University of Virginia Library

No longer Death and Time remain'd: the doom
Revokeless, by prophetic lips foretold,
Was past; the universe had disappear'd,
And Chaos revell'd o'er demolish'd worlds.

Apart, upon a throne of lurid fire
The Fiend was seated; in his eye there shone
The look that dared Omnipotence; the light
Of sateless vengeance, and sublime despair!
Amid a burning world he sat, and saw
Tormented myriads, whose blaspheming shrieks
Were mingled with the howl of hidden floods
And Acherontine groans; of all the host
The only dauntless he. As o'er the wild
He gazed, the pride of agony endured
Awoke, and writhed through all his giant frame,
That redden'd, and dilated like a sun!

And then, as ever-vanish'd hours awoke
The torment of wild memory, to feed
The cravings of infernal wrath, he bade
The roar of Hell be hush'd,—and Silence came;
He call'd the cursèd, and they flash'd from cave
And cell; from dungeon and from den they rose,
And stood an unimaginable mass
Of Spirits, agonised with burning pangs!
In silence stood they, while the Demon gazed
On all, and ponder'd on dead Earth and Time,
From whence his vengeance such a harvest reap'd.

Before him, what a congregated host
Of perish'd creatures!—sumless as the waves
Lash'd into life from out the wind-swept seas;
Long ages gone, and they were breathing airs
Of heaven, with noble attributes endow'd,
Sharing the beauty of the world, and led
By Mercy through the round of being; bliss
And endless wo before them lay;—the doom
Of guilt they braved, and barter'd Heaven for Hell!

Famed Idols of the earth, around whose paths
The blinding light of admiration blazed;
Despots, who bathed the battle-field in blood,
And many, whose immortal names had fired
The page of history with a fearful glow,
Were here, commingled with a nameless host.

And one, among the legions of the lost,
The wonder and the curse of Time! there was;
The vial of almighty wrath, he held
And pour'd it on the world; or, with a frown
O'erclouded nations, while his fearless sword
Flash'd in defiance o'er th' astounded globe!
His word roll'd thunder to the haunted ear
Of Kings; and Empires quail'd, as from afar
The darkness of his coming deeper grew!
Ambition was his God; and to o'ersway
Or chain the world to his triumphal car,
The demon-passion of his soul. Though Man
And Nature wail'd; though Ocean storm'd,
And mountains threaten'd an eternal bar,
Still went he on, and battled with them all!
Nor paused, till on the tower of Conquest waved
The planted banner which proclaim'd him lord.
No wail of widows o'er the tombless dead;
No groan of orphans; nor the hideous cry
Of Havoc, through the vanquish'd city howl'd,
E'er deafen'd him; dominion was his heaven,
Rebellion hail'd him with applausive roar,
And slaughter'd millions swell'd his fame!

Beside
This reprobate, another ruin'd Soul
Stood haughty: one of those surpassing Minds
It takes a century to create! a man
Whom Genius fill'd with her electric fires.—
Oh! genius is a great, but fearful gift,
A double portion of the God within,
A talent not our own; but to entrance
And elevate mankind with lofty thoughts,
To shadow forth the Spirit that surrounds,
Protects, adorns, and glorifies the world.—
And Genius, nursed in Nature's mighty lap,
For him work'd marvels. On his matchless page
The vast creation lived; both when the voice
Of thunder with his music roll'd; or war
Of Ocean, when the deep-toned winds arose
And whirl'd her into storms; or when he bade
The heavens be sprinkled o'er with starry isles,
Or damask'd with the crimson clouds of eve,
His verse array,—magnificent the Muse
Appear'd: around Her glowing form the light
And breath of nature play'd. But, not to Him
The Architect of all, was incense breathed;
An atheistic shade his lines eclipsed:
High o'er each haughty page a spirit moved
More changeful than a cloud; now beaming forth
Bright in the summer beauty of the soul;
Then, veil'd with darkness, and infernal gloom
From whence the luridness of passion glared!

Yet, had he pleased, he might have hallow'd earth
And human nature with immortal lines,
Pure in their radiance, like prophetic gleams
From heaven: but in his breast a storm there was,
An anarchy of impious thoughts: he loved
With minds to play, as whirlwinds do with waves.
No God his genius own'd; and man was deem'd
A chance-begotten shape of dust,—his doom
Annihilation! Principles which nursed
The soul of Ages, he would mine away,
And laugh Religion from her hoary shrine.
Thus sang a prostituted Muse, and taught
The tongue of fools to be profanely wise:
Till lo, a summons from th' Almighty came,
And he was dust!—his Mind the earth appall'd;
And men gazed upward on the burning sweep
His genius circled o'er the heaven of fame,
As though some meteor through the sky had whirl'd,
And summon'd them to trace its dread career!

