ROBERT POLLOK [18.620]

Robert Pollok

Robert Pollok (19 octubre 1798 a 15 septiembre 1827) era un poeta escocés conocido por su obra, The Course of Time, publicada en el año de su muerte.

Pollok nació en Norte Moorhouse Granja, Loganswell Renfrewshire, Escocia. Las fuentes difieren en el año exacto de su nacimiento, algunos dando 1789, otros 1798 y 1799.  

Estudió en la Universidad de Glasgow. Durante este tiempo, anónimamente publicó tres poemas: Helen of the Glen, The Persecuted Family, and Ralph Gemmell. 

La felicidad

 No tiene la Dicha en la tierra

Trillado camino ni fija ciudad,

 Ni en sola una forma se encierra;

Se encarna do imperen Justicia y Bondad.

 Doquiera, enjugándole el llanto,

Al huérfano triste refugio se dé;

 Doquiera con bálsamo santo

Heridas se cierren que el ojo no ve;

 Doquiera secreto, naciente,

Se ahogue el impulso de mala pasión;

 Doquiera virtud se alimente,

Doquiera á la injuria responda el perdón;

 Allí de la célica cumbre

La Dicha ha bajado risueña á reinar;

 Envuelta en pacífica lumbre

¡Miradla! allí tiene su templo y su altar.

Nota: Traducción de Miguel Antonio Caro incluída en el libro Traducciones poéticas (1889).

The Course Of Time.

The Course Of Time. Book I. 

Eternal Spirit! God of truth! to whom 

All things seem as they are; thou who of old 

The prophet's eye unscaled, that nightly saw, 

While heavy sleep fell down on other men, 

In holy vision tranced, the future pass 

Before him, and to Judah's harp attuned 

Burdens that made the pagan mountains shake, 

And Zion's cedars bow—inspire my song; 

My eye unscale; me what is substance teach, 

And shadow what, while I of things to come, 

As past rehearsing, sing the Course of Time, 

The second Birth, and final Doom of man. 

The muse, that soft and sickly wooes the ear 

Of love, or chanting loud in windy rhyme 

Of fabled hero, raves through gaudy tale 

Not overfraught with sense, I ask not; such 

A strain befits not argument so high. 

Me thought, and phrase, severely sifting out 

The whole idea, grant—uttering as 'tis 

The essential truth—Time gone, the Righteous saved, 

The Wicked damned, and Providence approved. 

Hold my right hand, Almighty! and me teach 

To strike the lyre, but seldom struck, to notes 

Harmonious with the morning stars, and pure 

As those of sainted bards, and angels sung, 

Which wake the echoes of eternity— 

That fools may hear and tremble, and the wise 

Instructed listen, of ages yet to come. 

Long was the day, so long expected, past 

Of the eternal doom, that gave to each 

Of all the human race his due reward. 

The sun—earth's sun, and moon, and stars, had ceased 

To number seasons, days, and months, and years 

To mortal man: hope was forgotten, and fear; 

And Time, with all its chance and change, and smiles, 

And frequent tears, and deeds of villany, 

Or righteousness—once talked of much, as things 

Of great renown, was now but ill remembered; 

In dim and shadowy vision of the past, 

Seen far remote, as country, which has left 

The traveller's speedy step, retiring back 

From morn till even: and long, eternity 

Had rolled his mighty years, and with his years 

Men had grown old: the saints, all home returned 

From pilgrimage, and war, and weeping, long 

Had rested in the bowers of peace, that skirt 

The stream of life; and long, alas, how long! 

To them it seemed, the wicked who refused 

To be redeemed, had wandered in the dark 

Of hell's despair, and drunk the burning cup 

Their sins had filled with everlasting wo. 

Thus far the years had rolled, which none but God 

Doth number, when two sons, two youthful sons 

Of Paradise, in conversation sweet, 

(For thus the heavenly muse instructs me, wooed 

At midnight hour with offering sincere 

Of all the heart, poured out in holy prayer,) 

High on the hills of immortality, 

Whence goodliest prospect looks beyond the walls 

Of heaven, walked, casting oft their eye far thro' 

The pure serene, observant, if returned 

From errand duly finished, any came, 

Or any, first in virtue now complete, 

From other worlds arrived, confirmed in good. 

Thus viewing, one they saw, on hasty wing 

Directing towards heaven his course; and now, 

His flight ascending near the battlements 

And lofty hills on which they walked, approached. 

For round and round, in spacious circuit wide, 

Mountains of tallest stature circumscribe 

The plains of Paradise, whose tops, arrayed 

In uncreated radiance, seem so pure, 

That nought but angel's foot, or saint's elect 

Of God, may venture there to walk; here oft 

The sons of bliss take morn or evening pastime, 

Delighted to behold ten thousand worlds 

Around their suns revolving in the vast 

External space, or listen the harmonies 

That each to other in its motion sings. 

And hence, in middle heaven remote, is seen 

The mount of God in awful glory bright. 

Within, no orb create of moon, or star, 

Or sun gives light; for God's own countenance, 

Beaming eternally, gives light to all; 

But farther than these sacred hills his will 

Forbids its flow—too bright for eyes beyond. 

This is the last ascent of Virtue; here 

All trial ends, and hope; here perfect joy, 

With perfect righteousness, which to these heights 

Alone can rise, begins, above all fall.— 

And now on wing of holy ardour strong, 

Hither ascends the stranger, borne upright; 

For stranger he did seem, with curious eye 

Of nice inspection round surveying all, 

And at the feet alights of those that stood 

His coming, who the hand of welcome gave, 

And the embrace sincere of holy love; 

And thus, with comely greeting kind, began. 

Hail, brother! hail, thou son of happiness! 

Thou son beloved of God! welcome to heaven! 

To bliss that never fades! thy day is past 

Of trial, and of fear to fall. Well done, 

Thou good and faithful servant, enter now 

Into the joy eternal of thy Lord. 

Come with us, and behold far higher sight 

Than e'er thy heart desired, or hope conceived. 

See, yonder is the glorious hill of God, 

'Bove angel's gaze in brightness rising high. 

Come, join our wing, and we will guide thy flight 

To mysteries of everlasting bliss;— 

The tree, and fount of life, the eternal throne, 

And presence-chamber of the King of kings. 

But what concern hangs on thy countenance, 

Unwont within this place? perhaps thou deem'st 

Thyself unworthy to be brought before 

The always Ancient One? so are we too 

Unworthy; but our God is all in all, 

And gives us boldness to approach his throne. 

Sons of the highest! citizens of heaven! 

Began the new arrived, right have ye judged: 

Unworthy, most unworthy is your servant, 

To stand in presence of the King, or hold 

Most distant and most humble place in this 

Abode of excellent glory unrevealed. 

But God Almighty be for ever praised, 

Who, of his fulness, fills me with all grace, 

And ornament, to make me in his sight 

Well pleasing, and accepted in his court. 

But if your leisure waits, short narrative 

Will tell, why strange concern thus overhangs 

My face, ill seeming here; and haply too, 

Your elder knowledge can instruct my youth, 

Of what seems dark and doubtful unexplained. 

Our leisure waits thee; speak—and what we can, 

Delighted most to give delight, we will; 

Though much of mystery yet to us remain. 

Virtue—I need not tell, when proved, and full 

Matured—inclines us up to God, and heaven, 

By law of sweet compulsion strong, and sure; 

As gravitation to the larger orb 

The less attracts, thro' matter's whole domain, 

Virtue in me was ripe—I speak not this 

In boast, for what I am to God I owe, 

Entirely owe, and of myself am nought. 

Equipped, and bent for heaven, I left yon world, 

My native seat, which scarce your eye can reach, 

Rolling around her central sun, far out, 

On utmost verge of light: but first to see 

What lay beyond the visible creation 

Strong curiosity my flight impelled. 

Long was my way and strange. I passed the bounds 

Which God doth set to light and life and love; 

Where darkness meets with day, where order meets 

Disorder dreadful, waste and wild; and down 

The dark, eternal, uncreated night 

Ventured alone. Long, long on rapid wing, 

I sailed through empty, nameless regions vast, 

Where utter Nothing dwells, unformed and void. 

There neither eye, nor ear, nor any sense 

Of being most acute, finds object; there 

For ought external still you search in vain. 

Try touch, or sight, or smell; try what you will, 

You strangely find nought but yourself alone. 

But why should I in words attempt to tell 

What that is like which is—and yet—is not? 

This past, my path descending still me led 

O'er unclaimed continents of desert gloom 

Immense, where gravitation shifting turns 

The other way; and to some dread, unknown, 

Infernal centre downward weighs: and now, 

Far travelled from the edge of darkness, far 

As from that glorious mount of God to light's 

Remotest limb—dire sights I saw, dire sounds 

I heard; and suddenly before my eye 

A wall of fiery adamant sprung up— 

Wall mountainous, tremendous, flaming high 

Above all flight of hope. I paused, and looked; 

And saw, where'er I looked upon that mound, 

Sad figures traced in fire—not motionless— 

But imitating life. One I remarked 

Attentively; but how shall I describe 

What nought resembles else my eye hath seen? 

Of worm or serpent kind it something looked, 

But monstrous, with a thousand snaky heads, 

Eyed each with double orbs of glaring wrath; 

And with as many tails, that twisted out 

In horrid revolution, tipped with stings; 

And all its mouths, that wide and darkly gaped, 

And breathed most poisonous breath, had each a sting, 

Forked, and long, and venomous, and sharp; 

And in its writhings infinite, it grasped 

Malignantly what seemed a heart, swollen, black, 

And quivering with torture most intense; 

And still the heart, with anguish throbbing high, 

Made effort to escape, but could not; for 

Howe'er it turned, and oft it vainly turned, 

These complicated foldings held it fast. 

And still the monstrous beast with sting of head 

Or tail transpierced it, bleeding evermore. 

What this could image much I searched to know, 

And while I stood, and gazed, and wondered long, 

A voice, from whence I knew not, for no one 

I saw, distinctly whispered in my ear 

These words—This is the Worm that never dies. 

Fast by the side of this unsightly thing, 

Another was portrayed, more hideous still; 

Who sees it once shall wish to see't no more. 

For ever undescribed let it remain! 

Only this much I may or can unfold— 

Far out it thrust a dart that might have made 

The knees of terror quake, and on it hung, 

Within the triple barbs, a being pierced 

Thro' soul and body both: of heavenly make 

Original the being seemed, but fallen, 

And worn and wasted with enormous wo. 

And still around the everlasting lance 

It writhed convulsed, and uttered mimic groans; 

And tried and wished, and ever tried and wished 

To die; but could not die—Oh, horrid sight! 

I trembling gazed, and listened, and heard this voice 

Approach my ear—This is Eternal Death. 

Nor these alone—upon that burning wall, 

In horrible emblazonry, were limned 

All shapes, all forms, all modes of wretchedness, 

And agony, and grief, and desperate wo. 

And prominent in characters of fire, 

Where'er the eye could light, these words you read, 

“Who comes this way—behold, and fear to sin!” 

Amazed I stood; and thought such imagery 

Foretokened, within, a dangerous abode. 

But yet to see the worst a wish arose: 

For virtue, by the holy seal of God 

Accredited and stamped, immortal all, 

And all invulnerable, fears no hurt. 

As easy as my wish, as rapidly 

I thro' the horrid rampart passed, unscathed 

And unopposed; and, poised on steady wing, 

I hovering gazed. Eternal Justice! Sons 

Of God! tell me, if ye can tell, what then 

I saw, what then I heard—Wide was the place, 

And deep as wide, and ruinous as deep. 

Beneath I saw a lake of burning fire, 

With tempest tost perpetually, and still 

The waves of fiery darkness, 'gainst the rocks 

Of dark damnation broke, and music made 

Of melancholy sort; and over head, 

And all around, wind warred with wind, storm howled 

To storm, and lightning, forked lightning, crossed, 

And thunder answered thunder, muttering sounds 

Of sullen wrath; and far as sight could pierce, 

Or down descend in caves of hopeless depth, 

Thro' all that dungeon of unfading fire, 

I saw most miserable beings walk, 

Burning continually, yet unconsumed; 

For ever wasting, yet enduring still; 

Dying perpetually, yet never dead. 

Some wandered lonely in the desert flames, 

And some in fell encounter fiercely met, 

With curses loud, and blasphemies, that made 

The cheek of darkness pale; and as they fought, 

And cursed, and gnashed their teeth, and wished to die, 

Their hollow eyes did utter streams of wo. 

