The Descent into Hell :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Descent into Hell

Second Edition, Revised and Re-arranged, with an Analysis and Notes: To which are added, Uriel, a Fragment and Three Odes. By John A. Heraud

Heraud, John A. (1799-1887)

THE DESCENT INTO HELL

I. PROLOGUE.

PART THE FIRST.

II.

PART THE SECOND.

IV.

VI.

III.

IV.

XI.

XII.

XII. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVI. THE SOMETIME DISOBEDIENT.

VI.

PART THE SIXTH.

XVII.

XVII. THE HOLY OF HOLIES.

XVIII.

XVIII. NOAH.

XIX.

XIX. THE FATHER OF THE FAITHFUL.

XX.

VII.

II.

II. THE HOST OF HEAVEN.

ODES.

KLOPSTOCK'S “DER FRÜHLINGSFEYER;”

THE AUTUMNAL BENEDICTION;

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II. PART THE SECOND.

HADES.

“I beheld the earth, and lo, it was without form and void; and the heavens, and they had no light.

I beheld the mountains, and lo, they trembled, and all the hills moved lightly.

I beheld, and lo, there was no man, and all the birds of the heavens were fled.

I beheld, and lo, the fruitful place was a wilderness, and all the cities thereof were broken down, at the presence of the Lord, and by his fierce anger.

For thus hath the Lord said, The whole land shall be desolate; yet will I not make a full end.

For this shall the earth mourn, and the heavens above be black: because I have spoken it, I have purposed it, and will not repent, neither will I turn back from it.”

Jeremiah iv. 23—28.

IV. ISAIAH.

So sang the Choir—but now the Darkness glooms
Of Hades throughout all the worlds, and o'er
The Hill descends, and as in wrath consumes.

Dreadful it comes, and prostrate all adore—
In silence—save that on that horrour soars
Isaiah's voice, majestick as of yore.

—“Jehovah! Lord of Hosts! the man implores
Whose lips were touched divinely, to respond,
Lo, here am I, send me! and yet adores

Thy love, though now earth's round lies in the bond
Of Darkness. God! thy voice is raised. Thy hand
Is shaken. Lo, the Mighty, from beyond

The ends of heaven, do haste at thy command,
By thee on-guided o'er their desolate path,
To make destruction in thy chosen land.

We are afraid; and pangs and sorrows scathe
The spirits of the Saints—they are in pain,
As when a woman travaileth, for thy wrath.

The stars of heaven are rayless in their reign—
The sun is darkened as he climbs on high—
The moon is desolate in her domain—

For thou the world for its iniquity
Wilt punish, and wilt make the Man, whom thou
Hast chosen, precious unto every eye;

Whose shadow is as night in noon-day now,
The great One and the Saviour! Lo, the Day
Over the Vale of Vision darkles slow—

The day of trouble, and the fierce array
Of chariots and of horsemen! Earth doth mourn,
Yea, the world languishes and fades away!

Thine indignation smites from bourn to bourn,
Thy fury on all armies rages on,
Who to destroy them utterly hast sworn.

The hosts of heaven shall be dissolved anon,
The heavens are rolled together as a scroll,
Their hosts drop down as vine leaves. It is done!

In heaven is bathed thy Sword, that from the soul
The spirit doth divide—it shall descend
Upon the people of thy curse—controul

The Sacrifice, and on the slaughter tend.
With strong desire, I pant, I thirst to see,
Whom for thy Glory—Glory without end—

Thou hast created, Holy One of thee—
Redeemer from the Grave—That earth might cleave
To the centre, God! and set thy prophets free;..

So might they witness all that they believe!”
—Thus fervent prayed Isaiah. Deeper still
The horrour of great darkness doth upheave,

And Hades utterly absorbs the Hill—
Even such as followed Death, when fearful Power
O'er fourth of earth was given to him to kill

With sword, hunger and plague, and to devour
With furious beasts. Then following, comes before
Him now Hell populous, in this dread hour—

—Hell slowly unfolds her adamantine door;
Hell hath her gates unfolded. Lo! as it were
A Mausoleum wide as Chaos, or

The Ninth of Space, an infinite Sepulchre,
Yet walled about; the Ward of Death and Sin;
Not silent;—Sleep, with Hope, is alien here.

