FROM THE THIRD BOOK.
—He said; and, turning swiftly round, began
His solemn charms; when sudden darkness veil'd
The starry skies, and hollow murm'ring gales
Sung dreadful in the trees; red meteors flash'd
Along the troubled air; and, from beneath,
Loud inbred thunders shook the steadfast earth;
Unnumber'd ghosts, all pale with hostile wounds,
Stalk'd o'er the green, and fill'd the night's dark gloom
With ghastly terror and distracting groans:
Silence succeeds, vanish the ghosts away,
And earth no longer shakes; the lab'ring clouds
Unveil'd the heavens, and, in their stony caves,
The slumb'ring winds their weary pinions rest.
Then sleep's still influence seized the drowsy king,
And down he sunk, unable to resist
The pressing weight of the prevailing god:
But inspiration waked his inward powers,
And roused light fancy, in her thousand forms,
To strike the wond'rous vision on the mind.
First his great father's shade, with glory crown'd,
Descends, and, through the fluid realms of air,
Bears the young monarch, swift as tempests fly
When the grim ruler of the raging winds,
Drives down their fury o'er the Atlantic seas,
And, in a moment, to the farthest verge
Of the vex'd ocean, heaps the roaring waves.
The crystal gates of Cynthia's silver orb
Unfold, and, up the portals' bright ascent,
The rev'rend guardian leads his earthly charge
Entranced in raptures; when the glorious scene,
To his attentive view, unveil'd its charms:
For there soft pleasures, in eternal rounds,
For ever circle with an easy wing;
All that the realms of either India boast,
Or Afric's regions, or Europa's lands,
By turns delight the happy tribes, and more,
Ten thousand more, than man's experience knows,
Or fancy forms, maintain eternal rule,
And bless the immortals with continual joy.
Music, through every shade sweet warbling breathes
Soft gladness on the soul; the dulcet voice
Attempers the respondent lyre.
[OMITTED]
—Eternal verdure cheers the gladsome green,
And odorous flowers, for ever blooming, wast
Unfading sweets, and fume the wanton gale:
From the slope hills, descend the trickling streams,
And, through the fruitful vales, o'er sands of gold,
In gentle currents, smoothly roll along;
The mountain's brow with tufted woods is crown'd,
With sparkling gems the silent grot's emblazed,
And luscious plenty gladdens every field:
No wintry snows, or summer suns infest
The blissful climes, nor war's destructive rage
Lays waste the regions, and deforms the plain;
But heaven-born love and everlasting spring
Dance hand in hand, and lead the smiling hours,
All gay with newborn happiness and joy.
Through spicy forests, and through flowery fields,
The sweet abode of souls for ever bless'd!
The princely ghost his raptured offspring led
To that sublime retreat, where patriot shades,
In matchless pleasures, and supreme delights,
Enjoy the great reward their virtues earn'd,
With long fatigue, and endless toils, below;
There pointed, to his view, the illustrious chiefs,
Who, scorning bribes, and all the baits of sense,
Trod, with undaunted soul, the paths of death,
When freedom claim'd the sword, and honor call'd to arms.
Zymron,
the best, and bravest of mankind,
Towers with superior glory, and presides
Amidst the noblest heroes of the globe;
Dreadless he looks, as when his rightful arms
O'ercame the tyrants of an hundred realms,
And made that bold attempt to free the western world.
His mighty ancestor, of deathless name,
The next in order treads the social green,
Round his distinguish'd head bright virtue ties
The laurel wreath, and glories in his deeds;
Nations, preserved by his indulgent care,
Shout his applause, and fame's eternal trump,
Fill'd with his praises, shakes the tyrant's throne.
Alascar, chief of Montezeuma's line,
Stands at his side, severe his awful brow,
As when, impartial to his country's laws,
He doom'd his sons to ignominious death,
And, in a patriot's zeal, restrain'd the parent's tears.
The brave Atalgah, steadfast as the earth
Pois'd on itself, and glorious as the sun
In its meridian height, transported hears
The wonders of his toilsome march rehearsed
With loud acclaim, when, scorching in the heat,
He patient bore the raging pangs of thirst,
Till the last fainting soldier was refresh'd
With frequent draughts from the enlivening spring.
See! fair Amrena, with majestic front,
And eye sublime, among the mightiest stand,
Fond of the liquid death, which freed her soul
From the proud insults of the victor's rage;
Surrounding chiefs admire the heroic deed,
And hail her dauntless mind which dared to lead
An host to war, and, by the dint of sword,
Restore lost freedom to her mourning realm.
A thousand more, the champions of the world!
Dwell here encircled with superior bliss,
And dream of dangers and of toil no more.
[OMITTED]
—“But now, descending to the seats of wo,
And vengeful torments, where the sons of men
Are rack'd for all the enormities of life,
We for a while must leave these happy plains.”
He said; and, plunging from the argent world,
Sails on the winds, and bears his son along:
At last upon a huge volcano's brink,
With clouds of gloomy smoke involved, they stoop,
And sink immediate down the vast profound;
Nor stay'd till (through unnumber'd caverns pass'd,
The abodes of fear, of horror and despair,)
They reach'd the dreadful dungeons of the great.
Where, bound in adamantine chains, they lie
On beds of raging fire, and no hope
Of comfort, or a kind reprieve from pain;
From pain, which every hour increasing, gives
A keener twinge; while fiercer flames prepare
Their eager vengeance, and exert their rage;
While round, the sad companions of their crimes,
Condemn'd to endless woe, attend their lords,
And aid the furies, and increase the fires.
Here haughty Nimroc, plunged in burning lakes,
And deeply drench'd beneath the sulphurous wave,
No longer grasps at universal rule,
Or wastes the nations with destructive arms;
But, inly tortured with incessant pangs,
Reflects with horror on his impious schemes.
Fix'd in a ruddy car of burning steel,
With sullen sadness, proud Guascara mourns
His fond ambition to be thought a god,
While, o'er the scorching soil, he 's dragged along,
And scornful dæmons aggravate his wo,
With pageant grandeur, and disdainful state.
Tlaxcalla's
vaunt, great Zagnar's martial son,
Extended on the rack, no more complains
That realms are wanting to employ his sword;
But, circled with innumerable ghosts,
Who print their keenest vengeance on his soul,
For all the wrongs, and slaughters of his reign,
Howls out repentance to the deafen'd skies,
And shakes hell's concave with continual groans.
Ten thousand thousand more, whom fame records
As the dread tyrants of the tortured globe,
'Midst the dire rigors of surrounding flames,
Clank their huge fetters, and, with ceaseless yell,
Bewail the frantic fury of their lives,
Which forced down all the vengeance of the gods.
This dreadful scene survey'd, again the ghost
Broke the long silence, and his lore renew'd;
“These, these are they, the execrable souls,
Who vaunted heavenly birth, yet scorning truth,
And virtue's sacred laws, acted worse deeds
Than all the infernals could inspire; the worst,
The basest of the sons of men, whose joy
Was murther, whose delight was death, who thought.
Mankind was destined only to adore
Their transient glories, live upon their breath;
Who laugh'd at justice, trampled on the laws,
And gave whole armies to the rage of war!
