 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
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BOOK I.
“Earth's kingdoms and their glory.”
Milton.
Awake, ye thunders!—and with gloomy roar
Deepen around me, while a darkness shrouds
The air, as once again this World I greet
Here on the haughty mountain, where of old
The God Incarnate, in the heavens re-throned,
Was tempted and withstood me.
Deepen around me, while a darkness shrouds
The air, as once again this World I greet
Here on the haughty mountain, where of old
The God Incarnate, in the heavens re-throned,
Was tempted and withstood me.
Lo! the powers
Of Nature, by my dread command sublimed,
Mount into rage, and magnify the storm
To elemental grandeur; while as Prince
By whom the spirit-peopled air is bound
In bondage, from my viewless throne I gaze,
Prompting the Tempest; whose convulsive swell
Heaves like the echo of my spirit's war,
The moral earthquake that makes hell within!
Hark! to the crash of riven forest-boughs
In yonder waste, the home of Hurricanes,
That catch the howlings of the cavern'd brutes
And waft them onwards to Arabia's wild,
O'ercanopied with flying waves of sand
Like a dread ocean whirling through the skies.
But Thou alone, eternally sublime,
Thou rolling mystery of might and power!
Rocking the tempest on thy breast of waves
Or, spread in breezy rapture to the sun,
Thou daring Ocean! that couldst deluge worlds
And yet rush on,—I hear thy deep-toned wrath
In ceaseless thunder challenging the Winds
Resoundingly; and from afar behold
Thine armied billows, plunging in the blast,
And the wild sea-foam shiver on the gales!
Of Nature, by my dread command sublimed,
Mount into rage, and magnify the storm
To elemental grandeur; while as Prince
By whom the spirit-peopled air is bound
In bondage, from my viewless throne I gaze,
Prompting the Tempest; whose convulsive swell
Heaves like the echo of my spirit's war,
The moral earthquake that makes hell within!
Hark! to the crash of riven forest-boughs
In yonder waste, the home of Hurricanes,
That catch the howlings of the cavern'd brutes
And waft them onwards to Arabia's wild,
O'ercanopied with flying waves of sand
Like a dread ocean whirling through the skies.
But Thou alone, eternally sublime,
Thou rolling mystery of might and power!
Rocking the tempest on thy breast of waves
Or, spread in breezy rapture to the sun,
Thou daring Ocean! that couldst deluge worlds
And yet rush on,—I hear thy deep-toned wrath
In ceaseless thunder challenging the Winds
Resoundingly; and from afar behold
Thine armied billows, plunging in the blast,
And the wild sea-foam shiver on the gales!
Exult, ye waves! and, whirlwinds! sweep along
Like the full breathings of almighty ire,
Whose sound is desolation! Where the sail
Of yon lone vessel, like a shatter'd cloud,
Is moving, let the surges mount on high
Their huge magnificence, and lift their heads,
And like Titanic creatures tempest-born,
In life and fury march upon the main!
Rave on, thou Tempest! in thy fiercest roar;
To me thy reckless mood is fearful joy;
A faint memento of that direful scene
When proud rebellion shook the walls of heaven,
Till, girt with thunder, dread Messiah came,
And hurl'd us downward to the deep of hell.
Like the full breathings of almighty ire,
Whose sound is desolation! Where the sail
Of yon lone vessel, like a shatter'd cloud,
Is moving, let the surges mount on high
Their huge magnificence, and lift their heads,
And like Titanic creatures tempest-born,
In life and fury march upon the main!
Rave on, thou Tempest! in thy fiercest roar;
To me thy reckless mood is fearful joy;
A faint memento of that direful scene
When proud rebellion shook the walls of heaven,
Till, girt with thunder, dread Messiah came,
And hurl'd us downward to the deep of hell.
The Tempest dies; the winds have tamed their ire;
The sea-birds hover on enchanted wing;
And save a throb of thunder, faintly heard,
And ebbing knell-like o'er yon western deep
Which now lies panting with a weary swell
Like a worn monster at his giant length
Gasping, with foam upon his troubled mane,—
The sounds of elemental wrath retire.
The Sun is up! look, where He proudly comes
In blazing triumph wheeling o'er the earth,
A victor in full glory! At his gaze
The heavens as with emotion smile, and beam
With many a sailing cloud-isle sprinkled o'er;
While forest-woodlands and enliven'd flowers
The central monarch of the skies salute.
Now hills are gleaming; rich the mountains glow;
The streams run gladness, yellow meads appear,
And palm-woods glitter on Judæan plains;
Beauty and brightness shed their soul abroad:—
Then let me, whom no mortal space can bound,
The Earth survey, and mark her mighty realms.
The sea-birds hover on enchanted wing;
And save a throb of thunder, faintly heard,
And ebbing knell-like o'er yon western deep
Which now lies panting with a weary swell
Like a worn monster at his giant length
Gasping, with foam upon his troubled mane,—
The sounds of elemental wrath retire.
The Sun is up! look, where He proudly comes
In blazing triumph wheeling o'er the earth,
A victor in full glory! At his gaze
The heavens as with emotion smile, and beam
With many a sailing cloud-isle sprinkled o'er;
While forest-woodlands and enliven'd flowers
The central monarch of the skies salute.
Now hills are gleaming; rich the mountains glow;
The streams run gladness, yellow meads appear,
And palm-woods glitter on Judæan plains;
Beauty and brightness shed their soul abroad:—
Then let me, whom no mortal space can bound,
The Earth survey, and mark her mighty realms.
Why, what a stately Orb is this! how wide
In range! how wonderful in scene! the grace
And crown—the paragon of worlds!
And Thou, for whom all elements exist,
A second nature from thy soul hath sprung,
And made wide earth a new creation seem!
In range! how wonderful in scene! the grace
And crown—the paragon of worlds!
And Thou, for whom all elements exist,
A second nature from thy soul hath sprung,
And made wide earth a new creation seem!
Deserted isles, with oceanic wastes,
Heaving and wild, monotonous and vast;
Terrific mountains, where the fire-floods dwell,
Or snows in iced eternity congeal;
And haggard rocks uplifted, huge, or bare,
The hoary frame-work of a ruin'd world:
And rivers deep, exulting as they glide,
And forests high, and dales by woods o'erhung,
With meadows greenly bright, and champaigns broad;
And flowers, whose beauty blush'd in Paradise,
By streams that murmur of their mountain-birth;
With high-domed cities, crown'd with misty clouds,
And shadow'd interchange of hamlets lone
Which deck the verdure of retreating vales,—
Before me, like a panorama, spread;
Far as the ice-clad North hath bared its brow,
To where the burning South extends, from East
To West this theatre of man I view.
