 | Scenes from Scripture with Other Poems |  |
209
THE FURIES.
214
Eumenides! ye throned on flame!
What tongue dares name your darker name?
Sisters, and Sovereigns, of the Fates,
Who sit by Hell's eternal gates;
Where Cerberus, with sleepless howl,
Startles the demons, fierce and foul;
And sounds of weeping and of wail
For ever on the darkness sail!
I see your grandeur, drear and dim,
The gold-crowned brow, the giant limb,
The lurid, mighty eyes, whose gaze
Throws, even round Hell, a broader blaze;
Guarded by demigods of Earth,
The thunder-shattered Titan's birth,
That float around your cloudy throne,
Glistening like serpents—seen, and gone.
What tongue dares name your darker name?
Sisters, and Sovereigns, of the Fates,
Who sit by Hell's eternal gates;
Where Cerberus, with sleepless howl,
Startles the demons, fierce and foul;
And sounds of weeping and of wail
For ever on the darkness sail!
I see your grandeur, drear and dim,
The gold-crowned brow, the giant limb,
The lurid, mighty eyes, whose gaze
Throws, even round Hell, a broader blaze;
Guarded by demigods of Earth,
The thunder-shattered Titan's birth,
That float around your cloudy throne,
Glistening like serpents—seen, and gone.
Ye tamers of all mortal pride,
Ye punishers of parricide,
Avengers of man's broken vows,
The tyrant husband, blood-stained spouse;
The guilt triumphant, yet untold;
The base, in soul already sold,
When traitors play the patriot's part,
(The last corruption of the heart),
And Faction coils its serpent-rings
Round the unguarded hours of Kings.
Eumenides! what kingdom stands,
When waves the sceptre in your hands?
Ye punishers of parricide,
Avengers of man's broken vows,
The tyrant husband, blood-stained spouse;
215
The base, in soul already sold,
When traitors play the patriot's part,
(The last corruption of the heart),
And Faction coils its serpent-rings
Round the unguarded hours of Kings.
Eumenides! what kingdom stands,
When waves the sceptre in your hands?
Sepulchral Goddesses! your power
Awakes the conscience-stricken hour!
Nor time, nor distance, day nor night,
Can screen the villain from your sight;
Sweeps he along the stormy surge,
Above him hangs your scorpion-scourge;
Takes he the desert-eagle's wing,
There your swift arrows fix their sting;
Flies he to Ocean's farthest shore,
You track him by his steps of gore;
He sees you on the whirlwind ride,
And wishes he at once had died!
Awakes the conscience-stricken hour!
Nor time, nor distance, day nor night,
Can screen the villain from your sight;
Sweeps he along the stormy surge,
Above him hangs your scorpion-scourge;
Takes he the desert-eagle's wing,
There your swift arrows fix their sting;
Flies he to Ocean's farthest shore,
You track him by his steps of gore;
He sees you on the whirlwind ride,
And wishes he at once had died!
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But, when the darker vengeance still
For darker guilt, the world must thrill;
When crime, too deep to be forgiven,
Wakes the reluctant wrath of Heaven;
You leave the villain to his wiles,
Till the false world around him smiles;
All conscience quelled, all fear defied,
Life, to his glance, a golden tide;
All murmurs hushed, all storms o'erblown;
The game of fortune all his own!
Then, in some high-wrought, crowning hour,
Some day of pride, some feast of power,
Some hour of double life—and death!
Then, breathe your lips their fiery breath;
Your Sceptre strikes one viewless blow,
The palace and its lord are low!
A blow that seems the land to stun,
All gazing on the wretch undone;
A thunderbolt of ruin hurled,
A Moral to the startled World!
Awhile your giant forms are seen
The tempest-laden clouds between;
Each drinking, with earth-bended ear,
The curses round the hurried bier.
Then, vanished from the eyes of men,
Ye sit at Hell's dark gates again!
For darker guilt, the world must thrill;
When crime, too deep to be forgiven,
Wakes the reluctant wrath of Heaven;
You leave the villain to his wiles,
Till the false world around him smiles;
All conscience quelled, all fear defied,
Life, to his glance, a golden tide;
All murmurs hushed, all storms o'erblown;
The game of fortune all his own!
Then, in some high-wrought, crowning hour,
Some day of pride, some feast of power,
Some hour of double life—and death!
Then, breathe your lips their fiery breath;
Your Sceptre strikes one viewless blow,
The palace and its lord are low!
A blow that seems the land to stun,
All gazing on the wretch undone;
A thunderbolt of ruin hurled,
A Moral to the startled World!
217
The tempest-laden clouds between;
Each drinking, with earth-bended ear,
The curses round the hurried bier.
Then, vanished from the eyes of men,
Ye sit at Hell's dark gates again!
| Scenes from Scripture with Other Poems | |