Lo, shadowy Thrones, and Phantoms there-within
Inaugurate, crowned strangely; Spectres vast
As of blue ice compact, and making din

As shadowy, phantom sounds; their voice a blast
Heard o'er the polar wild's vacuity,
That goes unquestioned on, lost and aghast,

Seeking for aught to guide its voyage by,
One barren stump, a solitary stone,
Half shriek—half whistle,—and finds no reply.

Half-raised, expectant, on his icy throne,
Each in his cell; his eyes' impatient glow,
Now glancing on the desert, and now gone,

Like Boreas' light on Hecla's haunted brow,
Glazing his aspect with a ghostly gleam;
Here twinkling now. now there...evanished now

From the void forehead, like a transient dream;
The void cold forehead, and the fitful light
Of massy and monarchal diadem,

Now beamless; and, all dusk as the sad night,
The regal pall hangs the broad shoulder o'er,
Frozen in gorgeous folds, and moveless quite.

—Burns now that starless air intenselier frore...
Heard ye not hoofs on that ice-pavement clang,
In rampant fury or triumph? Hark! once more,

The Voice of Storms through all that region rang;
Near and more near,..the voice of many storms,..
Whom heralding? Gaunt Death! the Heralds sang.

—With Pestilence and Plague, with phantom-forms,
He comes,...pale Rider of the pallid Steed,...
Trampling alike o'er warriors, worlds and worms;

Himself chief Victor. From his mouth proceed
Vaunt and defiance, while his blasting breath
Parcheth with cold the flakier air. “The Deed!”

Thus he exclaims—“'tis done—the deed of Death!”

V. DEATH.

“The crowning Deed, 'tis done! the deed of Death!
Ye Demigods, whose place on earth is blank,
Whose fame and name no poet uttereth;

Ye Desolators of heroick rank;
Own your Outdoer,...shamed and silent be!
—Who ruleth the down-rushing Avalanch?

Loosed by a whisper, or a breath too free,
Descending in its brightness terribly,
With the noise of torrents...it obeyeth me.

—I ride upon the Glacier, and do fly,
Yea I come flying on the winged wind;
And my pavilion of the snow pile I,

And wonne among the mountains, 'till I mind
To come abroad; then I wend on my way
Precipitous in lightning, though not tined

From heaven surcharged, but kindling, as it may,
About my secret place, where royally
Dwelleth the hiding of my power, whose sway,

Felt only, doth abide invisibly,
And is in that it is, like to a god
Which lives but in his proper energy.

—The floods leap under me, and foam aloud,
And bear me onward, gathering as I go,
And armies come unto me from the cloud.

I triumph in my chariot of the snow...
Forth utter I my voice,...the thunder peals:
Forth from my sanctuary I rush, and, lo,

Forests confess me, nor the vale conceals
My presence,...and the village vanisheth;
Ruin to my pleased ear man's shriek reveals,

Silence, Depopulation.—I am Death!
—A home in Air have I. Winds hear my voice,
The four winds answer it with all their breath.—

—Lo! the Tornado doth aloud rejoice
In his ubiquity, and cometh out
With sudden and exaggerated noise;

Scattering his hurtling arrows all about
Amid the sky, the while his iron shoon
Cottage and Palace trample;..with a shout,

Then whirls him in his dusty car aboon,
As with the ruin he would blot out heaven,
And quench the glorious sun,—as I shall soon.

And men are hurled into the clouds, and driven
As in a witch-dance, round, and aye around,
And perish in the flashes of the leven;

I swoop, and strangle them in that dire swound,
For sport;—and thus I gambol merrily.
—My way is on the Waters. Of the Drowned

The last spasm makes the globule, wherewith I
Take innocent delight, and think when this
Strong hand shall, with the same facility,

Confound in one disruption, one abyss,
A bubble and a world. I dance—I dance—
Around the circles of the Vortices,

And see the ship go down in a strong trance,
And hear the shriek,—one, yet how manifold!
There, where the steeds o'the Tempest foam and prance,

Am I;—their wild manes o'er the wild surge rolled,
Like fire-flakes, wreathe the billows, and their neigh
Doth chide the clarion-clang of Ocean old.