And there were groans that ended not, and sighs 

That always sighed, and tears that ever wept, 

And ever fell, but not in Mercy's sight. 

And Sorrow and Repentance, and Despair, 

Among them walked, and to their thirsty lips 

Presented frequent cups of burning gall. 

And as I listened, I heard these beings curse 

Almighty God, and curse the Lamb, and curse 

The Earth, the Resurrection morn, and seek, 

And ever vainly seek, for utter death. 

And to their everlasting anguish still, 

The thunders from above responding spoke 

These words, which, thro' the caverns of perdition 

Forlornly echoing, fell on every ear— 

“Ye knew your duty, but ye did it not.” 

And back again recoiled a deeper groan. 

A deeper groan! Oh, what a groan was that! 

I waited not, but swift on speediest wing, 

With unaccustomed thoughts conversing, back 

Retraced my venturous path from dark to light; 

Then up ascending, long ascending up, 

I hasted on; tho' whiles the chiming spheres, 

By God's own finger touched to harmony, 

Held me delaying—till I here arrived, 

Drawn upward by the eternal love of God, 

Of wonder full and strange astonishment, 

At what in yonder den of darkness dwells, 

Which now your higher knowledge will unfold. 

They answering said; to ask and to bestow 

Knowledge, is much of Heaven's delight; and now 

Most joyfully what thou requir'st we would; 

For much of new and unaccountable, 

Thou bring'st; something indeed we heard before, 

In passing conversation slightly touched, 

Of such a place; yet rather to be taught, 

Than teaching, answer what thy marvel asks, 

We need; for we ourselves, tho' here, are but 

Of yesterday—creation's younger sons. 

But there is one, an ancient bard of Earth, 

Who, by the stream of life sitting in bliss, 

Has oft beheld the eternal years complete 

The mighty circle round the throne of God; 

Great in all learning, in all wisdom great, 

And great in song; whose harp in lofty strain 

Tells frequently of what thy wonder craves, 

While round him gathering stand the youth of Heaven 

With truth and melody delighted both; 

To him this path directs, an easy path, 

And easy flight will bring us to his seat. 

So saying, they linked hand in hand, spread out 

Their golden wings, by living breezes fanned, 

And over heaven's broad champaign sailed serene. 

O'er hill and valley, clothed with verdure green 

That never fades; and tree, and herb, and flower, 

That never fades; and many a river, rich 

With nectar, winding pleasantly, they passed; 

And mansion of celestial mould, and work 

Divine. And oft delicious music, sung 

By saint and angel bands that walked the vales, 

Or mountain tops, and harped upon their harps, 

Their ear inclined, and held by sweet constraint 

Their wing; not long, for strong desire awaked 

Of knowledge that to holy use might turn, 

Still pressed them on to leave what rather seemed 

Pleasure, due only, when all duty's done. 

And now beneath them lay the wished for spot, 

The sacred bower of that renowned bard; 

That ancient bard, ancient in days and song; 

But in immortal vigour young, and young 

In rosy health—to pensive solitude 

Retiring oft, as was his wont on earth. 

Fit was the place, most fit for holy musing. 

Upon a little mount, that gently rose, 

He sat, clothed in white robes; and o'er his head 

A laurel tree, of lustiest, eldest growth, 

Stately and tall, and shadowing far and wide— 

Not fruitless, as on earth, but bloomed, and rich 

With frequent clusters, ripe to heavenly taste— 

Spread its eternal boughs, and in its arms 

A myrtle of unfading leaf embraced; 

The rose and lily, fresh with fragrant dew, 

And every flower of fairest cheek, around 

Him smiling flocked; beneath his feet, fast by, 

And round his sacred hill, a streamlet walked, 

Warbling the holy melodies of heaven; 

The hallowed zephyrs brought him incense sweet; 

And out before him opened, in prospect long, 

The river of life, in many a winding maze 

Descending from the lofty throne of God, 

That with excessive glory closed the scene. 

Of Adam's race he was, and lonely sat, 

By chance that day, in meditation deep, 

Reflecting much of Time, and Earth, and Man: 

And now to pensive, now to cheerful notes, 

He touched a harp of wondrous melody; 

A golden harp it was, a precious gift, 

Which, at the day of judgment, with the crown 

Of life, he had received from God's own hand, 

Reward due to his service done on earth. 

He sees their coming, and with greeting kind, 

And welcome, not of hollow forged smiles, 

And ceremonious compliment of phrase, 

But of the heart sincere, into his bower 

Invites. Like greeting they returned; not bent 

In low obeisancy, from creature most 

Unfit to creature; but with manly form 

Upright, they entered in; though high his rank, 

His wisdom high, and mighty his renown. 

And thus deferring all apology, 

The two their new companion introduced. 

Ancient in knowledge!—bard of Adam's race! 

We bring thee one of us, inquiring what 

We need to learn, and with him wish to learn— 

His asking will direct thy answer best. 

Most ancient bard! began the new arrived, 

Few words will set my wonder forth, and guide 

Thy wisdom's light to what in me is dark. 

Equipped for heaven, I left my native place; 

But first beyond the realms of light I bent 

My course; and there, in utter darkness, far 

Remote, I beings saw forlorn in wo, 

Burning continually, yet unconsumed. 

And there were groans that ended not, and sighs 

That always sighed, and tears that ever wept 

And ever fell, but not in Mercy's sight; 

And still I heard these wretched beings curse 

Almighty God, and curse the Lamb, and curse 

The Earth, the Resurrection morn, and seek, 

And ever vainly seek for utter death: 

And from above the thunders answered still, 

“Ye knew your duty, but ye did it not.” 

And every where throughout that horrid den, 

I saw a form of Excellence, a form 

Of beauty without spot, that nought could see 

And not admire—admire, and not adore. 

And from its own essential beams it gave 

Light to itself, that made the gloom more dark; 

And every eye in that infernal pit 

Beheld it still; and from its face, how fair! 

O how exceeding fair! for ever sought, 

But ever vainly sought, to turn away. 

That image, as I guess, was Virtue, for 

Nought else hath God given countenance so fair. 

But why in such a place it should abide? 

What place it is? What beings there lament? 

Whence came they? and for what their endless groan? 

Why curse they God? why seek they utter death? 

And chief, what means the Resurrection morn? 

My youth expects thy reverend age to tell. 

Thou rightly deem'st, fair youth, began the bard; 

The form thou saw'st was Virtue, ever fair. 

Virtue, like God, whose excellent majesty, 

Whose glory virtue is, is omnipresent; 

No being, once created rational, 

Accountable, endowed with moral sense, 

With sapience of right and wrong endowed, 

And charged, however fallen, debased, destroyed; 

However lost, forlorn, and miserable; 

In guilt's dark shrouding wrapt however thick; 

However drunk, delirious, and mad, 

With sin's full cup; and with whatever damned 

Unnatural diligence it work and toil, 

Can banish virtue from its sight, or once 

Forget that she is fair. Hides it in night, 

In central night; takes it the lightning's wing, 

And flies for ever on, beyond the bounds 

Of all; drinks it the maddest cup of sin; 

Dives it beneath the ocean of despair; 

It dives, it drinks, it flies, it hides in vain. 

For still the eternal beauty, image fair, 

Once stampt upon the soul, before the eye 

All lovely stands, nor will depart; so God 

Ordains—and lovely to the worst she seems, 

And ever seems; and as they look, and still 

Must ever look upon her loveliness, 

Remembrance dire of what they were, of what 

They might have been, and bitter sense of what 

They are, polluted, ruined, hopeless, lost, 

With most repenting torment rend their hearts. 

So God ordains—their punishment severe, 

Eternally inflicted by themselves. 

'Tis this—this Virtue hovering evermore 

Before the vision of the damned, and in 

Upon their monstrous moral nakedness 

Casting unwelcome light, that makes their wo, 

That makes the essence of the endless flame: 

Where this is, there is Hell—darker than aught 

That he, the bard three-visioned, darkest saw. 

The place thou saw'st was hell; the groans thou heard'st 

The wailings of the damned—of those who would 

Not be redeemed—and at the judgment day, 

Long past, for unrepented sins were damned. 

The seven loud thunders which thou heard'st, declare 

The eternal wrath of the Almighty God. 

But whence, or why they came to dwell in wo, 

Why they curse God, what means the glorious morn 

Of Resurrection,—these a longer tale 

Demand, and lead the mournful lyre far back 

Thro' memory of Sin, and mortal man. 

Yet haply not rewardless we shall trace 

The dark disastrous years of finished Time: 

Sorrows remembered sweeten present joy. 

Nor yet shall all be sad; for God gave peace, 

Much peace, on earth, to all who feared his name. 

But first it needs to say, that other style, 

And other language than thy ear is wont, 

Thou must expect to hear—the dialect 

Of man; for each in heaven a relish holds 

Of former speech, that points to whence he came. 

But whether I of person speak, or place; 

Event or action; moral or divine; 

Or things unknown compare to things unknown 

Allude, imply, suggest, apostrophize; 

Or touch, when wandering thro' the past, on moods 

Of mind thou never felt'st, the meaning still, 

With easy apprehension, thou shalt take; 

So perfect here is knowledge, and the strings 

Of sympathy so tuned, that every word 

That each to other speaks, tho' never heard 

Before, at once is fully understood, 

And every feeling uttered, fully felt. 

So shalt thou find, as from my various song, 

That backward rolls o'er many a tide of years, 

Directly or inferred, thy asking, thou, 

And wondering doubt, shalt learn to answer, while 

I sketch in brief the history of Man. 

The Course Of Time. Book II. 

Thus said, he waked the golden harp, and thus, 

While on him inspiration breathed, began. 

As from yon everlasting hills, that gird 

Heaven northward, I thy course espied, I judge 

Thou from the Artic regions came? Perhaps 

Thou noticed on thy way a little orb, 

Attended by one moon—her lamp by night; 

With her fair sisterhood of planets seven, 

Revolving round their central sun; she third 

In place, in magnitude the fourth; that orb— 

New made, new named, inhabited anew, 

(Tho' whiles we sons of Adam visit still, 

Our native place; not changed so far but we 

Can trace our ancient walks—the scenery 

Of childhood, youth, and prime, and hoary age— 

But scenery most of suffering and wo,) 

That little orb, in days remote of old, 

When angels yet were young, was made for man, 

And titled Earth—her primal virgin name: 

Created first so lovely, so adorned 

With hill, and lawn, and winding vale; 

Woodland and stream, and lake, and rolling seas; 

Green mead, and fruitful tree, and fertile grain, 

And herb and flower: so lovely, so adorned 

With numerous beasts of every kind, with fowl 

Of every wing and every tuneful note; 

And with all fish that in the multitude 

Of waters swam: so lovely, so adorned, 

So fit a dwelling place for man, that as 

She rose complete at the creating word, 

The morning stars—the Sons of God, aloud 

Shouted for joy; and God beholding, saw 

The fair design, that from eternity 

His mind conceived, accomplished, and, well pleased, 

His six days finished work most good pronounced, 

And man declared the sovereign prince of all. 

All else was prone, irrational, and mute, 

And unaccountable, by instinct led: 

But man He made of angel form erect, 

To hold communion with the heavens above, 

And on his soul impressed His image fair, 

His own similitude of holiness, 

Of virtue, truth, and love; with reason high 

To balance right and wrong, and conscience quick 

To choose or to reject; with knowledge great, 

Prudence and wisdom, vigilance and strength, 

To guard all force or guile; and last of all, 

The highest gift of God's abundant grace, 

With perfect, free, unbiassed will.—Thus man 

Was made upright, immortal made, and crowned 

The king of all; to eat, to drink, to do 

Freely and sovereignly his will entire: 

By one command alone restrained, to prove, 

As was most just, his filial love, sincere, 

His loyalty, obedience due, and faith. 

And thus the prohibition ran, expressed, 

As God is wont, in terms of plainest truth. 

Of every tree that in the garden grows 

Thou mayest freely eat; but of the tree 

That knowledge hath of good and ill, eat not, 

Nor touch; for in the day thou eatest, thou 

Shalt die. Go, and this one command obey 

Adam, live and be happy, and, with thy Eve, 

Fit consort, multiply and fill the Earth. 

Thus they, the representatives of men, 

Were placed in Eden—choicest spot of earth; 

With royal honour, and with glory crowned, 

Adam, the Lord of all, majestic walked, 

With godlike countenance sublime, and form 

Of lofty towering strength; and by his side 

Eve, fair as morning star, with modesty 

Arrayed, with virtue, grace, and perfect love; 

In holy marriage wed, and eloquent 

Of thought and comely words, to worship God 

And sing his praise—the giver of all good. 

