 | The Demon of Destiny |  |
BOOK IV.
Upon the grave-mound of a fallen bole,
That once had wav'd the lordliest of the woods,
He sat him down; it was a mould'ring seat,
With furry moss and lichens overgrown;
And while he mus'd, dejected, he beheld
An old man coming, whom, in youthful days,
He oft had noted as one dreamy wise
In curious knowledge, to the learn'd unknown.
That once had wav'd the lordliest of the woods,
He sat him down; it was a mould'ring seat,
With furry moss and lichens overgrown;
And while he mus'd, dejected, he beheld
An old man coming, whom, in youthful days,
He oft had noted as one dreamy wise
In curious knowledge, to the learn'd unknown.
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He call'd him to him, and awhile discours'd
Of young remembrances, till he had drawn
The musing mystic to relate a legend
Of fanciful cosmogony; it ran—
“Spirit and matter are the elements
With which in void the universe was made,
And that which mortals the beginning call
Is but some epocha of transformation.
Metempsychosis rules the organiz'd,
And all the systems in eternity
Have periods term'd; eruca-like they rise
As bright aurelias in the summer's shine.
Of young remembrances, till he had drawn
The musing mystic to relate a legend
Of fanciful cosmogony; it ran—
“Spirit and matter are the elements
With which in void the universe was made,
And that which mortals the beginning call
Is but some epocha of transformation.
Metempsychosis rules the organiz'd,
And all the systems in eternity
Have periods term'd; eruca-like they rise
As bright aurelias in the summer's shine.
“One night methought, as on my bed I lay,
The stars in pure unclouded beauty smil'd,
And seem'd to say we are but things like thee,
All beingless—the substance of idea.
The stars in pure unclouded beauty smil'd,
And seem'd to say we are but things like thee,
All beingless—the substance of idea.
“Fancy was startl'd, and, as if with fear,
Wing'd to Oblivion—ocean of the past—
And look'd around, but all was emptiness;
Not then was even old primeval night,
But the demensionless and Deity.
Wing'd to Oblivion—ocean of the past—
And look'd around, but all was emptiness;
Not then was even old primeval night,
But the demensionless and Deity.
“Anon she saw a veil'd mysteriarch come,
Cloth'd in the tissue of the loom eterne,
And round him wrapt a mantling mystery.
Cloth'd in the tissue of the loom eterne,
And round him wrapt a mantling mystery.
“She bent in worship with religious thrill,
And turn'd to see what glory from behind
Show'd the Immense—the manifested God;
But only from Himself the splendour shone
Like light, but it was truth—that's light in Heaven.
And turn'd to see what glory from behind
Show'd the Immense—the manifested God;
But only from Himself the splendour shone
Like light, but it was truth—that's light in Heaven.
“Anon she heard the monad's fiat sound,
As if the boundless word were circumscrib'd,
It was but “Be,” and instantly outglanc'd
Creation then, as some great worship fir'd
Flames to the welkin in bright numberless.
Primeval darkness shiver'd into stars,
And all the angels, sparkling into view,
Mingl'd an anthem of triumphant joy:
‘The Lord Omnipotent is on his throne!’
As if the boundless word were circumscrib'd,
It was but “Be,” and instantly outglanc'd
Creation then, as some great worship fir'd
Flames to the welkin in bright numberless.
Primeval darkness shiver'd into stars,
And all the angels, sparkling into view,
Mingl'd an anthem of triumphant joy:
‘The Lord Omnipotent is on his throne!’
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“Spurning, as if her starry sandals rous'd
Some dreadful power that in God's fallow slept,
Creation started, and then Evil rose,
Alarm'd, enrag'd, and at th' Almighty flung
Missiles, to which the central orbs of time
Are as to them as sand to yon mid sun.
Some dreadful power that in God's fallow slept,
Creation started, and then Evil rose,
Alarm'd, enrag'd, and at th' Almighty flung
Missiles, to which the central orbs of time
Are as to them as sand to yon mid sun.
