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- repeated azure counsel of Lucy Tartan's mother. On both sides, from the
hedges, came to Pierre the clover bloom of Saddle Meadows, and from
Lucy's mouth and cheek came the fresh fragrance of her violet young
being.
"Smell I the flowers, or thee?" cried Pierre.
"See I lakes, or eyes?" cried Lucy, her own gazing down into his soul,
as two stars gaze down into a tarn.
No Cornwall miner ever sunk so deep a shaft beneath the sea, as Love
will sink beneath the floatings of the eyes. Love sees ten million
fathoms down, till dazzled by the floor of pearls. The eye is Love's own
magic glass, where all things that are not of earth, glide in
supernatural light. There are not so many fishes in the sea, as there
are sweet images in lovers' eyes. In those miraculous translucencies
swim the strange eye-fish with wings, that sometimes leap out, instinct
with joy; moist fish-wings wet the lover's cheek. Love's eyes are holy
things; therein the mysteries of life are lodged; looking in each
other's eyes, lovers see the ultimate secret of the worlds; and with
thrills eternally untranslatable, feel that Love is god of all. Man or
woman who has never loved, nor once looked deep down into their own
lover's eyes, they know not the sweetest and the loftiest religion of
this earth. Love is both Creator's and Saviour's gospel to mankind; a
volume bound in rose-leaves, clasped with violets, and by the beaks of
humming-birds printed with peach-juice on the leaves of lilies.
Endless is the account of Love. Time and space can not contain Love's
story. All things that are sweet to see, or taste, or feel, or hear,
all these things were made by Love; and none other things were made by
Love. Love made not the Arctic zones, but Love is ever reclaiming them.
Say, are not the fierce things of this earth daily, hourly going out?
Where now are your wolves of Britain? Where in Virginia now, find you
the panther and the pard? Oh, love is busy everywhere. Everywhere Love
hath Moravian missionaries. No Propagandist like to love. The south wind
wooes the barbarous north; on many a distant shore the gentler west wind
persuades the arid east.
All this Earth is Love's affianced; vainly the demon Principle howls to
stay the banns. Why round her middle wears this world so rich a zone of
torrid verdure, if she be not dressing for the final rites? And why
provides she orange blossoms and lilies of the valley, if she would not
that all men and maids should love and marry? For every wedding where
true lovers wed, helps on the march of universal Love. Who are brides
here shall be Love's bridemaids in the marriage world to come. So on all
sides Love allures; can contain himself what youth who views the wonders
of the beauteous woman-world? Where a beautiful woman is, there is all
Asia and her Bazars. Italy hath not a sight before the beauty of a
Yankee girl; nor heaven a blessing beyond her earthly love. Did not the
angelical Lotharios come down to earth, that they might taste of mortal
woman's Love and Beauty? even while her own silly brothers were pining
after the self-same Paradise they left? Yes, those envying angels did
come down; did emigrate; and who emigrates except to be better off?
Love is this world's great redeemer and reformer; and as all beautiful
women are her selectest emissaries, so hath Love gifted them with a
magnetical persuasiveness, that no youth can possibly repel. The own
heart's choice of every youth, seems ever as an inscrutable witch to
him; and by ten thousand concentric spells and circling incantations,
glides round and round him, as he turns: murmuring meanings of
unearthly import; and summoning up to him all the subterranean sprites
and gnomes; and unpeopling all the sea for naiads to swim round him; so
that mysteries are evoked as in exhalations by this Love;--what wonder
then that Love was aye a mystic?
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