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That said, he ceased. We sank,—
Cleaving the earth in utter darkness. Rocks
Were passive to us as the waves. We shot
Rapidly down, immeasurably deep;
Then burst at length into a blazing vault,
Bright as the sun, when in his highest course
Men turn them from his splendour.

I shrank back
Amazed and terrified! for, deep within,
Self-balanced like the moon in the clear heaven,
I saw what seem'd a world of fire, that burn'd
With inexpressible ardour; yet I felt
No heat, and heard no sound. The roof, the floor,
Were shaped alike,—one arching over head,
One underneath,—a bright concavity,
Like to a double sky, immensely huge.

“This,” said the gentle Spirit, “is the heart
Of earth; and there thou seest the central fires
That burn eternally. On this vast arch
The mountains, and the valleys, and the seas
Have their foundations. All that flashing roof,
That glittering concave floor, is adamant.
Nought can pass through, save the ethereal forms
That, as I told thee, 'tween these sun-light fires
And the great sun himself go to and fro.
Myriads of these I now behold; but thou
Mayst not look on them:—some there are like those
Whom thou hast seen,—delightful shapes; but some
Are terrible and mighty powers: thine eye
Might not endure their aspect. Thou dost dread
Those brilliant flames; but they will harm thee not.
Come,—let us enter them.”

With that he took
My half-reluctant hand, and in an instant
We stood within the centre of that brightness.

But—as in dreams the riotous fancy oft
Delighteth to distort the fairest forms,
Or from things disproportion'd and uncouth
To put together shapes of finest beauty,—
So, suddenly, methought my guide was gone:—
An indescribable terror came upon me:
The fires were round me still; yet not, as first,
Silent and calm, but furiously tost about
Like a stormy ocean, and roar'd hideously.
And then methought I saw the enormous axle
On which the earth turn'd like some monstrous engine.
It seem'd to my starting eyes thick as the base
Of hugest mountain, red with intense heat,
And rolling rapidly and furiously round.
And everywhere gigantic beings stood
Like statues of hot iron glaring on me.
And now it seem'd a thickest darkness fell
About me. I beheld the fires no more;
But heard them bellowing dreadfully; and heard
The earth upon its monstrous centre whirling
Outrageously, with noise of iron clankings
And ponderous wheels, groaning, and grinding harsh.
I could not bear that terror: every sense
Grew dim and fail'd.

But the melodious voice
Of that bright, affable Spirit came again
Into my ear, recalling me to life
Gently, as in a summer's night the moon
Comes with her mild face from beneath the hills,
Waking the dark earth from her dewy sleep,
And calling up the slumbering nightingales.

I found myself again within the deeps,
In stillness and in darkness. “We are now,”
The Spirit said, “beneath another sea:
These waters wash the Indian shores: the sun,
Whom in the great Pacific we just left
Beginning a new day, is setting here.
Look! as we pause, thou mayst discern a dark,
Dim purple tinge above;—'tis his last ray
Firing the topmost waves. Thou canst not know,
In this deep silence, and these motionless waters,
What even now is doing overhead:
These awful depths are sleeping peacefully,
As they for ever sleep; but, higher up,
A storm is raging. Come, let us ascend.”

With that we mounted; and anon I saw
The waters swaying round us, and soon heard
The faint moan of the raging waves on high.
Still, as we slowly rose, the uproar grew
Louder and louder: the vex'd waters rush'd
Vehemently from side to side; and, lo!
I saw in the dim light a goodly ship,
Prow foremost, shooting like an arrow down
Into the gulf:—fast to the ropes and masts
The stiffen'd dead men clung as when they sank.

It pass'd us in an instant; and we rose
Higher and higher, and the noise increased,
And the billows gather'd fury, and were mixed
With foam. Enormous fishes roll'd about,
Lashing the waves in terror. Soon we sprang
Into the air; and then the hurricane
Added its howlings to the ocean's roar:
The rain beat fiercely down; and massive clouds
Roll'd heavily over: thunders too began
To call from the dark sky; and lightnings broke
From out their holds, and ran along the waters,
Kindling the foam. But we went slowly up,—
Passing the thick clouds, and the shouting thunders;—
And saw the clear sky over head, and stars
Twinkling serenely, and the rising moon
Throwing her silver rays on the dense vapours
That rock'd and roll'd beneath us. Up we went
In the still air above the fighting winds;
The noise of waves, and storms, and thunders died
Softly away, and we reposed at length
In the calm moonlight, and intensest silence.