—I dash amidst them, eager for the fray;
Doth plunge my Charger with me; he doth swim,
Wild in his fierceness, through the flashing spray;

As if a lightning-stroke had blinded him,
And darted phrenzy to his brain, and he
Were maddened with the torture in each limb,

And sweat' and shrieked in sightless agony,
And made huge havock in his maniack might,
Till his heart burst. Then on the exhausted sea

The waves drop down, and, in the dull twilight,
Lay sluggishly about the riven hulk,
O'er which the day rose sunless as the night,

Or glared potentous on the sail-less bulk
With a red eye and fiery. Lo! I
Chafe Ocean, that he waken from his sulk

Awhile, and blow a gale, though weariedly
And brief;—yet unto me the billows spring,
Wild playmates, and a low-breathed harmony

We utter round the hopeless bark, and sing
A doleful and predestinating dirge.
Then droops again old Ocean, murmuring,

Like to a dreaming giant, whom no scourge
May waken more, basking in watchet weeds
Under the calm blue heaven; while on the verge

Of that doomed ship gaunt Famine sits, and feeds
On flesh of men; with Thirst that drinks their blood;
And Pestilence, glad of their savage deeds,

That, shivering at the helmless stern, doth brood,
Couchant o'er carcases. And I am there!
—The Crater is my cradle. In still mood,

As in the womb the infant, in my lair
Of sulphur I repose, which bubbleth up
So gently, that the traveller well may dare

Descending to the brim of that hot cup;
As if, thus amiable, I might therein
Dissolve, like to a pearl, for lips to sup,

Ay, sweet as Cleopatra's. Now begin
The waters to ferment, and central fire
To howl, and with huge uproar and wild din,

Earth's matrix with prodigious throes heaves dire;
And there, in that capacious cavern, boil
The floods as in a cauldron, and perspire

Through all her pores, making the sea recoil
From the bare shore affrightedly. Anon,
The rocky pillars of the human soil

Shake, and the myriad mountains shiver down,
Vast, subterrane, obscure, with hideous crash,
Hurled by the winds into the abyss unknown;

Then up the billows in fierce anger dash
From chaos, seething like a yeasty wine
Over its bursting vessel; as they clash,

Straight do th' imprisoned vapours fiercely pine
And rage for vent. Earth gapes convulsively,
And vomits the Volcano. It is mine!

—I make the solid ground like to the sea,
And undulate like ocean billowy;
And the columnar smoke,—it chariots me,—

That heaves aloft, a mass, into the sky,
A dun funereal shade, a broad black stain,
Like the pine's branches. In the flame am I

Wherein the mountain melts, and in the rain
Of ashes, and the lava flood. I burn
In the withering air, and on the molten plain.

Men perish as they flee. When I return
With the swoln Neptune—lo, a vacant coast,
Proud City late, but now an open Urn,

Sepulchring her white ashes, or her ghost.
—Strange pangs seize Earth. The sound of rushing wheels,
Whose axles burn with thunder, like a host!

'Tis he of the earth-shaking mace: She reels
Inebriate with the terrour of his coming.
He heard the clang of my pale courser's heels,

And roused him at the summons of Death's dooming.
Ay, Demigods are ye? (Then what am I,
Haught Deicide?) Ye who, with wrath consuming

The World into a pyre, would deify
Yourselves, like Hercules, and climb in flame
Audacious to the stars, and shine on high,

So purified by fire. Vaunt ye? Ye came,
And saw, and conquered—what? Worms—ashes—dust.
I war with Heaven, and Him who rules the same,

The Anointed, the Omnipotent, the Just,
The Good, the Wise, the Holy, and the One!
His hand doth drop the golden chain, or must,

(The Father pierced in the begotten Son,)
By which the pendent and terrestrial Orb
Is ordered and sustained. The deed is done!