Another of the lost, who might have lived
In joy's unclouded atmosphere, was he,
The Suicide—the darkest of them all!
The lonely scion of an ancient line,
A princely mansion, when his manhood bloom'd,
Beheld him master. How augustly peer'd
The turrets from the wooded park! how proud
The young fawn bounded o'er the breezy knolls,
And down the vales, where interwinding streams
Ran musical; yet, what to him were trees
With sun-smiles sparkling o'er their boughs, or song
Of birds, and streams, and all the glory shed
By morn and eve his hill-girt home around?
No natal ties he own'd; benignant Heaven
Had bless'd an ingrate; soon the stranger held
His ancient halls,—the City-queen for him!

Full in the prime of youth, to England's Rome
He came, the meteor of his day to shine.
What wonder, Admiration woo'd his eye
Where'er the idol shone? Devoted friends,
Delightful women and officious hearts
Were his; the Capital beneath him crouch'd;
And when the glorious sun of noon beheld
The city roaring like a sea of life,
Who shot through street and square so fiercely swift
As he? How paused the many-headed Crowd,
When, rolling like a distant thunder-car,
His chariot darted through the smoking dust
And shook the glitt'ring windows! In the park
When proudly throned upon his warlike steed
What eyes devour'd him with adoring looks!
Thus pass'd the day; then came the midnight Mask
And ball, with every splendid thief of time:
To crown his course, he blighted trusting hearts,
Jeer'd Honour to her face, and out of tears,
The father's curse, and desolated home,
A pleasure, such as Demons fancy, quaff'd.

Soon fled the glories of a fatal year,
And left him an unpitied wreck of pride
And dissipated hours. No more the smile,
Shot from the heart, flash'd o'er his happy face;
No more the soul-dear friend, and sumptuous dome,
Where beauty, or the banquet, witch'd the hour
With languishment and love; the sun of wealth
Had set, and darken'd into joyless gloom!

One hope, the hope of Desperation left,
He sought it, where the secret gamblers met
And madden'd o'er their midnight-game. Amid
The sickly glimmer of a silent room,
Like Spectres, there they sat, and ventured all;
Till Ruin scared them, and some faded cheek
Flinch'd from the gripe of agony within!
Night after night, from this infernal haunt
He came, and felt the voice of Conscience rise
Like hell-words sounding through his guilty soul!
One night, as homeward he return'd, and heard
The death-knell of another buried Day,
While far o'er street and lane the waning moon
A wintry radiance shed, the past arose;
The frowning spectre of his murder'd Hours
Appall'd the conscience! then Despair began,
And in him like a living hell-spark burn'd.
Awhile, in chamber'd solitude he sat,
Where through the riven wall the cold blast whined
And mourn'd, and rioted in rueful dreams;
Till, with a laugh, deliriously he snapp'd
The thread of life! and sent his spirit—where?
Where are they all, who, cowards to themselves,
Rob their Creator, cut existence short,
And hurl their spirits back again to God,
Of life disdainful, by His wisdom lent?

Th' antipodes to this self-murder'd Wretch
Stood by, in fellow-torment: once a man
In face so meek, so honied in his tongue,
A martyr to a sinful world he seem'd!
What holy passion work'd his eye, as oft
With woful voice, and words of heavenly tune,
He sermonised, and shook his head, and sigh'd!
But God unmask'd him; and he stood condemn'd,
A hypocrite,—a saint without a soul!
While others braved the censure of their crimes
And to the world their sinful bosoms bared
And sallied heedlessly to Hell, he plied
His guilty pleasures in the dark, and did
Unknown what millions dare, and die condemn'd:
And yet, a living Sermon he appear'd;
Far nearer heaven than unassuming minds
Where God was templed, and his truth adored.
Such was the hypocrite! and when his tomb
Was piled, his epitaph Devotion read,
And glow'd to think that such a man had been!
By saints anointed,—yet with devils leagued.

And who, among the myriads of the cursed,
Was yon red Shape of unconsuming fire?
A blighted Angel! Never round a soul
Did fairer prospects shine: before her moved
The majesty of birth, the graces breathed
From polish'd mode and princely scenes. And oh!
Who ever look'd upon that lovely face
Where the soul sunn'd itself in smiles, or heard
The prattled music of her tongue, nor dreamt
She was a Seraph, born in heaven to beam!

