MDCCCXLVIII-IX.
O torrid August—sun-emblazoned asp!Reluctantly thy days, like coils, unclaspAnd leave the worn and heat-enfeebled frameIts wonted strength in cooler hours to gain.O months with ruin fraught! O years of fate!What stars malign o’er you predominate!The seals of death are broke—the wide earth moans,A lazar-house of pain through all her zones.The seeds of swift decay broadcast impregnThe wave, the air, the land, the summer beam;Is there no Tuscan garden as of old,Where, to beguile the heart, sweet tales are told?Where youth and beauty, weaving fables gay,With dance and music keep the cares at bay?No pangless isolation, green and fair,Above whose fields are charms of taintless air?O, vaunted Epoch! that look’st back with scornUpon thy brother ages elder-born—That mak’st the lightning’s withering glance thy scribe,And on the hissing cauldron’s breath dost ride—With all thy boasted sciences, must thouBefore the sworded angel veil thy brow?Artthou, too, vulnerable with all thine arts?Hastthouno shield to ward the lethal darts?No potent balm, whose virtues can expelThe lurking venom from its citadel?Mustthou, too, pray for some Araunah’s floor,Whereon the wasting vengeance may give o’er?Cease, then, to vaunt—for know that ages goneHave had a wisdom mightier than your own.The globe, a ruined palace, still will beTo Death, Disease, and War, a mansion free,—A mighty park, wherein, Orion-like,The ghastly hunters unevaded strike;Their hounds, the passions, which no arts can tame—The ruthless beagles still pursue their game.No sop, that puny science can devise,Will hush their yells, or drowse their dragon eyes;The melancholy Asia mourns afar,Drooping in sorrow ’neath the Plague’s red star.Beneath her palms the giant mother see,Her turret-girded brow upon her knee!The elephantine tusk, that stays her hand,Lies unregarded in the yellow sand.Not thus she mourned, when Iran’s king forlornFled pale and vanquished towards the realms of morn.The mystic Brahmin, roofed by groves sublime,Lies grovelling before his pagod shrine;In vain adores the monstrous shapes, that fillThe peaks of Meru’s golden-hornëd hill;Poisoned with death the stream of Indus flows,The baleful air a lurid furnace glows.The spotted pard in sultry jungle cowers,His nerves unstrung and withered all his powers;The glistering scales, which clothe the serpent, wane,Their splendors darkened by the touch of pain;Flickers no more his tongue like cloven flame;His crushing coils and horrent length unrolled,Cumber the heated dust relaxed and cold.On Himmalaya’s topmost summit loneThe Plague’s Red Fiend ascends his mountain throne,—In shape an Afrite, or a gloomy Djinn,Where, underneath the brows of Heaven, beginThe Ganges’ waters, that devolving pourThrough gates of ice and starlit arches hoar.His bow is bent—the viewless arrows fallOn desert, ocean, vale, and capital;The lonely ship, that ploughs the barren sea,Is filled with shapes of writhing agony.The desert trains of turbaned merchants wailFrom rear to van, with anguish smitten pale;Cabool and eldest Balk are resonantWith shriek, and dolorous sigh, and Koran chant;And Persia’s rosy vales are thickly strewnWith lethal shafts that blight her spicy bloom,And, through the palace of the Caliphate,At blazing noontide speeds the wingëd fate;And over all the fields of ancient RoumSettles a cloud of pestilential gloom;The keen shafts leave the shrouded East behind,Thridding like light the mazes of the wind.Onward their course they hold, nor once relentUntil they reach the shrill-tongued Occident.The crash and roar of crowded cities cease,And o’er their bulwark broods the desert’s peace.The clanging enginery forgets to move,Where luxury’s gauds by jaded hands are wove;The wail, the dirge, the unextinguished moan,In streets, in fields, in ships are heard alone.Unknelled, unshrived, in yawning trenches deep,The bursting corses fall a livid heap;Death, at the growing carnage, laughs elate,While round his throne Sesostres shrouded wait.Athwart Atlantic’s troubled waters flyThe arrowy fates, and fill the western sky;Fair Erie’s queen is stricken with distress—Named for the herd that graze the wilderness.And all the nascent states and cities young,By forest, lake, and stream, with grief are wrung;Till spent at length, beneath the sinking dayThe red shafts quench their rage, and cease to slay.
