The poetical works of William Lisle Bowles ... with memoir, critical dissertation, and explanatory notes, by the Rev. George Gilfillan |
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 | The poetical works of William Lisle Bowles |  |
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5. PART FIFTH.
Day-break—Ascend the highest Mountain—Comparison with the Vision on Mount Tabor—Transfiguration—View to East and West—Ship descried from the East—Descend.
John, gazing on the glimmering eastern surge,
Sat with fixed eyes, when thus the stranger spake:
Up! for the Word and Spirit of the Lord
Are come to me. Let us ascend, old man,
The summit of Elijah's cliff, that hangs
High o'er the ocean surge, and see the sun
Rise o'er the Ægean solitude to-day.
John answered, Can these feeble limbs sustain
The labour up the long and slow ascent,
Step by step, when I feel my strength decay
Daily, and draw my breath with pain?
Sat with fixed eyes, when thus the stranger spake:
Up! for the Word and Spirit of the Lord
Are come to me. Let us ascend, old man,
The summit of Elijah's cliff, that hangs
High o'er the ocean surge, and see the sun
Rise o'er the Ægean solitude to-day.
John answered, Can these feeble limbs sustain
The labour up the long and slow ascent,
Step by step, when I feel my strength decay
Daily, and draw my breath with pain?
Thy God
Will give thee strength, the stranger said, and took
His trembling hand, and led his feeble step
Slow up the hill; and ever as they went,
And the horizon widened, in his heart
John felt a strange reviving power, that braced
His sinews, and gave a vigour to his steps,
Conquering the pain and labour of the way:
But needs not pain or labour, for a thought
Hath brought them there, the white hairs, in the wind,
Of John, yet gently stirring, and his cheek
Just lighted with a transient glow; and now
Both stood upon the promontory's point,
Thoughtful and silent: soon they saw the sun
Slowly emerging, a vast orb of fire,
Above the shadowy edge of ocean; now
Flaming direct o'er Asia, with a stream
Of long illumination, on the clouds,
Marked with confusion of rich hues, and thence
Touching the nearer promontory's height,
Pale cliffs, and eagles' wings above the clouds,
And now careering through the heaven, supreme,
Full and magnificent, in loneliness
Of glory. When the rays first touched his brow,
Then more exalted, and of larger frame,
The stranger seemed to grow, as not of earth,
Or earth's inhabitants; so tall his form,
So glorified his aspect. John had fallen
Upon his knees, but a mild voice rebuked:
See that thou do it not; hast thou received
Or strength or comfort, give the thanks to God.
Will give thee strength, the stranger said, and took
His trembling hand, and led his feeble step
Slow up the hill; and ever as they went,
And the horizon widened, in his heart
John felt a strange reviving power, that braced
His sinews, and gave a vigour to his steps,
Conquering the pain and labour of the way:
But needs not pain or labour, for a thought
Hath brought them there, the white hairs, in the wind,
Of John, yet gently stirring, and his cheek
Just lighted with a transient glow; and now
Both stood upon the promontory's point,
Thoughtful and silent: soon they saw the sun
Slowly emerging, a vast orb of fire,
Above the shadowy edge of ocean; now
200
Of long illumination, on the clouds,
Marked with confusion of rich hues, and thence
Touching the nearer promontory's height,
Pale cliffs, and eagles' wings above the clouds,
And now careering through the heaven, supreme,
Full and magnificent, in loneliness
Of glory. When the rays first touched his brow,
Then more exalted, and of larger frame,
The stranger seemed to grow, as not of earth,
Or earth's inhabitants; so tall his form,
So glorified his aspect. John had fallen
Upon his knees, but a mild voice rebuked:
See that thou do it not; hast thou received
Or strength or comfort, give the thanks to God.
John, resting on the crag of the wild rock,
Looked up, and then to his companion spoke:
Not uninstructive hath thy converse been,
Nor unrefreshing to my weary heart
Thy presence; more so, in a scene like this,
Raised, as it were, above the shade and clouds
Of transient time. And so, long since, my soul
Felt a divine refreshment, when I stood
Upon the mount of vision with our Lord
That day when in transfigured form he rose.