Heaving and wild, monotonous and vast;
Terrific mountains, where the fire-floods dwell,
Or snows in iced eternity congeal;
And haggard rocks uplifted, huge, or bare,
The hoary frame-work of a ruin'd world:
And rivers deep, exulting as they glide,
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With meadows greenly bright, and champaigns broad;
And flowers, whose beauty blush'd in Paradise,
By streams that murmur of their mountain-birth;
With high-domed cities, crown'd with misty clouds,
And shadow'd interchange of hamlets lone
Which deck the verdure of retreating vales,—
Before me, like a panorama, spread;
Far as the ice-clad North hath bared its brow,
To where the burning South extends, from East
To West this theatre of man I view.
Jerusalem, forlorn Judæan Queen!
Girt with the grandeur of prophetic hills,
How art thou fallen from thy sacred height
Of splendour and renown! Unhallow'd now,
Save by the tombs and memory of the past;
Hush'd are thy Trumpets, which enrapt the air
With Jubilee, when Freedom burst the chain
Of captives, heart with heart embraced, and eye
To eye beam'd fellowship; while not an ear
But feasted on that soul-awakening sound!
Thy Temple vast, whose architect was God
Himself, when first the giant fabric grew,
That matchless Pile! on which Religion gazed
With haughty glance, where Glory dwelt enshrined;—
Where is it now? Dead as the Roman dust,
That erst, with living valour fired, uncrown'd
Thy queenly pride, and palsied thy vast walls,
Strewing the plains with atoms of thy strength.
And yet, where yonder marbled courts, and mosques
With sun-gilt minarets, like glitt'ring peaks
Of mountain-tops, are seen, a Prophet stood,
And in stern vision saw predestined Time
Advancing, with dark ruin on his wings,
To shatter thee, and sprinkle the wide earth
With orphans of thy race. How scornful rang
Thy laughter, when such vision was unroll'd!
But when thy rocks were echoed with the cry
Of Desolation, moaning her despair,
Many a Demon on the viewless winds
Exulted, shouting, with revengeful joy,
“Thus sink the glories of great Palestine!”
Girt with the grandeur of prophetic hills,
How art thou fallen from thy sacred height
Of splendour and renown! Unhallow'd now,
Save by the tombs and memory of the past;
Hush'd are thy Trumpets, which enrapt the air
With Jubilee, when Freedom burst the chain
Of captives, heart with heart embraced, and eye
To eye beam'd fellowship; while not an ear
But feasted on that soul-awakening sound!
Thy Temple vast, whose architect was God
Himself, when first the giant fabric grew,
That matchless Pile! on which Religion gazed
With haughty glance, where Glory dwelt enshrined;—
Where is it now? Dead as the Roman dust,
That erst, with living valour fired, uncrown'd
Thy queenly pride, and palsied thy vast walls,
Strewing the plains with atoms of thy strength.
And yet, where yonder marbled courts, and mosques
With sun-gilt minarets, like glitt'ring peaks
Of mountain-tops, are seen, a Prophet stood,
And in stern vision saw predestined Time
Advancing, with dark ruin on his wings,
To shatter thee, and sprinkle the wide earth
With orphans of thy race. How scornful rang
Thy laughter, when such vision was unroll'd!
But when thy rocks were echoed with the cry
Of Desolation, moaning her despair,
Many a Demon on the viewless winds
Exulted, shouting, with revengeful joy,
“Thus sink the glories of great Palestine!”
Alas, for human Grandeur! in the pomp
Of Temples, and the stony Wonders, rear'd
In rebel majesty against the might
Of ages, let Ambition learn her doom.
Bagdad, o'er famed Chaldea proudly raised
In tow'ring splendour by the Tigris' banks;
And hoary Smyrna of Mæonic fame,
All beautiful in ruins, where the fruits
And flowers yet flourish o'er deserted Art
And laughing streamlets run with liquid joy;
With Tyre and Sidon, where rich Commerce ruled
Showering her treasures o'er the sunny East;
And gay Damascus, whose delicious plains
Of verdure, striped with water's radiant flow,
Shine green as ever,—in your wrinkled piles
Are lessons for the loftiest eyes to read,
That mark ye now, and dream of vanish'd might
When merchants rivall'd Kings! But far o'er all,
Where yonder mountain mingles with the plain
Of billowy sand, gigantic, dread, and lone,
Great Heliopolis in ruin mourns.
And next, yon ancient desert-Queen behold,
The blasted Genius of the wilderness,
Palmyra! pillar'd yet in temple-pride,
Decayless arches show past glory still;
But wither'd down from her Zenobian pomp
When there the sun-idolatries were seen
And Grandeur call'd the streets her own,—but now,
Let Solomon arise, and read her fate!
Of Temples, and the stony Wonders, rear'd
In rebel majesty against the might
Of ages, let Ambition learn her doom.
Bagdad, o'er famed Chaldea proudly raised
In tow'ring splendour by the Tigris' banks;
And hoary Smyrna of Mæonic fame,
All beautiful in ruins, where the fruits
And flowers yet flourish o'er deserted Art
And laughing streamlets run with liquid joy;
With Tyre and Sidon, where rich Commerce ruled
Showering her treasures o'er the sunny East;
And gay Damascus, whose delicious plains
Of verdure, striped with water's radiant flow,
Shine green as ever,—in your wrinkled piles
Are lessons for the loftiest eyes to read,
That mark ye now, and dream of vanish'd might
When merchants rivall'd Kings! But far o'er all,
Where yonder mountain mingles with the plain
Of billowy sand, gigantic, dread, and lone,
Great Heliopolis in ruin mourns.
And next, yon ancient desert-Queen behold,
The blasted Genius of the wilderness,
Palmyra! pillar'd yet in temple-pride,
Decayless arches show past glory still;
But wither'd down from her Zenobian pomp
When there the sun-idolatries were seen
And Grandeur call'd the streets her own,—but now,
Let Solomon arise, and read her fate!