Glad, in each other glad, and glad in hope; 

Rejoicing in their future happy race. 

O lovely, happy, blest, immortal pair! 

Pleased with the present, full of glorious hope. 

But short, alas, the song that sings their bliss! 

Henceforth the history of man grows dark: 

Shade after shade, of deepening gloom descends: 

And Innocence laments her robes defiled. 

Who farther sings, must change the pleasant lyre 

To heavy notes of wo. Why—dost thou ask, 

Surprised? The answer will surprise thee more. 

Man sinned—tempted, he ate the guarded tree, 

Tempted of whom thou afterwards shalt hear; 

Audacious, unbelieving, proud, ungrateful, 

He ate the interdicted fruit, and fell; 

And in his fall, his universal race; 

For they in him by delegation were, 

In him to stand or fall—to live or die. 

Man most ingrate! so full of grace to sin— 

Here interposed the new arrived—so full 

Of bliss—to sin against the Gracious One! 

The holy, just, and good! the Eternal Love! 

Unseen, unheard, unthought of wickedness! 

Why slumbered vengeance? No, it slumbered not. 

The ever just and righteous God would let 

His fury loose, and satisfy his threat. 

That had been just, replied the reverend bard; 

But done, fair youth, thou ne'er had'st met me here: 

I ne'er had seen yon glorious throne in peace. 

Thy powers are great, originally great; 

And purified even at the fount of light. 

Exert them now; call all their vigour out; 

Take room; think vastly; meditate intensely; 

Reason profoundly; send conjecture forth; 

Let fancy fly; stoop down; ascend; all length, 

All breadth explore; all moral, all divine; 

Ask prudence, justice, mercy ask, and might; 

Weigh good with evil, balance right with wrong, 

With virtue vice compare—hatred with love; 

God's holiness, God's justice, and God's truth, 

Deliberately and cautiously compare 

With sinful, wicked, vile, rebellious man, 

And see if thou can'st punish sin, and let 

Mankind go free. Thou fail'st—be not surpris'd. 

I bade thee search in vain. Eternal love— 

Harp lift thy voice on high—Eternal love, 

Eternal, sovereign love, and sovereign grace, 

Wisdom, and power, and mercy infinite, 

The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, God, 

Devised the wondrous plan—devised, achieved; 

And in achieving made the marvel more. 

Attend, ye heavens! ye heaven of heavens, attend! 

Attend, and wonder! wonder evermore! 

When man had fallen, rebelled, insulted God; 

Was most polluted, yet most madly proud; 

Indebted infinitely, yet most poor; 

Captive to sin, yet willing to be bound; 

To God's incensed justice, and hot wrath 

Exposed; due victim of eternal death 

And utter wo—Harp lift thy voice on high! 

Ye everlasting hills!—ye angels bow! 

Bow ye redeemed of men! God was made flesh, 

And dwelt with man on earth! the Son of God, 

Only begotten, and well beloved, between 

Men and his Father's justice interposed; 

Put human nature on; His wrath sustained; 

And in their name suffered, obeyed, and died, 

Making his soul an offering for sin; 

Just for unjust, and innocence for guilt, 

By doing, suffering, dying unconstrained, 

Save by omnipotence of boundless grace, 

Complete atonement made to God appeased; 

Made honourable his insulted law, 

Turning the wrath aside from pardoned man. 

Thus Truth with Mercy met, and Righteousness, 

Stooping from highest heaven, embraced fair Peace, 

That walked the earth in fellowship with Love. 

O love divine! O mercy infinite! 

The audience here in glowing rapture broke— 

O love, all height above, all depth below, 

Surpassing far all knowledge, all desire, 

All thought, the Holy One for sinners dies! 

The Lord of life for guilty rebels bleeds— 

Quenches eternal fire with blood divine. 

Abundant mercy! overflowing grace! 

There whence I came, I something heard of men; 

Their name had reached us, and report did speak 

Of some abominable horrid thing 

Of desperate offence they had committed; 

And something too of wondrous grace we heard; 

And oft of our celestial visitants 

What man, what God had done, inquired; but they, 

Forbid, our asking never met directly, 

Exhorting still to persevere upright, 

And we should hear in heaven, tho' greatly blest 

Ourselves, new wonders of God's wondrous love. 

This hinting, keener appetite to know 

Awaked; and as we talked, and much admired 

What new we there should learn, we hasted each 

To nourish virtue to perfection up, 

That we might have our wondering resolved, 

And leave of louder praise, to greater deeds 

Of loving kindness due. Mysterious love! 

God was made flesh, and dwelt with men on earth! 

Blood holy, blood divine for sinners shed— 

My asking ends—but makes my wonder more. 

Saviour of men! henceforth be thou my theme! 

Redeeming love, my study day and night! 

Mankind were lost, all lost, and all redeemed! 

Thou err'st again—but innocently err'st; 

Not knowing sin's depravity, nor man's 

Sincere and persevering wickedness. 

All were redeemed? not all—or thou had'st heard 

No human voice in hell. Many refused, 

Altho' beseeched, refused to be redeemed; 

Redeemed from death to life, from wo to bliss! 

Can'st thou believe my song when thus I sing? 

When man had fallen, was ruined, hopeless, lost; 

Ye choral harps! ye angels that excel 

In strength! and loudest, ye redeemed of men! 

To God—to Him that sits upon the throne 

On high, and to the Lamb, sing honour, sing 

Dominion, glory; blessing sing, and praise: 

When man had fallen, was ruined, hopeless, lost, 

Messiah, Prince of peace, Eternal King, 

Died, that the dead might live, the lost be saved. 

Wonder, O, heavens! and be astonished, earth! 

Thou ancient, thou forgotten earth! Ye worlds admire! 

Admire, and be confounded! and thou Hell! 

Deepen thy eternal groan—men would not be 

Redeemed—I speak of many, not of all— 

Would not be saved for lost, have life for death! 

Mysterious song! the new arrived exclaimed; 

Mysterious mercy! most mysterious hate! 

To disobey was mad, this madder far, 

Incurable insanity of will. 

What now but wrath could guilty men expect? 

What more could love, what more could mercy do? 

No more, resumed the bard, no more they could: 

Thou hast seen hell—the wicked there lament; 

And why? for love and mercy twice despised; 

The husbandman, who sluggishly forgot 

In spring to plow, and sow, could censure none, 

Tho' winter clamoured round his empty barns; 

But he who having thus neglected, did 

Refuse, when Autumn came, and famine threatened, 

To reap the golden field that charity 

Bestowed—nay, more obdurate, proud, and blind, 

And stupid still, refused, tho' much beseeched, 

And long entreated, even with Mercy's tears, 

To eat what to his very lips was held 

Cooked temptingly—he certainly, at least, 

Deserved to die of hunger unbemoaned. 

So did the wicked spurn the grace of God; 

And so were punished with the second death. 

The first, no doubt, punition less severe 

Intended, death belike of all entire; 

But this incurred, by God discharged, and life 

Freely again presented, and again despised, 

Despised, tho' bought with Mercy's proper blood— 

'Twas this dug hell, and kindled all its bounds 

With wrath and inextinguishable fire. 

Free was the offer, free to all, of life 

And of salvation; but the proud of heart, 

Because 'twas free, would not accept; and still 

To merit wished; and choosing—thus unshipped, 

Uncompassed, unprovisioned, and bestormed, 

To swim a sea of breadth immeasurable, 

They scorned the goodly bark, whose wings the breath 

Of God's eternal Spirit filled for heaven, 

That stopped to take them in—and so were lost. 

What wonders dost thou tell? to merit, how? 

Of creature meriting in sight of God, 

As right of service done, I never heard 

Till now: we never fell; in virtue stood 

Upright, and persevered in holiness; 

But stood by grace, by grace we persevered; 

Ourselves, our deeds, our holiest, highest deeds 

Unworthy aught—grace worthy endless praise. 

If we fly swift, obedient to his will, 

He gives us wings to fly; if we resist 

Temptation, and ne'er fall, it is his shield 

Omnipotent that wards it off; if we, 

With love unquenchable, before him burn, 

'Tis he that lights and keeps alive the flame. 

Men surely lost their reason in their fall, 

And did not understand the offer made. 

They might have understood, the bard replied— 

They had the Bible—hast thou ever heard 

Of such a book? the author God himself; 

The subject God and man; salvation, life 

And death—eternal life, eternal death— 

Dread words! whose meaning has no end, no bounds— 

Most wondrous book! bright candle of the Lord! 

Star of eternity! the only star 

By which the bark of man could navigate 

The sea of life, and gain the coast of bliss 

Securely; only star which rose on Time, 

And, on its dark and troubled billows, still, 

As generation drifting swiftly by 

Succeeded generation, threw a ray 

Of heaven's own light, and to the hills of God, 

The everlasting hills, pointed the sinner's eye: 

By prophets, seers, and priests, and sacred bards, 

Evangelists, apostles, men inspired, 

And by the Holy Ghost anointed, set 

Apart and consecrated to declare 

To earth the counsels of the Eternal One, 

This book—this holiest, this sublimest book, 

Was sent—Heaven's will, Heaven's code of laws entire 

To man, this book contained; defined the bounds 

Of vice and virtue, and of life and death; 

And what was shadow, what was substance taught. 

Much it revealed; important all; the least 

Worth more than what else seemed of highest worth: 

But this of plainest, most essential truth— 

That God is one, eternal, holy, just, 

Omnipotent, omniscient, infinite; 

Most wise, most good, most merciful and true; 

In all perfection most unchangeable: 

That man—that every man of every clime 

And hue, of every age, and every rank, 

Was bad—by nature and by practice bad; 

In understanding blind, in will perverse, 

In heart corrupt; in every thought, and word, 

Imagination, passion, and desire, 

Most utterly depraved throughout, and ill, 

In sight of Heaven, tho' less in sight of man, 

At enmity with God his maker born, 

And by his very life an heir of death: 

That man—that every man was farther, most 

Unable to redeem himself, or pay 

One mite of his vast debt to God—nay, more, 

Was most reluctant and averse to be 

Redeemed, and sin's most voluntary slave; 

That Jesus, Son of God, of Mary born 

In Bethlehem, and by Pilate crucified 

On Calvary—for man thus fallen and lost, 

Died; and, by death, life and salvation bought, 

And perfect righteousness, for all who should 

In his great name believe—that He, the third 

In the eternal Essence, to the prayer 

Sincere should come, should come as soon as asked, 

Proceeding from the Father and the Son, 

To give faith and repentance, such as God 

Accepts—to open the intellectual eyes 

Blinded by sin; to bend the stubborn will, 

Perversely to the side of wrong inclined, 

To God and his commandments, just and good; 

The wild rebellious passions to subdue, 

And bring them back to harmony with heaven; 

To purify the conscience, and to lead 

The mind into all truth, and to adorn 

With every holy ornament of grace, 

And sanctify the whole renewed soul, 

Which henceforth might no more fall totally, 

But persevere, though erring oft, amidst 

The mists of time, in piety to God, 

And sacred works of charity to men: 

That he, who thus believed, and practised thus, 

Should have his sins forgiven, however vile; 

Should be sustained at mid-day, morn, and even, 

By God's omnipotent, eternal grace; 

And in the evil hour of sore disease, 

Temptation, persecution, war, and death, 

For temporal death, altho' unstinged, remained, 

Beneath the shadow of the Almighty's wings 

Should sit unhurt, and at the judgment-day, 

Should share the resurrection of the just, 

And reign with Christ in bliss for evermore: 

That all, however named, however great, 

Who would not thus believe, nor practise thus, 

But in their sins impenitent remained, 

Should in perpetual fear and terror live; 

Should die unpardoned, unredeemed, unsaved; 

And at the hour of doom, should be cast out 

To utter darkness in the night of hell, 

By mercy and by God abandoned, there 

To reap the harvests of eternal wo. 

This did that Book declare in obvious phrase, 

In most sincere and honest words, by God 

Himself selected and arranged; so clear, 

So plain, so perfectly distinct, that none 

Who read with humble wish to understand, 

And asked the Spirit, given to all who asked, 

Could miss their meaning, blazed in heavenly light. 