“Then came Attraction, voiceless orator,
Persuasive, and the universe around
Arrang'd itself, obedient to his will.
The earth rush'd furiously, from chaos hurl'd,
Formless and void—scatt'ring enormous things;
A radiance like herself opaque, but she
Was then the kernel of what since hath been.
Persuasive, and the universe around
Arrang'd itself, obedient to his will.
The earth rush'd furiously, from chaos hurl'd,
Formless and void—scatt'ring enormous things;
A radiance like herself opaque, but she
Was then the kernel of what since hath been.
“The phase of Fancy's vision then was chang'd,
And vapoury nebulæ that random rov'd,
Aimless and purposeless, the vast abyss,
Came tenur'd vassals of the Voiceless Power.
Some clasp'd the mountains—some, resolv'd to rain,
Ran into hollows, and became the deep,
Quenching the conflagration of the hills
To ashy soil; and some in silv'ry streams,
With lingring links, in herbless vallies flow'd.
And vapoury nebulæ that random rov'd,
Aimless and purposeless, the vast abyss,
Came tenur'd vassals of the Voiceless Power.
Some clasp'd the mountains—some, resolv'd to rain,
Ran into hollows, and became the deep,
Quenching the conflagration of the hills
To ashy soil; and some in silv'ry streams,
With lingring links, in herbless vallies flow'd.
“The wond'ring seraphim, amaz'd, beheld
The hidden method of the Maker's course,
And mark'd the mystery. It still endures.
Nothing at first he ever perfect forms,
But ever new developments evolves.
Thus haply from the deficated dust
Of mortals purified, ambrosial flowers
Will bloom and beautify the world restor'd.
The hidden method of the Maker's course,
And mark'd the mystery. It still endures.
Nothing at first he ever perfect forms,
But ever new developments evolves.
Thus haply from the deficated dust
Of mortals purified, ambrosial flowers
Will bloom and beautify the world restor'd.
“The angel multitude then form'd a sphere
Of glorious visages, serene and bright,
A vaster concave round the earth than shines
The spangl'd sapphire of the midnight sky;
And while they gaz'd, the bridling power that rein'd
Wild Motion, suddenly affrighten'd, fled,
And orbs and orbicles exploding, burst
Like havoc shells, and then the planets were.
Of glorious visages, serene and bright,
A vaster concave round the earth than shines
The spangl'd sapphire of the midnight sky;
And while they gaz'd, the bridling power that rein'd
Wild Motion, suddenly affrighten'd, fled,
And orbs and orbicles exploding, burst
Like havoc shells, and then the planets were.
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“Such was the first beginning, but sometimes
In space, as tempests volley in the air,
Almighty wrath in vehemence careers,
Whirling as hail—accursed worlds and suns.
The moon remain'd a portion of the earth,
And then rose mastadons and mamouths vast,
Stupendous things, that fed on forest trees,
And giants drove them forth to pasturage.
In space, as tempests volley in the air,
Almighty wrath in vehemence careers,
Whirling as hail—accursed worlds and suns.
The moon remain'd a portion of the earth,
And then rose mastadons and mamouths vast,
Stupendous things, that fed on forest trees,
And giants drove them forth to pasturage.
“In that great cycle of the wonders, Earth
Flung from her bosom's centrical abyss
A murmuring energy, whose type is steam;
And on its wings the lunar pageant came.
Flung from her bosom's centrical abyss
A murmuring energy, whose type is steam;
And on its wings the lunar pageant came.
“Attraction soon the flying fragments drew
Around the sun, which thence became the centre,
And will remain till Time's parabola
Be finish'd, and the third beginning come.
Around the sun, which thence became the centre,
And will remain till Time's parabola
Be finish'd, and the third beginning come.
“Aw'd Fancy musing then on meteor wings,
Down to the shatter'd of the earth career'd,
And there beheld all perishing around
Those mighties, fodderless, whose mould'ring bones
Perplex philosophy, as famish'd die
Helpless, on wrecks, the shipmen when at sea,
Fierce nitre kindl'd has their vessel torn.