But, sadder yet, beyond the Libyan wild
Sepulchral Egypt lies! Come royal heirs
Of Ptolemy, and patriarchal kings,
And see the shadow of your once sublime
And storied Egypt! True, her fostering Nile,
That flowing wand'rer of mysterious birth,
Her annual life-flood generously yields;
But where the soul of Science? where the fount
Of Wisdom, from whose deep and dateless spring
The Greek and Roman drank? Colossal Thebes,
How grimly sleep thy ruins! where of yore,
Like billows trooping at the whirlwind's call
Forth from thy hundred gates the battle-cars
Out-roll'd! Thy tombs and arches, Temples huge
As sculptured mountains, darkling yet remain,
But sadness broods o'er all. And ye august,
In blighted majesty of stone uprear'd,
Stern Pyramids! which point your heads to heaven
As pillars that could prop the spheres, a day
Is coming when ye moulder into dust,
And melt like dew-dops by the wind annull'd!
Sepulchral Egypt lies! Come royal heirs
Of Ptolemy, and patriarchal kings,
And see the shadow of your once sublime
And storied Egypt! True, her fostering Nile,
That flowing wand'rer of mysterious birth,
Her annual life-flood generously yields;
But where the soul of Science? where the fount
Of Wisdom, from whose deep and dateless spring
The Greek and Roman drank? Colossal Thebes,
How grimly sleep thy ruins! where of yore,
Like billows trooping at the whirlwind's call
Forth from thy hundred gates the battle-cars
Out-roll'd! Thy tombs and arches, Temples huge
As sculptured mountains, darkling yet remain,
But sadness broods o'er all. And ye august,
In blighted majesty of stone uprear'd,
Stern Pyramids! which point your heads to heaven
As pillars that could prop the spheres, a day
Is coming when ye moulder into dust,
And melt like dew-dops by the wind annull'd!
So sink the monuments of ancient might,
So fade the gauds and splendours of the World.
Her empires brighten, blaze, and pass away,
And trophied Fanes, and adamantine Walls
Which challenged an eternity, depart
Amid the dying change, or lapse of things:
Enthroned o'er all, bleak Desolation frowns,
Save mind—omnipotent, surpassing Mind!
One scintillation of the soul inspired
Though kindled in an atmosphere of gloom
Or loneliness, will strengthen, glow, and live,
And burn from age to age, till it become
The sun and glory of a thinking world
When thrones are shatter'd, and their kings forgot!
So fade the gauds and splendours of the World.
Her empires brighten, blaze, and pass away,
And trophied Fanes, and adamantine Walls
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Amid the dying change, or lapse of things:
Enthroned o'er all, bleak Desolation frowns,
Save mind—omnipotent, surpassing Mind!
One scintillation of the soul inspired
Though kindled in an atmosphere of gloom
Or loneliness, will strengthen, glow, and live,
And burn from age to age, till it become
The sun and glory of a thinking world
When thrones are shatter'd, and their kings forgot!
The revolution and the wrath of Time,
Rolling his years with an avenging flow
Alike o'er all, hath been a thread-worn theme
Which tunes the sentiment of many an Age.
And thus, the musing lover of the past,
Romancing idly o'er the name of time,
Untombing empires, and re-crowning kings,
In sighing wonder ends his moral strain!
Thou fool! and martyr to a feeble word;
'Tis Thought and Action, those unslumb'ring two,
Which give to time solemnity and dread;
And he who marks mere havoc, not the war
Of passion, and inclining will, but prates
And lulls his moral in a dream of words.
Rolling his years with an avenging flow
Alike o'er all, hath been a thread-worn theme
Which tunes the sentiment of many an Age.
And thus, the musing lover of the past,
Romancing idly o'er the name of time,
Untombing empires, and re-crowning kings,
In sighing wonder ends his moral strain!
Thou fool! and martyr to a feeble word;
'Tis Thought and Action, those unslumb'ring two,
Which give to time solemnity and dread;
And he who marks mere havoc, not the war
Of passion, and inclining will, but prates
And lulls his moral in a dream of words.
Let him who muses on the awful wreck
Of Empires, wailing in the dust, and thrones
Reversed, or cities in their ruin vast,
Here History and her inspirations dwell,
Dive deeper, till he stretch a thought to Me!
Ere man was fashion'd from his fellow dust,
I was!—and since the sound of human voice
First trembled on the air, my darksome power
Hath compass'd him in mystery, and in might;
Upon the soul of sage Philosophy
And Wisdom, templed in the shrines of old,
Faint shadows of my Being fell; a sense
Of me thus deepen'd through the onward flood
Of ages, till substantial thought it grew,
A certainty sublime, in that great soul,
The epic-god of ancient song, who down
The infinite abyss could dare to gaze,
And summon forth the imagery of Hell.
Of Empires, wailing in the dust, and thrones
Reversed, or cities in their ruin vast,
Here History and her inspirations dwell,
Dive deeper, till he stretch a thought to Me!
Ere man was fashion'd from his fellow dust,
I was!—and since the sound of human voice
First trembled on the air, my darksome power
Hath compass'd him in mystery, and in might;
Upon the soul of sage Philosophy
And Wisdom, templed in the shrines of old,
Faint shadows of my Being fell; a sense
Of me thus deepen'd through the onward flood
Of ages, till substantial thought it grew,
A certainty sublime, in that great soul,
The epic-god of ancient song, who down
The infinite abyss could dare to gaze,
And summon forth the imagery of Hell.
And in that Book, where heaven lies half reveal'd,
By words terrific as the herald-flash
That hints the lightning-vengeance of a storm,
Am I not vision'd? as the Prince of Air,
A Spirit that would crush the universe,
And battle with Infinity? Yet Truth,
So unrelenting in her solemn task,
A chilling welcome in the eyes of men
Hath found, denying what they dread to feel.
Kind Infidel! satanic praise accept;
Friend of the guilty, solace of the vile,
And teacher of the vain, mankind instruct
And make one world, my own. Oh, few believe
When condemnation awes the spirit back!
Save hearts, where all simplicities of faith
Abound, and warn each hell-born doubt away
Or men, self-tortured, who at midnight dream
Of oceans foaming with eternal fires,
Or ghastly air-fiends, writhing as they howl,—
Save unto these, and souls of kindred hue,
The Powers of Darkness are a cheat of words,
Framed by a Priest to juggle fools. Alas!
