SONG AND STORY

Ah, not for us the Heavens that holdGod's message of Promethean fire!The flame that fell on bards of oldTo hallow and inspire.Yet let the soul dream on and dareNo less Song's heights where these repose:We can but fail; and may prepareThe way for one like those.

Ah, not for us the Heavens that holdGod's message of Promethean fire!The flame that fell on bards of oldTo hallow and inspire.

Ah, not for us the Heavens that hold

God's message of Promethean fire!

The flame that fell on bards of old

To hallow and inspire.

Yet let the soul dream on and dareNo less Song's heights where these repose:We can but fail; and may prepareThe way for one like those.

Yet let the soul dream on and dare

No less Song's heights where these repose:

We can but fail; and may prepare

The way for one like those.

I was destined, when a baby,For that land which lieth hiddenIn the moon; and whither, may be,At their birth all souls are bidden.She bewitched me then and bound me,She a daughter of Apollo,In a golden snare who wound me,And compelled me thus to follow:—Once she sent a stallion, siredOf the Wind; a mare his mother,Whom Thessalian madness fired,And the Hurricane his brother.And a voice said, "Do not tarry!Mount him while the world is sleeping:He, my beautiful, will carryYou, my Soul, into my keeping."And I mounted: tempest whistledIn my ears, and, yawning o'er us,Flamed the lightning; boomed the missiledThunder, crashing far before us.On we hurled. The world was rubbleUnderneath us; and the wonderOf our passage seemed to doubleHeaven's tempest and its thunder.With us rode the air's wild races:Wisps and witches; all the Brocken,Stunted, gnarled, with fiendish faces,Seemed around us, gibing, mocking:Hate, that shook the heart with hooting:Humpbacked Horror; gibbet-headedMurder: and,—great ravens shootingOver,—Fear, in bats embedded.All were left; were passed like waterHurling headlong from a mountain,—Hag and elf and demon's daughter,—Ere we reached that mystic fountain.There we stopped. I drained a beakerOld as Earth: the draught was fire:On my soul the burning liquorActed like a new desire.On again! The darkness liftedLike an up-rolled banner. ScatteredOverhead, in points that shifted,Shone the stars through tempest tattered.Then the moon rose. Slowly, slowly,Of a wild and copper color,Rose the moon, in melancholyDeeps; and all the stars grew duller.And we passed,—an instant's scanning,—Swift as thought, the spider-archesOf the ray-built bridges spanningSpace between her lunar marches.So I reached her kingdom, oldenAs the God that was its maker,Where the rocks and trees are golden,And the sea and air are nacre.Where, 'mid ingot-glowing flowers,Over streams of diamond brightness,Palaces of pearl and towers,Wrought of topaz, loom in whiteness.Here she met me with a chalice,Like the Giamschid ruby burning;And I entered in her palace,From the world forever turning.Centuries have passed, have vanished;Still she holds me with her glory,She, whom Earth long since hath banished?She, the Soul of Song and Story.

I was destined, when a baby,For that land which lieth hiddenIn the moon; and whither, may be,At their birth all souls are bidden.

I was destined, when a baby,

For that land which lieth hidden

In the moon; and whither, may be,

At their birth all souls are bidden.

She bewitched me then and bound me,She a daughter of Apollo,In a golden snare who wound me,And compelled me thus to follow:—

She bewitched me then and bound me,

She a daughter of Apollo,

In a golden snare who wound me,

And compelled me thus to follow:—

Once she sent a stallion, siredOf the Wind; a mare his mother,Whom Thessalian madness fired,And the Hurricane his brother.

Once she sent a stallion, sired

Of the Wind; a mare his mother,

Whom Thessalian madness fired,

And the Hurricane his brother.

And a voice said, "Do not tarry!Mount him while the world is sleeping:He, my beautiful, will carryYou, my Soul, into my keeping."

And a voice said, "Do not tarry!

Mount him while the world is sleeping:

He, my beautiful, will carry

You, my Soul, into my keeping."

And I mounted: tempest whistledIn my ears, and, yawning o'er us,Flamed the lightning; boomed the missiledThunder, crashing far before us.

And I mounted: tempest whistled

In my ears, and, yawning o'er us,

Flamed the lightning; boomed the missiled

Thunder, crashing far before us.

On we hurled. The world was rubbleUnderneath us; and the wonderOf our passage seemed to doubleHeaven's tempest and its thunder.

On we hurled. The world was rubble

Underneath us; and the wonder

Of our passage seemed to double

Heaven's tempest and its thunder.

With us rode the air's wild races:Wisps and witches; all the Brocken,Stunted, gnarled, with fiendish faces,Seemed around us, gibing, mocking:

With us rode the air's wild races:

Wisps and witches; all the Brocken,

Stunted, gnarled, with fiendish faces,

Seemed around us, gibing, mocking:

Hate, that shook the heart with hooting:Humpbacked Horror; gibbet-headedMurder: and,—great ravens shootingOver,—Fear, in bats embedded.

Hate, that shook the heart with hooting:

Humpbacked Horror; gibbet-headed

Murder: and,—great ravens shooting

Over,—Fear, in bats embedded.

All were left; were passed like waterHurling headlong from a mountain,—Hag and elf and demon's daughter,—Ere we reached that mystic fountain.

All were left; were passed like water

Hurling headlong from a mountain,—

Hag and elf and demon's daughter,—

Ere we reached that mystic fountain.

There we stopped. I drained a beakerOld as Earth: the draught was fire:On my soul the burning liquorActed like a new desire.

There we stopped. I drained a beaker

Old as Earth: the draught was fire:

On my soul the burning liquor

Acted like a new desire.

On again! The darkness liftedLike an up-rolled banner. ScatteredOverhead, in points that shifted,Shone the stars through tempest tattered.

On again! The darkness lifted

Like an up-rolled banner. Scattered

Overhead, in points that shifted,

Shone the stars through tempest tattered.

Then the moon rose. Slowly, slowly,Of a wild and copper color,Rose the moon, in melancholyDeeps; and all the stars grew duller.

Then the moon rose. Slowly, slowly,

Of a wild and copper color,

Rose the moon, in melancholy

Deeps; and all the stars grew duller.

And we passed,—an instant's scanning,—Swift as thought, the spider-archesOf the ray-built bridges spanningSpace between her lunar marches.

And we passed,—an instant's scanning,—

Swift as thought, the spider-arches

Of the ray-built bridges spanning

Space between her lunar marches.

So I reached her kingdom, oldenAs the God that was its maker,Where the rocks and trees are golden,And the sea and air are nacre.

So I reached her kingdom, olden

As the God that was its maker,

Where the rocks and trees are golden,

And the sea and air are nacre.

Where, 'mid ingot-glowing flowers,Over streams of diamond brightness,Palaces of pearl and towers,Wrought of topaz, loom in whiteness.

Where, 'mid ingot-glowing flowers,

Over streams of diamond brightness,

Palaces of pearl and towers,

Wrought of topaz, loom in whiteness.

Here she met me with a chalice,Like the Giamschid ruby burning;And I entered in her palace,From the world forever turning.

Here she met me with a chalice,

Like the Giamschid ruby burning;

And I entered in her palace,

From the world forever turning.

Centuries have passed, have vanished;Still she holds me with her glory,She, whom Earth long since hath banished?She, the Soul of Song and Story.

Centuries have passed, have vanished;

Still she holds me with her glory,

She, whom Earth long since hath banished?

She, the Soul of Song and Story.

On a mountain by a fountain,By a faintly falling stream,Where upon the moss and flowers,Sparkling, fell the spray in showers,In the moonlight's mystic beam,Once a maiden came to dream,Came to sit and sigh and dream:On a mountain by a fountain,By a faintly falling stream.To the fountain on the mountainRode a youth upon a steed;In his hair an eagle's feather;Round his waist a belt of leather,Wampum-wrought with shell and bead;In his hands a hollow reed,In his hands a magic reed:To the fountain on the mountainRode a youth upon a steed.On the mountain by the fountain,When the moon shone overhead,While the maiden by him wavered,Low upon his reed he quavered,Piped and played and singing said,—"Listen and be comforted!Heart of mine, be comforted!"On the mountain by the fountainWhen the moon shone overhead.By the fountain on the mountain,So the Indian legend saith,Paler, paler grew the maiden,Paler as if sorrow laden,Frailer, paler at each breath,Saying, "Art thou Love or Death?"And he answered, "I am Death."By the fountain on the mountainSo the Indian legend saith.Gone the mountain and the fountainWhere the maiden's soul was lost:But in every stream you hear itWhispering, sighing, like a spirit,Hear the Indian maiden's ghost,In the foam as white as frost,Whiter than the winter's frost:Gone the mountain and the fountainWhere the maiden's soul was lost.