Oh! well do I remember it, who saw,
With James and Peter, by the sight oppressed,
The glorious apparition. Each stray cloud
Wandered far off, and lost in the blue sky,
And not a freckle stained the firmament
High overhead. The mystic mount itself,
Tabor, seemed rising up to heaven, and loomed
In such illumination, that the track
Below, and all the plains of Galilee,
Rivers and lake to the great western sea,
Looked cold and dim, even in the morning sun;
Such was the glory of the sudden blaze
That wrapped the mount. The crowd of lesser hills
On to the city of Tiberias,
Appeared below o'er which the eagle sailed,
Mute, for his eyes yet blenched from the excess
Of light, unlike the sun, that startled him,
With bursting splendour, where he slept. He flew,
High soaring o'er the hills of Jezreel,
On to the mountains of Samaria.
We fell upon the ground, and with our hands
Covered our faces, when we raised our eyes,
We saw three glorified appearances;
Two, as of aged prophets, with their beards
Streaming; each held a book, and in the midst,
And, buoyant in the air, his countenance
Bright as the sun, our Saviour's form appeared
Above them, while his vest, intensely white,
Floated, as thus transfigured he arose.
With clasped hands, and eyes upraised to heaven,
Peter, in joy and wonder, ardently
Cried: Let us build three tabernacles here,
To Moses, and Elias, and to thee,
Saviour and God! not knowing what he said.
A cloud now interposed between the light,
Softening its glory, while a voice was heard
From the bright cloud, Lo, my beloved Son—
Hear him! At once the shadowy imagery,
The visionary pomp, the radiant cloud,
Were rolled away, and Jesus stood alone;
For they who held high converse, and whose forms,
Appeared in thinner air, above the blaze,
Were gone with the departing cloud: his hand
He placed upon our heads, and said, Fear not!
And that calm look of dignity and love
Was placed upon us, as before. Again
We saw the sun—the cloudless cope of heaven—
The long green valley of Esdraelon—
The pines of dewy Hermon, and the smoke
Of Nain, where once a widowed mother wept
Her lost and only son, whom Jesus raised
From death's cold sleep, restoring to her tears
Of joy; we saw the cavern and the cliffs
Of Endor, where the wizard-woman called
Up from his sleep of death the prophet old,
To tell to trembling Saul his hour was come.
Oh! hills, and streams, and plains of Palestine;
Scenes where we heard, long since, our Master's voice,
And saw his face! how often, with a tear,
Have I remembered you, how often sighed:
Oh! for the swiftness of an eagle's wing,
That I might flee away, and visit you
Once more! But this great vision of the mount,
With shadowings of glory, was displayed,
That we might be sustained in the dread day
Of trial, when the very rocks should burst—
When, through deep darkness, the loud cry should come:
My God, my God, hast thou forsaken me?
That we might be prepared, through every ill,
In peril and in pain, in life, in death;
Though persecution, famine, and the sword,
Fronted our way, prepared to hold right on;
Calm to take up our cross, and follow Him
Who meekly bowed his head upon that cross;
For if in this life only we had hope,
We were of all most miserable. Lord,
Thee have I followed, now in age, and poor,
Thy sufferings were for us—for us? for me;
For me thy bleeding side was pierced, for me
Thy spirit groaned! Oh! come, Lord Jesus Christ!
Oh! come, for I have tarried long on earth;
Come, Lord and Saviour! have I prayed in vain?
Thou didst appear in glory on the mount;
And thou hast come, even now, and cried, Fear not,
I live for evermore, and have the keys
Of death and hell. And wherefore should I fear,
Now waiting only to depart in peace!
But I have wandered in my thoughts; this view
From this high mountain, and congenial thoughts,
Have waked the memory of that vision bright,
When once we saw, above the clouds of earth,
Our Lord in glistening apparel shine.