O torrid August—sun-emblazoned asp!Reluctantly thy days, like coils, unclaspAnd leave the worn and heat-enfeebled frameIts wonted strength in cooler hours to gain.O months with ruin fraught! O years of fate!What stars malign o’er you predominate!The seals of death are broke—the wide earth moans,A lazar-house of pain through all her zones.The seeds of swift decay broadcast impregnThe wave, the air, the land, the summer beam;Is there no Tuscan garden as of old,Where, to beguile the heart, sweet tales are told?Where youth and beauty, weaving fables gay,With dance and music keep the cares at bay?No pangless isolation, green and fair,Above whose fields are charms of taintless air?O, vaunted Epoch! that look’st back with scornUpon thy brother ages elder-born—That mak’st the lightning’s withering glance thy scribe,And on the hissing cauldron’s breath dost ride—With all thy boasted sciences, must thouBefore the sworded angel veil thy brow?Artthou, too, vulnerable with all thine arts?Hastthouno shield to ward the lethal darts?No potent balm, whose virtues can expelThe lurking venom from its citadel?Mustthou, too, pray for some Araunah’s floor,Whereon the wasting vengeance may give o’er?Cease, then, to vaunt—for know that ages goneHave had a wisdom mightier than your own.The globe, a ruined palace, still will beTo Death, Disease, and War, a mansion free,—A mighty park, wherein, Orion-like,The ghastly hunters unevaded strike;Their hounds, the passions, which no arts can tame—The ruthless beagles still pursue their game.No sop, that puny science can devise,Will hush their yells, or drowse their dragon eyes;The melancholy Asia mourns afar,Drooping in sorrow ’neath the Plague’s red star.Beneath her palms the giant mother see,Her turret-girded brow upon her knee!The elephantine tusk, that stays her hand,Lies unregarded in the yellow sand.Not thus she mourned, when Iran’s king forlornFled pale and vanquished towards the realms of morn.The mystic Brahmin, roofed by groves sublime,Lies grovelling before his pagod shrine;In vain adores the monstrous shapes, that fillThe peaks of Meru’s golden-hornëd hill;Poisoned with death the stream of Indus flows,The baleful air a lurid furnace glows.The spotted pard in sultry jungle cowers,His nerves unstrung and withered all his powers;The glistering scales, which clothe the serpent, wane,Their splendors darkened by the touch of pain;Flickers no more his tongue like cloven flame;His crushing coils and horrent length unrolled,Cumber the heated dust relaxed and cold.On Himmalaya’s topmost summit loneThe Plague’s Red Fiend ascends his mountain throne,—In shape an Afrite, or a gloomy Djinn,Where, underneath the brows of Heaven, beginThe Ganges’ waters, that devolving pourThrough gates of ice and starlit arches hoar.His bow is bent—the viewless arrows fallOn desert, ocean, vale, and capital;The lonely ship, that ploughs the barren sea,Is filled with shapes of writhing agony.The desert trains of turbaned merchants wailFrom rear to van, with anguish smitten pale;Cabool and eldest Balk are resonantWith shriek, and dolorous sigh, and Koran chant;And Persia’s rosy vales are thickly strewnWith lethal shafts that blight her spicy bloom,And, through the palace of the Caliphate,At blazing noontide speeds the wingëd fate;And over all the fields of ancient RoumSettles a cloud of pestilential gloom;The keen shafts leave the shrouded East behind,Thridding like light the mazes of the wind.Onward their course they hold, nor once relentUntil they reach the shrill-tongued Occident.The crash and roar of crowded cities cease,And o’er their bulwark broods the desert’s peace.The clanging enginery forgets to move,Where luxury’s gauds by jaded hands are wove;The wail, the dirge, the unextinguished moan,In streets, in fields, in ships are heard alone.Unknelled, unshrived, in yawning trenches deep,The bursting corses fall a livid heap;Death, at the growing carnage, laughs elate,While round his throne Sesostres shrouded wait.Athwart Atlantic’s troubled waters flyThe arrowy fates, and fill the western sky;Fair Erie’s queen is stricken with distress—Named for the herd that graze the wilderness.And all the nascent states and cities young,By forest, lake, and stream, with grief are wrung;Till spent at length, beneath the sinking dayThe red shafts quench their rage, and cease to slay.
O torrid August—sun-emblazoned asp!Reluctantly thy days, like coils, unclaspAnd leave the worn and heat-enfeebled frameIts wonted strength in cooler hours to gain.