I gazed upon the lovely lamp of night,
And scenes and times gone by came to my view,
Bringing a gentle sadness: lonely walks
In summer evenings, or at dead of night
Through solemn shadowy woods, or by the banks
Of broad, clear, whispering river, when the light
Of that same quiet orb was shining there,
As now upon the warring clouds beneath.
I had just heard the noise of waves and winds,
And seen the rocking waters, and the clouds
Mingling in fury: now they seem'd to lie
In a soft slumber, save that here and there
Some cloud top turning red, and quivering
Hastily through and through, announced the strife
Still raging; but no thunder could reach there:
Each flash came fainter, and the reddening clouds
Grew less and less: the moon, too, climbed the sky
With an unusual swiftness:—yet, intent
On what I had beheld, and thinking much
Of that fine ship, with her ill-fated crew,
Floating beneath the dark deeps; and the eyes
That must look vainly out for their return
From day to day,—and week to week,—and month
To lingering month;—and of the agonies
Of hearts that, hoping long, must cease to hope,
And sink into despair;—with such thoughts fill'd,
I mark'd not that we still went slowly up,
Till suddenly the sunshine burst upon me,
And brought my senses back.

“Thou hast been lost
In thought,” the radiant Spirit said, “nor I
Would stir thee, that thy feeble faculties,
Wearied with contemplating things so far
Beyond thy little knowledge, might repose,
Ere on a longer journey we set forth
To view still nobler sights. Thou marvell'st much
To be again in day-light, when, but now,
Night was beginning; but the mountain's top
Catches the sunshine while the vale is dark;
And at this altitude we see him still,
Though mountains, were they here on mountains piled,
Would be in shade. We now have soar'd above
The atmosphere of earth, and fly in ether.
Turn thine eye downward.”

While he spake, I looked,
And saw a wondrous sight: unbounded ocean,—
Islands,—enormous continents. Three parts
Lay in dim moonlight, and the fourth in day;
And every instant the horizon spread,
And took in other lands and wider seas.
Up,—up we went,—and yet the prospect grew:
The sun and moon were in the sky at once;—
The stars, too, all were out; not quivering
As men behold them from the ground, but clear
And steady. Still we mounted;—still the view
Expanded;—till, at length, from pole to pole,
From west to east, the rim of the round earth
Was bounded by the ether.

“Now thou seest,”
The Spirit said, “one half the globe,—divided
By day and moonlight night: there Africa,—
Here Asia,—Europe there,—and, opposite
To the south pole, the ocean without shore.

“How soft and tranquil all from hence appears!
Like a most exquisite garden, where nought evil
May ever come! Those mazy winding shores,—
Those calm bright seas,—those sleeping vales,—those hills
Dappled with light and shade,—those rivers,— forests,—
Islands,—and lakes,—not visible hence to thee,
But to me clear;—how beautiful are they all!
Doth it not seem a spot where happy things
Should dwell, for ever happy? Who would think
To find in such a paradise broken hearts,—
Emaciated forms,—limbs bent and rigid
With years of ceaseless toil,—faces where health,
If ever known, hath left no bloom behind;
But where the miserable heart looks out,
Telling in every feature—wretchedness?
Is this the doom of nature? No! 'tis man,—
Weak and mistaken man,—that hath himself
Inflicted on his fellows misery
To purchase that which yet he hath not gained,—
A happiness more than simple nature gives.
Pride and self-love have been and are the source
Of general misery: each man for himself
Strives only,—not for needful sustenance
Or harmless joys, which, with a wiser course,
All might, and should have; but to rise above
His fellow men in wealth, and rank, and power,
Unheeding how, to elevate himself,
Others must be depress'd. As in the sea
Disturb'd by tempests, every wave that climbs
To touch the clouds must leave the waters nigh
The lower sunk as it the higher mounts;
So the rapacious, and the ambitious man,
Heaping together wealth, or grasping power,
Must leave his fellows poorer, and less free.
One is not great or rich but as the rest
Are poor and weak:—one bloated epicure
Makes many hungry:—one who rolls in wealth
Leaves hundreds pinched with want:—one despot lives
That millions may be slaves. Did they create
The luxuries they seize, it were not so;
And they alone were pitiable things,
Mistaking their own good, deeming the means
To be the end. Life's real joys are few;
But ample for the reach of happiness:
Health and a quiet mind include them all.
But can the wretch who, by unceasing toil
From early morn till night, year after year,
Must earn his meagre food, feel peace of mind?
Can his worn frame have the fresh glow of health?
Can he look pleased on nature's endless charms,
Which he must never taste? The fields and woods,
The seas and hills are beautiful; but he
Must sweat in the hot factory or mine,
Shut from the wholesome airs of heaven, the sights,
The pleasant sounds of nature. When he rests,
'Tis not to enjoy the happiness of being,
The consciousness of life on this fine earth;
But to prepare his jaded limbs to meet
Another day of toil and misery.
And for what end?—that some proud pamper'd man
May drink himself to drunkenness,—may gorge
His greedy stomach till the bloated mass
Becomes corruption,—deck his useless limbs
With gaudy ornaments, and call himself
Wealthy and great. But is he happy then?
Hath the unremitting toil and wretchedness
Of hundreds given in one heap to him
The happiness that hundreds should have shared?
No! he is proud and wrathful,—covetous
Of more, though he already hath too much:
A thousand foolish wants are satisfied,
But thousands more arise. Look at his nights,
Sleepless and feverish; or distraught with dreams
That well repay on him the misery
That hundreds feel through him:—he knoweth not
The luxury of a vigorous limb,—the glow
Of health,—the lightness of the heart,—the dance
Of innocent spirits:—he is but a cancer
Upon the general body,—in itself
Painful and foul,—and draining the whole mass
Of health and strength.