On a mountain by a fountain,

By a faintly falling stream,

Where upon the moss and flowers,

Sparkling, fell the spray in showers,

In the moonlight's mystic beam,

Once a maiden came to dream,

Came to sit and sigh and dream:

On a mountain by a fountain,

By a faintly falling stream.

To the fountain on the mountainRode a youth upon a steed;In his hair an eagle's feather;Round his waist a belt of leather,Wampum-wrought with shell and bead;In his hands a hollow reed,In his hands a magic reed:To the fountain on the mountainRode a youth upon a steed.

To the fountain on the mountain

Rode a youth upon a steed;

In his hair an eagle's feather;

Round his waist a belt of leather,

Wampum-wrought with shell and bead;

In his hands a hollow reed,

In his hands a magic reed:

To the fountain on the mountain

Rode a youth upon a steed.

On the mountain by the fountain,When the moon shone overhead,While the maiden by him wavered,Low upon his reed he quavered,Piped and played and singing said,—"Listen and be comforted!Heart of mine, be comforted!"On the mountain by the fountainWhen the moon shone overhead.

On the mountain by the fountain,

When the moon shone overhead,

While the maiden by him wavered,

Low upon his reed he quavered,

Piped and played and singing said,—

"Listen and be comforted!

Heart of mine, be comforted!"

On the mountain by the fountain

When the moon shone overhead.

By the fountain on the mountain,So the Indian legend saith,Paler, paler grew the maiden,Paler as if sorrow laden,Frailer, paler at each breath,Saying, "Art thou Love or Death?"And he answered, "I am Death."By the fountain on the mountainSo the Indian legend saith.

By the fountain on the mountain,

So the Indian legend saith,

Paler, paler grew the maiden,

Paler as if sorrow laden,

Frailer, paler at each breath,

Saying, "Art thou Love or Death?"

And he answered, "I am Death."

By the fountain on the mountain

So the Indian legend saith.

Gone the mountain and the fountainWhere the maiden's soul was lost:But in every stream you hear itWhispering, sighing, like a spirit,Hear the Indian maiden's ghost,In the foam as white as frost,Whiter than the winter's frost:Gone the mountain and the fountainWhere the maiden's soul was lost.

Gone the mountain and the fountain

Where the maiden's soul was lost:

But in every stream you hear it

Whispering, sighing, like a spirit,

Hear the Indian maiden's ghost,

In the foam as white as frost,

Whiter than the winter's frost:

Gone the mountain and the fountain

Where the maiden's soul was lost.

High time, high time, good gentlemen, to sail the Spanish Main!Three months we've watched for galleons and treasure bound for Spain;Three months! and not a vessel, neither barque nor brigantine!No Cartagena plate-ship, or De Dios, have we seen.Our sails are idle as the wind, our ships as gulls or waves.—And shall inaction rot us like a gang of shackled slaves?Up, boucaniers! the land is wide, and wider far the sea—Somewhere between the dusk and dawn and dusk some hope must be;Some ship somewhere or city there beneath the Indian sky—What matter whether east or west!—some ship with decks built high,With treasure packed from stem to stern: some huge ship of the line,Against whose ports we'll cram our ports, while all our cannon shineAnd thunder; then, with blade to blade, and shouting horde on horde,Swarm up her sides and sweep her decks with pistol and with sword;And, sink or swim, our flag flies there, we boucaniers aboard.Say, what availed your patron saints, Iago and Saint Marc,Lanceros, Adelantados, against Ravenau's barque?O butchers of good Jean Ribault, well might your cheeks turn paleWhen Montebaro's brigantine shook to the wind her sail!Around the coasts where New Spain boasts the haughtiness of Old,Her tyranny, her bigotry, her sordid greed for gold,From east to west, from north to south, among the Carib Isles,Swift to revenge the Frenchman swept across the foaming miles.The spirit of Pierre-le-Grand and of his gallant crew,Who took a galleon with a boat, beneath the tropic blue,Be with us now!—Up, gentlemen! and, Spain, oh, woe to you!Prime arquebus and brighten blade, and let the culverinGleam, burnished as the morning-star, as through the foam we spin;And now be glad as when we had Granada in our hold,And stabbed the city's sentinels and took the city's gold:New Spain's good homes and churches, aye, will not forget too soonThe boucanier, John Davis, sirs, who taught their Dons a tune—Dutch serenades of belts and blades they danced to by the moon!What helped the Latin of their monks to curse what Satan blessed!Those pieces,—broad,—of eight and plate we counted in our chest.And now that we may double or may treble every piece,Pipe up the anchor, boatswain! and, before the hawser cease,Let every sail salute the gale and every rope be taunt—The Devil take all care and us, if jaundiced colors daunt!The sea-gulls dip and dive and float, and swim and soar again;Be like them, merry gentlemen, high-hearted!—May it rainRich galleons for us!—Mix a bowl and drink, "The ships of Spain!"Be merry as the sea-gulls are; and, as the case may go,Who cares a curse for wealth!—Now drink: "Here's to Spain's overthrow!"—Doff caps and follow: though the prize be over-fat or lean,Kneel down now; give her praise who leads, Dame Fortune, our good Queen!Upon our prow she guides us now!—On to Saint Augustine!

High time, high time, good gentlemen, to sail the Spanish Main!

Three months we've watched for galleons and treasure bound for Spain;

Three months! and not a vessel, neither barque nor brigantine!

No Cartagena plate-ship, or De Dios, have we seen.

Our sails are idle as the wind, our ships as gulls or waves.—

And shall inaction rot us like a gang of shackled slaves?

Up, boucaniers! the land is wide, and wider far the sea—

Somewhere between the dusk and dawn and dusk some hope must be;

Some ship somewhere or city there beneath the Indian sky—

What matter whether east or west!—some ship with decks built high,

With treasure packed from stem to stern: some huge ship of the line,

Against whose ports we'll cram our ports, while all our cannon shine

And thunder; then, with blade to blade, and shouting horde on horde,

Swarm up her sides and sweep her decks with pistol and with sword;

And, sink or swim, our flag flies there, we boucaniers aboard.

Say, what availed your patron saints, Iago and Saint Marc,Lanceros, Adelantados, against Ravenau's barque?O butchers of good Jean Ribault, well might your cheeks turn paleWhen Montebaro's brigantine shook to the wind her sail!Around the coasts where New Spain boasts the haughtiness of Old,Her tyranny, her bigotry, her sordid greed for gold,From east to west, from north to south, among the Carib Isles,Swift to revenge the Frenchman swept across the foaming miles.The spirit of Pierre-le-Grand and of his gallant crew,Who took a galleon with a boat, beneath the tropic blue,Be with us now!—Up, gentlemen! and, Spain, oh, woe to you!

Say, what availed your patron saints, Iago and Saint Marc,

Lanceros, Adelantados, against Ravenau's barque?

O butchers of good Jean Ribault, well might your cheeks turn pale

When Montebaro's brigantine shook to the wind her sail!

Around the coasts where New Spain boasts the haughtiness of Old,

Her tyranny, her bigotry, her sordid greed for gold,

From east to west, from north to south, among the Carib Isles,

Swift to revenge the Frenchman swept across the foaming miles.

The spirit of Pierre-le-Grand and of his gallant crew,

Who took a galleon with a boat, beneath the tropic blue,

Be with us now!—Up, gentlemen! and, Spain, oh, woe to you!

Prime arquebus and brighten blade, and let the culverinGleam, burnished as the morning-star, as through the foam we spin;And now be glad as when we had Granada in our hold,And stabbed the city's sentinels and took the city's gold:New Spain's good homes and churches, aye, will not forget too soonThe boucanier, John Davis, sirs, who taught their Dons a tune—Dutch serenades of belts and blades they danced to by the moon!

Prime arquebus and brighten blade, and let the culverin

Gleam, burnished as the morning-star, as through the foam we spin;

And now be glad as when we had Granada in our hold,

And stabbed the city's sentinels and took the city's gold:

New Spain's good homes and churches, aye, will not forget too soon

The boucanier, John Davis, sirs, who taught their Dons a tune—

Dutch serenades of belts and blades they danced to by the moon!

What helped the Latin of their monks to curse what Satan blessed!Those pieces,—broad,—of eight and plate we counted in our chest.And now that we may double or may treble every piece,Pipe up the anchor, boatswain! and, before the hawser cease,Let every sail salute the gale and every rope be taunt—The Devil take all care and us, if jaundiced colors daunt!