Time roll'd her years along; but with them came
No saintly thoughts, which beautify the soul
And tune the passions to their heavenly tone.
Ne'er did the voice of pure Instruction charm
Her willing ear; nor meek-eyed Wisdom stoop
With fond attention to each budding word
And sweet demand. Unto the dew-bright stars
Her finger pointed oft; the sun and moon
Were radiant wonders; and the ocean-roar
Like hidden rapture, ran through every vein
Until her being throbb'd with joy!—yet none
Were by, to warm her wonder into praise,
And stamp God's image brighter on the soul;
In prayer none lock'd her little hands, or spoke
Of Angels, who the growing child o'erwatch.

But when, at length, the peerless woman dawn'd,
Never did Mind a lovelier form create:
She was a paragon, a poet's queen!
The starry lustre of her speaking eyes,
Her brow, her hair of fascinating curl,
And neck of swan-like grace,—all seem'd divine,
When with the lightness of a cloud she walk'd
Her chamber, or amid the ball-room shone:
The form was heavenly, but the mind of earth,
A shrine for vain-born hopes, and sensual dreams,
Without a thought, a sigh, or wish for Heaven!
E'en to the last, when on her pain-worn cheek
Approach'd the tints of death, no tender lip
The coming hour reveal'd; nor in her heart
Did Faith's sweet music roll: so mildly-good,
In form so fair, and so adored below,
Sure God would take her to his bowers of light!
So dream'd Compassion's unreflecting heart
And form'd a heaven, how beautifully vain!

Not least deserveless of a nobler lot,
Among the legions of assembled Souls
Was he, the self-idolater: who made
His mind a vortex for ingulphing all
That worldly craft and sordid dreams inspire.
To self unlink'd,—and earth a desert seem'd,
A vacancy, where nothing glorious dwelt;
But, to administer to mean-bred pride,
His wealth augment, and lend ambition wings,—
For this mankind were fool'd with base applause!
For such a soul the very Devils long'd,
So loveless, and with selfish dross defiled:
And yet, no law he broke, no crime he dared,
But in his pew devoutly pray'd; and felt
The pulse of reputation, with the pride
Of specious virtue: Yet, tremendous God!
Before Thee, never could that Spirit stand
And live; a worldling could not breathe in Heaven!
When did he look upon the lofty sky
Or round his temples hear the breezes hymn,
And glory in his Being? When did Morn
The world to re-awake arise; or Night
Descend to beautify her brow with stars,
And he admire them? Though the wrathful Deep
Should thunder all her waves to foam; or Plagues,
Like noiseless whirlwinds sweep half earth away,
Still, tomb'd within himself, he would not weep,
Or wonder; what to him were Nature's pranks?
Not Genius, crown'd with her celestial light;
Not glorious Art; nor Beauty darting out
The mental radiance of her meaning eye,
One noble passion in his soul could plant:
No renegade was he! for when the beam
Of life in death was languishing, and hell
Before him sounding like a furnace-blast,
A Thought look'd back, and wept the world behind!

Such were a few of all the dark undone.
Among them, millions who were crowned, when Time
Stalk'd o'er the earth, as demigods of fame,
Were seen: Philosophers, whose rebel doubts
Would, Titan-like, have disenthroned The God
In heaven, were here; and hosts of every shade
Of sin, from visor'd Crime, to daring Vice;
And those, whose coward-virtues only shone
Untried, when happiness around them smiled;
Unlike the truly good, whose virtues were
As stars,—unnoticed in the haughty glare
Of day, but in their full effulgence seen
And felt, when darkness overshrouds the world.
Not least in number were of middle-stamp,
Nor good, nor bad, and yet for heaven too base;
Triflers, who gaily pass'd from life to death
Like full-wing'd vessels o'er a gallant sea!

And did not meek-eyed Mercy stoop to save?—
To Heaven she beckon'd every breathing soul!
By day, by night, she whisper'd to the heart,
“A God! Eternity! A Day of Doom!”
By funeral-knells, and swiftly-dying friends;
In solemn hours, and serious moods; by pangs
Within, and perils from without; by all
The eloquence of love and truth divine
She summon'd man to glory, and be saved.
In vain!—the tides of joy unebbing flow'd,
And lightly tript the fairy Hours along:
Eternity was all a cheat! and Heaven,
Some bright creation of a poet's dream;
And Hell, but burning in a priestly brain!

Men died; and could they have their breath resumed,
With one terrific shrick they would have thrill'd
Creation round,—“There is, there is a Hell!”
But now, for ever dungeon'd must they groan
Where minutes hold eternities of pain!

The crowns in happier realms they might have worn
In mocking dreams now only view'd, which make
Damnation more severe; their wasted hours,
Corrupting pleasures and degraded joys,
The sabbaths broken, and the God blasphemed,—
All, in one blended, burning mass of sin
And mem'ry, round each guilty Soul revolve,
Where self-conviction forms the deepest Hell.