“Doth the proud monarch sleep
More soundly on the gorgeous couch for which
Thousands have made their bed upon the ground?
If he have wisdom, 'twould as brightly shine
Without the glittering jewels on his head,
To furnish which what numbers have lack'd food
And shelter from the elements! But not
To kings or nobles doth the blame belong
Exclusively: even those who think themselves
Robb'd by their lords, do rob as greedily
The ranks below themselves, till they whose toil
Gives all the rest their luxuries, are depress'd
To want and misery. Self-love, thou seest,—
Self-pride,—the cause of all. Would man but learn
That—to be truly happy, he should strive
To make his fellows so,—all might be well.”

The son of ether ceased, and we flew on.
The moon behind us sank; the sun before
Rose upward, and pass'd on above us, lighting
All that we saw of earth; then fell again
Eastward, till only on three parts he shone;
And on the other part the moon again,
Seeming to have backward run her course round earth,
Cast her mild gleam.

Then the huge continent,
America, from north to south, outstretch'd
Almost from pole to pole, we saw, encompassed
By mighty oceans. 'Twas a glorious sight!
Seas, shores, with every curve and angle, plain
As on a map; but the whole globe appear'd
Not larger than some wide-spread valley, seen
From top of central mountain. Here and there
An island in the great deep I beheld,
As 'twere a dark-sail'd vessel seen far off;
And oft I thought I could distinguish hill
And vale; and some broad rivers I could spy,
That went to the Atlantic.

“Beautiful
And gentle Spirit!” I exclaim'd, “oh! say
How I shall thank thee? thou indeed hast shown
The loveliness and the sublimity
Of nature.”

Thou hast thanked me,” he replied:
“Man, for his petty benefits conferred,
Demands loud praises,—still renewed thanks:
We ask not such,—contented if we see
The good we tender felt to be a good.
The thankless oft are noisiest in their thanks;
As on the unfruitful pavement every drop
That falls from the kind sky is told aloud:
But in the grateful heart a blessing sinks,
Like the same shower upon a sunny field,
That drinks it silently, and shows its thanks
By smiles and glad increase.

“But now again
Look downward to the earth, for I have clear'd
Thine eyes, that thou like us mayst see.”

Then I look'd down, and on the sea descried
A fleet of atom ships, that softly stole
Along the small white waves; all sails were up,
Leaning and bellying to the wind; and men
Were on the decks, and in the shrouds. Some walk'd
With proud and stately step, and some lay down
Stretch'd at their length asleep. I cannot tell
By any words their wondrous littleness;
Yet I could see each feature, every smile,
And every changing look. And there was one
Who through a telescope look'd out, then seem'd
To give some order:—certain signals straight
Were made, and answering signals given anon
From other ships; and then the tiny sails
Were alter'd, and the masts swung round, and lean'd
On the other side.

Now to the land I look'd,
And saw thick-peopled cities, that appear'd
Small as a daisy's rim; and fortresses
And temples smaller than the delicate spots
Within the cowslip's bell; and hosts of men
With serious, busy faces; steeds and chariots,
And crowded market places.

I turn'd then
To look upon the mountains, and the lakes,
And the primeval forests, where man's foot
Hath never trod. Then, from its petty spring
Amid the hills, I track'd some little stream,
That further on became a river; took
Hundreds of other streams as it flow'd on;
And grew a mighty current that bore ships;
Then fleets, as 'twere an inland sea; and last
Roll'd its tempestuous waters to the ocean;—
Driving far out,—wave foaming against wave.

