University of Virginia Library

Noah was silent, not from wrath, but ruth;
With pity scorn, with patience spite repaid.
Before him leaped his Sons. Then tumult rose,
Loud clamour, and the cry of blood. Blood flowed.
More had been shed; but, on the mountain-skirts
Of that apparent continent, silence crept,
And awe increased.

'Twas the habitual hush
Wherewith mysterious horrour cowed their souls,
Whene'er that Presence on their wonder came,
Who entered now; with slow, and solemn step,
And uncompanioned in his greatness. On
He came. Wild his array: a lion's hide
Hung o'er his shoulders broad, and on his breast
Down flowed the shaggèd mane; the face-skin frowned,
Hollows for eyes, the maw without a tooth,
And terrible in its deficiencies.
Bare was his knee, and hairy all the leg,
And every limb enlarged, and clothed with hair.
—Look not upon his countenance: ye must;
But dare not look again, although ye would.
That gaze is savage, and each lineament;
Yet, in their madness, undefined command
Of no barbarian grace is eloquent.
A memory lingered there of loftier days,
Haunting, with shadowy gleam, his brow's proud curve;
Till grew his aspect spectral, and his eye
Flashed fitfully, even as a paly ghost
Flitting athwart a place of sepulchres;
Or underneath a once triumphal arch,
A ruin now loved by the shades of eld.
—Profuse, his locks, like a wild horse's mane,
Free of the winds, compact of massy curls,
Shaded his ears with ringlets dusk as night,
And with his beard fantastic circlets blent,
Like a vine flourishing in a wilderness,
Hanging its tendrils loose on thorny brake,
And briary underwood—so bearded he.
Where his large forehead loured, his ample locks
Disparted; and upcoiled, like serpents, back
From eyebrows huge, that, like two promontories,
Horrid with crag, suspense, the flashing orbs
Encaved. Now, like a blasted oak, or tower
Magnificent, scathed by heaven's lightning shaft,
He stood. Atlas he seemed, groaning beneath
The universal weight, a world of woe,
A penal universe, and he condemned
To the aye-during burthen for his sins;
A penance, but magnanimously borne.

Of all that throng, but One might look on him;
And he in admiration, how intense,
Gazed, sword-supported; beautiful in youth;
The attraction of all eyes. Amazement strange
Guided fond vision to that monument,
More perfect in such quiet attitude
Than ever statue was; and recognized
The valourous Boy who rushed into the fray,
A timely aid to Noah, and his Sons,
Oppressed by numbers. Of the giant-twins,
One had on Tamiel seized, and from his grasp
Essayed to wrench the Book. The youth, Zateel,
Did wound the robber hand; did save from death
The weaponless, and undefended scribe;
And from the impious, and profane destroyer,
Rescued the sacred tome. Then gradual stole
That hush of horrour toward him, and his ear
Soon caught his neighbour's whisper—‘'Tis the king
Of streams,.'tis Samiasa’—for among
The crowd was Palal; and by him the name
Was uttered to Zateel. Anon, declined
Sudden his sword; and fixed its point in earth.
In graceful admiration on its hilt
He leaned, and thus intently watched advance
The Monarch Maniac with emotion deep.
Deep in that pause his meditations were;
On the King's lips expectant still he gazed,
Breathless. He knew how eloquent they were.
Once, when they spake, were sages wont to blush,
And pause for answer. Nor less potent now.
And much he trembled, when these words he heard.