—Lo, hungry Chaos yawneth to resorb
Into his void immeasurable womb
The breathing Universe. Ready, my barb!

Perish, Man—Angel! To the monstrous tomb,
Being and Form, Intelligence and Power;
All things create to unsubstantial gloom!

—The engendered Hour—the inevitable Hour,
Born of th' unnumbered Age by thought untrod—
On the Creator his own heavens do lour.

The Sun dies in his sphere, a kneaded clod,
The empyreal canopy doth bow,
Dissolved in darkness o'er the dying God!

—All Hell reverberates with the stricken blow;
Her caves cry to each other, peal for peal,
Yea, all her echoes are rejoicing now;

—(What boots it hence their mysteries to conceal?)—
And, like the voices of the waters, crowd
Together in their rivalry and zeal.

He from the Heaven of heavens of old forthrode,
In the paternal chariot did pursue,
And hurled Rebellion from that high abode—

I heard his last prayer, the last sigh he drew,
And I beheld him bow his holy head,
Whose locks were humid with ambrosial dew.

Chief Warrior, and chief Victor, bravely sped—
I conquer conquerors—all revenges wreak—
Thou, my last Foe, transfixed, suspended, dead!”

—Within that shadowy vault a short shrill shriek,
Like eastern gust in crannies of old tower,
There multiplies itself,...of what to speak?

—Writhed as a woman in her travail hour
Spectral, and yet in pain majestical,
How ghastly in her beauty's fatal dower,

The Phantasm of pale Earth! Amidst the Hall
She weeps,..anon, into a fading wreath,
Dissolved; like mountain-mist that borrows all

Shapes vague and void, and melts upon the heath.
Cold lightning gleams, an ice-bolt rives;—they sweep
That region like a storm—And where is Death?

Even as the pageant of a haunted sleep
Of dreams whence the flesh quakes, that Centaur-Wraith,
With those huge Shapes, and that Sepulchral Deep,

Have vanished from the eye of Fancy and of Faith.

VI. THE DARKNESS.

I.1.

O Spirit of the Universe! whereby
Things have intelligible entity,
And are arrayed in glory to man's eye,

And Nature is, because perceived to be;
O thou, unto sad Earth as soul to sense,
Life-giving Light! her graves even yearn for thee...

Strange echoes in the dreamy gloom commence,
Ancestral ages are unsepulchred,
Old oracles awaken from suspense.

The Life—the Light of men is darkened—
Dark is the lustre of the Seraphim—
The Word is silent,—lo, the heavens are dead.

In mere nihility inane and dim,
This wreck of elements anon subsides;
Man hath slain God,—Creation dies with Him;

Time travels not—and Space no more abides.
Inquire of Night and Chaos. Can ye be,
If God be not? Adore him,—Deicides!

—May man survive his Maker? or, Light! thee?
If thou wert quenched, earth would be formless, void,
And darkness o'er the deep brood silently.

I.2.

Thou art not quenched, where Thought is still enjoyed—
Created Light of uncreated Light!
But even thou wert not, were Mind destroyed;

Thy heavenly radiance thou dost reunite
Unto its origin, in the obscure
Of the Eternal Being hidden quite.

—Let the Almighty only sleep, no more
Motion and Time revolve. Their sweet concents
Both Heaven and Earth suspend; all tasks are o'er:

The Watchers languish in their guardian tents;
Nature's heart pauseth, in whose pulse we live;
And Man doth slumber with the Elements.

Should he wax weary or old; the land would rive,
In arid clefts, and yawning gulphs disclose
Tartarean mysteries for the sky to shrive,

But that th' unconscious stars, in blind repose,
Like some fair scroll's illumined characters,
Wrinkled with eld, were darkling ere they rose.

And lo, the once Almighty Voice deters
Ocean no more, far spooming, huge and wild;
But his dull weeds stagnate our Sepulchres.