What helped the Latin of their monks to curse what Satan blessed!

Those pieces,—broad,—of eight and plate we counted in our chest.

And now that we may double or may treble every piece,

Pipe up the anchor, boatswain! and, before the hawser cease,

Let every sail salute the gale and every rope be taunt—

The Devil take all care and us, if jaundiced colors daunt!

The sea-gulls dip and dive and float, and swim and soar again;Be like them, merry gentlemen, high-hearted!—May it rainRich galleons for us!—Mix a bowl and drink, "The ships of Spain!"Be merry as the sea-gulls are; and, as the case may go,Who cares a curse for wealth!—Now drink: "Here's to Spain's overthrow!"—Doff caps and follow: though the prize be over-fat or lean,Kneel down now; give her praise who leads, Dame Fortune, our good Queen!Upon our prow she guides us now!—On to Saint Augustine!

The sea-gulls dip and dive and float, and swim and soar again;

Be like them, merry gentlemen, high-hearted!—May it rain

Rich galleons for us!—Mix a bowl and drink, "The ships of Spain!"

Be merry as the sea-gulls are; and, as the case may go,

Who cares a curse for wealth!—Now drink: "Here's to Spain's overthrow!"—

Doff caps and follow: though the prize be over-fat or lean,

Kneel down now; give her praise who leads, Dame Fortune, our good Queen!

Upon our prow she guides us now!—On to Saint Augustine!

Where are they, that song and taleTell of, lands our childhood knew?Sea-locked Fairy-lands that trailMorning summits, wet with dew,Crimson, o'er a crimson sail?Where, in dreams, we entered onWonders eyes have never seen:Whither often we have gone,Sailing a dream-brigantineOn from voyaging dawn to dawn.Leons seeking lands of song;Fabled fountains pouring spray;Where our anchors dropped amongCorals of some blooming bay,With its swarthy native throng.Shoulder axe and arquebus!—We may find it, past yon rangeOf sierras, vaporous,Rich with gold and wild and strange,That dim region lost to us.Yet, behold, although our zealDarien summits may subdue,Our Balboa eyes revealBut a vaster sea come to;New endeavor for our keel.Yet!—who sails with face set hardWestward, while behind him liesUnfaith; where his dreams keep guardRound it, in the sunset skies,He may reach it—afterward.

Where are they, that song and taleTell of, lands our childhood knew?Sea-locked Fairy-lands that trailMorning summits, wet with dew,Crimson, o'er a crimson sail?

Where are they, that song and tale

Tell of, lands our childhood knew?

Sea-locked Fairy-lands that trail

Morning summits, wet with dew,

Crimson, o'er a crimson sail?

Where, in dreams, we entered onWonders eyes have never seen:Whither often we have gone,Sailing a dream-brigantineOn from voyaging dawn to dawn.

Where, in dreams, we entered on

Wonders eyes have never seen:

Whither often we have gone,

Sailing a dream-brigantine

On from voyaging dawn to dawn.

Leons seeking lands of song;Fabled fountains pouring spray;Where our anchors dropped amongCorals of some blooming bay,With its swarthy native throng.

Leons seeking lands of song;

Fabled fountains pouring spray;

Where our anchors dropped among

Corals of some blooming bay,

With its swarthy native throng.

Shoulder axe and arquebus!—We may find it, past yon rangeOf sierras, vaporous,Rich with gold and wild and strange,That dim region lost to us.

Shoulder axe and arquebus!—

We may find it, past yon range

Of sierras, vaporous,

Rich with gold and wild and strange,

That dim region lost to us.

Yet, behold, although our zealDarien summits may subdue,Our Balboa eyes revealBut a vaster sea come to;New endeavor for our keel.

Yet, behold, although our zeal

Darien summits may subdue,

Our Balboa eyes reveal

But a vaster sea come to;

New endeavor for our keel.

Yet!—who sails with face set hardWestward, while behind him liesUnfaith; where his dreams keep guardRound it, in the sunset skies,He may reach it—afterward.

Yet!—who sails with face set hard

Westward, while behind him lies

Unfaith; where his dreams keep guard

Round it, in the sunset skies,

He may reach it—afterward.

IAll dreams are older than the seas,Being but newer forms of change;Some savage dreamed mine; and 'twas theseDe Leon sought where seas were strange.All thoughts are older than the EarthBeing of beauty ages wrought;Old when creation gave them birth,When Homer sang them, Shakespeare thought.IIIf souls could travel as can thought,Beyond the farthest arcs that spanImagination, what would manNot know and see at last?One would explore the stars; and oneWould search the moon and one the sunAnd tell us of their past.And one would seek out Hell; and, wiseIn tortures of the damned, returnTo tell us if they freeze or burn,And where God's red Hell lies:And one would look on Heaven; and, muteWith memories of harp and lute,Sit silent as the skies.But I—on condor wings would sweepTo some new world, and, soaring, sit'Mid firmaments volcano-lit,And see creation heapIts awful Andes, vague and vast,About its Inca-peopled past,While deep roared out to deep.IIIOut of it all but this remains:—I dreamed that I had crossed wide chainsOf Cordilleras, whose huge peaksLock in the wilds of Yucatan,Chiapas and Honduras. Weeks—And then a city that no manHad even seen; so dim and oldNo chronicle has ever toldThe history of men who piledIts temples and huge teocallisAmong mimosa-blooming valleys;Or how its altars were defiledWith human blood; whose idols thereWith eyes of stone still stand and stare.So old, the moon can only knowHow old, since ancient forests growOn mighty wall and pyramid.Huge ceïbas, whose trunks were scarredWith ages, and dense yuccas, hidFanes 'mid great cacti, scarlet-starred.I looked upon its paven waysAnd saw it in its kingliest days;When, from its lordliest palace, oneA victim, walked with prince and priest,Who turned brown faces toward the eastIn worship of the rising sun:At night a thousand temple spires,Of gold, burnt everlasting fires.Uxmal? Palenque? or Copan?I know not. Only how no manHad ever seen; and still my soulBelieves it vaster than the three.Volcanic rock walled in the whole,Lost in the woods as in some sea.I onlyread its hieroglyphs,Perused its monster monolithsOf death, gigantic heads; and readThe pictured codex of its fate,The perished Toltec; while in hateMad monkeys cursed me, as if deadPriests of its past had taken formTo guard their ruined fanes from harm.IVAnd then it was as if I talkedOf gods and beauty, like a god;'Mid Montezuma's priests who walkedObedient to my nod.From Mexic levels breezes blewO'er green magueys; cacaö fields;I stood among caciques, a crewWith plumes and golden shields.In raiment made of humming-birdsBrown slave-girls danced. All AnahuacStood, grim with strange obsidian swords,Around the idol's rock.And up the temple's winding stairOf pyramid we wound and went:The bloomed vanilla drenched the airWith all its tropic scent.Volcanoes walled us in: and IWalked, crowned with flaming cactus-flowers,Beneath the golden, Aztec sky,Lord of the living hours.When, lo! five priests, who led me toA jasper stone of sacrifice!—Then deep within my soul I knewThat prideful moment's price.A sixth priest, robed in cochineal,Received me at the altar's stone:I saw the flint-blade, sharp as steel,That in his high hand shone.O God! to dream that they would bind—With pomp and pageant of their love—Me to the rock, and never blindMine eyes to that above!I felt the flint hack through my breast,And in my agony did raiseWild eyes, a little while to restUpon their idol's face.Just God! the priest tore out my heart,And held it, beating, to the sun—Chanting—and from one burning partGreat drops dripped, one by one.Torn out, I felt my heart still beat,I felt it beat with pain divine;For, bleeding at the idol's feet,My heart was pressed to thine.VYou were a maiden like a dreamWho led me where volcanic dustRained in a scoriac mountain stream,Where, from Andean snows, was thrustOne crater belching stones and steam.You were an Inca princess whenI was a cavalier of Spain,Who frowned among Pizarro's men,And saw the New World rent with pain.—No grace of God could save me then.And it was you who led me farTo gaze on caves of Inca gold:But when we came, lo! warriorOn warrior, an army rolledAround us panoplied for war.Fierce faces chiseled out of stoneAre not more stern.—Down, underneath,I heard the sullen earthquake groan;Above me, red eruptions seeth.And clenched my teeth and stood alone.And then you pled and was denied.—They laid me where the lava crawled,Red-rivered, down the mountain side.I felt the slow, slow hell-heat scald:And as it closed, you leapt and died.VIIn farther planets there are men who talk,Not with their lips, but with their eyes alone,With beaming eyes and brows that burn with thought:Pure souls whose sentiments need but be bornTo be expressed. Where speech of mouth and tongueWere barbarous discord. Where no voice impartsThought, but divulging eye and sensitive brow.Superior planets, far beyond our sphere,And nearer God than ages shall combineTo lift our world up with its wrangling woes.Worlds that are strange to sickness and diseaseOf mind and body; perfect mentally,—Past what we name perfection here on Earth,—And physically. Morally divineAs creeds have taught us God's high Heaven is.Worlds where Love makes no playmate of vile Lust;Where Hope makes no companion of Despair;Where Power can not trample with fierce feet;And, impotent, the iron hand of MightSurrenders its red weapon unto Mind;Where Truth and Thought are wedded, in one ruleOf far progression, whose white child is Love.So have I dreamed, and longed to leave sad Earth,And live anew on some diviner sphere;A world so higher, lovelier than this,So spiritually perfected and refined,That, should an Earth-born mortal,—suddenlyTranslated thither,—unprepared behold,Dazed with divinity, before the feetOf its inhabitants he would fall proneIn worship and astonishment; and, allThe exaltation of celestial peaceSinging within, cry out: "Yea, this is Heaven!How long, O sinner, hast thou dwelt in Hell!"VIIAn iron despotism the day's:A brutal anarchy the night's:What hope for hope when day betrays,And night in death delights?For, once I prayed for gulfs of gold,And morn pooled heav'n with sombre blood:For skies of stars, and skies behold—Malignant with the scud.And so I marvel not that he,Gray-haired and toothless, hugs his stove,While I my youth, which once was she,Have buried with my love.VIIIAll thoughts of nature are but formsOf life and death, with which beganLove: love, that swept the heavens with storms,Evolving worlds to perfect man.Thoughts are the forms of mind; and comeAnd go, assuming every shape:Science and art: through which we clomb,And climb, to angel from the ape.