Looked up, and then to his companion spoke:
Not uninstructive hath thy converse been,
Nor unrefreshing to my weary heart
Thy presence; more so, in a scene like this,
Raised, as it were, above the shade and clouds
Of transient time. And so, long since, my soul
Felt a divine refreshment, when I stood
Upon the mount of vision with our Lord
That day when in transfigured form he rose.
Oh! well do I remember it, who saw,
With James and Peter, by the sight oppressed,
The glorious apparition. Each stray cloud
Wandered far off, and lost in the blue sky,
And not a freckle stained the firmament
High overhead. The mystic mount itself,
Tabor, seemed rising up to heaven, and loomed
In such illumination, that the track
Below, and all the plains of Galilee,
201
Looked cold and dim, even in the morning sun;
Such was the glory of the sudden blaze
That wrapped the mount. The crowd of lesser hills
On to the city of Tiberias,
Appeared below o'er which the eagle sailed,
Mute, for his eyes yet blenched from the excess
Of light, unlike the sun, that startled him,
With bursting splendour, where he slept. He flew,
High soaring o'er the hills of Jezreel,
On to the mountains of Samaria.
We fell upon the ground, and with our hands
Covered our faces, when we raised our eyes,
We saw three glorified appearances;
Two, as of aged prophets, with their beards
Streaming; each held a book, and in the midst,
And, buoyant in the air, his countenance
Bright as the sun, our Saviour's form appeared
Above them, while his vest, intensely white,
Floated, as thus transfigured he arose.
With clasped hands, and eyes upraised to heaven,
Peter, in joy and wonder, ardently
Cried: Let us build three tabernacles here,
To Moses, and Elias, and to thee,
Saviour and God! not knowing what he said.
A cloud now interposed between the light,
Softening its glory, while a voice was heard
From the bright cloud, Lo, my beloved Son—
Hear him! At once the shadowy imagery,
The visionary pomp, the radiant cloud,
Were rolled away, and Jesus stood alone;
For they who held high converse, and whose forms,
Appeared in thinner air, above the blaze,
Were gone with the departing cloud: his hand
202
And that calm look of dignity and love
Was placed upon us, as before. Again
We saw the sun—the cloudless cope of heaven—
The long green valley of Esdraelon—
The pines of dewy Hermon, and the smoke
Of Nain, where once a widowed mother wept
Her lost and only son, whom Jesus raised
From death's cold sleep, restoring to her tears
Of joy; we saw the cavern and the cliffs
Of Endor, where the wizard-woman called
Up from his sleep of death the prophet old,
To tell to trembling Saul his hour was come.
Oh! hills, and streams, and plains of Palestine;
Scenes where we heard, long since, our Master's voice,
And saw his face! how often, with a tear,
Have I remembered you, how often sighed:
Oh! for the swiftness of an eagle's wing,
That I might flee away, and visit you
Once more! But this great vision of the mount,
With shadowings of glory, was displayed,
That we might be sustained in the dread day
Of trial, when the very rocks should burst—
When, through deep darkness, the loud cry should come:
My God, my God, hast thou forsaken me?
That we might be prepared, through every ill,
In peril and in pain, in life, in death;
Though persecution, famine, and the sword,
Fronted our way, prepared to hold right on;
Calm to take up our cross, and follow Him
Who meekly bowed his head upon that cross;
For if in this life only we had hope,
We were of all most miserable. Lord,
203
Thy sufferings were for us—for us? for me;
For me thy bleeding side was pierced, for me
Thy spirit groaned! Oh! come, Lord Jesus Christ!
Oh! come, for I have tarried long on earth;
Come, Lord and Saviour! have I prayed in vain?
Thou didst appear in glory on the mount;
And thou hast come, even now, and cried, Fear not,
I live for evermore, and have the keys
Of death and hell. And wherefore should I fear,
Now waiting only to depart in peace!
But I have wandered in my thoughts; this view
From this high mountain, and congenial thoughts,
Have waked the memory of that vision bright,
When once we saw, above the clouds of earth,
Our Lord in glistening apparel shine.
Then he who stood upon the mountain's van
With John, and gazed upon the seas below,
Said, Look towards the East: what dost thou see?
