Now blest the humblest, meanest sod

Of the dark earth where Woman trod!
In vain my former idols glisten'd

From their far thrones; in vain these ears To the once-thrilling music listen'd,

That hymn'd around my favourite spheres, To earth, to earth, each thought was given, That in this half-lost soul had birth ; Like some high mount, whose head's in heaven,

While its whole shadow rests on earth!

Nor was it Love, ev'n yet, that thrall'd

My spirit in his burning ties;

And less, still less could it be call'd

That grosser flame, round which Love flies

Nearer and nearer, till he dies

No, it was wonder, such as thrill'd

At all God's works my dazzled sense;

The same rapt wonder, only fill'd

With passion, more profound, intense,— A vehement, but wandering fire, Which, though nor love, nor yet desire, Though through all womankind it took Its range, as vague as lightnings run,

Yet wanted but a touch, a look,

To fix it burning upon One.

Then, too, the ever-restless zeal,

The' insatiate curiosity

To know what shapes, so fair, must feel

To look but once, beneath the seal

Of so much loveliness, and see

What souls belong'd to those bright eyes

Whether, as sun-beams, find their way

Into the gem that hidden lies,

Those looks could inward turn their ray.

To make the soul as bright as they!
All this impell'd my anxious chace,
And still the more I saw and knew
Of Woman's fond, weak, conquering race,
The' intenser still my wonder grew.

I had beheld their First, their EvE,
Born in that splendid Paradise,

Which God made solely to receive
The first light of her waking eyes.

I had seen purest angels lean

In worship o'er her from above; And man-oh yes, had envying seen Proud man possess'd of all her love.

I saw their happiness, so brief,
So exquisite-her error, too,

E

That easy trust, that prompt belief

In what the warm heart wishes true; That faith in words, when kindly said, By which the whole fond sex is ledMingled with (what I durst not blame, For 'tis my own) that wish to know, Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of woe;

Which, though from heaven all pure it came, Yet stain'd, misus'd, brought sin and shame On her, on me, on all below!

I had seen this; had seen Man-arm'd

As his soul is with strength and senseBy her first words to ruin charm'd ;

His vaunted reason's cold defence,
Like an ice-barrier in the ray

Of melting summer, smil'd away!
Nay-stranger yet-spite of all this-
Though by her counsels taught to err,

Though driv'n from Paradise for her, (And with her that, at least, was bliss) Had I not heard him, ere he crost

The threshold of that earthly heaven,
Which by her wildering smile he lost-
So quickly was the wrong forgiven—

Had I not heard him, as he prest
The frail, fond trembler to a breast

Which she had doom'd to sin and strife,

Call her-think what-his Life! his Life !*

Yes-such the love-taught name-the first,
That ruin'd Man to Woman gave,

Ev'n in his out-cast hour, when curst,
By her fond witchery, with that worst
And earliest boon of love-the grave!

* Chavah, the name by which Adam called the. "Life:" woman after their transgression, means See Note.