All dreams are older than the seas,Being but newer forms of change;Some savage dreamed mine; and 'twas theseDe Leon sought where seas were strange.

All dreams are older than the seas,

Being but newer forms of change;

Some savage dreamed mine; and 'twas these

De Leon sought where seas were strange.

All thoughts are older than the EarthBeing of beauty ages wrought;Old when creation gave them birth,When Homer sang them, Shakespeare thought.

All thoughts are older than the Earth

Being of beauty ages wrought;

Old when creation gave them birth,

When Homer sang them, Shakespeare thought.

If souls could travel as can thought,Beyond the farthest arcs that spanImagination, what would manNot know and see at last?One would explore the stars; and oneWould search the moon and one the sunAnd tell us of their past.

If souls could travel as can thought,

Beyond the farthest arcs that span

Imagination, what would man

Not know and see at last?

One would explore the stars; and one

Would search the moon and one the sun

And tell us of their past.

And one would seek out Hell; and, wiseIn tortures of the damned, returnTo tell us if they freeze or burn,And where God's red Hell lies:And one would look on Heaven; and, muteWith memories of harp and lute,Sit silent as the skies.

And one would seek out Hell; and, wise

In tortures of the damned, return

To tell us if they freeze or burn,

And where God's red Hell lies:

And one would look on Heaven; and, mute

With memories of harp and lute,

Sit silent as the skies.

But I—on condor wings would sweepTo some new world, and, soaring, sit'Mid firmaments volcano-lit,And see creation heapIts awful Andes, vague and vast,About its Inca-peopled past,While deep roared out to deep.

But I—on condor wings would sweep

To some new world, and, soaring, sit

'Mid firmaments volcano-lit,

And see creation heap

Its awful Andes, vague and vast,

About its Inca-peopled past,

While deep roared out to deep.

III

Out of it all but this remains:—I dreamed that I had crossed wide chainsOf Cordilleras, whose huge peaksLock in the wilds of Yucatan,Chiapas and Honduras. Weeks—And then a city that no manHad even seen; so dim and oldNo chronicle has ever toldThe history of men who piledIts temples and huge teocallisAmong mimosa-blooming valleys;Or how its altars were defiledWith human blood; whose idols thereWith eyes of stone still stand and stare.

Out of it all but this remains:—

I dreamed that I had crossed wide chains

Of Cordilleras, whose huge peaks

Lock in the wilds of Yucatan,

Chiapas and Honduras. Weeks—

And then a city that no man

Had even seen; so dim and old

No chronicle has ever told

The history of men who piled

Its temples and huge teocallis

Among mimosa-blooming valleys;

Or how its altars were defiled

With human blood; whose idols there

With eyes of stone still stand and stare.

So old, the moon can only knowHow old, since ancient forests growOn mighty wall and pyramid.Huge ceïbas, whose trunks were scarredWith ages, and dense yuccas, hidFanes 'mid great cacti, scarlet-starred.I looked upon its paven waysAnd saw it in its kingliest days;When, from its lordliest palace, oneA victim, walked with prince and priest,Who turned brown faces toward the eastIn worship of the rising sun:At night a thousand temple spires,Of gold, burnt everlasting fires.

So old, the moon can only know

How old, since ancient forests grow

On mighty wall and pyramid.

Huge ceïbas, whose trunks were scarred

With ages, and dense yuccas, hid

Fanes 'mid great cacti, scarlet-starred.

I looked upon its paven ways

And saw it in its kingliest days;

When, from its lordliest palace, one

A victim, walked with prince and priest,

Who turned brown faces toward the east

In worship of the rising sun:

At night a thousand temple spires,

Of gold, burnt everlasting fires.

Uxmal? Palenque? or Copan?I know not. Only how no manHad ever seen; and still my soulBelieves it vaster than the three.Volcanic rock walled in the whole,Lost in the woods as in some sea.I onlyread its hieroglyphs,Perused its monster monolithsOf death, gigantic heads; and readThe pictured codex of its fate,The perished Toltec; while in hateMad monkeys cursed me, as if deadPriests of its past had taken formTo guard their ruined fanes from harm.

Uxmal? Palenque? or Copan?

I know not. Only how no man

Had ever seen; and still my soul

Believes it vaster than the three.

Volcanic rock walled in the whole,

Lost in the woods as in some sea.

I onlyread its hieroglyphs,

Perused its monster monoliths

Of death, gigantic heads; and read

The pictured codex of its fate,

The perished Toltec; while in hate

Mad monkeys cursed me, as if dead

Priests of its past had taken form

To guard their ruined fanes from harm.

And then it was as if I talkedOf gods and beauty, like a god;'Mid Montezuma's priests who walkedObedient to my nod.

And then it was as if I talked

Of gods and beauty, like a god;

'Mid Montezuma's priests who walked

Obedient to my nod.

From Mexic levels breezes blewO'er green magueys; cacaö fields;I stood among caciques, a crewWith plumes and golden shields.

From Mexic levels breezes blew

O'er green magueys; cacaö fields;

I stood among caciques, a crew

With plumes and golden shields.

In raiment made of humming-birdsBrown slave-girls danced. All AnahuacStood, grim with strange obsidian swords,Around the idol's rock.

In raiment made of humming-birds

Brown slave-girls danced. All Anahuac

Stood, grim with strange obsidian swords,

Around the idol's rock.

And up the temple's winding stairOf pyramid we wound and went:The bloomed vanilla drenched the airWith all its tropic scent.

And up the temple's winding stair

Of pyramid we wound and went:

The bloomed vanilla drenched the air

With all its tropic scent.

Volcanoes walled us in: and IWalked, crowned with flaming cactus-flowers,Beneath the golden, Aztec sky,Lord of the living hours.

Volcanoes walled us in: and I

Walked, crowned with flaming cactus-flowers,

Beneath the golden, Aztec sky,

Lord of the living hours.

When, lo! five priests, who led me toA jasper stone of sacrifice!—Then deep within my soul I knewThat prideful moment's price.

When, lo! five priests, who led me to

A jasper stone of sacrifice!—

Then deep within my soul I knew

That prideful moment's price.

A sixth priest, robed in cochineal,Received me at the altar's stone:I saw the flint-blade, sharp as steel,That in his high hand shone.

A sixth priest, robed in cochineal,

Received me at the altar's stone:

I saw the flint-blade, sharp as steel,

That in his high hand shone.

O God! to dream that they would bind—With pomp and pageant of their love—Me to the rock, and never blindMine eyes to that above!

O God! to dream that they would bind—

With pomp and pageant of their love—

Me to the rock, and never blind

Mine eyes to that above!

I felt the flint hack through my breast,And in my agony did raiseWild eyes, a little while to restUpon their idol's face.

I felt the flint hack through my breast,

And in my agony did raise

Wild eyes, a little while to rest

Upon their idol's face.