Yet oft they frown upon the mocker's path
And feel they could, did Nature not prevail,
Burst into life, and blast him with a gaze!
By words terrific as the herald-flash
That hints the lightning-vengeance of a storm,
Am I not vision'd? as the Prince of Air,
A Spirit that would crush the universe,
And battle with Infinity? Yet Truth,
So unrelenting in her solemn task,
A chilling welcome in the eyes of men
Hath found, denying what they dread to feel.
Kind Infidel! satanic praise accept;
Friend of the guilty, solace of the vile,
And teacher of the vain, mankind instruct
And make one world, my own. Oh, few believe
When condemnation awes the spirit back!
Save hearts, where all simplicities of faith
Abound, and warn each hell-born doubt away
Or men, self-tortured, who at midnight dream
Of oceans foaming with eternal fires,
Or ghastly air-fiends, writhing as they howl,—
Save unto these, and souls of kindred hue,
The Powers of Darkness are a cheat of words,
Framed by a Priest to juggle fools. Alas!
Yet oft they frown upon the mocker's path
And feel they could, did Nature not prevail,
Burst into life, and blast him with a gaze!
`What understanding cannot grasp, belief
Can never claim,”—a wisdom most divine!
Why, all around him, from the race of flowers
That woo his unadmiring gaze, to hosts
Of orbèd wonders which the sky pervade,
Is Mystery, robed in some material pomp;
Then why should mysteries of awe within,
Themselves resolve to charm a sceptic mind?
Religion acts, but unexplain'd abides;—
The beatings of the heart resemble this,
And men may wonder, but it still beats on!
Can never claim,”—a wisdom most divine!
Why, all around him, from the race of flowers
That woo his unadmiring gaze, to hosts
Of orbèd wonders which the sky pervade,
Is Mystery, robed in some material pomp;
Then why should mysteries of awe within,
Themselves resolve to charm a sceptic mind?
Religion acts, but unexplain'd abides;—
The beatings of the heart resemble this,
And men may wonder, but it still beats on!
But when the balance of sublunar Things
Is tried, amended, and for ever fix'd,
Belief for unbelief shall then atone
By sad conviction:—then shall it be proved,
The Sin that violated and deform'd
This World, and all true harmonies profaned,
(In dread similitude to mind o'erthrown)
Hath been the evil which my power hath fed,
By dark communion with this mortal Scene.
No! not a havoc Nature's kingdom feels;
No sound of Ocean when her wings rise plumed
With wrath; no frenzy of the tragic winds,
Those viewless pirates whom the pathless seas
Endure,—no terror in the darkest reign
Of Elements that lord it so sublime,
But images that dreadful curse I reap'd
For Nature and for Man! And ye, dead Climes!
Where high of old my bloody Altars blazed,
Where oracles from cave or temple breathed,
And Monsters, vision'd out of monstrous thought,
With stock and stone idolatries, were bred,
My hand was on ye, and your heathen soul!
And now, Ambition trampling out the heart
Of earth; the demi-gods of false renown;
And all the giants of heroic crime,
Are demons of my will; and by their doom
Shall testify the Genius whence they spring!
Is tried, amended, and for ever fix'd,
Belief for unbelief shall then atone
By sad conviction:—then shall it be proved,
The Sin that violated and deform'd
This World, and all true harmonies profaned,
(In dread similitude to mind o'erthrown)
Hath been the evil which my power hath fed,
By dark communion with this mortal Scene.
No! not a havoc Nature's kingdom feels;
No sound of Ocean when her wings rise plumed
With wrath; no frenzy of the tragic winds,
Those viewless pirates whom the pathless seas
Endure,—no terror in the darkest reign
Of Elements that lord it so sublime,
But images that dreadful curse I reap'd
For Nature and for Man! And ye, dead Climes!
Where high of old my bloody Altars blazed,
Where oracles from cave or temple breathed,
And Monsters, vision'd out of monstrous thought,
With stock and stone idolatries, were bred,
My hand was on ye, and your heathen soul!
And now, Ambition trampling out the heart
Of earth; the demi-gods of false renown;
And all the giants of heroic crime,
Are demons of my will; and by their doom
Shall testify the Genius whence they spring!
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Might vanish'd ages be renew'd, and built
Again those daring Empires once renown'd,
From that huge one the haughty Ninus rear'd
And great Cambyses crush'd, to Rome and Greece
Of commonwealths the glory,—what a scene
Would time reveal! Who bow'd them into gloom?
They fear'd me not; but from the primal stone
Which mark'd the birthday of their city-queens
I mingled with them, and beheld them rise:
From dim obscurity my minions watch'd
Their growth to greatness, and imperial sway,
That over-shadow'd the far Isles. The Sea
Beneath them, like a suppliant crouch'd; the Winds
Sang victory! where exulting banners waved;
But now, uplifted to a fearful height,
They courted vilely-enervating Arts,
Unthroned the Virtues, let the Passions loose,
And pour'd corruption through their rank domain:
Then came the Nemesis!—that moral Curse
Whose ruin more than desolation brings.
Again those daring Empires once renown'd,
From that huge one the haughty Ninus rear'd
And great Cambyses crush'd, to Rome and Greece
Of commonwealths the glory,—what a scene
Would time reveal! Who bow'd them into gloom?
They fear'd me not; but from the primal stone
Which mark'd the birthday of their city-queens
I mingled with them, and beheld them rise:
From dim obscurity my minions watch'd
Their growth to greatness, and imperial sway,
That over-shadow'd the far Isles. The Sea
Beneath them, like a suppliant crouch'd; the Winds
Sang victory! where exulting banners waved;
But now, uplifted to a fearful height,
They courted vilely-enervating Arts,
Unthroned the Virtues, let the Passions loose,
And pour'd corruption through their rank domain:
Then came the Nemesis!—that moral Curse
Whose ruin more than desolation brings.
But see, where Persia's beauteous clime extends,
How gloriously diluvian Ararat
Hath pinnacled his rocky peak in clouds!
Who thrones a winter on his heights untrod,
While summer laughs in roses at his feet!
Time cannot mar his glory: high he swells
As when that Ark was balanced on his brow,
Which saw the raging of the far-off floods
Beneath, and heard the Deluge die away!