Down to the shatter'd of the earth career'd,
And there beheld all perishing around
Those mighties, fodderless, whose mould'ring bones
Perplex philosophy, as famish'd die
Helpless, on wrecks, the shipmen when at sea,
Fierce nitre kindl'd has their vessel torn.
“Here while she wander'd, and could but behold
Rash refted rocks and whiten'd billows drive,
To dark abysses, wherein fury roar'd,
Mocking as drivel Niagara's roar;
She saw around Destruction's wain o'erturned—
Crush'd by its load, the ruins of a world.
Then sounding venter caves, yawning devour'd,
And as they gorg'd, their backs the Andes rear'd;
Broad continents emboss'd with hills arose—
Arose the cyclades with all the isles.
And Nature then unclos'd her eyes—the flowers.
Rash refted rocks and whiten'd billows drive,
To dark abysses, wherein fury roar'd,
Mocking as drivel Niagara's roar;
She saw around Destruction's wain o'erturned—
Crush'd by its load, the ruins of a world.
Then sounding venter caves, yawning devour'd,
And as they gorg'd, their backs the Andes rear'd;
Broad continents emboss'd with hills arose—
Arose the cyclades with all the isles.
And Nature then unclos'd her eyes—the flowers.
“Huge quadrupeds came gamboling, and sweet
The happy birds in bower and on the wing,
Began that matin hymn, whose harmonies
Still fill the cupola of heaven with joy.
Then came the seraphim, the beauteous bright,
Charm'd to approach by ear-delighting hues,
The heart-seen colours of melodious sounds,
And saw majestical, benign, and calm,
A noble creature decorate the earth:
It lowly knelt, and rais'd its eyes to heaven,
Trembling with thankfulness for being made:
And when it rose, they welcom'd sinless man.
But though on theories of daring wing,
The sage may so explore eternity—
Fly where they will, they can but ever see
That God's corporeal is the universe.”
The happy birds in bower and on the wing,
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Still fill the cupola of heaven with joy.
Then came the seraphim, the beauteous bright,
Charm'd to approach by ear-delighting hues,
The heart-seen colours of melodious sounds,
And saw majestical, benign, and calm,
A noble creature decorate the earth:
It lowly knelt, and rais'd its eyes to heaven,
Trembling with thankfulness for being made:
And when it rose, they welcom'd sinless man.
But though on theories of daring wing,
The sage may so explore eternity—
Fly where they will, they can but ever see
That God's corporeal is the universe.”
Salome sedately sat with thirsty ears,
Drinking refreshment to his spirit, while
The old man spoke; but when the tale was told,
He said, as one uneasy and unsated,
“How may I know what you have told is true,
For but the truth in such great sequences,
The being man, may not unerring quest?”
Drinking refreshment to his spirit, while
The old man spoke; but when the tale was told,
He said, as one uneasy and unsated,
“How may I know what you have told is true,
For but the truth in such great sequences,
The being man, may not unerring quest?”
The lored elder half evasive, then
Replied, as if he saw divulg'd around
Heaven's viewless delegates, that daunt deceit:—
“The past is manour'd to imagination;
And that is truth, or meant to be the truth,
Which seems most probable—we know not else,
The esotericks of philosophy.”
Replied, as if he saw divulg'd around
Heaven's viewless delegates, that daunt deceit:—
“The past is manour'd to imagination;
And that is truth, or meant to be the truth,
Which seems most probable—we know not else,
The esotericks of philosophy.”
“Then go, old man, thy dreams are not for me;”—
Highly Salome said, as in pride of might,—
“All things are God's conductors to effects.”
Highly Salome said, as in pride of might,—
“All things are God's conductors to effects.”
So saying, hastily he strode away,
From the green grave mound of the crumbling bole—
His mind dishevel'd, and his purposes
Adrift, and rudderless; the world to him
Was barren, as the herbless ebbed shore,
And he himself, as some poor waif astray,
In pastures ownerless, lost and unknown.