Now on some bright green island I look'd down,
Bedded within the pure and boundless deep;
There I saw graceful trees, and fertile fields,
That, rounded by the foamy breakers, seem'd
Like a rich emerald set in orient pearl.

Thus with insatiate eye, from sea to land,
From land to sea, I turn'd; with new delight
Glancing from moonlight west to sunny east,—
From pole to pole; till suddenly methought
We soar'd again, and the huge ball began
To lessen rapidly;—each outline grew
Smaller and dimmer,—every moment less—
And less:—where ocean ended, or the shore
Arose, I knew not oft: still, still it shrank:
All soon was but one mass of pleasant light,
With delicate shadowings scatter'd here and there,
Like the full moon seen through astronomer's glass:
Yet, yet it lessen'd,—till it seem'd anon
A smaller moon,—and last but a bright star
Amid a host of stars.

“Benignant Spirit!”
I cried in rapture, “whither dost thou take me?”

“I told thee,” he replied, “thou shouldst behold
New regions. Thou hast look'd upon the sun,
When he arose or set upon the earth,
With awe and admiration; how wilt thou
Endure to stand within his burning sphere?
For thither are we bound; nay,—look not up
Till I have given thee strength to bear that sight;
But list awhile. Thou seest these shining orbs
That wing their smooth way through the fields of ether;
And thou didst hear on earth the seas and hills
Giving out joyful music:—think'st thou then
These mighty worlds are voiceless?

“To thine ear,
Unopen'd, what a deep and awful silence
Is in these lonely realms of endless space!
The murmur of a stream, the gentle cooing
Of a young dove, breaking upon this hush,
Would seem to thee loud as a cataract;
But thou shalt know that silence is not here,
Nor dead vacuity: throughout all space
Nature hath her own music:—all that gives
To the eye beauty, yields, to gifted ears,
A melody as beauteous. Listen, now!”

Oh! then there was a burst of glorious sounds,
Such as I never heard, and could not hear
With waking sense, and live:—nor can I tell,
Nor could man comprehend, by any force
Of words, the beauty, the sublimity
Of that o'erwhelming chorus; for, at once
From every star there issued forth a voice
That might have sounded to the uttermost ends
Of space,—majestic,—awful; yet inspiring
Joy,—tenderness,—devotion,—rapture,—all
That melts the spirit down in bliss, or lifts,
Expands, and glorifies, as if it felt
The presence of the actual Deity.
At once the mighty spheres sent up their song
In various and magnificent harmony:
Each twinkling star among the countless host
Chanted exultingly, with tone distinct,
As if alone it sang; yet all commix'd
In wondrous chorus:—and the sun above
Pour'd out his voice as if the infinitude
Of space were fill'd with deep, melodious thunders.
I heard; and could not move, and could not think.
But suddenly all was silent;—a dead hush,
Deeper than midnight stillness in the heart
Of a vast arid desert, where no tree,
Nor herb, nor grass is, nor a living thing
For ages enters. Then the tuneful voice
Of that benignant Spirit came again,
Sweet as the dashing of a mountain brook
To the parch'd, gasping traveller, who, from morn
Till sultry eve, hath toil'd in the hot sun
O'er burning sands, and found no shading tree,
No cooling cave, no water.

“Thou hast heard
The music of the skies, and all thy soul
It did absorb, that thou hadst found no sense
For things of sight, had I still left thine ears
Awake to its divinity: but come,—
We must away: thine eyes I strengthen now
To bear the dazzling visions that await thee.
Look up!”

With that I raised my eyes, and saw
The sun in bulk like an inverted sky;
Not of fierce fire, as from the earth he seems,
But flashing, glowing like a diamond,
Unutterably bright and pure: all tints
Glitter'd and trembled there; came,—went,—and came
Incessantly. Campared with this, the flare.
Of noontide sun on earth had been a blank;
Yet I look'd up undazzled: more and more
It swell'd and brighten'd, till it seem'd to fill
The furthest ends of space. Nigh and more nigh
We flew: we enter'd soon what seem'd a sea
Of dense light:—through it rapidly we shot,
And saw beneath us, at amazing depth,
A bright, interminable landscape,—mountains,
To which earth's loftiest are but specks, that seem'd
Of diamond, ruby, sapphire, emerald;—
Forests that would have cover'd all our globe;—
Rivers more broad than are the seas of earth;—
And ocean, that appear'd like liquid sapphire,
So vast, methought through ages upon ages
The swiftest bark might sail, and find no end.

Downward we shot like lightning: I just caught
A glance at all these splendours; then sank down
Giddy and senseless, and oblivion came
On my o'erpower'd faculties awhile.