‘Well done, young man: preserve, Zateel, for aye,
The Scripture that aye-present doth preserve
The God of gods to memory. I forgot
Him once, who to remember him had cause.
The Spirit which deified me was from Him,
Whom I rejected, and straightway became
A God-abandoned man, unto himself
Abandoned, and that self-sufficient strength
Whence he presumed, but which on trial failed,
And ever must. Hearken, ye fond of strength,
Who have disturbed my oraisons—(ye might
Have worshipped with me.)—Mark yon hill's proud crest;
'Tis obvious to the mount of Paradise,
And to the glorious vision there displayed,
Glorious in terrour. There, it is my wont,
'Scaped from the Desart and the Fiend, to come,
Even with the day-spring of the sabbath morn,
And look on Eden, and its fiery guard,
And watch for the uprising of the sun,
The kindling of the hills whence goeth he,
Fresh as a racer anxious for the crown—
How bright, how high. Of all created things
Yon ardour is most like a deity.
Shall dim, and puny man, then, call his soul
The standard of perfection, and contemn,
Vain of his own originality,
His Maker's image, and invent a new,
Better, or worse, he recks not? Only He
Who made him what he is, can make him more.
—Man's semblance is Death's shadow; for his soul
Is murtherous, abject, cruel, and corrupt.
Witness, ye heroes. Ye do well to boast
Of thews, and sinews; and in force of limb
Triumph, and in the courage of your hearts:
Impulse, though blind, hath joy, which ye obey,
And is derived divinely. 'Tis heaven's life
Abused, meant to beget new life, and deeds,
Wherein heaven-guided piety might trace
Symbol humane of Origin divine.
By you Death conquers; life, crushed in the germ,
Limps, issueless—foredone. The human form
Erect . . divine . . lies prostrate, lies defaced.
Approach it . . lo, the fragrance, and the flower
Have left the withered stalk, and barren stem.
Of its once comeliness no grace remains;
Its strength is weakness, and its glory shame.
There is no beauty, excellence, in death.
The eye . . term it the presence of the mind . .
Is all-extinguished. Things that it perceived,
Phantasm, or substance, shadowy qualities,
Visions that Fancy made her own, and built
A gorgeous world thereof; her world, and this,
Into inanimate gloom they fade away.
This erst was her dominion . . her's, and man's.
Now narrow is his dwelling; dark, and lorn;
Within a populous, yet silent land:
He dwells alone within a quiet house,
Alone, yet crowded in his solitude.
No moon, nor sun may visit it. Within
A desolate, and dreary realm it lies;
The realm of winter. Silence, and the night
Only inhabit there. Heaven-moulded from
Returns to Chaos. Blood cries from the ground.
—Witness, ye rulers of the fettered earth:
Ye do well also. Triumph in your crowns,
Your sceptres; those of thorn, of iron these:
Ye conquer, then enslave. Man's attitude,
Lost unto freedom, and in soul abashed,
Vails its bold front, and crouches at your feet,
As ye were gods. Children of men, be warned.
Lo, ye, worse slavery, enchain yourselves;
Your passions labour at the tyrant's forge,
And mould the links of avarice, and lust.
—Witness, ye elements: and testify,
Ye worshippers of earth. To God alone
Do homage. Dost thou bow the coward knee
To power? is power divine? Why yield it, man?
One boasts the attribute, and many quail;
Straightway, a demigod is he; yet him
The thunder daunteth. Ye succumb to fear,
And make out of your fear a deity.
So, when the tempest doth pass by, ye see
A demon in its blackness, hear a fiend
In its loud roar; and cry them mercy. Ye
Have power, had ye knowledge, o'er the winds;
Nay, all the elements were slaves to you,
And would perform your bidding, were ye brave.
Were but your virtue adequate to dare,
Ye might restore the never-changing spring
Of Paradise; and win companionship
With angels, as of old; and satisfy
The craving soul with everlasting truth:
And thus, indeed, become like unto God;
Knowing all things, and ruling all, by love.
—But now ye conquer, and are conquered: now,
Hark—the poor man, and feeble testifies
'Gainst your oppression; while God listeneth,
Yea, while Jehovah listeneth, to avenge.
For her right sceptre Equity hath lost,
(In whom God's Image is the most express,)
And unto gods, which are no gods, ye pay
What is not due, from wantonness of will:
But Him, the True, and Faithful, ye defraud
Of due obedience, gratitude, and love.
His sabbaths ye reject, his wrath despise.’