Just God! the priest tore out my heart,And held it, beating, to the sun—Chanting—and from one burning partGreat drops dripped, one by one.

Just God! the priest tore out my heart,

And held it, beating, to the sun—

Chanting—and from one burning part

Great drops dripped, one by one.

Torn out, I felt my heart still beat,I felt it beat with pain divine;For, bleeding at the idol's feet,My heart was pressed to thine.

Torn out, I felt my heart still beat,

I felt it beat with pain divine;

For, bleeding at the idol's feet,

My heart was pressed to thine.

You were a maiden like a dreamWho led me where volcanic dustRained in a scoriac mountain stream,Where, from Andean snows, was thrustOne crater belching stones and steam.

You were a maiden like a dream

Who led me where volcanic dust

Rained in a scoriac mountain stream,

Where, from Andean snows, was thrust

One crater belching stones and steam.

You were an Inca princess whenI was a cavalier of Spain,Who frowned among Pizarro's men,And saw the New World rent with pain.—No grace of God could save me then.

You were an Inca princess when

I was a cavalier of Spain,

Who frowned among Pizarro's men,

And saw the New World rent with pain.—

No grace of God could save me then.

And it was you who led me farTo gaze on caves of Inca gold:But when we came, lo! warriorOn warrior, an army rolledAround us panoplied for war.

And it was you who led me far

To gaze on caves of Inca gold:

But when we came, lo! warrior

On warrior, an army rolled

Around us panoplied for war.

Fierce faces chiseled out of stoneAre not more stern.—Down, underneath,I heard the sullen earthquake groan;Above me, red eruptions seeth.And clenched my teeth and stood alone.

Fierce faces chiseled out of stone

Are not more stern.—Down, underneath,

I heard the sullen earthquake groan;

Above me, red eruptions seeth.

And clenched my teeth and stood alone.

And then you pled and was denied.—They laid me where the lava crawled,Red-rivered, down the mountain side.I felt the slow, slow hell-heat scald:And as it closed, you leapt and died.

And then you pled and was denied.—

They laid me where the lava crawled,

Red-rivered, down the mountain side.

I felt the slow, slow hell-heat scald:

And as it closed, you leapt and died.

In farther planets there are men who talk,Not with their lips, but with their eyes alone,With beaming eyes and brows that burn with thought:Pure souls whose sentiments need but be bornTo be expressed. Where speech of mouth and tongueWere barbarous discord. Where no voice impartsThought, but divulging eye and sensitive brow.Superior planets, far beyond our sphere,And nearer God than ages shall combineTo lift our world up with its wrangling woes.Worlds that are strange to sickness and diseaseOf mind and body; perfect mentally,—Past what we name perfection here on Earth,—And physically. Morally divineAs creeds have taught us God's high Heaven is.Worlds where Love makes no playmate of vile Lust;Where Hope makes no companion of Despair;Where Power can not trample with fierce feet;And, impotent, the iron hand of MightSurrenders its red weapon unto Mind;Where Truth and Thought are wedded, in one ruleOf far progression, whose white child is Love.

In farther planets there are men who talk,

Not with their lips, but with their eyes alone,

With beaming eyes and brows that burn with thought:

Pure souls whose sentiments need but be born

To be expressed. Where speech of mouth and tongue

Were barbarous discord. Where no voice imparts

Thought, but divulging eye and sensitive brow.

Superior planets, far beyond our sphere,

And nearer God than ages shall combine

To lift our world up with its wrangling woes.

Worlds that are strange to sickness and disease

Of mind and body; perfect mentally,—

Past what we name perfection here on Earth,—

And physically. Morally divine

As creeds have taught us God's high Heaven is.

Worlds where Love makes no playmate of vile Lust;

Where Hope makes no companion of Despair;

Where Power can not trample with fierce feet;

And, impotent, the iron hand of Might

Surrenders its red weapon unto Mind;

Where Truth and Thought are wedded, in one rule

Of far progression, whose white child is Love.

So have I dreamed, and longed to leave sad Earth,And live anew on some diviner sphere;A world so higher, lovelier than this,So spiritually perfected and refined,That, should an Earth-born mortal,—suddenlyTranslated thither,—unprepared behold,Dazed with divinity, before the feetOf its inhabitants he would fall proneIn worship and astonishment; and, allThe exaltation of celestial peaceSinging within, cry out: "Yea, this is Heaven!How long, O sinner, hast thou dwelt in Hell!"

So have I dreamed, and longed to leave sad Earth,

And live anew on some diviner sphere;

A world so higher, lovelier than this,

So spiritually perfected and refined,

That, should an Earth-born mortal,—suddenly

Translated thither,—unprepared behold,

Dazed with divinity, before the feet

Of its inhabitants he would fall prone

In worship and astonishment; and, all

The exaltation of celestial peace

Singing within, cry out: "Yea, this is Heaven!

How long, O sinner, hast thou dwelt in Hell!"

VII

An iron despotism the day's:A brutal anarchy the night's:What hope for hope when day betrays,And night in death delights?

An iron despotism the day's:

A brutal anarchy the night's:

What hope for hope when day betrays,

And night in death delights?

For, once I prayed for gulfs of gold,And morn pooled heav'n with sombre blood:For skies of stars, and skies behold—Malignant with the scud.

For, once I prayed for gulfs of gold,

And morn pooled heav'n with sombre blood:

For skies of stars, and skies behold—

Malignant with the scud.

And so I marvel not that he,Gray-haired and toothless, hugs his stove,While I my youth, which once was she,Have buried with my love.

And so I marvel not that he,

Gray-haired and toothless, hugs his stove,

While I my youth, which once was she,

Have buried with my love.

VIII

All thoughts of nature are but formsOf life and death, with which beganLove: love, that swept the heavens with storms,Evolving worlds to perfect man.

All thoughts of nature are but forms

Of life and death, with which began

Love: love, that swept the heavens with storms,

Evolving worlds to perfect man.

Thoughts are the forms of mind; and comeAnd go, assuming every shape:Science and art: through which we clomb,And climb, to angel from the ape.

Thoughts are the forms of mind; and come

And go, assuming every shape:

Science and art: through which we clomb,

And climb, to angel from the ape.

Pale as a star that shines through rainHer face was seen at the window-pane,Her sad, frail face that watched in vain.The face of a girl whose brow was wan;To whom the kind sun spoke at dawn,And a star and the moon when the day was gone.And oft and often the sun had said—"O fair, white face, O sweet, fair head,Come talk to me of the love that's dead."And she would sit in the sun a while,Down in the garth by the old stone-dial,Where never again would he make her smile.And often the first bright star o'erheadHad whispered, "Sweet, where the rose blooms red,Come look with me for the love that's dead."And she would wait with the star she knew,Where the fountain splashed and the roses blew,Where never again would he come to woo.And oft the moon, when she lay in bed,Had sighed, "Dear heart, in the orchardsteadCome dream with me of the love that's dead."And she would stand in the moon, the dim,Where the fruit made heavy the apple limb,Where never again would she dream with him.So summer passed and the autumn came;And the wind-torn boughs were touched with flame;But her life and her sorrow remained the same.Or, if she changed, as it comes aboutA life may change through trouble and doubt,—As a candle flickers and then goes out,—'Twas only to grow more quiet and wan,Sadly waiting at dusk and at dawnFor the coming of love forever gone.And so, one night, when the star looked in,It kissed her face that was white and thin,And murmured, "Come! thou free of sin!"And when the moon, on another night,Beheld her lying still and white,It sighed, "'Tis well! now all is right."And when one morning the sun arose,And they bore her bier down the garden-close,It touched her, saying, "At last, repose."And they laid her down, so young and fair,Where the grass was withered, the bough was bare,All wrapped in the light of her golden hair.So autumn passed and the winter went;And spring, like a blue-eyed penitent,Came, telling her beads of blossom and scent.And, lo! to the grave of the beautifulThe strong sun cried, "Why art thou dull?Awake! awake! Forget thy skull!"And the evening-star and the moon aboveCalled out, "O dust, now speak thereof!Proclaim thyself! Arise, O love!"And the skull and the dust in the darkness heard.Each icy germ in its cerements stirred,As Lazarus moved at the Lord's loud word.And a flower arose on the mound of green,White as the robe of the Nazarene;To testify of the life unseen.And I paused by the grave; then went my way:And it seemed that I heard the lily say—"Here was a miracle wrought to-day."

Pale as a star that shines through rainHer face was seen at the window-pane,Her sad, frail face that watched in vain.

Pale as a star that shines through rain

Her face was seen at the window-pane,

Her sad, frail face that watched in vain.