From the green grave mound of the crumbling bole—
His mind dishevel'd, and his purposes
Adrift, and rudderless; the world to him
Was barren, as the herbless ebbed shore,
And he himself, as some poor waif astray,
In pastures ownerless, lost and unknown.
Ill, with the friendless, often walks afield;
And at his side, the demon, unrepuls'd,
Took courage from the aspect of his thoughts,
Which then were sullen, full of grudges fell,
That he from Nature had inherited
Such gen'rous wishes to improve mankind,
Such hopes to aid the bias of his breast,
And yet to be as worthless as the gem
Lost in the shingle of the ocean caves.
And at his side, the demon, unrepuls'd,
Took courage from the aspect of his thoughts,
Which then were sullen, full of grudges fell,
That he from Nature had inherited
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Such hopes to aid the bias of his breast,
And yet to be as worthless as the gem
Lost in the shingle of the ocean caves.
“Why do I thus,” he cried, “desire to prove
Myself no sluggard in the tasks of Fame,
And yet the world be as a sick man's dream—
Illusion, void, a vacuum, to me?
Why am I here so to myself offensive?
Where is the antidote for what I bear?
But thou art thriftless, wasteful of thy wealth;
The weeds, the tares, the guilty and inane,
Avouch thy reckless prodigality.
If thou hast nought for me, dread Heaven, to do,
And as thy nettle I may but offend,
Canst thou impute to me the sin of being?
When I was glowing with the pride of youth,
The spring in blossom was a budless winter
To my anticipations. Why didst Thou,
Breathing a blight, so wither them away?
Why, when I thought to build a monument,
With blessed bowr's, in yon far sunny land,
Was I so shaken from that bright design?
And why, again, amidst these natal scenes,
Where I to Thee would glorious altars raise,
Am I so met with crude imaginings?”
Myself no sluggard in the tasks of Fame,
And yet the world be as a sick man's dream—
Illusion, void, a vacuum, to me?
Why am I here so to myself offensive?
Where is the antidote for what I bear?
But thou art thriftless, wasteful of thy wealth;
The weeds, the tares, the guilty and inane,
Avouch thy reckless prodigality.
If thou hast nought for me, dread Heaven, to do,
And as thy nettle I may but offend,
Canst thou impute to me the sin of being?
When I was glowing with the pride of youth,
The spring in blossom was a budless winter
To my anticipations. Why didst Thou,
Breathing a blight, so wither them away?
Why, when I thought to build a monument,
With blessed bowr's, in yon far sunny land,
Was I so shaken from that bright design?
And why, again, amidst these natal scenes,
Where I to Thee would glorious altars raise,
Am I so met with crude imaginings?”
Pleas'd with his perturbations, which betoken'd
The drossy man, the demon warily
Suggested baleful thoughts, such as arise
When pityless adversity assails
With pelt and scorn, the would be great, who deem
Their own desires to rule, promptings of Heaven.
The drossy man, the demon warily
Suggested baleful thoughts, such as arise
When pityless adversity assails
With pelt and scorn, the would be great, who deem
Their own desires to rule, promptings of Heaven.
Thus, when Salome, in that abortive hour,
While Reason play'd such antics, as Despair
Could not extenuate, ev'n to Remorse,
Eternal Providence, with lidless eye,
Sat in accustom'd vigilance sublime;
And, as he rav'd, as one that is repuls'd,
While conscious of deservings, show'd afar,
From out the leafy cloisters of a grove,
A veteran coming from the warring world.
While Reason play'd such antics, as Despair
Could not extenuate, ev'n to Remorse,
Eternal Providence, with lidless eye,
Sat in accustom'd vigilance sublime;
And, as he rav'd, as one that is repuls'd,
While conscious of deservings, show'd afar,
From out the leafy cloisters of a grove,
A veteran coming from the warring world.