This book—this holy book, on every line 

Marked with the seal of high divinity; 

On every leaf bedewed with drops of love 

Divine, and with the eternal heraldry 

And signature of God Almighty stampt 

From first to last—this ray of sacred light, 

This lamp, from off the everlasting throne, 

Mercy took down, and in the night of Time 

Stood, casting on the dark her gracious bow; 

And evermore beseeching men, with tears 

And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live: 

And many to her voice gave ear, and read, 

Believed, obeyed; and now, as the Amen, 

True, Faithful Witness swore, with snowy robes 

And branchy palms surround the fount of life, 

And drink the streams of immortality, 

For ever happy, and for ever young. 

Many believed; but more the truth of God 

Turned to a lie, deceiving and deceived;— 

Each, with the accursed sorcery of sin, 

To his own wish and vile propensity 

Transforming still the meaning of the text. 

Hear! while I briefly tell what mortals proved, 

By effort vast of ingenuity, 

Most wondrous, though perverse and damnable; 

Proved from the Bible, which, as thou hast heard, 

So plainly spoke that all could understand. 

First, and not least in number, argued some, 

From out this book itself, it was a lie, 

A fable framed by crafty men to cheat 

The simple herd, and make them bow the knee 

To kings and priests,—these in their wisdom left 

The light revealed, and turned to fancies wild; 

Maintaining loud, that ruined, helpless man, 

Needed no Saviour. Others proved that men 

Might live and die in sin, and yet be saved, 

For so it was decreed; binding the will, 

By God left free, to unconditional, 

Unreasonable fate. Others believed debased, 

That he who was most criminal, 

Condemned, and dead, unaided might ascend 

The heights of Virtue; to a perfect law 

Giving a lame, half-way obedience, which 

By useless effort only served to show 

The impotence of him who vainly strove 

With finite arm to measure infinite; 

Most useless effort! when to justify 

In sight of God it meant, as proof of faith 

Most acceptable, and worthy of all praise. 

Another held, and from the Bible held, 

He was infallible,—most fallen by such 

Pretence—that none the Scriptures, open to all, 

And most to humble-hearted, ought to read, 

But priests; that all who ventured to disclaim 

His forged authority, incurred the wrath 

Of Heaven; and he who, in the blood of such, 

Though father, mother, daughter, wife, or son, 

Imbrued his hands, did most religious work, 

Well pleasing to the heart of the Most High. 

Others, in outward rite, devotion placed; 

In meats, in drinks; in robe of certain shape— 

In bodily abasements, bended knees; 

Days, numbers, places, vestments, words, and names— 

Absurdly in their hearts imagining, 

That God, like men, was pleased with outward show. 

Another, stranger and more wicked still, 

With dark and dolorous labour, ill applied, 

With many a gripe of conscience, and with most 

Unhealthy and abortive reasoning, 

That brought his sanity to serious doubt, 

'Mong wise and honest men, maintained that He, 

First Wisdom, Great Messiah, Prince of Peace, 

The second of the uncreated Three, 

Was nought but man—of earthly origin; 

Thus making void the sacrifice Divine, 

And leaving guilty men, God's holy law 

Still unatoned, to work them endless death. 

These are a part; but to relate thee all 

The monstrous, unbaptised phantasies, 

Imaginations fearfully absurd, 

Hobgoblin rites, and moon-struck reveries, 

Distracted creeds, and visionary dreams, 

More bodiless and hideously misshapen 

Than ever fancy, at the noon of night, 

Playing at will, framed in the madman's brain, 

That from this book of simple truth were proved, 

Were proved, as foolish men were wont to prove— 

Would bring my word in doubt, and thy belief 

Stagger, though here I sit and sing, within 

The pale of truth, where falsehood never came. 

The rest, who lost the heavenly light revealed, 

Not wishing to retain God in their minds, 

In darkness wandered on: yet could they not, 

Though moral night around them drew her pall 

Of blackness, rest in utter unbelief. 

The voice within, the voice of God, that nought 

Could bribe to sleep, though steeped in sorceries 

Of Hell, and much abused by whisperings 

Of Evil Spirits in the dark, announced 

A day of judgment, and a judge,—a day 

Of misery, or bliss;—and being ill 

At ease, for gods they chose them stocks and stones, 

Reptiles, and weeds, and beasts, and creeping things, 

And Spirits accursed—ten thousand Deities! 

(Imagined worse than he who craved their peace,) 

And bowing, worshipped these as best beseemed, 

With midnight revelry obscene and loud, 

With dark, infernal, devilish ceremonies, 

And horrid sacrifice of human flesh, 

That made the fair heavens blush. So bad was Sin! 

So lost, so ruined, so depraved was man!— 

Created first in God's own image fair! 

Oh, cursed, cursed Sin! traitor to God, 

And ruiner of man! mother of Wo, 

And Death, and Hell,—wretched, yet seeking worse: 

Polluted most, yet wallowing in the mire; 

Most mad, yet drinking Frenzy's giddy cup; 

Depth ever deepening, darkness darkening still; 

Folly for wisdom, guilt for innocence; 

Anguish for rapture, and for hope despair; 

Destroyed destroying; in tormenting pained; 

Unawed by wrath; by mercy unreclaimed; 

Thing most unsightly, most forlorn, most sad— 

Thy time on earth is past, thy war with God 

And holiness: but who, oh who shall tell, 

Thy unrepentable and ruinous thoughts? 

Thy sighs, thy groans? Who reckon thy burning tears, 

And damned looks of everlasting grief, 

Where now, with those who took their part with thee, 

Thou sitt'st in Hell, gnawed by the eternal Worm— 

To hurt no more, on all the holy hills? 

That those, deserting once the lamp of truth, 

Should wander ever on, from worse to worse 

Erroneously, thy wonder needs not ask: 

But that enlightened, reasonable men, 

Knowing themselves accountable, to whom 

God spoke from heaven, and by his servants warned, 

Both day and night, with earnest, pleading voice, 

Of retribution equal to their works, 

Should persevere in evil, and be lost— 

This strangeness, this unpardonable guilt, 

Demands an answer, which my song unfolds 

In part directly, but hereafter more, 

To satisfy thy wonder, thou shalt learn, 

Inferring much from what is yet to sing. 

Know then, of men who sat in highest place 

Exalted, and for sin by others done 

Were chargeable, the king and priest were chief. 

Many were faithful, holy, just, upright, 

Faithful to God and man—reigning renowned 

In righteousness, and, to the people, loud 

And fearless, speaking all the words of life. 

These at the judgment-day, as thou shalt hear, 

Abundant harvest reaped; but many too, 

Alas, how many! famous now in Hell, 

Were wicked, cruel, tyrannous, and vile; 

Ambitious of themselves, abandoned, mad; 

And still from servants hasting to be gods, 

Such gods as now they serve in Erebus. 

I pass their lewd example by, that led 

So many wrong, for courtly fashion lost, 

And prove them guilty of one crime alone. 

Of every wicked ruler, prince supreme, 

Or magistrate below, the one intent, 

Purpose, desire, and struggle day and night, 

Was evermore to wrest the crown from off 

Messiah's head, and put it on his own; 

And in His place give spiritual laws to men; 

To bind religion—free by birth, by God, 

And nature free, and made accountable 

To none but God—behind the wheels of state; 

To make the holy altar, where the Prince 

Of life incarnate bled to ransom man, 

A footstool to the throne; for this they met, 

Assembled, counselled, meditated, planned, 

Devised in open and secret; and for this 

Enacted creeds of wondrous texture, creeds 

The Bible never owned, unsanctioned too, 

And reprobate in heaven; but by the power 

That made, (exerted now in gentler form, 

Monopolizing rights and privileges, 

Equal to all, and waving now the sword 

Of persecution fierce, tempered in hell,) 

Forced on the conscience of inferior men: 

The conscience that sole monarchy in man, 

Owing allegiance to no earthly prince; 

Made by the edict of creation free; 

Made sacred, made above all human laws; 

Holding of heaven alone; of most divine, 

And indefeasible authority; 

An individual sovereignty, that none 

Created might, unpunished, bind or touch; 

Unbound, save by the eternal laws of God, 

And unamenable to all below. 

Thus did the uncircumcised potentates 

Of earth debase religion in the sight 

Of those they ruled—who, looking up, beheld 

The fair celestial gift despised, enslaved; 

And, mimicking the folly of the great, 

With prompt docility despised her too. 

The prince or magistrate, however named 

Or praised, who knowing better, acted thus, 

Was wicked, and received, as he deserved, 

Damnation. But the unfaithful priest, what tongue 

Enough shall execrate? His doctrine may 

Be passed, tho' mixed with most unhallowed leaven, 

That proved to those who foolishly partook, 

Eternal bitterness:—but this was still 

His sin—beneath what cloak soever veiled, 

His ever growing and perpetual sin, 

First, last, and middle thought, whence every wish, 

Whence every action rose, and ended both— 

To mount to place, and power of worldly sort; 

To ape the gaudy pomp and equipage 

Of earthly state, and on his mitred brow 

To place a royal crown: for this he sold 

The sacred truth to him who most would give 

Of titles, benefices, honours, names; 

For this betrayed his Master; and for this 

Made merchandise of the immortal souls 

Committed to his care—this was his sin. 

Of all who office held unfairly, none 

Could plead excuse; he least, and last of all. 

By solemn, awful ceremony, he 

Was set apart to speak the truth entire, 

By action, and by word; and round him stood 

The people, from his lips expecting knowledge; 

One day in seven, the Holy Sabbath termed, 

They stood; for he had sworn in face of God 

And man, to deal sincerely with their souls; 

To preach the gospel for the gospel's sake; 

Had sworn to hate and put away all pride, 

All vanity, all love of earthly pomp; 

To seek all mercy, meekness, truth, and grace; 

And being so endowed himself, and taught, 

In them like works of holiness to move; 

Dividing faithfully the word of life. 

And oft indeed the word of life he taught; 

But practising, as thou hast heard, who could 

Believe? Thus was religion wounded sore 

At her own altars, and among her friends. 

The people went away, and like the priest, 

Fulfilling what the prophet spoke before, 

For honour strove, and wealth, and place, as if 

The preacher had rehearsed an idle tale. 

The enemies of God rejoiced, and loud 

The unbeliever laughed, boasting a life 

Of fairer character than his, who owned, 

For king and guide, the undefiled One. 

Most guilty, villanous, dishonest man! 

Wolf in the clothing of the gentle lamb! 

Dark traitor in Messiah's holy camp! 

Leper in saintly garb!—assassin masked 

In Virtue's robe! vile hypocrite accursed! 

I strive in vain to set his evil forth. 

The words that should sufficiently accurse, 

And execrate such reprobate, had need 

Come glowing from the lips of eldest hell. 

Among the saddest in the den of wo, 

Thou saw'st him saddest, 'mong the damned, most damned. 

But why should I with indignation burn, 

Not well beseeming here, and long forgot? 

Or why one censure for another's sin? 

Each had his conscience, each his reason, will, 

And understanding, for himself to search, 

To choose, reject, believe, consider, act: 

And God proclaimed from heaven, and by an oath 

Confirmed, that each should answer for himself; 

And as his own peculiar work should be, 

Done by his proper self, should live, or die. 

But sin, deceitful and deceiving still, 

Had gained the heart, and reason led astray. 

A strange belief, that leaned its idiot back 

On folly's topmost twig—belief that God, 

Most wise, had made a world, had creatures made, 

Beneath his care to govern, and protect,— 

Devoured its thousands. Reason, not the true, 

Learned, deep, sober, comprehensive, sound; 

But bigoted, one-eyed, short-sighted Reason, 

Most zealous, and sometimes, no doubt, sincere— 

Devoured its thousands. Vanity to be 

Renowned for creed eccentrical—devoured 

It's thousands: but a lazy, corpulent, 

And over-credulous faith, that leaned on all 

It met, nor asked if 'twas a reed or oak; 

Stepped on, but never earnestly inquired 

Whether to heaven or hell the journey led— 

Devoured its tens of thousands, and its hands 

Made reddest in the precious blood of souls. 

In Time's pursuits men ran till out of breath. 

The astronomer soared up, and counted stars, 

And gazed, and gazed upon the Heaven's bright face, 

Till he dropt down dim-eyed into the grave: 

The numerist in calculations deep 

Grew gray: the merchant at his desk expired: 

The statesman hunted for another place, 

Till death o'ertook him, and made him his prey: 

The miser spent his eldest energy, 

In grasping for another mite: the scribe 

Rubbed pensively his old and withered brow, 

Devising new impediments to hold 

In doubt the suit that threatened to end too soon: 

The priest collected tithes, and pleaded rights 

Of decimation to the very last. 

In science, learning, all philosophy, 

Men laboured all their days, and laboured hard, 

And dying, sighed how little they had done: 

But in religion they at once grew wise. 