How gloriously diluvian Ararat
Hath pinnacled his rocky peak in clouds!
Who thrones a winter on his heights untrod,
While summer laughs in roses at his feet!
Time cannot mar his glory: high he swells
As when that Ark was balanced on his brow,
Which saw the raging of the far-off floods
Beneath, and heard the Deluge die away!
But here, as in her day of olden might,
Ascendant Nature proves the God of souls
Who deify mere elements, and dream
Them symbols of their Maker. On the peak
Of mountains, the Chaldean hail'd the Sun
In the rich brightness of its morning-birth,
And bow'd his forehead to the flaming East;
The Night, ennobled with her stars, pour'd love
And worship into hearts, that from the fields
Beheld their throbbing radiance, as the face
Of Prophets, bright with their intelligence:—
And still upon the Gueber's fateful eye
The Fire darts gleaming magic; and his mind
Through nature darkly struggles on to God.
Ascendant Nature proves the God of souls
Who deify mere elements, and dream
Them symbols of their Maker. On the peak
Of mountains, the Chaldean hail'd the Sun
In the rich brightness of its morning-birth,
And bow'd his forehead to the flaming East;
The Night, ennobled with her stars, pour'd love
And worship into hearts, that from the fields
Beheld their throbbing radiance, as the face
Of Prophets, bright with their intelligence:—
And still upon the Gueber's fateful eye
The Fire darts gleaming magic; and his mind
Through nature darkly struggles on to God.
A mightier scene upon the map of earth!—
Forests immense, and pine-wastes fiercely wild,
And ice-rocks, rear'd upon a dead-white sea,
Far to the north where hoary deserts gleam
Dawn on my view in all their Arctic gloom.
But not Siberia, desolate and grand,
Nor Dneiper, thunder'd on by cataracts
That whiten o'er her howling waves, appear
So wondrous, as those battle-hosts that rush
Like rivers swelling from their deep abodes,
Precipitately o'er the regions round.
A King hath spoken! and the trump of War
Hath sounded like a herald through the land,
“Awake! great Peter is alive again.”
Forests immense, and pine-wastes fiercely wild,
And ice-rocks, rear'd upon a dead-white sea,
Far to the north where hoary deserts gleam
Dawn on my view in all their Arctic gloom.
But not Siberia, desolate and grand,
Nor Dneiper, thunder'd on by cataracts
That whiten o'er her howling waves, appear
So wondrous, as those battle-hosts that rush
Like rivers swelling from their deep abodes,
Precipitately o'er the regions round.
A King hath spoken! and the trump of War
Hath sounded like a herald through the land,
“Awake! great Peter is alive again.”
A word of Kings, what potency it wields!
These delegates of God, yea, gods themselves,
Upon whose lips the fate of Empire hangs,
Tremendous is their charge: one speaks, and lo!
Up springs infernal War, and stalks abroad,
Unrolls his blood-red banner on the wind,
And in the groan of widow'd Nations hails
The music of his fame! Another speaks,
And Peace, with olive in her radiant hand,
Glides like an angel through the world, and prints
A trace of blessing wheresoe'er she treads.
These delegates of God, yea, gods themselves,
Upon whose lips the fate of Empire hangs,
Tremendous is their charge: one speaks, and lo!
Up springs infernal War, and stalks abroad,
Unrolls his blood-red banner on the wind,
And in the groan of widow'd Nations hails
The music of his fame! Another speaks,
And Peace, with olive in her radiant hand,
Glides like an angel through the world, and prints
A trace of blessing wheresoe'er she treads.
And who could ponder on this war-doom'd scene,
Nor dream thy shadow swelling into life,
Napoleon! On the island-rock thou sleep'st;
But such a storm thy spirit raised, so full
The swell of feeling born of thee, that Time
Must lend his magic to allay the strife
And tempest of opinion into truth,
Which, taming wonder, stamps thee, as thou wert,
A tyrant! in whose passion for a power,
Above all liberty and law enthroned,
I hail, thee as a Paramount; thy pride
Of domination tow'ring far o'er heights
Of monarchy,—a shadow of mine own,
Which scorn'd an equal though He proved a God!
Nor dream thy shadow swelling into life,
Napoleon! On the island-rock thou sleep'st;
But such a storm thy spirit raised, so full
The swell of feeling born of thee, that Time
Must lend his magic to allay the strife
And tempest of opinion into truth,
Which, taming wonder, stamps thee, as thou wert,
A tyrant! in whose passion for a power,
Above all liberty and law enthroned,
I hail, thee as a Paramount; thy pride
Of domination tow'ring far o'er heights
Of monarchy,—a shadow of mine own,
Which scorn'd an equal though He proved a God!
And therefore did I crown thee, Kingly One!
And those who worship thee, my thanks inspire!
Mean crimes are branded with avenging scorn,
While great ones, that should water earth with tears,
Can dazzle condemnation into praise,
And praise to pity, when false greatness fails!
The throneless, in the heart a throne acquires,
And Admiration in one sigh can drown
The wail of millions, haunting each red field
Of havoc, where some Desolator trod!
The wish is hated, but the deed caress'd,
Of mad Ambition; “glory” heals all wounds!
And those who worship thee, my thanks inspire!
Mean crimes are branded with avenging scorn,
While great ones, that should water earth with tears,
Can dazzle condemnation into praise,
And praise to pity, when false greatness fails!
The throneless, in the heart a throne acquires,
And Admiration in one sigh can drown
The wail of millions, haunting each red field
Of havoc, where some Desolator trod!
334
Of mad Ambition; “glory” heals all wounds!
Yet, what a cloud on Liberty was thrown!
How deep a gash her dreadless form profaned,
When thine ambition march'd upon the world,
Till Europe quail'd beneath thy scepter'd arm!
Then, crumbled hopes which centuries will not build
Again; then god-like spirits felt a pang
That now, when canonading battles pause,
And Peace sits musing on the tomb of War,
Is felt,—an agony too deep for words
To fathom, too sublime for slaves to feel!
How deep a gash her dreadless form profaned,
When thine ambition march'd upon the world,
Till Europe quail'd beneath thy scepter'd arm!
Then, crumbled hopes which centuries will not build
Again; then god-like spirits felt a pang
That now, when canonading battles pause,
And Peace sits musing on the tomb of War,
Is felt,—an agony too deep for words
To fathom, too sublime for slaves to feel!