Salome beheld him lingeringly advance,
And waited for him, to partake the cheer
Of his companionship. His mein and visage
Betoken'd trials in courageous fields,
For it was firm and lordly, as the tower
That crests defiance on a border hill,
But calm withal, as the old village fane,
Whose star-tipp'd steeple points the way to Heav'n.
And waited for him, to partake the cheer
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Betoken'd trials in courageous fields,
For it was firm and lordly, as the tower
That crests defiance on a border hill,
But calm withal, as the old village fane,
Whose star-tipp'd steeple points the way to Heav'n.
His smile foretold sedate urbanity,
And in the easy of his cheerfulness,
Was nought of that familiar hardihood,
Which gives admonishment to confidence;
Yet was he one, a prankful bragging boy,
With hands behind, had dimpling, stood in doubt,
If he might dare, while irking, to disturb.
And in the easy of his cheerfulness,
Was nought of that familiar hardihood,
Which gives admonishment to confidence;
Yet was he one, a prankful bragging boy,
With hands behind, had dimpling, stood in doubt,
If he might dare, while irking, to disturb.
When they had paction'd to proceed together,
The shrewd and hoary veteran, felt as if
A thrill descended on his spirit's heart.
He saw the pensive visage of Salome,
But seemingly, as if he saw it not,
And spoke to him of sorrows he had seen.
The shrewd and hoary veteran, felt as if
A thrill descended on his spirit's heart.
He saw the pensive visage of Salome,
But seemingly, as if he saw it not,
And spoke to him of sorrows he had seen.
“The world,” said he, “hath oft, in many a nook,
Sights that would sadden the gay sun to see;
Nor are its holidays all bright and fair,
When Feeling struggles with Adversity.”
Sights that would sadden the gay sun to see;
Nor are its holidays all bright and fair,
When Feeling struggles with Adversity.”
“In Venice town, what time her arsenals
Were all as idle as an invalid,
I saw a lady once—a stately dame,
The sudden widow of a proud mercanti,
Who, at St. Mark's, had been a prosp'rous man,
But died of that disease call'd bankruptcy.
She, with her children, in the ribald street,
Thirteen pale daughters, and three pretty boys,
So like my own—my heart! my heart! their cries
Were as if music dead had sent its ghost
To wail sad discords for their poverty.
Their songs were revel songs—so went the words.
And when a begging monk, a capuchin,
Took them away, and ask'd her weepingly,
Why they had sung, she proudly said, ‘Despair
Appeals to man—Rejected by our God.’
Were all as idle as an invalid,
I saw a lady once—a stately dame,
The sudden widow of a proud mercanti,
Who, at St. Mark's, had been a prosp'rous man,
But died of that disease call'd bankruptcy.
She, with her children, in the ribald street,
Thirteen pale daughters, and three pretty boys,
So like my own—my heart! my heart! their cries
Were as if music dead had sent its ghost
To wail sad discords for their poverty.
Their songs were revel songs—so went the words.
And when a begging monk, a capuchin,
Took them away, and ask'd her weepingly,
Why they had sung, she proudly said, ‘Despair
Appeals to man—Rejected by our God.’
“Yet have I nothing witness'd in the world,
But hath its compensation. Direst wounds,
Which either grief or iron may inflict,
Have their's, if we explore, or can but wait;
But man, regardless of the past and future,
Laments his present sufferings as immortal.
Thrall'd by his finity, obtuse and blind,
He gropes in Nature, often all awry,
And mars her music, when he tries to mend
The harmonies that God himself attun'd.
We daring scan the mysteries of Heaven,
And wince and wail at what we deem misfortunes,
As if man were not but an atom thing,
In the dimensionless, the Universe.
He grides, 'tis true, a peg in the machine,—
What if the stress on him relieves another,
And bubbles bursting on the earth, denote
Some first creation of a better world?”
But hath its compensation. Direst wounds,
Which either grief or iron may inflict,
Have their's, if we explore, or can but wait;
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Laments his present sufferings as immortal.
Thrall'd by his finity, obtuse and blind,
He gropes in Nature, often all awry,
And mars her music, when he tries to mend
The harmonies that God himself attun'd.