A creed in print, tho' never understood; 

A theologic system on the shelf, 

Was spiritual lore enough, and served their turn; 

But served it ill. They sinned, and never knew; 

For what the Bible said of good and bad, 

Of holiness and sin, they never asked. 

Absurd—prodigiously absurd, to think 

That man's minute and feeble faculties, 

Even in the very childhood of his being, 

With mortal shadows dimmed, and wrapt around, 

Could comprehend at once the mighty scheme, 

Where rolled the ocean of eternal love; 

Where wisdom infinite its master stroke 

Displayed; and where omnipotence, opprest, 

Did travel in the greatness of its strength; 

And everlasting justice lifted up 

The sword to smite the guiltless Son of God; 

And mercy smiling bade the sinner go! 

Redemption is the science, and the song 

Of all eternity: archangels day 

And night into its glories look; the saints, 

The elders round the throne, old in the years 

Of heaven, examine it perpetually; 

And every hour, get clearer, ampler views 

Of right and wrong—see virtue's beauty more; 

See vice more utterly depraved, and vile; 

And this with a more perfect hatred hate; 

That daily love with a more perfect love. 

But whether I for man's perdition blame 

Office administered amiss; pursuit 

Of pleasure false; perverted reason blind; 

Or indolence that ne'er inquired; I blame 

Effect and consequence; the branch, the leaf. 

Who finds the fount and bitter root, the first 

And guiltiest cause whence sprung this endless wo, 

Must deep descend into the human heart, 

And find it there. Dread passion! making men 

On earth, and even in hell, if Mercy yet 

Would stoop so low, unwilling to be saved, 

If saved by grace of God—Hear, then in brief, 

What peopled hell, what holds its prisoners there. 

Pride, self-adoring pride, was primal cause 

Of all sin past, all pain, all wo to come. 

Unconquerable pride! first, eldest sin— 

Great fountain-head of evil—highest source, 

Whence flowed rebellion 'gainst the Omnipotent, 

Whence hate of man to man, and all else ill. 

Pride at the bottom of the human heart 

Lay, and gave root and nourishment to all 

That grew above. Great ancestor of vice! 

Hate, unbelief, and blasphemy of God; 

Envy and slander; malice and revenge; 

And murder, and deceit, and every birth 

Of damned sort, was progeny of pride. 

It was the ever-moving, acting force, 

The constant aim, and the most thirsty wish 

Of every sinner unrenewed, to be 

A god:—in purple or in rags, to have 

Himself adored: whatever shape or form 

His actions took; whatever phrase he threw 

About his thoughts, or mantle o'er his life, 

To be the highest, was the inward cause 

Of all—the purpose of the heart to be 

Set up, admired, obeyed. But who would bow 

The knee to one who served and was dependent? 

Hence man's perpetual struggle, night and day, 

To prove he was his own proprietor, 

And independent of his God, that what 

He had might be esteemed his own, and praised 

As such—He laboured still, and tried to stand 

Alone unpropped—to be obliged to none; 

And in the madness of his pride he bade 

His God farewell, and turned away to be 

A god himself; resolving to rely, 

Whatever came, upon his own right hand. 

O desperate frenzy! madness of the will! 

And drunkenness of the heart! that nought could quench 

But floods of wo, poured from the sea of wrath, 

Behind which mercy set. To think to turn 

The back on life original, and live— 

The creature to set up a rival throne 

In the Creator's realm—to deify 

A worm—and in the sight of God be proud— 

To lift an arm of flesh against the shafts 

Of the Omnipotent, and midst his wrath 

To seek for happiness—insanity 

Most mad! guilt most complete! Seest thou those worlds 

That roll at various distance round the throne 

Of God, innumerous, and fill the calm 

Of heaven with sweetest harmony, when saints 

And angels sleep—as one of these, from love 

Centripetal withdrawing, and from light, 

And heat, and nourishment cut off, should rush 

Abandoned o'er the line that runs between 

Create and increate; from ruin driven 

To ruin still, thro' the abortive waste: 

So pride from God drew off the bad; and so 

Forsaken of him, he lets them ever try 

Their single arm against the second death; 

Amidst vindictive thunders lets them try 

The stoutness of their heart; and lets them try 

To quench their thirst amidst the unfading fire; 

And to reap joy where he has sown despair: 

To walk alone unguided, unbemoaned, 

Where Evil dwells, and Death, and moral Night; 

In utter emptiness to find enough; 

In utter dark find light; and find repose 

Where God with tempest plagues for evermore: 

For so they wished it, so did pride desire. 

Such was the cause that turned so many off 

Rebelliously from God, and led them on 

From vain to vainer still, in endless chase. 

And such the cause that made so many cheeks 

Pale, and so many knees to shake, when men 

Rose from the grave; as thou shalt hear anon. 

The Course Of Time. Book III.

Behold'st thou yonder, on the crystal sea, 

Beneath the throne of God, an image fair, 

And in its hand a mirror large and bright!— 

'Tis truth, immutable, eternal truth, 

In figure emblematical expressed. 

Before it Virtue stands, and smiling sees, 

Well pleased, in her reflected soul, no spot. 

The sons of heaven, archangel, seraph, saint, 

There daily read their own essential worth;

And as they read, take place among the just; 

Or high, or low, each as his value seems. 

There each his certain interest learns, his true 

Capacity; and going thence, pursues, 

Unerringly thro' all the tracts of thought, 

As God ordains, best ends by wisest means. 

The Bible held this mirror's place on earth: 

But, few would read, or, reading, saw themselves. 

The chase was after shadows, phantoms strange, 

That in the twilight walked of Time, and mocked 

The eager hunt, escaping evermore; 

Yet with so many promises and looks 

Of gentle sort, that he whose arms returned 

Empty a thousand times, still stretched them out, 

And grasping, brought them back again unfilled. 

In rapid outline thou hast heard of man; 

His death; his offered life; that life by most 

Despised; the Star of God—the Bible, scorned, 

That else to happiness and heaven had led, 

And saved my lyre from narrative of wo. 

Hear now more largely of the ways of Time; 

The fond pursuits and vanities of men. 

Love God, love truth, love virtue, and be happy:— 

These were the words first uttered in the ear 

Of every being rational made, and made 

For thought, or word, or deed accountable. 

Most men the first forgot, the second none. 

Whatever path they took, by hill or vale, 

By night or day, the universal wish, 

The aim, and sole intent, was happiness: 

But, erring from the heaven-appointed path, 

Strange tracks indeed they took through barren wastes, 

And up the sandy mountain climbing toiled, 

Which pining lay beneath the curse of God, 

And nought produced: yet did the traveller look, 

And point his eye before him greedily, 

As if he saw some verdant spot, where grew 

The heavenly flower, where sprung the well of life, 

Where undisturbed felicity reposed; 

Though Wisdom's eye no vestige could discern, 

That happiness had ever passed that way. 

Wisdom was right: for still the terms remained 

Unchanged, unchangeable; the terms on which 

True peace was given to man; unchanged as God, 

Who, in his own essential nature, binds 

Eternally to virtue happiness; 

Nor lets them part through all his Universe. 

Philosophy, as thou shalt hear, when she 

Shall have her praise—her praise and censure too, 

Did much, refining and exalting man; 

But could not nurse a single plant that bore 

True happiness.—From age to age she toiled; 

Shed from her eyes the mist that dimmed them still; 

Looked forth on man; explored the wild and tame, 

The savage and polite, the sea and land, 

And starry heavens; and then retired far back 

To meditation's silent shady seat; 

And there sat pale, and thoughtfully, and weighed 

With wary, most exact and scrupulous care, 

Man's nature, passions, hopes, propensities, 

Relations and pursuits, in reason's scale; 

And searched and weighed, and weighed and searched again, 

And many a fair and goodly volume wrote, 

That seemed well worded too, wherein were found 

Uncountable receipts, pretending each, 

If carefully attended to, to cure 

Mankind of folly;—to root out the briers 

And thorns, and weeds that choked the growth of joy;— 

And showing too, in plain and decent phrase, 

Which sounded much like wisdom's, how to plant, 

To shelter, water, culture, prune, and rear 

The tree of happiness; and oft their plans 

Were tried;—but still the fruit was green and sour. 

Of all the trees that in Earth's vineyard grew, 

And with their clusters tempted man to pull 

And eat,—one tree, one tree alone, the true 

Celestial manna bore which filled the soul, 

The tree of Holiness—of heavenly seed, 

A native of the skies; tho' stunted much, 

And dwarfed, by Time's cold, damp, ungenial soil, 

And chilling winds, yet yielding fruit so pure, 

So nourishing and sweet, as, on his way, 

Refreshed the pilgrim; and begot desire 

Unquenchable to climb the arduous path 

To where her sister plants, in their own clime, 

Around the fount, and by the stream of life, 

Blooming beneath the Sun that never sets,— 

Bear fruit of perfect relish fully ripe. 

To plant this tree, uprooted by the fall, 

To earth the Son of God descended, shed 

His precious blood; and on it evermore, 

From off his living wings, the Spirit shook 

The dews of heaven, to nurse and hasten its growth. 

Nor was this care, this infinite expense, 

Not needed to secure the holy plant. 

To root it out, and wither it from earth, 

Hell strove with all its strength, and blew with all 

Its blasts; and Sin, with cold consumptive breath, 

Involved it still in clouds of mortal damp. 

Yet did it grow, thus kept, protected thus; 

And bear the only fruit of true delight; 

The only fruit worth plucking under heaven. 

But, few, alas! the holy plant could see, 

For heavy mists that Sin around it threw 

Perpetually; and few the sacrifice 

Would make by which alone its clusters stooped, 

And came within the reach of mortal man. 

For this, of him who would approach and eat, 

Was rigorously exacted to the full:— 

To tread and bruise beneath the foot, the world 

Entire; its prides, ambitions, hopes, desires; 

Its gold, and all its broidered equipage; 

To loose its loves and friendships from the heart, 

And cast them off; to shut the ear against 

Its praise, and all its flatteries abhor; 

And having thus behind him thrown what seemed 

So good and fair—then must he lowly kneel, 

And with sincerity, in which the Eye 

That slumbers not, nor sleeps, could see no lack, 

This prayer pray:—“Lord God! thy will be done; 

Thy holy will, howe'er it cross my own.” 

Hard labour this for flesh and blood! too hard 

For most it seemed: so, turning, they the tree 

Derided, as mere bramble, that could bear 

No fruit of special taste; and so set out 

Upon ten thousand different routes to seek 

What they had left behind; to seek what they 

Had lost—for still as something once possest, 

And lost, true happiness appeared: all thought 

They once were happy; and even while they smoked 

And panted in the chase—believed themselves 

More miserable to-day than yesterday— 

To-morrow than to-day. When youth complained, 

The ancient sinner shook his hoary head, 

As if he meant to say: Stop till you come 

My length,and then you may have cause to sigh. 

At twenty, cried the boy, who now had seen 

Some blemish in his joys: How happily 

Plays yonder child that busks the mimic babe, 

And gathers gentle flowers, and never sighs. 

At forty in the fervour of pursuit, 

Far on in disappointment's dreary vale, 

The grave and sage-like man looked back upon 

The stripling youth of plump unseared hope, 

Who galloped gay and briskly up behind— 

And moaning wished himself eighteen again. 

And he of threescore years and ten, in whose 

Chilled eye, fatigued with gaping after hope, 

Earth's freshest verdure seemed but blasted leaves,— 

Praised childhood, youth and manhood, and denounced 

Old age alone as barren of all joy. 

Decisive proof that men had left behind 

The happiness they sought, and taken a most 

Erroneous path; since every step they took 

Was deeper mire. Yet did they onward run— 

Pursuing Hope that danced before them still, 

And beckoned them to proceed—and with their hands, 

That shook and trembled piteously with age, 

Grasped at the lying Shade, even till the Earth 

Beneath them broke, and wrapt them in the grave. 

Sometimes indeed when wisdom in their ear 

Whispered, and with its disenchanting wand 

Effectually touched the sorcery of their eyes, 

Directly pointing to the holy Tree, 

Where grew the food they sought, they turned, surprised 

That they had missed so long what now they found. 