John answered, There is nothing but the clouds
And seas. And both were silent.
STRANGER.With John, and gazed upon the seas below,
Said, Look towards the East: what dost thou see?
John answered, There is nothing but the clouds
And seas. And both were silent.
Look again.
John answered, There is nothing but the clouds
And seas, and the great sun above the waves,
That goeth forth in beauty.
John answered, There is nothing but the clouds
And seas, and the great sun above the waves,
That goeth forth in beauty.
STRANGER.
Look again.
John answered, Yes, upon the farthest line
Of the blue ocean-track, there is a speck
Of light; no; yes; there is a distant sail
In sight; it seems as speeding hitherward.
John answered, Yes, upon the farthest line
Of the blue ocean-track, there is a speck
Of light; no; yes; there is a distant sail
In sight; it seems as speeding hitherward.
204
Enough. Look to the west: what seest thou there?
JOHN.
Ah! all that hid the vast and various scene
Slowly withdraws, like morning mist. I see
Regions, in light and shade, beyond the isles,
Delos and Mycone, mountains and capes
Unfolding, through the mist, as if they stood
Beneath our feet. There, bays, and gulfs, and plains,
And wandering streams appear; and o'er them, high
Upon a hill, in the pale atmosphere,
A temple vast, as of some god renowned
In pagan lands.
Slowly withdraws, like morning mist. I see
Regions, in light and shade, beyond the isles,
Delos and Mycone, mountains and capes
Unfolding, through the mist, as if they stood
Beneath our feet. There, bays, and gulfs, and plains,
And wandering streams appear; and o'er them, high
Upon a hill, in the pale atmosphere,
A temple vast, as of some god renowned
In pagan lands.
STRANGER.
Thou seest the shores of Greece,
And that the illustrious city, so renowned,
Athens; upon that hill, the hill of Mars,
Paul stood, when, pointing to the skies above,
He spoke of fanes “not made with hands;” of God,
Who liveth in the heaven. What seest thou more?
And that the illustrious city, so renowned,
Athens; upon that hill, the hill of Mars,
Paul stood, when, pointing to the skies above,
He spoke of fanes “not made with hands;” of God,
Who liveth in the heaven. What seest thou more?
JOHN.
Another land, stretched, like a giant's arm,
Across the deep, with seas on either side.
There, on seven hills, I see a city, crowned
With glittering domes; the nether champagne spread
With aqueducts, and columns, arches, and towers.
Across the deep, with seas on either side.
There, on seven hills, I see a city, crowned
With glittering domes; the nether champagne spread
With aqueducts, and columns, arches, and towers.
STRANGER.
It is the Imperial Mistress of the World,
Rome—Rome—now pagan; but a power unknown
Shall rise, and, throned on those seven hills—
When Cæsars moulder with their palaces,
Shall hold dominion o'er the prostrate world,
Not by their glittering legions, but the power
Of cowled Superstition, that shall keep
Kingdoms and kings in thrall; till, with a shout,
A brighter angel, from the heaven of heavens,
As ampler knowledge shoots her glorious beams,
Shall open the Lamb's book again, and night,
Beckoning her dismal shadows, and dark birds,
Fly hooting from the dayspring of that dawn.
Burns not thy heart to think upon those days!
But long and dire shall be the tale of blood;
Let it be hid for ever! Look again:
Rome—Rome—now pagan; but a power unknown
205
When Cæsars moulder with their palaces,
Shall hold dominion o'er the prostrate world,
Not by their glittering legions, but the power
Of cowled Superstition, that shall keep
Kingdoms and kings in thrall; till, with a shout,
A brighter angel, from the heaven of heavens,
As ampler knowledge shoots her glorious beams,
Shall open the Lamb's book again, and night,
Beckoning her dismal shadows, and dark birds,
Fly hooting from the dayspring of that dawn.
Burns not thy heart to think upon those days!
But long and dire shall be the tale of blood;
Let it be hid for ever! Look again:
JOHN.
I see the pillars and the rocky bounds
That gird this inland sea.
That gird this inland sea.