We daring scan the mysteries of Heaven,
And wince and wail at what we deem misfortunes,
As if man were not but an atom thing,
In the dimensionless, the Universe.
He grides, 'tis true, a peg in the machine,—
What if the stress on him relieves another,
And bubbles bursting on the earth, denote
Some first creation of a better world?”
Salome grew heedful as they journey'd on,
And from the veteran learnt—it seem'd like wisdom—
That men but suffer by their vain endeavours,
To make the world of God their instrument;
And thaw'd to confidence, by the free heart
Of his companion, told him all his tale.
And from the veteran learnt—it seem'd like wisdom—
That men but suffer by their vain endeavours,
To make the world of God their instrument;
And thaw'd to confidence, by the free heart
Of his companion, told him all his tale.
The veteran eye'd him with a thoughtful eye,
And then said piteously, “Alas! young man,
Thou still dost deem thyself master of Fate,
And see'st the balanc'd world, as if it were
Not fram'd and impuls'd, like a living thing.
Strive yet, Oh! strive, to see high Heaven's contrivance,
As it was made, not as the cloister'd owl,
Deep in its motley cell imaginest;
Nor as th' enthusiasts, who dwell apart
From men, conceive in their fantastic dreams;
But as a soldier, in a war of perils.
For Fancy, ever holds supremacy
O'er all the faculties of those, who shun
The haunts and habitudes of worldly men,
Writhing like Reason when bewilder'd most.”
And then said piteously, “Alas! young man,
Thou still dost deem thyself master of Fate,
And see'st the balanc'd world, as if it were
Not fram'd and impuls'd, like a living thing.
Strive yet, Oh! strive, to see high Heaven's contrivance,
As it was made, not as the cloister'd owl,
Deep in its motley cell imaginest;
Nor as th' enthusiasts, who dwell apart
From men, conceive in their fantastic dreams;
But as a soldier, in a war of perils.
For Fancy, ever holds supremacy
O'er all the faculties of those, who shun
The haunts and habitudes of worldly men,
Writhing like Reason when bewilder'd most.”
Discoursing thus, they slowly journeying reach'd
A modest home-nest, in a rural bower;
And there, as travellers in need of rest,
They sought together refuge for the night.
For then behind the western hills, the sun
Had sunk to his repose, and lengthing dark
Came shadows from the heights; but still his beams
With amber radiance fill'd the summer air,
And all the greenwood glitter'd with the glow.
The hour and aspect of the hazy calm
Bespoke serenity, till holy nature
Diffus'd her twilight, and appeased the heart.
Blest sequence in the ordinal of Time;
When all the many colour'd day has fail'd
To cheer the bosom, oft the troubl'd thoughts
Own the sweet influence of the evening hour.
A modest home-nest, in a rural bower;
And there, as travellers in need of rest,
They sought together refuge for the night.
For then behind the western hills, the sun
Had sunk to his repose, and lengthing dark
Came shadows from the heights; but still his beams
With amber radiance fill'd the summer air,
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The hour and aspect of the hazy calm
Bespoke serenity, till holy nature
Diffus'd her twilight, and appeased the heart.
Blest sequence in the ordinal of Time;
When all the many colour'd day has fail'd
To cheer the bosom, oft the troubl'd thoughts
Own the sweet influence of the evening hour.
This hypothesis was suggested by Dr. Buckland's critique, on the beginning of Genesis. How much puzzling he would have saved had he read for “Heaven and Earth,”—mind and matter.
The Newtonian theory—certainly better than any other yet promulgated—explains the cause of the forms of the systems of the universe; but it is only a theory.
Buffoon, in his theory of the cosmogony, makes the Sun the parent of the solar system. But I do not see any good reason for thinking that the Earth could not have been as fit to be the mother of all. An old Lady, in my schoolboy days, speaking of Buffoon, said she made an attempt to read his book: but it appeared to her to be buff, on and on. Can a better criticism be yet made of his cosmogony?
| The Demon of Destiny | |