The face of a girl whose brow was wan;To whom the kind sun spoke at dawn,And a star and the moon when the day was gone.

The face of a girl whose brow was wan;

To whom the kind sun spoke at dawn,

And a star and the moon when the day was gone.

And oft and often the sun had said—"O fair, white face, O sweet, fair head,Come talk to me of the love that's dead."

And oft and often the sun had said—

"O fair, white face, O sweet, fair head,

Come talk to me of the love that's dead."

And she would sit in the sun a while,Down in the garth by the old stone-dial,Where never again would he make her smile.

And she would sit in the sun a while,

Down in the garth by the old stone-dial,

Where never again would he make her smile.

And often the first bright star o'erheadHad whispered, "Sweet, where the rose blooms red,Come look with me for the love that's dead."

And often the first bright star o'erhead

Had whispered, "Sweet, where the rose blooms red,

Come look with me for the love that's dead."

And she would wait with the star she knew,Where the fountain splashed and the roses blew,Where never again would he come to woo.

And she would wait with the star she knew,

Where the fountain splashed and the roses blew,

Where never again would he come to woo.

And oft the moon, when she lay in bed,Had sighed, "Dear heart, in the orchardsteadCome dream with me of the love that's dead."

And oft the moon, when she lay in bed,

Had sighed, "Dear heart, in the orchardstead

Come dream with me of the love that's dead."

And she would stand in the moon, the dim,Where the fruit made heavy the apple limb,Where never again would she dream with him.

And she would stand in the moon, the dim,

Where the fruit made heavy the apple limb,

Where never again would she dream with him.

So summer passed and the autumn came;And the wind-torn boughs were touched with flame;But her life and her sorrow remained the same.

So summer passed and the autumn came;

And the wind-torn boughs were touched with flame;

But her life and her sorrow remained the same.

Or, if she changed, as it comes aboutA life may change through trouble and doubt,—As a candle flickers and then goes out,—

Or, if she changed, as it comes about

A life may change through trouble and doubt,—

As a candle flickers and then goes out,—

'Twas only to grow more quiet and wan,Sadly waiting at dusk and at dawnFor the coming of love forever gone.

'Twas only to grow more quiet and wan,

Sadly waiting at dusk and at dawn

For the coming of love forever gone.

And so, one night, when the star looked in,It kissed her face that was white and thin,And murmured, "Come! thou free of sin!"

And so, one night, when the star looked in,

It kissed her face that was white and thin,

And murmured, "Come! thou free of sin!"

And when the moon, on another night,Beheld her lying still and white,It sighed, "'Tis well! now all is right."

And when the moon, on another night,

Beheld her lying still and white,

It sighed, "'Tis well! now all is right."

And when one morning the sun arose,And they bore her bier down the garden-close,It touched her, saying, "At last, repose."

And when one morning the sun arose,

And they bore her bier down the garden-close,

It touched her, saying, "At last, repose."

And they laid her down, so young and fair,Where the grass was withered, the bough was bare,All wrapped in the light of her golden hair.

And they laid her down, so young and fair,

Where the grass was withered, the bough was bare,

All wrapped in the light of her golden hair.

So autumn passed and the winter went;And spring, like a blue-eyed penitent,Came, telling her beads of blossom and scent.

So autumn passed and the winter went;

And spring, like a blue-eyed penitent,

Came, telling her beads of blossom and scent.

And, lo! to the grave of the beautifulThe strong sun cried, "Why art thou dull?Awake! awake! Forget thy skull!"

And, lo! to the grave of the beautiful

The strong sun cried, "Why art thou dull?

Awake! awake! Forget thy skull!"

And the evening-star and the moon aboveCalled out, "O dust, now speak thereof!Proclaim thyself! Arise, O love!"

And the evening-star and the moon above

Called out, "O dust, now speak thereof!

Proclaim thyself! Arise, O love!"

And the skull and the dust in the darkness heard.Each icy germ in its cerements stirred,As Lazarus moved at the Lord's loud word.

And the skull and the dust in the darkness heard.

Each icy germ in its cerements stirred,

As Lazarus moved at the Lord's loud word.

And a flower arose on the mound of green,White as the robe of the Nazarene;To testify of the life unseen.

And a flower arose on the mound of green,

White as the robe of the Nazarene;

To testify of the life unseen.

And I paused by the grave; then went my way:And it seemed that I heard the lily say—"Here was a miracle wrought to-day."

And I paused by the grave; then went my way:

And it seemed that I heard the lily say—

"Here was a miracle wrought to-day."

There are moments when, as missions,God reveals to us strange visions;When, within their separate stations,We may see the Centuries,Like revolving constellationsShaping out Earth's destinies.I have gazed in Time's abysses,Where no smallest thing Earth missesThat was hers once. 'Mid her chattels,There the Past's gigantic ghostSits and dreams of thrones and battlesIn the night of ages lost.Far before her eyes, unholyMist was spread; that darkly, slowlyRolled aside,—like some huge curtainHung above the land and sea;—And beneath it, wild, uncertain,Rose the wraiths of memory.First I saw colossal spectresOf dead cities: Troy—once Hector'sPride; then Babylon and Tyre;Karnac, Carthage, and the grayWalls of Thebes,—Apollo's lyreBuilt;—then Rome and Nineveh.Empires followed: first, in seeming,Old Chaldea lost in dreaming;Egypt next, a bulk MemnonianStaring from her pyramids;Then Assyria, BabylonianNight beneath her hell-lit lids.Greece, in classic white, siderealArmored; Rome, in dark, imperialPurple, crowned with blood and fire,Down the deeps barbaric strode;Gaul and Britain stalking by her,Clad in skins, tattooed with woad.All around them, rent and scattered,Lay their gods with features battered,Brute and human, stone and iron,Caked with gems and gnarled with gold;Temples, that did once environThese, in wreck around them rolled.While I stood and gazed and waited,Slowly night obliteratedAll; and other phantoms driftedOut of darkness pale as stars;Shapes that tyrant faces lifted,Sultans, kings, and emperors.Man and steed in ponderous metalPanoplied, they seemed to settle,Condors gaunt of devastation,On the world: behind their march—Desolation: ConflagrationLoomed before them with her torch.Helmets flamed like fearful flowers:Chariots rose and moving towers:Captains passed: each fierce commanderWith his gauntlet on his sword:Agamemnon, Alexander,Cæsar, Alaric, horde on horde.Huns and Vandals: wild invaders:Goths and Arabs: stern Crusaders:Each, like some terrific torrent,Rolled above a ruined world;Till a cataract abhorrentSeemed the swarming spears uphurled.Banners and escutcheons, kindledBy the light of slaughter, dwindled—Died in darkness:—the chimeraOf the Past was laid at last.But, behold, another eraFrom her corpse rose, vague and vast.Demogorgon of the Present!Who in one hand raised a Crescent,In the other, with submissiveFingers, lifted up a Cross;Reverent and yet derisiveSeemed she, robed in gold and dross.In her skeptic eyes professionsOf great faith I saw; expressions,Christian and humanitarian,Played around her cynic lip;Still I knew her a barbarianBy the sword upon her hip.And she cherished strange eidolons,Pagan shadows—Plato's, Solon's—From whose teachings she indenturedForms of law and sophistry;Seeking aye for truth she venturedJust so far as these could see.When she vanished, I—upliftingEyes to where the dawn was riftingDarkness,—lo! beheld a shadowTowering on Earth's utmost peaks;Round whom morning's El DoradoRivered gold in blinding streaks.On her brow I saw the stigmaStill of death; and life's enigmaFilled her eyes: around her shimmeredFolds of silence; and afar,Faint above her forehead, glimmeredLone the light of one pale star.Then a voice,—above or underEarth,—against her seemed to thunderQuestions, wherein was repeated,"Christ or Cain?" and "Man or beast?"And the Future, shadowy-sheeted,Turned and pointed towards the East.

There are moments when, as missions,God reveals to us strange visions;When, within their separate stations,We may see the Centuries,Like revolving constellationsShaping out Earth's destinies.

There are moments when, as missions,

God reveals to us strange visions;

When, within their separate stations,

We may see the Centuries,

Like revolving constellations

Shaping out Earth's destinies.

I have gazed in Time's abysses,Where no smallest thing Earth missesThat was hers once. 'Mid her chattels,There the Past's gigantic ghostSits and dreams of thrones and battlesIn the night of ages lost.

I have gazed in Time's abysses,

Where no smallest thing Earth misses

That was hers once. 'Mid her chattels,

There the Past's gigantic ghost

Sits and dreams of thrones and battles

In the night of ages lost.

