The Vision of Prophecy and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Four Pilgrims rose before the dawn
To reach, ere close of day,
A royal town, whose turrets rose
Ten weary leagues away.
They grasped their staves, and firmly bound
Their dusty sandals on,
And started forth ere up the East
The ruddy day-spring shone.
They knew the gates were shut at eve
On all who were without;
That savage beasts through all the night
Prowled sullenly about;
That many a laggard pilgrim's bones
Were bleaching on the plain,—
And fast they strode along the road,
That happy hold to gain.
O who shall first behold the hill
Those golden turrets crown?
O who is he who first may see
The marble-templed town?

II.

The Pilgrims grow weary because of the burden and heat of the day.

They struck their staves upon the ground,
Which rung beneath their tread,—
Still higher clomb the rounded sun,
And faster still they sped.
Their shortening shadows called to them
More bravely on to press;
And thus they cheered away the thought
Of toil and weariness:—
“O joy to enter through the gate!
O joy to be at home!
To hear the welcome shout,—At last
The wanderer hath come!”
Then silently they journeyed on,
And none his mate addrest;
But all the sweeter eve will be,
And welcomer the rest.
Their shadows shrink, the white sun darts
His fiery arrows down;—
O happy he who first may see
The marble-templed town!

III.

That evil thing, Hasty Passion, leadeth one of the Pilgrims astray.

At noon some palms across the way
Their broad, cool shadow cast,—
A sparkling well gushed forth,—the birds
Sang blithely as they passed.
Each pilgrim to his fellow spake,
And bade him be of cheer,
When from the trees three men came forth,
And eyed them with a sneer.
They followed them with bitter words,
With flouting gibe and laugh,
Till roused to anger one stepped round,
And fiercely raised his staff.
On him the strangers rushed, with each
A weapon in his hand,
And soon the feeble palmer-staff
Was shivered like a wand.
They dashed him wounded on the plain,—
Fast flowed the red blood down;—
O hapless he who ne'er shall see
The marble-templed town!

IV.

That evil thing, Sensual Pleasure, leadeth astray another.

Mournfully onwards went the three,
They cannot turn nor wait,—
O, if they should not reach the town,
Ere closing of the gate!
The hot sun glows, no palm-tree throws
Its shadow o'er the way,
And, parched with thirst, they faint beneath
The burden of the day.
They see some camels near a tent
Where other wayfarers rest,
Who, as they pass, with courtesy
The weary band addrest.
They bid them drown their thirst in wine,
And hold a goblet up,—
One turns aside into the tent,
And quaffs the mantling cup:
He thought of the long weary way,
And then he sate him down;—
O wretched he who ne'er may see
The marble-templed town!

V.

The two remaining Pilgrims are assaulted by a grievous temptation.

They heard the merry shouts that rose
From out the revellers' tent,
And many a sad thought stirred beneath
Their silence as they went.
Three hours from noon the sun had crept
Still farther down the sky,
When, as they journeyed, on the left
They heard a joyful cry.
And one ran up whose hand was full
Of coins of ruddy gold,—
“Come, follow me,” he cried, “and share
A mine of wealth untold.
For years I knew of treasures hid
Within a secret spot,
About a bow-shot off, and long,
But vainly, for them sought;
But Fortune hath, with tardy smile,
My toils at last repaid:
This gold is from a jar which I
Have shivered with my spade.

VI.

That evil thing, Covetousness, leadeth astray the third Pilgrim.

“Now turn aside, and share the spoil
That is before us cast,—
You well may trust the generous heart
That hailed you as you passed.
The brazen vases stand in rows,
Brim-full of gems and gold,
Coins, ingots, heavy chains, inwrought
By hands of craftsmen old.”
One paused a while and thought, “What harm
If I should turn aside?
'Tis but a moment,”—and he left
The highway with his guide.
He sees the dusky gold, the pearls,
The chains that dimly shone,
And all his thoughts of home and friends
Are on the instant gone.
That evil thing, the lust of wealth,
Up in his heart hath grown;—
O wretched he who ne'er shall see
The marble-templed town!

VII.

The fourth Pilgrim goeth sorrowfully on his way, but keepeth his integrity.

All clouded were the Pilgrim's eyes
And heavy was his heart,
When from his side he saw his friend
For evermore depart.
The last of four that rose at dawn,
He goes upon his way,
And now the lengthening shadow shows
The pauseless flight of day.
More carefully he girds his loins,
More firmly grasps his staff,
Though, as he passes, oft he hears
The loud insulting laugh,
And sees the finger of his foes
Who point him out to scorn,
As the fond fool who madly dares
An enterprise forlorn:
And oft to lead his steps astray
They veil their hate with smiles,
And seek with smooth and flattering words
To lure him to their wiles.

VIII.

The Pilgrim reacheth a mount, whence he hath a cheering vision of the Golden City.

Though often with a sinking heart,
Yet with a constant mind,
The pilgrim journeyed on in hope,
Nor ever looked behind.
But when at last with toil he gained
A hill's umbrageous brow,
How fair a vision lighted up
The spacious plain below!
The Golden City spread afar,
All reddened with the light,
And radiant palaces and towers,
And marble temples white;
And fresh through richest verdure ran
A river clear and cool,—
Sure never to a pilgrim's eye
Was sight so beautiful.
His face is bright, his heart is light,
The elastic soul doth bound
Within him, and his foot at last
Hath touched the holy ground.

IX.

He entereth through the gate into the City, and findeth welcome and rest.

He passes through the gate, and hears
The voice of joyful psalms,—
And white-robed citizens come forth
To greet him, bearing palms;
And all the mingling bells ring out,
And all the minstrels sing,—
Sure never to a pilgrim's ear
Were sounds so ravishing.
Harp, cittern, lute, and dulcimer,
How sweetly do they play!
How kind the glances and the smiles
That meet him on the way!
They clothe him with a snowy robe,
They lead him to the feast,
And there the Prince of all the land
Bids welcome to his guest.
And thus the minstrels sing, while goes
The peaceful evening down:—
“O happy he who now doth see
The marble-templed town!”