—And might He die;..would He die like a child
Of Earth, and perish from his Universe?
Nay, it from him would perish first; exiled.—

I.3.

With the great Sun and Moon and rolling Spheres,
Swifter than a god's thought, precipitate,
Loosed from his Providence, it would disperse

Into the abyss of Chaos, ruinate:
And Chaos'-self be not. Not on the wreck
Of the demolished Earths, the expiring state

Of the Heaven of heavens, as from a courser's neck
Elanced, sheer o'er destruction's brink, shall He,
With his sublime despair, haste on, and deck

The End of All. Time, Space, Eternity,
Shall pass away, Darkness and Death be gone;
They perish from his presence utterly,

They leave him in his solitude alone;
'Till unimaginable doom obscure,
Delete, annihilate, the Essential One.

Thou art, oh man; they are;—He is, be sure.
Great God! for ever and for aye, dost Thou,
Sole Dweller of Eternity, endure.

Thou only dost the Earth and Heavens endow—
From thee her seasons hath the appointed Moon,
And the bright Stars thy handy work avow!

II.1.

Her radiant Brother gains his highest noon,
And, at Thy bidding, hasteneth to his gaol,—
And, like a martyr, hails his fiery boon,

(Wherewith the mountain burneth like a coal,)
And sets in flame; soon to renew his race,
And, like a hero who hath run the whole,

To die again in light, and pride of place,
And glory, as he lived. Darkness God makes;
Yea, this unnatural Night that shades Noon's face,

It is His work—whereat the firm Earth quakes
In dread of dissolution—as light's car
It is to him—'tis He the earth who shakes,

Who watereth from his chambers high and far
The hills; and into the deep vale that sinks
'Twixt them, irriguous and irregular,

Who sendeth springs, whereat the field-beast drinks,
His thirst the wild ass quenches, and whereby,
Among the branches foliaging their brinks,

The fowls of heaven do blend their harmony;
Who makes to soar the vapours, and in might
Brings forth the winds out of his armoury.

II.2.

Hushed are the forest-beasts, in hunger's spite,
Yea, the young lions roar not for their prey;
They seek not food from God, this worse than night,

But couch close in their dens with strange dismay.
In whirlwind, and in earthquake, and in fire,
And in the darkness and the silence, they

Are conscious of Thy presence, and retire,
Nor wait the Sun's bright resurrection, ere
They gather in their caves;..if thy fierce ire

Permit, again he chase them to their lair,
As wont ere this amiss,—O Thou to whom
Vengeance belongs! Yet to thy love repair

All Creatures, for the blessings which relume
Life daily—yet is thy spirit in man express,
—Free Bounty gives not, only to resume—

Though now the thunder of thy mightiness,
Which none can understand, astonish him,
And Judgement, from thy throne in heaven's recess,

Have been heard by the potent Seraphim,
And the earth's echoes answered unto thee:
Hell before thee is bare in every limb:

Destruction hath no covering.—But He,
Who dwelleth in thy secret place, abides,
Under thy shadow, in security.

II.3.

The Pestilence that in the darkness hides,
The Death which wastes at noon day, pass him by;
He treads upon the adder, and derides

The lion's rage. Thou, Helper! now art nigh,
Though he be poured like water, though his heart
Melt forth like wax,—in this extremity.

—Thou didst preserve him, when, with curious art,
Imperfect substance in its energies,
Fearfully wrought in the Earth's lowest part.

Thou numberest every hair, each member lies,
While yet unfashioned, written in thy book,
In its continuance and dependencies.

And thou art he who thence thy Chosen took,
And made him hope upon his mother's breast;
Even from the womb, as to a Sire Sons look,

He looked to thee—Thou wert his God confest.
—To Him, who dying conquereth...all hail!
Son of the Virgin; Hero of the Blest!

Over the gates of Death and Hell prevail:
Warrior! who hast alone the wine press trod.
Reign, Victor-Victim! reign, when Time shall fail,

Reign,—perfect Man—Messiah—Saviour—God!

This Ode is regular, consisting of two Strophes, Antistrophes, and Epodes.