INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST.
I
Where Cornwall's dreary genius cowers o'er rocks
Of Druid fame,—o'er barrow'd hills of heath,
There, where in ancient days umbrageous oaks
Involv'd in wizard gloom the shrines beneath,
And thro' the central darkness murmur'd death;
I feel again, from all her echoing caves
The consecrated trumpet's thrilling breath!
Again I hear, as charm'd old Ocean heaves,
The harp's symphonious sounds, that hush the weltering waves.
II
Snatcht from the flaming altars of the East
I see the hallow'd fires of Iran rise,
To mark, unfolding May! thy floral feast!
Behold they lighten to the starry skies!
The circling priests their wands in solemn guise
Wave to and fro; and all is pale amaze!
From crag to crag the hum of voices dies;
And, as assembled clans in silence gaze,
The distant karnes draw near, and kindle in the blaze.
III
But, guilt (that cried for vengeance) to atone,
I saw the shivering sacrifice of blood,
What time the moon, her horns replenish'd, shone
Thro' the thick foliage of the lurid wood!
Lo, how they catch, where hiss'd the viprous brood,
The Milpreu flung into the fields of air!
See break away, by man yet unsubdued,
Yon milk-white steeds, along the moorland far
Tossing their harness'd heads, and dash the rattling car.
IV
See, where Karnbre in savage grandeur wild,
Frowns o'er the crowds that scale her craggy steep,
That ledge immense upon its rockstone pil'd
To its white glimmering draws attention deep!
The Archdruid flings the lymph. With mystic sweep
He turns around. He beckons, silent, slow,
To the dark spirit within that seem'd to sleep!
Lo, the rock shakes and trembles!—All below
Religious frenzy goads—all own the inspiring glow!
V
And now, to drink the crimson flood of life,
Where towers the Cromlech on the top-most height,
He sternly lifts the sacrificing knife!
Around the mountain sides long vestments white
Float silvery to the moonbeam's sacred light!
And lo! he waits with deathful pause and pale,
The dire portentous moment of midnight!
It comes! the knife descends! The piteous wail
And limbs convuls'd in blood, can human bosoms hail?
VI
Yes! it was thus imposture aim'd to wast
Man's prayers to Jove, in error's dunnest day;
While priestly domination, priestly craft
Was no faint semblance of the Almighty sway,
Or of eternal wisdom seem'd a ray!
And leap'd not forth the ethereal flame, to scath
Presumption's crest amidst the mad essay?
Why paus'd the lightnings in their blazing path,
Nor fork'd their keenest fire, to execute Heaven's wrath?
VII
But where beam'd health the everlasting cross
Prostrate, how oft hath sacerdotal guile
Bid all the unfolding sky the soul engross
Where earth and sensual pleasure lurk'd the while?
How grand the arches of the gothic pile!
Its dark illuminations rich, that stain
The tremulous pavement of the pillar'd aisle!
Nor the sweet virgin's image sheds in vain
The ideal glory round, to gild her holy fane.
VIII
And doth not awe with timid eye pursue
Where matin radiance falls, or torches flare
The hood, the cowl, the vestment's mournful hue
The solemn gait, the penitential air,
The contrite look, as tho' absorb'd in prayer;
While, swelling thro the spacious concave rise
Measures, to banish low-born grief and care!
Now deep and full, the enfrancing harmonies
Now, stealing soft away, the distant music dies!
IX
But, muffled up in saintly garment white
Have we not often seen insidious art,
Have we not seen the abstemious hypocrite
With meek demeanour hide the ruffian's heart?
Nor seldom doth he play the lecher's part!
Lo where he glides, and sudden sinks within
Some shadowy nook, from the dim form we start!
The maiden's ear his secret whispers win!
He stores the frail-one's sighs, and riots o'er her sin.
X
And see where recent from the vernal groves
On the cold floor those sprinkled blooms expire,
Imperious pomp!—the mitred abbess moves,
And her long train of nuns in dark attire,
And all black-veil'd, approach the hallowed choir!
Faint, quivering, slow, the minstrel-notes ascend!
Ah see (adieu to hope and young desire!)
The lovely mourner o'er the altar bend!
Lone maid! adieu to hope! save Heaven, thou hast no friend.
XI
The reverend father opes the book. At once
The full-voic'd anthem vaunts sublimer lays!
In every tone, how plaintive the response!
How witching to the ear the strain of praise!
Behold! her snowy veil the attendants raise—
Her hand in holy trance the vestal rears;
And where unvalued gems the shrine emblaze,
Ravish'd as by the music of the spheres,
She vows the eternal vow; and wonder dries her tears!
XII
Yet will they flow afresh. Too early lost
To all the gentle bosom learns to prize,
Full soon, where nuns angelic sweetness boast,
Will she shrink back from dark malignant eyes,
And hollow cheeks, of grief the poor disguise;
And hear, reechoed from secluded cell,
At the pale vigil sad repining sighs!
And see, whilst oft her carnal thoughts rebel,
With supercilious airs that mitred abbess swell!