As one upon whose mind some new and rare 

Idea glances, and retires as quick, 

Ere memory have time to write it down; 

Stung with the loss, into a thoughtful cast, 

He throws his face, and rubs his vexed brow; 

Searches each nook and corner of his soul 

With frequent care; reflects, and re-reflects, 

And tries to touch relations that may start 

The fugitive again; and oft is foiled; 

Till something like a seeming chance, or flight 

Of random fancy, when expected least, 

Calls back the wandered thought—long sought in vain: 

Then does uncommon joy fill all his mind; 

And still he wonders, as he holds it fast, 

What lay so near he could not sooner find: 

So did the man rejoice, when from his eye 

The film of folly fell, and what he day 

And night, and far and near, had idly searched, 

Sprung up before him suddenly displayed; 

So wondered why he missed the tree so long. 

But, few returned from folly's giddy chase. 

Few heard the voice of wisdom, or obeyed. 

Keen was the search, and various and wide; 

Without, within, along the flowery vale, 

And up the rugged cliff, and on the top 

Of mountains high, and on the ocean wave. 

Keen was the search, and various and wide, 

And ever and anon a shout was heard: 

Ho! here's the tree of life; come, eat, and live! 

And round the new discoverer quick they flocked 

In multitudes, and plucked, and with great haste 

Devoured; and sometimes in the lips 'twas sweet, 

And promised well; but in the belly, gall. 

Yet after him that cried again: Ho! here's 

The tree of life; again they ran, and pulled, 

And chewed again, and found it bitter still. 

From disappointment on to disappointment, 

Year after year, age after age pursued: 

The child, the youth, the hoary headed man, 

Alike pursued, and ne'er grew wise: for it 

Was folly's most peculiar attribute, 

And native act, to make experience void. 

But hastily as pleasures tasted turned 

To loathing and disgust, they needed not 

Even such experiment to prove them vain. 

In hope or in possession, Fear, alike, 

Boding disaster, stood. Over the flower 

Of fairest sort, that bloomed beneath the sun, 

Protected most, and sheltered from the storm, 

The Spectre, like a dark and thunderous cloud, 

Hung dismally, and threatened, before the hand 

Of him that wished, could pull it, to descend, 

And o'er the desert drive its withered leaves; 

Or being pulled, to blast it unenjoyed, 

While yet he gazed upon its loveliness, 

And just began to drink its fragrance up. 

Gold many hunted, sweat and bled for gold; 

Waked all the night, and laboured all the day. 

And what was this allurement, dost thou ask? 

A dust dug from the bowels of the earth, 

Which, being cast into the fire, came out 

A shining thing that fools admired, and called 

A god; and in devout and humble plight 

Before it kneeled, the greater to the less. 

And on its altar sacrificed ease, peace, 

Truth, faith, integrity; good conscience, friends, 

Love, charity, benevolence, and all 

The sweet and tender sympathies of life; 

And to complete the horrid murderous rite, 

And signalize their folly, offered up 

Their souls, and an eternity of bliss, 

To gain them—what? an hour of dreaming joy; 

A feverish hour that hasted to be done, 

And ended in the bitterness of wo. 

Most for the luxuries it bought—the pomp, 

The praise, the glitter, fashion, and renown, 

This yellow phantom followed and adored. 

But there was one in folly farther gone; 

With eye awry, incurable and wild, 

The laughing-stock of devils and of men, 

And by his guardian angel quite given up— 

The miser, who with dust inanimate 

Held wedded intercourse. Ill guided wretch! 

Thou mightst have seen him at the midnight hour, 

When good men slept, and in light winged dreams 

Ascended up to God,—in wasteful hall, 

With vigilance and fasting worn to skin 

And bone, and wrapt in most debasing rags,— 

Thou mightst have seen him bending o'er his heaps, 

And holding strange communion with his gold; 

And as his thievish fancy seemed to hear 

The night-man's foot approach, starting alarmed, 

And in his old, decrepit, withered hand, 

That palsy shook, grasping the yellow earth 

To make it sure. Of all God made upright, 

And in their nostrils breathed a living soul, 

Most fallen, most prone, most earthy, most debased. 

Of all that sold Eternity for Time 

None bargained on so easy terms with death. 

Illustrious fool! Nay, most inhuman wretch! 

He sat among his bags, and with a look 

Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor 

Away unalmsed; and midst abundance died— 

Sorest of evils! died of utter want. 

Before this Shadow in the vales of earth, 

Fools saw another glide, which seemed of more 

Intrinsic worth. Pleasure her name—good name 

Tho' ill applied. A thousand forms she took, 

A thousand garbs she wore; in every age 

And clime changing, as in her votaries changed 

Desire: but, inwardly, the same in all. 

Her most essential lineaments we trace; 

Her general features every where alike. 

Of comely form she was, and fair of face; 

And underneath her eyelids sat a kind 

Of witching sorcery that nearer drew 

Whoever with unguarded look beheld; 

A dress of gaudy hue loosely attired 

Her loveliness; her air and manner frank, 

And seeming free of all disguise; her song 

Enchanting; and her words which sweetly dropt, 

As honey from the comb, most large of promise, 

Still prophesying days of new delight, 

And rapturous nights of undecaying joy. 

And in her hand, where'er she went, she held 

A radiant Cup that seemed of nectar full— 

And by her side danced fair delusive Hope. 

The fool pursued enamoured, and the wise 

Experienced man who reasoned much, and thought, 

Was sometimes seen laying his wisdom down, 

And vying with the stripling in the chase. 

Nor wonder thou! for she was really fair; 

Decked to the very taste of flesh and blood. 

And many thought her sound within; and gay 

And healthy at the heart: but thought amiss: 

For she was full of all disease; her bones 

Were rotten: consumption licked her blood, and drank 

Her marrow up; her breath smelled mortally; 

And in her bowels plague and fever lurked; 

And in her very heart, and reins and life, 

Corruption's worm gnawed greedily unseen. 

Many her haunts: thou mightst have seen her now 

With Indolence, lolling on the mid-day couch, 

And whispering drowsy words; and now at dawn, 

Loudly and rough, joining the sylvan horn; 

Or sauntering in the park, and to the tale 

Of slander giving ear; or sitting fierce, 

Rude, blasphemous, malicious, raving, mad, 

Where fortune to the fickle die was bound. 

But chief she loved the scene of deep debauch, 

Where revelry, and dance, and frantic song, 

Disturbed the sleep of honest men. And where 

The drunkard sat, she entered in, well pleased, 

With eye brimful of wanton mirthfulness, 

And urged him still to fill another cup. 

And at the shadowy twilight—in the dark 

And gloomy night, I looked, and saw her come 

Abroad, arrayed in harlot's soft attire; 

And walk without in every street, and lie 

In wait at every corner, full of guile. 

And as the unwary youth of simple heart, 

And void of understanding, passed, she caught 

And kissed him, and with lips of lying said: 

I have peace-offerings with me; I have paid 

My vows this day; and therefore came I forth 

To meet thee, and to seek thee diligently, 

To seek thy face, and I have found thee here. 

My bed is decked with robes of tapestry, 

With carved work, and sheets of linen fine; 

Perfumed with aloes, myrrh, and cinnamon. 

Sweet are stolen waters! pleasant is the bread 

In secret eaten! the goodman is from home. 

Come, let us take our fill of love till morn 

Awake; let us delight ourselves with loves. 

With much fair speech she caused the youth to yield; 

And forced him with the flattering of her tongue. 

I looked, and saw him follow to her house, 

As goes the ox to slaughter; as the fool 

To the correction of the stocks; or bird 

That hastes into the subtle fowler's snare, 

And knows not, simple thing, 'tis for its life. 

I saw him enter in; and heard the door 

Behind them shut; and in the dark, still night, 

When God's unsleeping eye alone can see, 

He went to her adulterous bed. At morn 

I looked, and saw him not among the youths: 

I heard his father mourn, his mother weep: 

For none returned that went with her. The dead 

Were in her house; her guests in depths of hell: 

She wove the winding-sheet of souls, and laid 

Them in the urn of everlasting death. 

Such was the Shadow fools pursued on earth, 

Under the name of pleasure,—fair outside, 

Within corrupted, and corrupting still: 

Ruined, and ruinous: her sure reward, 

Her total recompence was still, as he, 

The bard, recorder of Earth's Seasons, sung, 

“Vexation, disappointment, and remorse.” 

Yet at her door the young and old, and some 

Who held high character among the wise, 

Together stood,—and strove among themselves, 

Who first should enter, and be ruined first. 

Strange competition of immortal souls! 

To sweat for death! to strive for misery! 

But think not Pleasure told her end was death. 

Even human folly then had paused at least, 

And given some signs of hesitation; nor 

Arrived so hot, and out of breath at wo. 

Though contradicted every day by facts, 

That sophistry itself would stumble o'er, 

And to the very teeth a liar proved 

Ten thousand times, as if unconscious still 

Of inward blame, she stood, and waved her hand, 

And pointed to her bower, and said to all 

Who passed: Take yonder flowery path; my steps 

Attend; I lead the smoothest way to heaven; 

This world receive as surety for the next. 

And many simple men, most simple, tho' 

Renowned for learning much, and wary skill, 

Believed, and turned aside, and were undone. 

Another leaf of finished Time we turn, 

And read of Fame, terrestrial Fame, which died, 

And rose not at the Resurrection morn. 

Not that by virtue earned, the true renown, 

Begun on earth, and lasting in the skies, 

Worthy the lofty wish of seraphim,— 

The approbation of the Eye that sees 

The end from the beginning, sees from cause 

To most remote effect: of it we read 

In book of God's remembrance, in the book 

Of life, from which the quick and dead were judged; 

The book that lies upon the throne, and tells 

Of glorious acts by saints and angels done; 

The record of the holy, just, and good. 

Of all the phantoms fleeting in the mist 

Of Time, tho' meagre all, and ghostly thin, 

Most unsubstantial, unessential shade, 

Was earthly Fame. She was a voice alone, 

And dwelt upon the noisy tongues of men. 

She never thought; but gabbled ever on; 

Applauding most what least deserved applause: 

The motive, the result was nought to her: 

The deed alone, tho' dyed in human gore, 

And steeped in widow's tears, if it stood out 

The prominent display, she talked of much, 

And roared around it with a thousand tongues. 

As changed the wind her organ, so she changed 

Perpetually; and whom she praised to-day, 

Vexing his ear with acclamations loud, 

To-morrow blamed, and hissed him out of sight. 

Such was her nature, and her practice such: 

But, O! her voice was sweet to mortal ears; 

And touched so pleasantly the strings of pride 

And vanity, which in the heart of man 

Were ever strung harmonious to her note, 

That many thought, to live without her song 

Was rather death than life: to live unknown, 

Unnoticed, unrenowned! to die unpraised! 

Unepitaphed! to go down to the pit, 

And moulder into dust among vile worms! 

And leave no whispering of a name on earth! 

Such thought was cold about the heart, and chilled 

The blood. Who could endure it? who could choose, 

Without a struggle, to be swept away 

From all remembrance? and have part no more 

With living men? Philosophy failed here; 

And self-approving pride. Hence it became 

The aim of most, and main pursuit, to win 

A name—to leave some vestige as they passed, 

That following ages might discern they once 

Had been on earth, and acted something there. 

Many the roads they took, the plans they tried. 

The man of science to the shade retired, 

And laid his head upon his hand, in mood 

Of awful thoughtfulness; and dived, and dived 

Again—deeper and deeper still, to sound 

The cause remote—resolved, before he died, 

To make some grand discovery, by which 

He should be known to all posterity. 

And in the silent vigils of the night, 

When uninspired men reposed, the bard, 

Ghastly of countenance, and from his eye 

Oft streaming wild unearthly fire, sat up; 

And sent imagination forth; and searched 

The far and near—heaven, earth, and gloomy hell— 

For fiction new, for thought, unthought before; 

And when some curious rare idea peered 

Upon his mind, he dipped his hasty pen, 

And by the glimmering lamp, or moonlight beam, 

That thro' his lattice peeped, wrote fondly down 

What seemed in truth imperishable song. 

And sometimes too, the reverend divine, 

In meditation deep of holy things, 

And vanities of Time, heard Fame's sweet voice 

Approach his ear—and hang another flower, 

Of earthly sort, about the sacred truth; 

And ventured whiles to mix the bitter text, 

With relish suited to the sinner's taste. 

And oft-times too, the simple hind, who seemed 

Ambitionless, arrayed in humble garb, 

While round him spreading, fed his harmless flock, 

Sitting was seen, by some wild warbling brook, 

Carving his name upon his favourite staff; 

Or, in ill-favoured letters, tracing it 

Upon the aged thorn; or on the face 

Of some conspicuous oft frequented stone, 

With persevering wondrous industry; 

And hoping, as he toiled amain, and saw 

The characters take form, some other wight, 

Long after he was dead, and in the grave, 

Should loiter there at noon and read his name. 