Lo! where the Tyrant felt a flood of wrath
From Heaven pour'd down upon his guilty head,
And first he knew himself a Man!—Yon spires
With golden pinnacles that pierce the clouds,
And river, winding by those pallid walls,
Proclaim where unforgotten Moscow stands:
There raged a scene which ruin'd angels love
To witness, when the vaunting sons of Clay
Grow demon-like, and shudd'ring Time beholds
The fellest misery Despair can feel!
As when, all wildly through the unbarr'd gates
Like savage war-fiends his marauders swept,
And saw the city billow'd into flames,
Like some far ocean blazing through the storm!
Then Havoc started with a thrilling shout;
The shriek of violated maids, the curse
Of dying mothers, and despairing sires,
And dash of corpses, torn from royal tombs
And plunged amid devouring flames, were heard
Till hell in miniature wild Moscow seem'd.
From Heaven pour'd down upon his guilty head,
And first he knew himself a Man!—Yon spires
With golden pinnacles that pierce the clouds,
And river, winding by those pallid walls,
Proclaim where unforgotten Moscow stands:
There raged a scene which ruin'd angels love
To witness, when the vaunting sons of Clay
Grow demon-like, and shudd'ring Time beholds
The fellest misery Despair can feel!
As when, all wildly through the unbarr'd gates
Like savage war-fiends his marauders swept,
And saw the city billow'd into flames,
Like some far ocean blazing through the storm!
Then Havoc started with a thrilling shout;
The shriek of violated maids, the curse
Of dying mothers, and despairing sires,
And dash of corpses, torn from royal tombs
And plunged amid devouring flames, were heard
Till hell in miniature wild Moscow seem'd.
But who, when Rapine could not pillage more,
While cannon-thunder chased the daunted winds,
Paused on a desert-heath, in speechless ire,
And mark'd the remnant of a ruin'd host
Flying, and pale as phantoms of Despair?
Napoleon! in the earthquake of thy soul,
The elements were reaping vengeance then!
While slaughter turn'd the tide of victory
And roll'd it back upon thy powerless host
Of famish'd warriors, freezing as they died!
That hour of agony, the crushing sense
Of danger and defeat, the broken spell
Which blasted all thy triumphs into shame,
Sublimed thy spirit with so proud a pang
It long'd to swell into a million souls,
And shake the universe to save a throne!
While cannon-thunder chased the daunted winds,
Paused on a desert-heath, in speechless ire,
And mark'd the remnant of a ruin'd host
Flying, and pale as phantoms of Despair?
Napoleon! in the earthquake of thy soul,
The elements were reaping vengeance then!
While slaughter turn'd the tide of victory
And roll'd it back upon thy powerless host
Of famish'd warriors, freezing as they died!
That hour of agony, the crushing sense
Of danger and defeat, the broken spell
Which blasted all thy triumphs into shame,
Sublimed thy spirit with so proud a pang
It long'd to swell into a million souls,
And shake the universe to save a throne!
Thy race is o'er: and in the rocky isle
Of ocean, canopied with willow-shade,
In death's undreaming calm thou restest now.
But all the splendid infamy of War,
The fame of blood and bravery, is thine:
Thy name hath havoc in its sound! and Time
Shall read it when his ages roll:—'twill live
When time and nature are forgotten words!
For, as a noble fame can never die
But proudly soareth on from earth to heaven,
There to be hymn'd by Angels, and to crown
With bright pre-eminence the gifted mind
That won it gloriously; so evil fame
A fiery torment to the soul shall be
For ever:—let Ambition think of this!
Who murders kings, to make her heroes, gods.
Of ocean, canopied with willow-shade,
In death's undreaming calm thou restest now.
But all the splendid infamy of War,
The fame of blood and bravery, is thine:
Thy name hath havoc in its sound! and Time
Shall read it when his ages roll:—'twill live
When time and nature are forgotten words!
For, as a noble fame can never die
But proudly soareth on from earth to heaven,
There to be hymn'd by Angels, and to crown
With bright pre-eminence the gifted mind
That won it gloriously; so evil fame
A fiery torment to the soul shall be
For ever:—let Ambition think of this!
Who murders kings, to make her heroes, gods.
In contrast wilder than the rude-faced globe,
Appear the workings of immortal mind.
Russia, through each great limb of empire, feels
Proud animation play; a panting wish
For high dominion, and sublimer rule
Than Nature's rugged vastness yields. But Thou,—
Of immemorial birth, whose massy wall
Of ages, with her thousand war-towers flank'd,
Majestic winds o'er many a savage hill
And mountain, China! thou art motionless,
Or like the Dead Sea, sullenly reposed
Amid the surging restlessness of Time.
Those burden'd waters, whereon breed and die
Thy generations; fancy-mountains, graced
With temples; or pagodas gaily deck'd,
And artful wonders, by the hand or tongue
Completed,—such are glories form'd for thine
Ascendancy! Thus bulwark'd in with pride
And baseness, virtues, arts, and vices act
From year to year, unchallenged and unchanged.
Antiquity, the childhood of the world,
Broods like a torpid vapour o'er thy clime,
And dulls its vigour into drowsy calm;
So let it sleep! till Revolution wake,
And summon spirits who shall cry,—Reform!
Appear the workings of immortal mind.
Russia, through each great limb of empire, feels
Proud animation play; a panting wish
For high dominion, and sublimer rule
Than Nature's rugged vastness yields. But Thou,—
Of immemorial birth, whose massy wall
Of ages, with her thousand war-towers flank'd,
Majestic winds o'er many a savage hill
And mountain, China! thou art motionless,
Or like the Dead Sea, sullenly reposed
Amid the surging restlessness of Time.
Those burden'd waters, whereon breed and die
Thy generations; fancy-mountains, graced
With temples; or pagodas gaily deck'd,
And artful wonders, by the hand or tongue
Completed,—such are glories form'd for thine
Ascendancy! Thus bulwark'd in with pride
And baseness, virtues, arts, and vices act
From year to year, unchallenged and unchanged.
Antiquity, the childhood of the world,
Broods like a torpid vapour o'er thy clime,
And dulls its vigour into drowsy calm;
So let it sleep! till Revolution wake,
And summon spirits who shall cry,—Reform!
