, By cowléd Priest, is done to night. So he might in my dangers share. I left him for I could not bare And who art thou around whose brow That tender brow to war’s wild air. The bridal chaplet sparkled now? That form !—Oh, Heaven! and is it she Thus standing there so radiantly ?— Away away on foaming steed, With bright curls floating on the air For two long years my sword was out; And glorious as the cherubs wear; And I had learned (a soldier’s need,) An eye where love and virtue beam —Almost without a groan to bleed— Like spirits of an Angel’s dream! Aye! gloried in the battle’s shout; For it gave presage of a fame Away! away! thou maddening sight! Such as the brave alone may ¢laim. Away! what dost thou, Laura, here? Thus standing by my side to night, For two long years, as I have told, And long since in thy sepulchre? The storm of war around me roll’d;  268 GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. But never more, by day or night How I in that ethereal time, In sunshine or in shower, Standing beside my native rill Did I forget my castle’s light— And shadowed by such hues sublime, Love’s only idol-flower ! Felt unseen lightning through me thrill. There is a deeper passion known I stood within my own domain— For those in love, when left alone; Once more upon my birth-right soil, Then busy fancy ponders o’er Free’d from the gory battle-plain Some kindness never prized before: And weary with its toil. And we can almost turn with tears And deep upbraiding (as distress ‘¢ Laura !’? my stepis in the hall! Comes with the holy light of years) My sword suspended on the wall! And kneeling ask forgiveness. My standard-sheet once more uprolled Where it has lain for years untold! And so I felt—and Laura beamed “ Laura !’’—In vain I stood for her Still lovelier than she ever seemed, To meet the long-lost worshipper.