O torrid August—sun-emblazoned asp!
Reluctantly thy days, like coils, unclasp
And leave the worn and heat-enfeebled frame
Its wonted strength in cooler hours to gain.
O months with ruin fraught! O years of fate!What stars malign o’er you predominate!The seals of death are broke—the wide earth moans,A lazar-house of pain through all her zones.
O months with ruin fraught! O years of fate!
What stars malign o’er you predominate!
The seals of death are broke—the wide earth moans,
A lazar-house of pain through all her zones.
The seeds of swift decay broadcast impregnThe wave, the air, the land, the summer beam;Is there no Tuscan garden as of old,Where, to beguile the heart, sweet tales are told?
The seeds of swift decay broadcast impregn
The wave, the air, the land, the summer beam;
Is there no Tuscan garden as of old,
Where, to beguile the heart, sweet tales are told?
Where youth and beauty, weaving fables gay,With dance and music keep the cares at bay?No pangless isolation, green and fair,Above whose fields are charms of taintless air?
Where youth and beauty, weaving fables gay,
With dance and music keep the cares at bay?
No pangless isolation, green and fair,
Above whose fields are charms of taintless air?
O, vaunted Epoch! that look’st back with scornUpon thy brother ages elder-born—That mak’st the lightning’s withering glance thy scribe,And on the hissing cauldron’s breath dost ride—
O, vaunted Epoch! that look’st back with scorn
Upon thy brother ages elder-born—
That mak’st the lightning’s withering glance thy scribe,
And on the hissing cauldron’s breath dost ride—
With all thy boasted sciences, must thouBefore the sworded angel veil thy brow?Artthou, too, vulnerable with all thine arts?Hastthouno shield to ward the lethal darts?
With all thy boasted sciences, must thou
Before the sworded angel veil thy brow?
Artthou, too, vulnerable with all thine arts?
Hastthouno shield to ward the lethal darts?
No potent balm, whose virtues can expelThe lurking venom from its citadel?Mustthou, too, pray for some Araunah’s floor,Whereon the wasting vengeance may give o’er?
No potent balm, whose virtues can expel
The lurking venom from its citadel?
Mustthou, too, pray for some Araunah’s floor,
Whereon the wasting vengeance may give o’er?
Cease, then, to vaunt—for know that ages goneHave had a wisdom mightier than your own.The globe, a ruined palace, still will beTo Death, Disease, and War, a mansion free,—
Cease, then, to vaunt—for know that ages gone
Have had a wisdom mightier than your own.
The globe, a ruined palace, still will be
To Death, Disease, and War, a mansion free,—
A mighty park, wherein, Orion-like,The ghastly hunters unevaded strike;Their hounds, the passions, which no arts can tame—The ruthless beagles still pursue their game.
A mighty park, wherein, Orion-like,
The ghastly hunters unevaded strike;
Their hounds, the passions, which no arts can tame—
The ruthless beagles still pursue their game.
No sop, that puny science can devise,Will hush their yells, or drowse their dragon eyes;The melancholy Asia mourns afar,Drooping in sorrow ’neath the Plague’s red star.
No sop, that puny science can devise,
Will hush their yells, or drowse their dragon eyes;
The melancholy Asia mourns afar,
Drooping in sorrow ’neath the Plague’s red star.
Beneath her palms the giant mother see,Her turret-girded brow upon her knee!The elephantine tusk, that stays her hand,Lies unregarded in the yellow sand.
Beneath her palms the giant mother see,
Her turret-girded brow upon her knee!
The elephantine tusk, that stays her hand,
Lies unregarded in the yellow sand.
Not thus she mourned, when Iran’s king forlornFled pale and vanquished towards the realms of morn.The mystic Brahmin, roofed by groves sublime,Lies grovelling before his pagod shrine;
Not thus she mourned, when Iran’s king forlorn
Fled pale and vanquished towards the realms of morn.
The mystic Brahmin, roofed by groves sublime,
Lies grovelling before his pagod shrine;
In vain adores the monstrous shapes, that fillThe peaks of Meru’s golden-hornëd hill;Poisoned with death the stream of Indus flows,The baleful air a lurid furnace glows.
In vain adores the monstrous shapes, that fill
The peaks of Meru’s golden-hornëd hill;
Poisoned with death the stream of Indus flows,
The baleful air a lurid furnace glows.