Far before her eyes, unholyMist was spread; that darkly, slowlyRolled aside,—like some huge curtainHung above the land and sea;—And beneath it, wild, uncertain,Rose the wraiths of memory.

Far before her eyes, unholy

Mist was spread; that darkly, slowly

Rolled aside,—like some huge curtain

Hung above the land and sea;—

And beneath it, wild, uncertain,

Rose the wraiths of memory.

First I saw colossal spectresOf dead cities: Troy—once Hector'sPride; then Babylon and Tyre;Karnac, Carthage, and the grayWalls of Thebes,—Apollo's lyreBuilt;—then Rome and Nineveh.

First I saw colossal spectres

Of dead cities: Troy—once Hector's

Pride; then Babylon and Tyre;

Karnac, Carthage, and the gray

Walls of Thebes,—Apollo's lyre

Built;—then Rome and Nineveh.

Empires followed: first, in seeming,Old Chaldea lost in dreaming;Egypt next, a bulk MemnonianStaring from her pyramids;Then Assyria, BabylonianNight beneath her hell-lit lids.

Empires followed: first, in seeming,

Old Chaldea lost in dreaming;

Egypt next, a bulk Memnonian

Staring from her pyramids;

Then Assyria, Babylonian

Night beneath her hell-lit lids.

Greece, in classic white, siderealArmored; Rome, in dark, imperialPurple, crowned with blood and fire,Down the deeps barbaric strode;Gaul and Britain stalking by her,Clad in skins, tattooed with woad.

Greece, in classic white, sidereal

Armored; Rome, in dark, imperial

Purple, crowned with blood and fire,

Down the deeps barbaric strode;

Gaul and Britain stalking by her,

Clad in skins, tattooed with woad.

All around them, rent and scattered,Lay their gods with features battered,Brute and human, stone and iron,Caked with gems and gnarled with gold;Temples, that did once environThese, in wreck around them rolled.

All around them, rent and scattered,

Lay their gods with features battered,

Brute and human, stone and iron,

Caked with gems and gnarled with gold;

Temples, that did once environ

These, in wreck around them rolled.

While I stood and gazed and waited,Slowly night obliteratedAll; and other phantoms driftedOut of darkness pale as stars;Shapes that tyrant faces lifted,Sultans, kings, and emperors.

While I stood and gazed and waited,

Slowly night obliterated

All; and other phantoms drifted

Out of darkness pale as stars;

Shapes that tyrant faces lifted,

Sultans, kings, and emperors.

Man and steed in ponderous metalPanoplied, they seemed to settle,Condors gaunt of devastation,On the world: behind their march—Desolation: ConflagrationLoomed before them with her torch.

Man and steed in ponderous metal

Panoplied, they seemed to settle,

Condors gaunt of devastation,

On the world: behind their march—

Desolation: Conflagration

Loomed before them with her torch.

Helmets flamed like fearful flowers:Chariots rose and moving towers:Captains passed: each fierce commanderWith his gauntlet on his sword:Agamemnon, Alexander,Cæsar, Alaric, horde on horde.

Helmets flamed like fearful flowers:

Chariots rose and moving towers:

Captains passed: each fierce commander

With his gauntlet on his sword:

Agamemnon, Alexander,

Cæsar, Alaric, horde on horde.

Huns and Vandals: wild invaders:Goths and Arabs: stern Crusaders:Each, like some terrific torrent,Rolled above a ruined world;Till a cataract abhorrentSeemed the swarming spears uphurled.

Huns and Vandals: wild invaders:

Goths and Arabs: stern Crusaders:

Each, like some terrific torrent,

Rolled above a ruined world;

Till a cataract abhorrent

Seemed the swarming spears uphurled.

Banners and escutcheons, kindledBy the light of slaughter, dwindled—Died in darkness:—the chimeraOf the Past was laid at last.But, behold, another eraFrom her corpse rose, vague and vast.

Banners and escutcheons, kindled

By the light of slaughter, dwindled—

Died in darkness:—the chimera

Of the Past was laid at last.

But, behold, another era

From her corpse rose, vague and vast.

Demogorgon of the Present!Who in one hand raised a Crescent,In the other, with submissiveFingers, lifted up a Cross;Reverent and yet derisiveSeemed she, robed in gold and dross.

Demogorgon of the Present!

Who in one hand raised a Crescent,

In the other, with submissive

Fingers, lifted up a Cross;

Reverent and yet derisive

Seemed she, robed in gold and dross.

In her skeptic eyes professionsOf great faith I saw; expressions,Christian and humanitarian,Played around her cynic lip;Still I knew her a barbarianBy the sword upon her hip.

In her skeptic eyes professions

Of great faith I saw; expressions,

Christian and humanitarian,

Played around her cynic lip;

Still I knew her a barbarian

By the sword upon her hip.

And she cherished strange eidolons,Pagan shadows—Plato's, Solon's—From whose teachings she indenturedForms of law and sophistry;Seeking aye for truth she venturedJust so far as these could see.

And she cherished strange eidolons,

Pagan shadows—Plato's, Solon's—

From whose teachings she indentured

Forms of law and sophistry;

Seeking aye for truth she ventured

Just so far as these could see.

When she vanished, I—upliftingEyes to where the dawn was riftingDarkness,—lo! beheld a shadowTowering on Earth's utmost peaks;Round whom morning's El DoradoRivered gold in blinding streaks.

When she vanished, I—uplifting

Eyes to where the dawn was rifting

Darkness,—lo! beheld a shadow

Towering on Earth's utmost peaks;

Round whom morning's El Dorado

Rivered gold in blinding streaks.

On her brow I saw the stigmaStill of death; and life's enigmaFilled her eyes: around her shimmeredFolds of silence; and afar,Faint above her forehead, glimmeredLone the light of one pale star.

On her brow I saw the stigma

Still of death; and life's enigma

Filled her eyes: around her shimmered

Folds of silence; and afar,

Faint above her forehead, glimmered

Lone the light of one pale star.

Then a voice,—above or underEarth,—against her seemed to thunderQuestions, wherein was repeated,"Christ or Cain?" and "Man or beast?"And the Future, shadowy-sheeted,Turned and pointed towards the East.

Then a voice,—above or under

Earth,—against her seemed to thunder

Questions, wherein was repeated,

"Christ or Cain?" and "Man or beast?"

And the Future, shadowy-sheeted,

Turned and pointed towards the East.

The wind blew free that morn that we,High-hearted, sailed away;Bound for that Island named the Blest,Remote within the unknown West,Beyond the golden day.There, we were told, each dream of old,Each deed and dream of youth,Each myth of life's divinest prime,And every romance, dear to time,Put on immortal truth.The love undone; the aim unwon;The hope that turned despair;The thought unborn; the dream that died;The unattained, unsatisfied,Should be accomplished there.So we believed. And, undeceived,A little crew set sail;A little crew with hearts as stoutAs any yet that faced a doubtAnd tore away its veil.And time went by; and sea and skyHad worn our masts and decks;When, lo! one morn with canvas torn,A phantom ship, we came forlornInto the Sea of Wrecks.There, day and night, the mist lay white,And pale stars shone at noon;The sea around was foam and fire,And overhead hung, thin as wire,A will-o'-wisp of moon.And through the mist, all white and whist,Gaunt ships, with sea-weed wound,With rotting masts, upon whose sparsThe corposants lit spectre stars,Sailed by without a sound.And all about,—now in, now out,—Their ancient hulls, was shedThe worm-like glow of green decay,That writhed and glimmered in the grayOf canvas overhead.And each that passed, in hull and mast,Seemed that wild ship that fleesBefore the tempest—seamen tell—Deep-cargoed with the curse of Hell,Through roaring rain and seas.Ay! many a craft we left abaftUpon that haunted sea;But never a hulk that clewed a sail,Or waved a hand, or answered hail,And never a man saw we.At last we came where—pouring flame—In darkness and in storm,Vast a volcano westward rearedAn awful summit, lava-seared,Like some terrific arm.And we could feel beneath our keelThe ocean throb and swell,As if the Earthquake there uncoiledIts monster bulk, or Titans toiledAt the red heart of Hell.Like madmen now we turned our prowNorth, towards an ocean weirdOf Northern Lights and icy blasts;And for ten moons with reeling mastsAnd leaking hold we steered.Then black as blood through streaming scudLand loomed above our boom,An isle of iron gulfs and cragsAnd cataracts, like wind-tossed rags,And caverns lost in gloom.And burning white on every height,And white in every cave,A naked spirit, like a flame,Now gleamed, now vanished; went and cameAbove the windy wave.No mortal thing of foot or wingMade glad its steep or strand;But voices, voices seemingly—Vague voices of the sky and sea—Peopled the demon land.Yea, everywhere, in earth and air,A lamentation wept;That, gathering strength above, below,Now like a mighty wind of woe,Around the island swept.And in that sound, it seemed, was boundAll life's despair of art;The bitterness of joy that died;The anguish of faiths crucified;And love that broke its heart.The ghost it seemed of all we'd dreamed,Of all we had desired;That—turned a curse, an empty cry—With wailing words went trailing byIn hope's dead robes attired.And could this be the land that weHad sought for soon and late?That Island of the Blest, the fair,Where we had hoped to ease our careAnd end the fight with fate.O lie that lured! O pain endured!O toil and tears and thirst!Where we had looked for blesséd groundThe Island of the Damned we found,And in the end—were curst!

