 | Phantasmagoria |  |
23
A Vision of Vengeance.
Once in a dream I heard
A voice that stirred
Like far-off thunder, or the rolling drum.
It said, arise and see
Man's misery,
The bond-slave's long forbearance, meek and dumb,
The lord's oppression. Then I said, “I come.”
A voice that stirred
Like far-off thunder, or the rolling drum.
It said, arise and see
Man's misery,
The bond-slave's long forbearance, meek and dumb,
The lord's oppression. Then I said, “I come.”
And I arose, and lo!
In the red glow
Twixt set of sun and moon-rise, I could see
A blazing citadel,
Like towers of hell,
With bastioned keep, and spires of porphyry,
That soared into the sunset's crimson sea.
In the red glow
Twixt set of sun and moon-rise, I could see
A blazing citadel,
Like towers of hell,
With bastioned keep, and spires of porphyry,
That soared into the sunset's crimson sea.
Pointels and vanes of gold,
And manifold
Gay banners flamed on every roof and spire.
All of transparent hue
Glowed through and through,
Steeples, and towers like metals that suspire,
And molten domes of deepening red-hot fire.
And manifold
Gay banners flamed on every roof and spire.
All of transparent hue
Glowed through and through,
Steeples, and towers like metals that suspire,
And molten domes of deepening red-hot fire.
24
Under those coppery skies
Long galleries,
And fiery terraces, and corridors,
Pillared on either side,
Stretched far and wide,
And marble temples oped with brazen doors
Upon a glistering river's lurid shores.
Long galleries,
And fiery terraces, and corridors,
Pillared on either side,
Stretched far and wide,
And marble temples oped with brazen doors
Upon a glistering river's lurid shores.
And spirits about that town
Went up and down
Each swathed, as 'twere, in a pale cloud of pain,
Some scored with seam and gash;
Some bore the lash:
Some lips were sad, some curled with proud disdain,
But all shed tears of blood thicker than rain.
Went up and down
Each swathed, as 'twere, in a pale cloud of pain,
Some scored with seam and gash;
Some bore the lash:
Some lips were sad, some curled with proud disdain,
But all shed tears of blood thicker than rain.
And spectral women there,
With braided hair,
Went up and down, and sold their feverish lips,
Which many with strange thirst
Tasted, and cursed:
And maniacs, wild-eyed as the moon's eclipse,
Wandered adrift like conflagrated ships.
With braided hair,
Went up and down, and sold their feverish lips,
Which many with strange thirst
Tasted, and cursed:
And maniacs, wild-eyed as the moon's eclipse,
Wandered adrift like conflagrated ships.
And forms, fleet as the wind,
Went famine-pined,
Shaking wild tresses on the fiery air;
Or where the arches wide
Spanned the smooth tide.
Plunged in the red wave with a sudden glare,
As hell had oped beneath to gulf them there.
Went famine-pined,
Shaking wild tresses on the fiery air;
Or where the arches wide
Spanned the smooth tide.
Plunged in the red wave with a sudden glare,
As hell had oped beneath to gulf them there.
25
Then of day's fiery shroud
The fieriest cloud,
Pregnant with sulphur, that hung in the west,
Silently I saw sail
Upon the gale,
As a ship sails to battle, while repressed
It sternly holds the flame-bolt in its breast.
The fieriest cloud,
Pregnant with sulphur, that hung in the west,
Silently I saw sail
Upon the gale,
As a ship sails to battle, while repressed
It sternly holds the flame-bolt in its breast.
Slowly it sailed, and came,
A sheet of flame,
High o'er that city's topmost column-peak,—
The town lay still as Death:
I held my breath:
The blood-red deluge fell. Without a shriek
The town was cleansed of all that made it reek.
A sheet of flame,
High o'er that city's topmost column-peak,—
The town lay still as Death:
I held my breath:
The blood-red deluge fell. Without a shriek
The town was cleansed of all that made it reek.
Then changed those furial gleams
To mild moon-beams,
And in that city, late those demons' lair,
Angels went to and fro,
And long and low
Their voices chanted in the clear green air,
Lit by the iris of their rainbow hair.
To mild moon-beams,
And in that city, late those demons' lair,
Angels went to and fro,
And long and low
Their voices chanted in the clear green air,
Lit by the iris of their rainbow hair.
April, 1886.
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