In purple some, and some in rags, stood forth 

For reputation: some displayed a limb 

Well-fashioned: some of lowlier mind, a cane 

Of curious workmanship, and marvellous twist: 

In strength some sought it, and in beauty more. 

Long, long the fair one laboured at the glass, 

And, being tired, called in auxiliar skill, 

To have her sails, before she went abroad, 

Full spread, and nicely set, to catch the gale 

Of praise. And much she caught, and much deserved, 

When outward loveliness was index fair 

Of purity within: but oft, alas! 

The bloom was on the skin alone; and when 

She saw, sad sight! the roses on her cheek 

Wither, and heard the voice of fame retire 

And die away, she heaved most piteous sighs, 

And wept most lamentable tears; and whiles, 

In wild delirium, made rash attempt, 

Unholy mimickry of Nature's work! 

To re-create, with frail and mortal things, 

Her wither'd face. Attempt how fond and vain! 

Her frame itself, soon mouldered down to dust; 

And in the land of deep forgetfulness, 

Her beauty and her name were laid beside 

Eternal silence, and the loathsome worm; 

Into whose darkness flattery ventured not; 

Where none had ears to hear the voice of Fame. 

Many the roads they took, the plans they tried. 

And awful oft the wickedness they wrought. 

To be observed, some scrambled up to thrones, 

And sat in vestures dripping wet with gore. 

The warrior dipped his sword in blood, and wrote 

His name on lands and cities desolate. 

The rich bought fields, and houses built, and raised 

The monumental piles up to the clouds, 

And called them by their names. And, strange to tell! 

Rather than be unknown, and pass away 

Obscurely to the grave, some, small of soul, 

That else had perished unobserved, acquired 

Considerable renown by oaths profane, 

By jesting boldly with all sacred things, 

And uttering fearlessly whate'er occurred;— 

Wild, blasphemous, perditionable thoughts, 

That Satan in them moved; by wiser men 

Suppressed, and quickly banished from the mind. 

Many the roads they took, the plans they tried: 

But all in vain. Who grasped at earthly fame, 

Grasped wind: nay worse, a serpent grasped, that thro' 

His hand slid smoothly, and was gone; but left 

A sting behind which wrought him endless pain: 

For oft her voice was old Abaddon's lure, 

By which he charmed the foolish soul to death. 

So happiness was sought in pleasure, gold, 

Renown—by many sought. But should I sing 

Of all the trifling race, my time, thy faith, 

Would fail—of things erectly organised, 

And having rational, articulate voice, 

And claiming outward brotherhood with man,— 

Of him that laboured sorely, in his sweat 

Smoking afar, then hurried to the wine, 

Deliberately resolving to be mad: 

Of him who taught the ravenous bird to fly 

This way or that, thereby supremely blest: 

Or rode in fury with the howling pack, 

Affronting much the noble animal, 

He spurred into such company: of him 

Who down into the bowels of the earth 

Descended deeply, to bring up the wreck 

Of some old earthen ware, which having stowed, 

With every proper care, he home returned 

O'er many a sea, and many a league of land, 

Triumphantly to show the marvellous prize: 

And him that vexed his brain, and theories built 

Of gossamer upon the brittle winds; 

Perplexed exceedingly why shells were found 

Upon the mountain tops; but wondering not 

Why shells were found at all, more wondrous still! 

Of him who strange enjoyment took in tales 

Of fairy folk, and sleepless ghosts, and sounds 

Unearthly, whispering in the ear of night 

Disastrous things: and him who still foretold 

Calamity which never came, and lived 

In terror all his days of comets rude, 

That should unmannerly and lawless drive 

Athwart the path of Earth, and burn mankind: 

As if the appointed hour of doom, by God 

Appointed, ere its time should come: as if 

Too small the number of substantial ills, 

And real fears to vex the sons of men.— 

These,—had they not possessed immortal souls, 

And been accountable, might have been past 

With laughter, and forgot; but as it was, 

And is—their folly asks a serious tear. 

Keen was the search, and various, and wide, 

For happiness. Take one example more— 

So strange, that common fools looked on amazed; 

And wise and sober men together drew, 

And trembling stood; and angels in the heavens 

Grew pale, and talked of vengeance as at hand— 

The sceptic's route—the unbeliever's, who, 

Despising reason, revelation, God, 

And kicking 'gainst the pricks of conscience, rushed 

Deliriously upon the bossy shield 

Of the Omnipotent; and in his heart 

Purposed to deify the idol chance. 

And laboured hard—oh, labour worse than nought! 

And toiled with dark and crooked reasoning, 

To make the fair and lovely Earth which dwelt 

In sight of Heaven, a cold and fatherless, 

Forsaken thing, that wandered on, forlorn, 

Undestined, uncompassioned, unupheld: 

A vapour eddying in the whirl of chance, 

And soon to vanish everlastingly. 

He travailed sorely, and made many a tack, 

His sails oft shifting, to arrive—dread thought! 

Arrive at utter nothingness; and have 

Being no more—no feeling, memory, 

No lingering consciousness that ere he was. 

Guilt's midnight wish! last, most abhorred thought! 

Most desperate effort of extremest sin! 

Others preoccupied, ne'er saw true hope; 

He seeing, aimed to stab her to the heart, 

And with infernal chemistry to wring 

The last sweet drop from sorrow's cup of gall; 

To quench the only ray that cheered the earth, 

And leave mankind in night which had no star. 

Others the streams of pleasure troubled, he 

Toiled much to dry her very fountain head. 

Unpardonable man! sold under sin! 

He was the Devil's pioneer, who cut 

The fences down of virtue, sapped her walls, 

And opened a smooth and easy way to death. 

Traitor to all existence! to all life! 

Soul-suicide! determined foe of being! 

Intended murderer of God, Most High! 

Strange road, most strange! to seek for happiness! 

Hell's mad-houses are full of such; too fierce, 

Too furiously insane, and desperate, 

To rage unbound 'mong evil spirits damned! 

Fertile was earth in many things: not least 

In fools, who mercy both and judgment scorned; 

Scorned love, experience scorned; and onward rushed 

To swift destruction, giving all reproof, 

And all instruction, to the winds: and much 

Of both they had—and much despised of both. 

Wisdom took up her harp, and stood in place 

Of frequent concourse—stood in every gate, 

By every way, and walked in every street; 

And, lifting up her voice, proclaimed: Be wise, 

Ye fools! be of an understanding heart. 

Forsake the wicked: come not near his house: 

Pass by: make haste: depart, and turn away. 

Me follow—me, whose ways are pleastantness, 

Whose paths are peace, whose end is perfect joy. 

The Seasons came and went, and went and came, 

To teach men gratitude; and as they passed, 

Gave warning of the lapse of time, that else 

Had stolen unheeded by: the gentle Flowers 

Retired, and, stooping o'er the wilderness, 

Talked of humility, and peace, and love. 

The Dews came down unseen at evening-tide, 

And silently their bounties shed, to teach 

Mankind unostentatious charity. 

With arm in arm the forest rose on high, 

And lesson gave of brotherly regard. 

And, on the rugged mountain-brow exposed, 

Bearing the blast alone—the ancient oak 

Stood, lifting high his mighty arm, and still 

To courage in distress exhorted loud. 

The flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams, the breeze, 

Attuned the heart to melody and love. 

Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept 

Essential love; and, from her glorious bow, 

Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace, 

With her own lips, her gracious lips, which God 

Of sweetest accent made, she whispered still, 

She whispered to Revenge:—Forgive, forgive! 

The Sun rejoicing round the earth, announced 

Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God. 

The Moon awoke, and from her maiden face, 

Shedding her cloudy locks, looked meekly forth, 

And with her virgin stars walked in the heavens, 

Walked nightly there, conversing as she walked, 

Of purity, and holiness, and God. 

In dreams and visions sleep instructed much. 

Day uttered speech to day, and night to night 

Taught knowledge: silence had a tongue: the grave, 

The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each 

A tongue, that ever said—Man! think of God! 

Think of thyself! think of eternity! 

Fear God, the thunders said; fear God, the waves; 

Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied; 

Fear God, deep loudly answered back to deep. 

And, in the temples of the Holy One— 

Messiah's messengers, the faithful few— 

Faithful 'mong many false—the Bible opened, 

And cried: Repent! repent ye Sons of Men! 

Believe, be saved: and reasoned awfully 

Of temperance, righteousness, and judgment soon 

To come—of everduring life, and death. 

And chosen bards from age to age awoke 

The sacred lyre, and full on folly's ear, 

Numbers of righteous indignation poured. 

And God omnipotent, when mercy failed, 

Made bare his holy arm; and with the stroke 

Of vengeance smote; the fountains of the deep 

Broke up; heaven's windows opened; and sent on men 

A flood of wrath; sent plague and famine forth; 

With earthquake rocked the world beneath; with storms 

Above; laid cities waste; and turned fat lands 

To barrenness; and with the sword of war 

In fury marched, and gave them blood to drink. 

Angels remonstrated: Mercy beseeched: 

Heaven smiled, and frowned: Hell groaned: Time fled: Death shook 

His dart, and threatened to make repentance vain— 

Incredible assertion! men rushed on 

Determinedly to ruin: shut their ears, 

Their eyes to all advice, to all reproof— 

O'er mercy and o'er judgment downward rushed 

To misery: and, most incredible 

Of all! to misery rushed along the way 

Of disappointment and remorse, where still 

At every step, adders, in pleasure's form, 

Stung mortally; and Joys,—whose bloomy cheeks 

Seemed glowing high with immortality, 

Whose bosoms prophesied superfluous bliss,— 

While in the arms received, and locked in close 

And riotous embrace, turned pale, and cold, 

And died, and smelled of putrifaction rank: 

Turned, in the very moment of delight, 

A loathsome, heavy corpse, that with the clear 

And hollow eyes of Death, stared horribly. 

All tribes, all generations of the earth, 

Thus wantonly to ruin drove alike: 

We heard indeed of golden and silver days; 

And of primeval innocence unstained—

A pagan tale! but by baptized bards, 

Philosophers, and statesmen, who were still 

Held wise and cunning men, talked of so much, 

That most believed it so, and asked not why. 

The pair, the family first made, were ill; 

And for their great peculiar sin incurred 

The Curse, and left it due to all their race; 

And bold example gave of every crime— 

Hate, murder, unbelief, reproach, revenge. 

A time, 'tis true, there came, of which thou soon 

Shalt hear—the Sabbath Day, the Jubilee 

Of Earth, when righteousness and peace prevailed. 

This time except, who writes the history 

Of men, and writes it true, must write them bad. 

Who reads, must read of violence and blood. 

The man who could the story of one day 

Peruse; the wrongs, oppressions, cruelties; 

Deceits, and perjuries, and vanities; 

Rewarded worthlessnes, rejected worth; 

Assassinations, robberies, thefts, and wars; 

Disastrous accidents, life thrown away; 

Divinity insulted; Heaven despised; 

Religion scorned;—and not been sick at night, 

And sad, had gathered greater store of mirth, 

Than ever wise man in the world could find. 

One cause of folly, one especial cause 

Was this—few knew what wisdom was; tho' well 

Defined in God's own words, and printed large, 

On heaven and earth in characters of light, 

And sounded in the ear by every wind. 

Wisdom is humble, said the voice of God. 

'Tis proud, the world replied. Wisdom, said God, 

Forgives, forbears and suffers, not for fear 

Of man, but God. Wisdom revenges, said 

The world; is quick and deadly of resentment; 

Thrusts at the very shadow of affront, 

And hastes, by death, to wipe its honour clean. 

Wisdom, said God, loves enemies, entreats, 

Solicits, begs for peace. Wisdom, replied 

The world, hates enemies; will not ask peace, 

Conditions spurns, and triumphs in their fall. 

Wisdom mistrusts itself, and leans on heaven, 

Said God. It trusts and leans upon itself, 

The world replied. Wisdom retires, said God, 

And counts it bravery to bear reproach 

And shame, and lowly poverty upright; 

And weeps with all who have just cause to weep. 

Wisdom, replied the world, struts forth to gaze; 

Treads the broad stage of life with clamorous foot; 

Attracts all praises; counts it bravery 

Alone to wield the sword, and rush on death; 

And never weeps, but for its own disgrace. 

