University of Virginia Library

The Book of Enoch read, the Monarch's soul
Was solaced. ‘Let us hence,’ he cried: ‘I will
Once more look on the City which I built;
Yet not to pamper pride, but smite it down,
Heart-wounded with remorse. Thou shalt behold—
Thou shalt support me. I have not the strength
To go alone; the abiding fortitude,
To contemplate how vain was all my toil,
The labour of my hands, and of my soul.
Prophet of God: O thou shalt hear my voice;
My spirit shall repose on thine. Report
My words unto the people; they may be
Rich by my loss, and in my folly wise.’

‘Amen;’ said Noah: and they went along.

From Eden's Hill four Rivers are derived;
The consecrated Garden of the Lord
Their sacred Fountain boasts; each cedared aisle
It waters, myrtle porch, and verdant shrine,
In that primeval temple, holier far,
Richer, more beautiful than Solomon's.
Nor other temple did Jehovah own,
In these first ages of the world of man.

By the Fourth Stream, the vassal of his rule,
The Monarch shaped his melancholy course:
Whatever realm it wandered, homaged him;
How famous each, and all.—'Twas his renown
Which gave to them a soul, and bade them live;
Who now scarce lives himself; whose nature is
Degraded to the perishable brute.
The King went on: they followed silently.
—Soon, at the city gates, they overtook
Zateel, and Tamiel entering; who, behind
The people, lingered in desire, and fear,
Wishing, yet dreading, to remain with them,
The Monarch, and the Favoured of the Lord.

The portalled arch magnific entered now,
Whose massy gates were made for giant throngs,
And on the enormous hinge were now thrown back;
Left by the panic-hurried multitude,
Unfolded, wide displayed; like a huge book,
A dead magician's volume vast of page:
—(With their companions, diversely disposed,
Shaming the brazen gates of Babylon
In their excess of number, and of size:)—
Behold, the pavement of the expanded street
They tread; a populous solitude, now thronged,
Now empty: for each man within his house
Harboured his fear, nor once reverted look,
Dreading again that Monarch's countenance,
And hearing his approaching step, in thought,
Following hard on each apprehensive heel.
Silence was conscious of his presence; yea,
She deepened as she felt it, and became
Thrice hushed—thrice lonely Solitude became.
Silence of Solitude seemed nurse; and stilled,
Even as a mother would a sleeping child,
Its recent slumber to profounder rest;
And, like a mother, on surrounding things,
Inanimate, or human, quietude,
As with a frown significant, imposed.
—On the broad pavement of the expanded way,
Were heard not their feet-echoes. Stealthily
They walked; and street, and square, and every high
Locality of the metropolis,
Did visit, and each edifice sublime.
The traveller from Babylon, or Rome,
Had marvelled, in the palmiest days of each,
Had such a city for his survey been.
Arch, column, monument, and pontifice,
Palace, and garden, temple, and theatre,
Were there for him to question, and admire.

'Twas noon: and the hot sun shone on the stone;
And all the capitol, as molten glass,
Reflected its own glory on every hand.
Then to the Palace of his pride, but now
Of his humility, the Monarch led
The solemn way. Shrunk back on either side
The menials, thus surprised, with awe; and each
Interchanged with his fellow eager looks.
—The spiry staircase now ascended he;
Through lofty hall, by ample corridor,
And mile-long gallery, he went: then, roamed
The vacant presence chamber, rooms of state,
Titanic in dimension; as vied art
With nature, seeking to distend herself
To her god-made capacity; superb,
And sumptuous, and with ornament enriched,
With pillar, and with statue: swelling high,
In alabaster multiplicity,
To a wide ceiling, like a firmament,
Moving in constant revolution o'er,
Showering down perfumes, and sweet waters; as
By subtle magic. On a gorgeous couch
Reposed the Sorceress; in as gorgeous robes
She lay, magnificent in slumber. Still
She slept, with heat meridian sore oppressed,
And study of strange charm. Her indoor craft,
While all the people were gone forth the gates;
Regal in her seclusion, seldom seen,
Wild invocations Amazarah spun,
The mother of the king. He saw her thus,
And blessed her, in the hope that God ere long
Would cause her to repent. He waked her not,
And so departed. On the Terrace he
Forth issued, and the pendant Gardens, built
Arch above arch, fair paradises: thence,
Dilated in wide circuit, saw, beneath,
The spacious City; saw with other eyes
Than once, and wept: then hastened from the view;
And, with precipitate return, regained
The threshold of the dome. Away—away,
Unto the Temple of the Pyramis.
Beyond the extreme of yon suspended Bridge,
Ascends the Pile stupendous. Now, the stream
Surmounted, they arrived at its broad base,
Where those earthquake-defying foundations delved
That bore the astounding fabric. Them about,
A Temple, like a wallèd square, inclosed
An ample area. At the foot, behold,
A Man of giant stature, and huge limb,
Recumbent, scaled with his ambitious eye
The punctual summit of the ascending spire,
Till it distinguished through the crystal tube,
With exquisite distinction, the nice point
That tapered into air, like air itself.
—Alas; his look was melancholy; bent
To earth, dejected; when returned from that
Sufficing, soul-dissatisfying theme.

He saw the Monarch now, and rose in haste,
But straight assumed his re-collected state,
And stood erect in proud equality,
Barkayal—the transcendent Architect.
Drawing his purple robe about his loins,
Displaying in his hand his gold-leaved book;
Instant he 'gan to sketch his vast conceits,
Creations which alone his mind might dare.
He was the Founder of the Pyramis.

Art vaunteth ever. Enter ye within
The enormous porch of that stupendous fane,
Co-eterne temple of the pyramis,
That had beginning, but no end shall have:
Such was the builder's hope, whose large heart heaved
For more than diuturnity, to him,
And his creations. In those days, man's life
Had that extent, and term. Existence mere
Of corruptible body, then, surpassed
That of ethereallest spirit now;
If her hereafter be but in the fame
Of deeds, or words, or silence—wisely timed;
For 'tis occasion maketh nobler act
Of noble thought, though act extern be none;
(Witness the seven days' silence during which
Lamech affliction bore; then cursed his birth,
As if to prove how hard what he had borne,
And, by impatience, illustrate how vast
The patience he displayed when he was dumb.)
—Let me not wrong the bubble, though they bruit,
It breaketh evermore, and mortal end
The most undying reputation hath.
Do we not ken the blind old Man of Greece,
No shadow, through the unsubstantial mist
Of thrice a thousand years? Yea, liveth not
Solomon in his wisdom even yet,
Only his follies dead? or, more remote,
The Shepherd who, upon no oaten stop,
Declared, yet with simplicity divine,
The sempiternal Origin, and Source
Of this green earth, and yon cerulean sky;
Do we not know the meek man, and the brave,
Lawgiver, warriour, prophet, priest, and king?
Of the Progenitours of human race,
We know the name, and where they dwelt, and how
Erect they stood in regal innocence,
Their free, and happy state, and fatal lapse.
Yea, Fame outdureth worlds. Waters may sweep
Over the countenance of the peopled globe;
And all that hath an heritage therein,
Choke Chaos up; yet she shall record have,
That of the hoar world shall the auburn teach,
Who were thereof the patriarchs, and the chief,
And their familiar history preserve:
This doth the theme of our momentous song
Attest. Nay; War shall be in Heaven, and Angels
Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky
In ruin, and combustion, down to hell;
And Fame shall find a favourable Spirit,
Content celestial bowers to quit awhile,
On mission to advise astonished Man
Of great Messiah's work, and victory.