If I had wronged you, you would answer me Out of the dusty pōrches of the tomb- Is this a dream, a falsehood? or have I Spoken the věry truth?"
A voice replied; and at his side he saw
A form, half shadow and half substance, stand, Or, rather, rest; for on the solid earth
It had no footing, mōre than some dense mist That wavers o'er the surface of the ground It scarcely touches. With a reverent look, The shadow's waste and wretched face was bent Above the picture—as if greater awe Subdued its awful being, and appalled, With memories of terrible delight
And fearful wonder, its devouring gaze.
7. "You make what God makes-beauty," said the shape, "And might not this, this second Eve, console The emptiëst heart? Will not this thing outlast The fairèst creature fashioned in the flesh? Befōre that figure Time, and Death himself, Stand baffled and disarmed. What would you ask More than God's power, from nothing to creäte?" The artist gazed upon the boding form, And answered: "Goblin, if you had a heart, That were an idle question. What to me Is my creative power, bereft of love?
Or what to God would be that selfsame power, If so bereaved ? "
"And yet the love thus mourned You calmly forfeited. For had you said To living Laura-in her burning ears- One half that you professed to Laura dead, She would have been your own. These contraries Sort not with my intelligence. But say, Were Laura living, would the same stále play Of raging passion, tearing out its heart Upon the rock of duty, be performed ?".
"The same, O phantom, while the heart I bear Trembled, but turned not its magnetic faith From God's fixed center."
"If I wake for you This Laura-give her all the bloom and glow Of that midsummer day you hold so dear- The smile, the motion, the impulsive heart, The love of genius-yea, the very love, The mortal, hungry, passionate, hot love, She bōre you, flesh to flesh-would you receive That gift, in all its glory, at my hands?" A cruel smile arched the tempter's scornful lips, And glittered in the caverns of his eyes,
Mocking the answer. Carlo paled and shook; A woful spasm went shuddering through his frame, Curdling his blood, and twisting his fair face With nameless torture. But he cried aloud, Out of the clouds of anguish, from the smoke Of very martyrdom, "O God, she is thine! Do with her at thy pleasure!" Something grand, And radiant as a sunbeam, touched the head He bent in awful sorrow.
"Dare not! As Christ was sinless, I abjure These vile abominations! Shall she bear Life's burden twice, and life's temptations twice, While God is justice ?"-"Who has made you judge Of what you call God's good, and what you think God's evil? One to Him, the Source of both, The God of good and of permitted ill.
Have you no dream of days that might have been, Had you and Laura filled another fate? Some cottage on the sloping Apennines, Roses and lilies, and the rest all love?
I tell you that this tranquil dream may be Filled to repletion. Speak, and in the shade Of my dark pinions I shall bear you hence, And land you where the mountain goat himself Struggles for footing."
And all the chapel darkened, as if hell Had swallowed up the tapers; and the air Grew thick, and, like a current sensible, Flowed round the person, with a wash and dash, As of the waters of a něther sea.
Slowly and calmly through the dense obscure, Dove-like and gentle, rose the artist's voice: "I dare not bring her spirit to that shame! Know my full meaning-I that neither fear Your mystic person nor your dreadful power. Nor shall I now invoke God's potent name For my deliverance from your toils. I stand Upon the founded structure of His law, Established from the first, and thence defy Your arts, reposing all my trust in that!” 12. The darknèss eddied off; and Carlo saw The figure gathering, as from outer space, Brightness on brightness; and his former shape Fell from him, like the ashes that fall off And show a core of měllow fire within. Adown his wings there poured a lambent flood, That seemed as molten gold, which plashing fell Upon the floor, enringing him with flame; And o'er the tresses of his beaming head Arose a stream of many-colored light,
Like that which crowns the morning. Carlo stood Steadfast, for all the splendor, reaching up The outstretched palms of his untainted soul Toward heaven for strength. A moment thus; then asked, With reverential wonder quivering through
His sinking voice, "Who, spirit, and what art thou?”
13. "I am that blessing which men fly from-Death."- "Then take my hand, if so God orders it;
For Laura waits me."- "But bethink thee, man, What the world loses in the loss of thee! What wondrous Art will suffer with eclipse! What unwon glōries are in stōre for thee!
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