Wisdom, said God, is highest, when it stoops 

Lowest before the Holy Throne, throws down 

Its crown abased, forgets itself, admires, 

And breathes adoring praise. There wisdom stoops 

Indeed, the world replied—there stoops, because 

It must: but stoops with dignity; and thinks 

And meditates the while of inward worth. 

Thus did Almighty God, and thus the world, 

Wisdom define. And most the world believed; 

And boldly called the truth of God a lie. 

Hence, he that to the worldly wisdom shaped 

His character, became the favourite 

Of men—was honourable termed; a man 

Of spirit; noble, glorious, lofty soul! 

And as he crossed the earth in chase of dreams, 

Received prodigious shouts of warm applause. 

Hence, who to godly wisdom framed his life, 

Was counted mean, and spiritless, and vile. 

And as he walked obscurely in the path 

Which led to heaven, fools hissed with serpent tongue, 

And poured contempt upon his holy head; 

And poured contempt on all who praised his name. 

But false as this account of wisdom was— 

The world's I mean—it was its best: the creed 

Of sober, grave, and philosophic men; 

With much research and cogitation framed; 

Of men, who with the vulgar scorned to sit. 

The popular belief seemed rather worse, 

When heard replying to the voice of truth. 

The wise man, said the Bible, walks with God, 

Surveys far on the endless line of life; 

Values his soul; thinks of eternity; 

Both worlds considers, and provides for both; 

With reason's eye his passions guards; abstains 

From evil; lives on hope, on hope, the fruit 

Of faith; looks upward; purifies his soul; 

Expands his wings, and mounts into the sky; 

Passes the sun, and gains his father's house; 

And drinks with angels from the fount of bliss. 

The multitude aloud replied—replied 

By practice, for they were not bookish men; 

Nor apt to form their principles in words— 

The wise man first of all eradicates, 

As much as possible, from out his mind, 

All thought of death, God, and eternity; 

Admires the world, and thinks of Time alone; 

Avoids the Bible, all reproof avoids; 

Rocks conscience, if he can, asleep; puts out 

The eye of reason; prisons, tortures, binds; 

And makes her thus, by violence and force, 

Give wicked evidence against herself: 

Lets passion loose; the substance leaves; pursues 

The shadow vehemently, but ne'er o'ertakes; 

Puts by the cup of holiness and joy; 

And drinks, carouses deeply in the bowl 

Of death; grovels in dust; pollutes, destroys 

His soul; is miserable to acquire 

More misery; deceives to be deceived; 

Strives, labours to the last to shun the truth; 

Strives, labours to the last to damn himself; 

Turns desperate, shudders, groans, blasphemes, and dies, 

And sinks—where could he else?—to endless wo: 

And drinks the wine of God's eternal wrath. 

The learned thus, and thus the unlearned world, 

Wisdom defined—in sound they disagreed; 

In substance, in effect, in end the same; 

And equally to God and truth opposed; 

Opposed as darkness to the light of heaven. 

Yet were there some that seemed well meaning men, 

Who systems planned, expressed in supple words, 

Which praised the man as wisest, that in one 

United both; pleased God, and pleased the world; 

And with the saint, and with the sinner had, 

Changing his garb unseen, a good report. 

And many thought their definition best; 

And in their wisdom grew exceeding wise. 

Union abhorred! dissimulation vain! 

Could holiness embrace the harlot sin? 

Could life wed death? could God with Mammon dwell! 

Oh, foolish men! oh, men for ever lost! 

In spite of mercy lost, in spite of wrath! 

In spite of Disappointment and Remorse, 

Which made the way to ruin ruinous! 

Hear what they were:—the progeny of sin 

Alike; and oft combined: but differing much 

In mode of giving pain. As felt the gross, 

Material part, when in the furnace cast, 

So felt the soul the victim of remorse. 

It was a fire which on the verge of God's 

Commandments burned, and on the vitals fed 

Of all who passed. Who passed, there met remorse. 

A violent fever seized his soul; the heavens 

Above, the earth beneath, seemed glowing brass, 

Heated seven times; he heard dread voices speak, 

And mutter horrid prophecies of pain, 

Severer and severer yet to come: 

And as he writhed and quivered, scorched within, 

The Fury round his torrid temples flapped 

Her fiery wings, and breathed upon his lips, 

And parched tongue, the withered blasts of hell. 

It was the suffering begun, thou saw'st 

In symbol of the Worm that never dies. 

The other—Disappointment, rather seemed 

Negation of delight. It was a thing 

Sluggish and torpid, tending towards death. 

Its breath was cold, and made the sportive blood, 

Stagnant, and dull, and heavy round the wheels 

Of life: the roots of that whereon it blew, 

Decayed, and with the genial soil no more 

Held sympathy—the leaves, the branches drooped, 

And mouldered slowly down to formless dust; 

Not tossed and driven by violence of winds; 

But withering where they sprung, and rotting there. 

Long disappointed, disappointed still, 

The hopeless man, hopeless in his main wish, 

As if returning back to nothing felt; 

In strange vacuity of being hung, 

And rolled, and rolled his eye on emptiness, 

That seemed to grow more empty every hour. 

One of this mood I do remember well: 

We name him not, what now are earthly names? 

In humble dwelling born, retired, remote, 

In rural quietude; 'mong hills, and streams, 

And melancholy deserts, where the sun 

Saw, as he passed, a shepherd only, here 

And there watching his little flock; or heard 

The plowman talking to his steers—his hopes, 

His morning hopes, awoke before him smiling, 

Among the dews, and holy mountain airs; 

And fancy coloured them with every hue 

Of heavenly loveliness: but soon his dreams 

Of childhood fled away—those rainbow dreams, 

So innocent and fair, that withered age, 

Even at the grave, cleared up his dusty eye, 

And passing all between, looked fondly back 

To see them once again ere he departed.— 

These fled away—and anxious thought, that wished 

To go, yet whither knew not well to go, 

Possessed his soul, and held it still awhile. 

He listened—and heard from far the voice of Fame— 

Heard, and was charmed; and deep and sudden vow 

Of resolution made to be renowned: 

And deeper vowed again to keep his vow. 

His parents saw—his parents whom God made 

Of kindest heart—saw, and indulged his hope. 

The ancient page he turned; read much; thought much; 

And with old bards of honourable name 

Measured his soul severely; and looked up 

To fame, ambitious of no second place. 

Hope grew from inward faith, and promised fair: 

And out before him opened many a path 

Ascending, where the laurel highest waved 

Her branch of endless green. He stood admiring; 

But stood, admired not long. The harp he seized; 

The harp he loved—loved better than his life; 

The harp which uttered deepest notes, and held 

The ear of thought a captive to its song. 

He searched, and meditated much, and whiles 

With rapturous hand in secret touched the lyre, 

Aiming at glorious strains—and searched again 

For theme deserving of immortal verse: 

Chose now, and now refused unsatisfied; 

Pleased, then displeased, and hesitating still. 

Thus stood his mind, when round him came a cloud; 

Slowly and heavily it came; a cloud 

Of ills we mention not: enough to say 

'Twas cold, and dead, impenetrable gloom. 

He saw its dark approach; and saw his hopes, 

One after one, put out, as nearer still 

It drew his soul: but fainted not at first; 

Fainted not soon. He knew the lot of man 

Was trouble, and prepared to bear the worst: 

Endure whate'er should come, without a sigh 

Endure, and drink, even to the very dregs, 

The bitterest cup that Time could measure out; 

And, having done, look up, and ask for more. 

He called Philosophy, and with his heart 

Reasoned: he called Religion too, but called 

Reluctantly, and therefore was not heard. 

Ashamed to be o'ermatched by earthly woes, 

He sought, and sought with eye that dimmed apace, 

To find some avenue to light, some place 

On which to rest a hope—but sought in vain. 

Darker and darker still the darkness grew: 

At length he sunk, and disappointment stood 

His only comforter, and mournfully 

Told all was past. His interest in life, 

In being, ceased: and now he seemed to feel, 

And shuddered as he felt; his powers of mind 

Decaying in the spring-time of his day. 

The vigorous, weak became; the clear, obscure; 

Memory gave up her charge; decision reeled; 

And from her flight fancy returned, returned 

Because she found no nourishment abroad. 

The blue heavens withered, and the moon, and sun, 

And all the stars, and the green earth, and morn 

And evening withered; and the eyes, and smiles, 

And faces of all men and women withered; 

Withered to him; and all the universe, 

Like something which had been, appeared, but now 

Was dead and mouldering fast away. He tried 

No more to hope: wished to forget his vow: 

Wished to forget his harp: then ceased to wish. 

That was his last. Enjoyment now was done. 

He had no hope—no wish—and scarce a fear. 

Of being sensible, and sensible 

Of loss, he, as some atom seemed which God 

Had made superfluously, and needed not 

To build creation with; but back again 

To Nothing threw, and left it in the void, 

With everlasting sense that once it was. 

Oh, who can tell what days, what nights he spent, 

Of tideless, waveless, sailless, shoreless wo! 

And who can tell, how many, glorious once, 

To others, and themselves of promise full, 

Conducted to this pass of human thought, 

This wilderness of intellectual death, 

Wasted and pined, and vanished from the earth, 

Leaving no vestige of memorial there! 

It was not so with him: when thus he lay, 

Forlorn of heart, withered and desolate, 

As leaf of Autumn, which the wolfish winds, 

Selecting from its falling sisters, chase 

Far from its native grove, to lifeless wastes, 

And leave it there alone to be forgotten 

Eternally—God passed in mercy by, 

His praise be ever new! and on him breathed; 

And bade him live; and put into his hands 

A holy harp, into his lips a song, 

That rolled its numbers down the tide of Time. 

Ambitious now but little to be praised 

Of men alone; ambitious most to be 

Approved of God, the Judge of all; and have 

His name recorded in the book of life. 

Such things were Disappointment, and Remorse: 

And oft united both, as friends severe, 

To teach men wisdom: but the fool untaught, 

Was foolish still. His ear he stopped; his eyes 

He shut; and blindly, deafly obstinate, 

Forced desperately his way from wo to wo. 

One place, one only place there was on earth, 

Where no man ere was fool—however mad. 

“Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.” 

Ah! 'twas a truth most true; and sung in Time, 

And to the sons of men, by one well known 

On earth for lofty verse, and lofty sense. 

Much hast thou seen, fair youth! much heard; but thou 

Hast never seen a death-bed, never heard 

A dying groan. Men saw it often: 'twas sad, 

To all most sorrowful and sad—to guilt 

'Twas anguish, terror, darkness, without bow. 

But O, it had a most convincing tongue, 

A potent oratory, that secured 

Most mute attention: and it spoke the truth 

So boldly, plainly, perfectly distinct, 

That none the meaning could mistake, or doubt. 

And had withal a disenchanting power, 

A most omnipotent and wondrous power, 

Which in a moment broke, for ever broke, 

And utterly dissolved the charms, and spells, 

And cunning sorceries of Earth and Hell. 

And thus it spoke to him who ghastly lay, 

And struggled for another breath: Earth's cup 

Is poisoned: her renown, most infamous; 

Her gold, seem as it may, is really dust; 

Her titles, slanderous names; her praise, reproach; 

Her strength, an idiot's boast; her wisdom, blind; 

Her gain, eternal loss; her hope, a dream; 

Her love, her friendship, enmity with God; 

Her promises, a lie; her smile, a harlot's; 

Her beauty, paint, and rotten within; her pleasures, 

Deadly assassins masked; her laughter, grief; 

Her breasts, the sting of Death; her total sum, 

Her all, most utter vanity; and all 

Her lovers mad; insane most grievously; 

And most insane, because they know it not. 

Thus did the mighty reasoner Death declare; 

And volumes more: and in one word confirmed 

The Bible whole—Eternity is all. 

But few spectators, few believed of those 

Who staid behind. The wisest, best of men 

Believed not to the letter full; but turned, 

And on the world looked forth, as if they thought 

The well trimmed hypocrite had something still 

Of inward worth: the dying man alone 

Gave faithful audience, and the words of Death 

To the last jot believed; believed and felt; 

But oft, alas! believed and felt too late. 

And had Earth then no joys? no native sweets 

No happiness, that one who spoke the truth 

Might call her own? She had; true, native sweets; 

Indigenous delights, which up the Tree 

Of holiness, embracing as they grew, 

Ascended, and bore fruit of heavenly taste: 

In pleasant memory held, and talked of oft, 

By yonder Saints who walk the golden streets 

Of New Jerusalem, and compass round 

The throne, with nearest vision blest—of these 

Hereafter thou shalt hear, delighted hear; 

One page of beauty in the life of man. 

.