The spotted pard in sultry jungle cowers,His nerves unstrung and withered all his powers;The glistering scales, which clothe the serpent, wane,Their splendors darkened by the touch of pain;Flickers no more his tongue like cloven flame;
The spotted pard in sultry jungle cowers,
His nerves unstrung and withered all his powers;
The glistering scales, which clothe the serpent, wane,
Their splendors darkened by the touch of pain;
Flickers no more his tongue like cloven flame;
His crushing coils and horrent length unrolled,Cumber the heated dust relaxed and cold.On Himmalaya’s topmost summit loneThe Plague’s Red Fiend ascends his mountain throne,—
His crushing coils and horrent length unrolled,
Cumber the heated dust relaxed and cold.
On Himmalaya’s topmost summit lone
The Plague’s Red Fiend ascends his mountain throne,—
In shape an Afrite, or a gloomy Djinn,Where, underneath the brows of Heaven, beginThe Ganges’ waters, that devolving pourThrough gates of ice and starlit arches hoar.
In shape an Afrite, or a gloomy Djinn,
Where, underneath the brows of Heaven, begin
The Ganges’ waters, that devolving pour
Through gates of ice and starlit arches hoar.
His bow is bent—the viewless arrows fallOn desert, ocean, vale, and capital;The lonely ship, that ploughs the barren sea,Is filled with shapes of writhing agony.
His bow is bent—the viewless arrows fall
On desert, ocean, vale, and capital;
The lonely ship, that ploughs the barren sea,
Is filled with shapes of writhing agony.
The desert trains of turbaned merchants wailFrom rear to van, with anguish smitten pale;Cabool and eldest Balk are resonantWith shriek, and dolorous sigh, and Koran chant;
The desert trains of turbaned merchants wail
From rear to van, with anguish smitten pale;
Cabool and eldest Balk are resonant
With shriek, and dolorous sigh, and Koran chant;
And Persia’s rosy vales are thickly strewnWith lethal shafts that blight her spicy bloom,And, through the palace of the Caliphate,At blazing noontide speeds the wingëd fate;
And Persia’s rosy vales are thickly strewn
With lethal shafts that blight her spicy bloom,
And, through the palace of the Caliphate,
At blazing noontide speeds the wingëd fate;
And over all the fields of ancient RoumSettles a cloud of pestilential gloom;The keen shafts leave the shrouded East behind,Thridding like light the mazes of the wind.
And over all the fields of ancient Roum
Settles a cloud of pestilential gloom;
The keen shafts leave the shrouded East behind,
Thridding like light the mazes of the wind.
Onward their course they hold, nor once relentUntil they reach the shrill-tongued Occident.The crash and roar of crowded cities cease,And o’er their bulwark broods the desert’s peace.
Onward their course they hold, nor once relent
Until they reach the shrill-tongued Occident.
The crash and roar of crowded cities cease,
And o’er their bulwark broods the desert’s peace.
The clanging enginery forgets to move,Where luxury’s gauds by jaded hands are wove;The wail, the dirge, the unextinguished moan,In streets, in fields, in ships are heard alone.
The clanging enginery forgets to move,
Where luxury’s gauds by jaded hands are wove;
The wail, the dirge, the unextinguished moan,
In streets, in fields, in ships are heard alone.
Unknelled, unshrived, in yawning trenches deep,The bursting corses fall a livid heap;Death, at the growing carnage, laughs elate,While round his throne Sesostres shrouded wait.
Unknelled, unshrived, in yawning trenches deep,
The bursting corses fall a livid heap;
Death, at the growing carnage, laughs elate,
While round his throne Sesostres shrouded wait.
Athwart Atlantic’s troubled waters flyThe arrowy fates, and fill the western sky;Fair Erie’s queen is stricken with distress—Named for the herd that graze the wilderness.
Athwart Atlantic’s troubled waters fly
The arrowy fates, and fill the western sky;
Fair Erie’s queen is stricken with distress—
Named for the herd that graze the wilderness.
And all the nascent states and cities young,By forest, lake, and stream, with grief are wrung;Till spent at length, beneath the sinking dayThe red shafts quench their rage, and cease to slay.
And all the nascent states and cities young,
By forest, lake, and stream, with grief are wrung;
Till spent at length, beneath the sinking day
The red shafts quench their rage, and cease to slay.