The wind blew free that morn that we,High-hearted, sailed away;Bound for that Island named the Blest,Remote within the unknown West,Beyond the golden day.

The wind blew free that morn that we,

High-hearted, sailed away;

Bound for that Island named the Blest,

Remote within the unknown West,

Beyond the golden day.

There, we were told, each dream of old,Each deed and dream of youth,Each myth of life's divinest prime,And every romance, dear to time,Put on immortal truth.

There, we were told, each dream of old,

Each deed and dream of youth,

Each myth of life's divinest prime,

And every romance, dear to time,

Put on immortal truth.

The love undone; the aim unwon;The hope that turned despair;The thought unborn; the dream that died;The unattained, unsatisfied,Should be accomplished there.

The love undone; the aim unwon;

The hope that turned despair;

The thought unborn; the dream that died;

The unattained, unsatisfied,

Should be accomplished there.

So we believed. And, undeceived,A little crew set sail;A little crew with hearts as stoutAs any yet that faced a doubtAnd tore away its veil.

So we believed. And, undeceived,

A little crew set sail;

A little crew with hearts as stout

As any yet that faced a doubt

And tore away its veil.

And time went by; and sea and skyHad worn our masts and decks;When, lo! one morn with canvas torn,A phantom ship, we came forlornInto the Sea of Wrecks.

And time went by; and sea and sky

Had worn our masts and decks;

When, lo! one morn with canvas torn,

A phantom ship, we came forlorn

Into the Sea of Wrecks.

There, day and night, the mist lay white,And pale stars shone at noon;The sea around was foam and fire,And overhead hung, thin as wire,A will-o'-wisp of moon.

There, day and night, the mist lay white,

And pale stars shone at noon;

The sea around was foam and fire,

And overhead hung, thin as wire,

A will-o'-wisp of moon.

And through the mist, all white and whist,Gaunt ships, with sea-weed wound,With rotting masts, upon whose sparsThe corposants lit spectre stars,Sailed by without a sound.

And through the mist, all white and whist,

Gaunt ships, with sea-weed wound,

With rotting masts, upon whose spars

The corposants lit spectre stars,

Sailed by without a sound.

And all about,—now in, now out,—Their ancient hulls, was shedThe worm-like glow of green decay,That writhed and glimmered in the grayOf canvas overhead.

And all about,—now in, now out,—

Their ancient hulls, was shed

The worm-like glow of green decay,

That writhed and glimmered in the gray

Of canvas overhead.

And each that passed, in hull and mast,Seemed that wild ship that fleesBefore the tempest—seamen tell—Deep-cargoed with the curse of Hell,Through roaring rain and seas.

And each that passed, in hull and mast,

Seemed that wild ship that flees

Before the tempest—seamen tell—

Deep-cargoed with the curse of Hell,

Through roaring rain and seas.

Ay! many a craft we left abaftUpon that haunted sea;But never a hulk that clewed a sail,Or waved a hand, or answered hail,And never a man saw we.

Ay! many a craft we left abaft

Upon that haunted sea;

But never a hulk that clewed a sail,

Or waved a hand, or answered hail,

And never a man saw we.

At last we came where—pouring flame—In darkness and in storm,Vast a volcano westward rearedAn awful summit, lava-seared,Like some terrific arm.

At last we came where—pouring flame—

In darkness and in storm,

Vast a volcano westward reared

An awful summit, lava-seared,

Like some terrific arm.

And we could feel beneath our keelThe ocean throb and swell,As if the Earthquake there uncoiledIts monster bulk, or Titans toiledAt the red heart of Hell.

And we could feel beneath our keel

The ocean throb and swell,

As if the Earthquake there uncoiled

Its monster bulk, or Titans toiled

At the red heart of Hell.

Like madmen now we turned our prowNorth, towards an ocean weirdOf Northern Lights and icy blasts;And for ten moons with reeling mastsAnd leaking hold we steered.

Like madmen now we turned our prow

North, towards an ocean weird

Of Northern Lights and icy blasts;

And for ten moons with reeling masts

And leaking hold we steered.

Then black as blood through streaming scudLand loomed above our boom,An isle of iron gulfs and cragsAnd cataracts, like wind-tossed rags,And caverns lost in gloom.

Then black as blood through streaming scud

Land loomed above our boom,

An isle of iron gulfs and crags

And cataracts, like wind-tossed rags,

And caverns lost in gloom.

And burning white on every height,And white in every cave,A naked spirit, like a flame,Now gleamed, now vanished; went and cameAbove the windy wave.

And burning white on every height,

And white in every cave,

A naked spirit, like a flame,

Now gleamed, now vanished; went and came

Above the windy wave.

No mortal thing of foot or wingMade glad its steep or strand;But voices, voices seemingly—Vague voices of the sky and sea—Peopled the demon land.

No mortal thing of foot or wing

Made glad its steep or strand;

But voices, voices seemingly—

Vague voices of the sky and sea—

Peopled the demon land.

Yea, everywhere, in earth and air,A lamentation wept;That, gathering strength above, below,Now like a mighty wind of woe,Around the island swept.

Yea, everywhere, in earth and air,

A lamentation wept;

That, gathering strength above, below,

Now like a mighty wind of woe,

Around the island swept.

And in that sound, it seemed, was boundAll life's despair of art;The bitterness of joy that died;The anguish of faiths crucified;And love that broke its heart.

And in that sound, it seemed, was bound

All life's despair of art;

The bitterness of joy that died;

The anguish of faiths crucified;

And love that broke its heart.

The ghost it seemed of all we'd dreamed,Of all we had desired;That—turned a curse, an empty cry—With wailing words went trailing byIn hope's dead robes attired.

The ghost it seemed of all we'd dreamed,

Of all we had desired;

That—turned a curse, an empty cry—

With wailing words went trailing by

In hope's dead robes attired.

And could this be the land that weHad sought for soon and late?That Island of the Blest, the fair,Where we had hoped to ease our careAnd end the fight with fate.

And could this be the land that we

Had sought for soon and late?

That Island of the Blest, the fair,

Where we had hoped to ease our care

And end the fight with fate.

O lie that lured! O pain endured!O toil and tears and thirst!Where we had looked for blesséd groundThe Island of the Damned we found,And in the end—were curst!

O lie that lured! O pain endured!

O toil and tears and thirst!

Where we had looked for blesséd ground

The Island of the Damned we found,

And in the end—were curst!

Young was the dream that held her whenThe world was moon-white with the May:She watched the singing fishermenSail out to sea at break of day:Soft, as the morning heavens then,The eyes that watched him sail away.Old was her grief when summer filledThe world with warm maturity:Far off she watched the nets that spilledTheir twinkling foison by the sea:Where on the rocks she sat and stilledWith song his infant on her knee.Who to her love would make them lies—Those vows his sea-slain manhood swore?Beneath the raining autumn skiesThe fishing vessels put to shore:She watches with remembering eyesFor the brown face that comes no more.

Young was the dream that held her when

The world was moon-white with the May:

She watched the singing fishermen

Sail out to sea at break of day:

Soft, as the morning heavens then,

The eyes that watched him sail away.

Old was her grief when summer filledThe world with warm maturity:Far off she watched the nets that spilledTheir twinkling foison by the sea:Where on the rocks she sat and stilledWith song his infant on her knee.

Old was her grief when summer filled

The world with warm maturity:

Far off she watched the nets that spilled

Their twinkling foison by the sea:

Where on the rocks she sat and stilled

With song his infant on her knee.

Who to her love would make them lies—Those vows his sea-slain manhood swore?Beneath the raining autumn skiesThe fishing vessels put to shore:She watches with remembering eyesFor the brown face that comes no more.

Who to her love would make them lies—

Those vows his sea-slain manhood swore?

Beneath the raining autumn skies

The fishing vessels put to shore:

She watches with remembering eyes

For the brown face that comes no more.

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