Lo! in the East, enormously uprear'd,
What ice-peak'd mountains point their roseate heads
Amid the richness of an Indian sky,
Soundless and solemn as cathedral-towers
Made dim and spectral by the wintry moon!
Hills of the North! not all your Greenland-pomp
Can more sublimely scale the clouds. And where
Bright Ganga! mountain-born, careers the flood
That matches thee? The vassal rivers mix
Their spirit with thine own; the rock-hewn caves
Shake as they hear thee sounding through their depths,
Then, upward springing with a glorious swell
And brightness on thy waves, to course green plain
And valley, like a charger in his pride
Let loose to lord it o'er surrounding meads!
Monarch of rivers! thy redeeming flow
Is life and beauty to the sun-brown lands
That border thy rich banks; but on thy stream
How Superstition glasses her dull creed!
Religion!—why, the undiscerning brute
Hath more divinity than vaunting slaves
Who, spirit-darken'd, oft blaspheme Her name:
For sun and shower by him are not unthank'd.
He bathes his forehead in the fresh'ning gale,
And, by enjoyment, pays the gift of life.
But how is reason carnalised and crush'd
When hell-rites are religion!—while it chants
Of mercy in the ways of heaven revealed
Can offer female holocausts to Hell
In burning widows, gasping forth their souls,
Or drowning babes, for sacrifice to God!
Oh, Wisdom! never thou the heart redeem,
Nor cast the cloud from Superstition's eye!
What ice-peak'd mountains point their roseate heads
Amid the richness of an Indian sky,
Soundless and solemn as cathedral-towers
Made dim and spectral by the wintry moon!
Hills of the North! not all your Greenland-pomp
Can more sublimely scale the clouds. And where
Bright Ganga! mountain-born, careers the flood
That matches thee? The vassal rivers mix
335
Shake as they hear thee sounding through their depths,
Then, upward springing with a glorious swell
And brightness on thy waves, to course green plain
And valley, like a charger in his pride
Let loose to lord it o'er surrounding meads!
Monarch of rivers! thy redeeming flow
Is life and beauty to the sun-brown lands
That border thy rich banks; but on thy stream
How Superstition glasses her dull creed!
Religion!—why, the undiscerning brute
Hath more divinity than vaunting slaves
Who, spirit-darken'd, oft blaspheme Her name:
For sun and shower by him are not unthank'd.
He bathes his forehead in the fresh'ning gale,
And, by enjoyment, pays the gift of life.
But how is reason carnalised and crush'd
When hell-rites are religion!—while it chants
Of mercy in the ways of heaven revealed
Can offer female holocausts to Hell
In burning widows, gasping forth their souls,
Or drowning babes, for sacrifice to God!
Oh, Wisdom! never thou the heart redeem,
Nor cast the cloud from Superstition's eye!
Another gaze, bright Hindostanic clime!
How beautifully wild, with horn-wreath'd heads,
Thy antelopes abound; and, thick as clouds
Paving the pathway of the western heav'n,
On wings enamell'd with a radiant dye
Thy birds expand their plumage to the breeze,
And glitter through air! Primeval woods,
And patriarchal trees, and forest-haunts,
And deserts spotted with their verdant isles,
And fruits, with showers of sunbeams on their heads,
Grow mingled there in magical excess;
The grand and beautiful, their glowing spell
Combine; Creation makes one mighty charm.
How beautifully wild, with horn-wreath'd heads,
Thy antelopes abound; and, thick as clouds
Paving the pathway of the western heav'n,
On wings enamell'd with a radiant dye
Thy birds expand their plumage to the breeze,
And glitter through air! Primeval woods,
And patriarchal trees, and forest-haunts,
And deserts spotted with their verdant isles,
And fruits, with showers of sunbeams on their heads,
Grow mingled there in magical excess;
The grand and beautiful, their glowing spell
Combine; Creation makes one mighty charm.
But let it pass: again the voice of waves!
Faint as the rush of rapid spirit-wings;
An Ocean, dreadful to the gazing eye
As dark eternity to human thought,—
Atlantic! where the whirlwinds are the scoff
Of billows, rocking with eternal roar,
Thou art a wonder e'en to me, whose eyes
Have fathom'd Chaos!
Faint as the rush of rapid spirit-wings;
An Ocean, dreadful to the gazing eye
As dark eternity to human thought,—
Atlantic! where the whirlwinds are the scoff
Of billows, rocking with eternal roar,
Thou art a wonder e'en to me, whose eyes
Have fathom'd Chaos!
Thou astounding Main!
Time never felt so awful since his birth,
Angels and demons o'er thy terrors hung,
As when by hope prophetically wise,
On thine immensity Columbus launch'd.
Yet thou wert well avenged! for Storm and Doubt,
Despair and Madness on the billows rode,
And made deep Ocean one dark agony!—
Dismal as thunder-clouds, the fated hours
Toil'd on; a living solitude still howl'd
And heaved, in dread monotony around;
Yet hope was quenchless; and when daylight closed,
The ocean-wanderers, in the placid glow
Of sunset, soothing their despondent brows,
Hymn'd o'er the mellow wave their vesper-song;
Ave Maria! mingling with the choirs
Of billows, and the chant of evening-winds.
Time never felt so awful since his birth,
Angels and demons o'er thy terrors hung,
As when by hope prophetically wise,
On thine immensity Columbus launch'd.
Yet thou wert well avenged! for Storm and Doubt,
Despair and Madness on the billows rode,
And made deep Ocean one dark agony!—
Dismal as thunder-clouds, the fated hours
Toil'd on; a living solitude still howl'd
And heaved, in dread monotony around;
Yet hope was quenchless; and when daylight closed,
The ocean-wanderers, in the placid glow
Of sunset, soothing their despondent brows,
Hymn'd o'er the mellow wave their vesper-song;
Ave Maria! mingling with the choirs
Of billows, and the chant of evening-winds.
But he was destined! and his lightning-glance
Shot o'er the deep, and darted on thy world
America!—Then, lofty, long, and loud
From swelling hearts the hallelujahs rang,
And charm'd to music the Atlantic gales;
While, silent as the Sun above him throned,
Columbus look'd a rapture to the heavens
And gave his glory to the God they serve!
Shot o'er the deep, and darted on thy world
America!—Then, lofty, long, and loud
From swelling hearts the hallelujahs rang,
And charm'd to music the Atlantic gales;
While, silent as the Sun above him throned,
Columbus look'd a rapture to the heavens
And gave his glory to the God they serve!