STRANGER.
What seest thou more?
JOHN.
I see a ship burst through the narrow frith
Into the sea of darkness and of storms,
There lost in boundless solitudes. Oh! no,
There is an island; with its chalky cliffs,
Beauteous it rises from the billowy waste.
Into the sea of darkness and of storms,
There lost in boundless solitudes. Oh! no,
There is an island; with its chalky cliffs,
Beauteous it rises from the billowy waste.
STRANGER.
Thither that ship is bound: nor storms, nor seas,
Rocking in more terrific amplitude,
Rocking in more terrific amplitude,
206
Impede its course. Long years shall roll away,
And when deep night shall wrap again the shores,
Of Asia; where the “golden candlestick”
Now gleams, illumining the pagan world;
And where a few poor Christian fishermen
Shall here and there be found; even where thy Church
Of Ephesus stood in the light of heaven,
From that far isle, amid the desert waves,
Back, like the morning on the darkened east,
To lands long hid, in ocean-depths unknown,
The radiance of the gospel shall go forth,
And the Cross float triumphant o'er the world.
And when deep night shall wrap again the shores,
Of Asia; where the “golden candlestick”
Now gleams, illumining the pagan world;
And where a few poor Christian fishermen
Shall here and there be found; even where thy Church
Of Ephesus stood in the light of heaven,
From that far isle, amid the desert waves,
Back, like the morning on the darkened east,
To lands long hid, in ocean-depths unknown,
The radiance of the gospel shall go forth,
And the Cross float triumphant o'er the world.
JOHN.
Even now, in vision rapt of days to come,
I see her Christian temples, pale in air,
Above the smoke of cities; o'er the deep
I see her fleets, innumerable, spread,
Chequering, like shadows, the remotest main;
And, lo! a river, winding in the light,
Silent, amid a vast metropolis,
Beneath the spires, and towers, and glittering domes!
Ah! they are vanished, and a sudden cloud
Hides, from the straining sight, temple, and tower,
And battlement.
I see her Christian temples, pale in air,
Above the smoke of cities; o'er the deep
I see her fleets, innumerable, spread,
Chequering, like shadows, the remotest main;
And, lo! a river, winding in the light,
Silent, amid a vast metropolis,
Beneath the spires, and towers, and glittering domes!
Ah! they are vanished, and a sudden cloud
Hides, from the straining sight, temple, and tower,
And battlement.
STRANGER.
Pray that it pass away.
JOHN.
Ah! the pale horse and rider! the pale horse
Is there! silence is in the streets! The ark
Of her majestic polity, the Church—
The temple of the Lord—I see no more!
Is there! silence is in the streets! The ark
Of her majestic polity, the Church—
The temple of the Lord—I see no more!
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Pray that her faith preserve her: the event
Is in His hands who bade his angels sound
Their trumps, or pour the avenging vials out.
Let us descend, the wind is fresh and fair,
Direct from the north-east; let us descend.
Is in His hands who bade his angels sound
Their trumps, or pour the avenging vials out.
Let us descend, the wind is fresh and fair,
Direct from the north-east; let us descend.
And they descended, silently and slow,
Towards the craggy cave, and rested there,
Looking upon the sunshine on the waves
Of the pale-blue Ægean, still intent,
Watching the sail, that, by the western beam
Illumined, held its course towards the shore.
Icarian figs furnished a scant repast,
With water from the rock, after their toil;
While they, within the cave, conversing sat
Of virtue and of vice, of sin and death,
Of youth and age, and pleasure's flowery path,
Leading to sorrow and untimely death.
Towards the craggy cave, and rested there,
Looking upon the sunshine on the waves
Of the pale-blue Ægean, still intent,
Watching the sail, that, by the western beam
Illumined, held its course towards the shore.
Icarian figs furnished a scant repast,
With water from the rock, after their toil;
While they, within the cave, conversing sat
Of virtue and of vice, of sin and death,
Of youth and age, and pleasure's flowery path,
Leading to sorrow and untimely death.
| The poetical works of William Lisle Bowles | |