Thou fated Region of the varied globe
Where all the climates dwell, and Seasons rule
In majesty, hereafter when the tides
Of Circumstance have roll'd through changing years,
What Empires may be born of Thee!—thy ships
By thousands, voyaging the isle-strewn deep;
Thy banners waved in every land! E'en now
Defiance flashes from thy fearless eye,
While Nature tells thee greatness is thine own.—
Who on those dreadful giants of the South,
Those Pyramids by man's Creator rear'd,
Thine Andes, girdled with the storms, can gaze;
Or hear Niagara's unearthly flood
Rival the thunder with impassion'd roar,
Nor think the spirit of ambition rules
Thy moral nature. What a grandeur lives
Through each stern scene!—in yon Canadian woods,
Whose stately poplars clothe their heads with clouds,
And dignify creation as they stand;
Or in the rain-floods,—rivers where they fall!
Or hurricanes, which howl themselves along,
Like fierce-wing'd monsters, ravenously wild:—
Sublimity o'er all a soul hath breathed,
And yet my ban is on thee!—'tis the curse
Of havoc, which the violators reap'd
For thy young destiny, when first amid
Thy wilds the cannon pour'd its thund'ring awe,
Shaking the trees which never yet had bow'd,
Save to the storminess of nature's ire.
Where all the climates dwell, and Seasons rule
In majesty, hereafter when the tides
Of Circumstance have roll'd through changing years,
What Empires may be born of Thee!—thy ships
By thousands, voyaging the isle-strewn deep;
Thy banners waved in every land! E'en now
Defiance flashes from thy fearless eye,
While Nature tells thee greatness is thine own.—
Who on those dreadful giants of the South,
Those Pyramids by man's Creator rear'd,
Thine Andes, girdled with the storms, can gaze;
Or hear Niagara's unearthly flood
Rival the thunder with impassion'd roar,
Nor think the spirit of ambition rules
Thy moral nature. What a grandeur lives
Through each stern scene!—in yon Canadian woods,
Whose stately poplars clothe their heads with clouds,
And dignify creation as they stand;
Or in the rain-floods,—rivers where they fall!
Or hurricanes, which howl themselves along,
Like fierce-wing'd monsters, ravenously wild:—
Sublimity o'er all a soul hath breathed,
And yet my ban is on thee!—'tis the curse
Of havoc, which the violators reap'd
For thy young destiny, when first amid
Thy wilds the cannon pour'd its thund'ring awe,
Shaking the trees which never yet had bow'd,
Save to the storminess of nature's ire.
336
Hath Gentleness thy guilt of old redeem'd?
Hath freedom heal'd the wounds of war, and paid
Her ransom to the nameless and unknown,
The unremember'd, but immortal still,
The Dead, whose birthright was sublime as kings'?
Approach, and answer me, dejected One!
Art thou the remnant of a free-born race,
Majestic lords of nature's majesty?
Of them, whose brows were bold as heaven, whose hands
Have tamed the woods, whose feet outfled the winds,
Who faced the lightning with undazzled gaze
And dream'd the thunder language of their god:
The earth and sky, 'twas Freedom's and their own!
But thou—the Sun hath written on thee, Slave!
A branded limb and a degraded mind
The tyrants give thee for infernal toil
And tears; or lash thy labour out in blood.
Hath freedom heal'd the wounds of war, and paid
Her ransom to the nameless and unknown,
The unremember'd, but immortal still,
The Dead, whose birthright was sublime as kings'?
Approach, and answer me, dejected One!
Art thou the remnant of a free-born race,
Majestic lords of nature's majesty?
Of them, whose brows were bold as heaven, whose hands
Have tamed the woods, whose feet outfled the winds,
Who faced the lightning with undazzled gaze
And dream'd the thunder language of their god:
The earth and sky, 'twas Freedom's and their own!
But thou—the Sun hath written on thee, Slave!
A branded limb and a degraded mind
The tyrants give thee for infernal toil
And tears; or lash thy labour out in blood.
And some are Saxons, who enslave the free;
Then boast not, England! while a Briton links
The chain of thraldom, glory can be thine.
Vain are thy vows, thy temples, and the rites
Which hallow them, while yet a slave exists
Who curses thee: each curse in Heaven is heard;
'Tis seal'd, and answer'd in the depths Below!
Then boast not, England! while a Briton links
The chain of thraldom, glory can be thine.
Vain are thy vows, thy temples, and the rites
Which hallow them, while yet a slave exists
Who curses thee: each curse in Heaven is heard;
'Tis seal'd, and answer'd in the depths Below!
From dungeon and from den there comes a voice
That supplicates for Freedom: from the tomb
Of martyrs her transcendency is told,
And dimm'd she may, but cannot be destroy'd.
Who bends the spirit from its high domain
On God himself a sacrilege commits;
For soul doth share in His supremacy;
To crush it, is to violate the power
And grasp the sceptre an Almighty wields!
That supplicates for Freedom: from the tomb
Of martyrs her transcendency is told,
And dimm'd she may, but cannot be destroy'd.
Who bends the spirit from its high domain
On God himself a sacrilege commits;
For soul doth share in His supremacy;
To crush it, is to violate the power
And grasp the sceptre an Almighty wields!
For freedom, such as proud ambition call'd
A freedom, a Heaven I lost; and therefore slaves
On earth are victims whom I scorn to see.
No! let them in their liberty be mine;
Or, what if foul Oppression fill the cup
Of crime, that Hell may have a deeper draught?
My kingdom is of evil; and the crowns
Of many an earth-born Despot sparkle there!—
Then let the pangless hearts of Tyrants beat
Unblasted, till from deepest agony
With the proud wrath of ages in Her soul
Freedom arise, and vindicate her name!
A freedom, a Heaven I lost; and therefore slaves
On earth are victims whom I scorn to see.
No! let them in their liberty be mine;
Or, what if foul Oppression fill the cup
Of crime, that Hell may have a deeper draught?
My kingdom is of evil; and the crowns
Of many an earth-born Despot sparkle there!—
Then let the pangless hearts of Tyrants beat
Unblasted, till from deepest agony
With the proud wrath of ages in Her soul
Freedom arise, and vindicate her name!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |