The Flood of Thessaly The Girl of Provence, and Other Poems. By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
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| THE FALL OF SATURN.
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 | The Flood of Thessaly |  |
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THE FALL OF SATURN.
A VISION.
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THIS VISION OF THE FALL OF SATURN IS INSCRIBED TO CHARLES LAMB BY HIS ADMIRER AND SINCERE FRIEND THE AUTHOR.
Good Friend! whose spirit, like an April day,Is full of change,—bright flashes and some rain,
Fantastic, gay,—yet gentle more than gay,
And rich and deep as in the populous main,
Take—(if thou wilt)—my song. I build my fame
Beneath the shadow of thy rising name,
(Which shall not pass away while wit shall be,)
Proud to associate my verse with thee.
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I dream—I dream—I dream—
Of shadow and light,—of pleasure and pain,
Of Heaven,—of Hell.—And visions seem
Streaming for ever athwart my brain.
The present is here, and the past that fled
So quick, is returned with its buried dead,
And the future hath bared its scrolls of fame,
And I see the ‘is’ and the ‘was’ the same,
In spirit alike, but changed in name.
I see the phantoms of Earth and Air,
A thousand are foul where one is fair,
(But that ‘one’ is divine, and her blue eyes calm
Are shadowed by leaves of the branching palm,)
And I hear the yells of a million more,
Whose sins are all written in stripes and gore:—
There's one who the gem of his best friend stole,—
And a King half-hid in a beggar's soul,
And a Poet who lied for his earthly good,
And a Woman of glass, and a God of wood,
(Wrapped round like the idol-beast that treads
With murderous scorn on the Hindoos' heads)—
[OMITTED]
I see a Palace—enormous—bright,
Studded with stars like an August night;
The pillars that prop it are based below,
But whence they come or whither they go
Who, with an eye like ours, shall know!—
The shafts are embossed and golden, and graven
With letters of Earth and Hell and Heaven,
(A terrible mixture,—like the speech
Of the Sea when it bursts on a stormy beach:)
There are discord—melody—music,—hung
Like beads on a rosary oddly strung,
And words of a mighty forgotten tongue:—
There are lessons to curse and a few to bless,
And riddles beyond the Sphinx's guess;
And folly, and passion, and proud despair,
And all moods of the mind are sculptured there:
—The shafts are of gold, and they run so high
That they pierce the floors of the far blue sky,
And a million of creatures, whose size is a span
Climb round and around them, and each is—man:
All toil, some rise, some hang in the air,
And some fall with a shriek in a terrible lair,
Which yawns like the pit of the damn'd, or a cave
Where the brutes of the wilderness hunger and rave.
Fierce flames are up-rising, and rain is descending,
And o'er all the cloud-black Heaven is bending,
And the insolent winds are unloos'd from their den,
To hiss their scorn in the ears of the men,
Who drop like leaves, when but few do hang
On the blight smitten boughs:—Hark! a trumpet rang
Through my brain; and, behold, all the pillars crack,
And the star-studded palace is gone to rack:
It totters—it falls—with a human scream
Like the whirlwind's cry.—'Tis—an empty dream.
Of shadow and light,—of pleasure and pain,
Of Heaven,—of Hell.—And visions seem
Streaming for ever athwart my brain.
The present is here, and the past that fled
So quick, is returned with its buried dead,
And the future hath bared its scrolls of fame,
And I see the ‘is’ and the ‘was’ the same,
In spirit alike, but changed in name.
I see the phantoms of Earth and Air,
A thousand are foul where one is fair,
(But that ‘one’ is divine, and her blue eyes calm
Are shadowed by leaves of the branching palm,)
And I hear the yells of a million more,
Whose sins are all written in stripes and gore:—
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And a King half-hid in a beggar's soul,
And a Poet who lied for his earthly good,
And a Woman of glass, and a God of wood,
(Wrapped round like the idol-beast that treads
With murderous scorn on the Hindoos' heads)—
[OMITTED]
I see a Palace—enormous—bright,
Studded with stars like an August night;
The pillars that prop it are based below,
But whence they come or whither they go
Who, with an eye like ours, shall know!—
The shafts are embossed and golden, and graven
With letters of Earth and Hell and Heaven,
(A terrible mixture,—like the speech
Of the Sea when it bursts on a stormy beach:)
There are discord—melody—music,—hung
Like beads on a rosary oddly strung,
And words of a mighty forgotten tongue:—
There are lessons to curse and a few to bless,
And riddles beyond the Sphinx's guess;
And folly, and passion, and proud despair,
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—The shafts are of gold, and they run so high
That they pierce the floors of the far blue sky,
And a million of creatures, whose size is a span
Climb round and around them, and each is—man:
All toil, some rise, some hang in the air,
And some fall with a shriek in a terrible lair,
Which yawns like the pit of the damn'd, or a cave
Where the brutes of the wilderness hunger and rave.
Fierce flames are up-rising, and rain is descending,
And o'er all the cloud-black Heaven is bending,
And the insolent winds are unloos'd from their den,
To hiss their scorn in the ears of the men,
Who drop like leaves, when but few do hang
On the blight smitten boughs:—Hark! a trumpet rang
Through my brain; and, behold, all the pillars crack,
And the star-studded palace is gone to rack:
It totters—it falls—with a human scream
Like the whirlwind's cry.—'Tis—an empty dream.
A dream?—what is it—a birth or death
Of thought?—'Tis whatever the poet saith:
A figure (a prophecy) dark or dumb,
Yet breathing a tale of the vast ‘to come,’—
A fable,—a fact,—a cloud unfurled
From all that was done in the last good world,
And in truth as alarming as Plato's fear
(Or hope) of that mighty embracing year,
Within whose perilous grasp old Time
Should return, pulled back by his locks sublime,
And the Earth should gape, and the urns spice-fed,
Should give up (just as they were) the dead.
Of thought?—'Tis whatever the poet saith:
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Yet breathing a tale of the vast ‘to come,’—
A fable,—a fact,—a cloud unfurled
From all that was done in the last good world,
And in truth as alarming as Plato's fear
(Or hope) of that mighty embracing year,
Within whose perilous grasp old Time
Should return, pulled back by his locks sublime,
And the Earth should gape, and the urns spice-fed,
Should give up (just as they were) the dead.
I dream—I dream—I dream:—
A waking fancy now becomes my theme.
I dream of pleasures old,
And of the age of gold,
When every river ran a happy stream;
A waking fancy now becomes my theme.
I dream of pleasures old,
And of the age of gold,
When every river ran a happy stream;
Before “The Syrian” raged:
Before red wars were waged;
Before a hero fought or Fame was born;
Before the stars were shamed,
Or men each other blamed
For deeds the frowning night beheld in scorn.
Before red wars were waged;
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Before the stars were shamed,
Or men each other blamed
For deeds the frowning night beheld in scorn.
And now—I see as in some magic glass
Radiant enchantments:—First, far streaming bright,
Dazzling the shining earth with looks of light,
A figure like a God: He seems to pass
From Heaven to Heaven, and from star to star,
Till all the depths and darkened worlds afar
Rise up apparell'd in his joyful ray;
And wheresoe'er he treads
Pale planets rear their heads,
And wheresoe'er he smileth—lo! 'tis day.
Radiant enchantments:—First, far streaming bright,
Dazzling the shining earth with looks of light,
A figure like a God: He seems to pass
From Heaven to Heaven, and from star to star,
Till all the depths and darkened worlds afar
Rise up apparell'd in his joyful ray;
And wheresoe'er he treads
Pale planets rear their heads,
And wheresoe'er he smileth—lo! 'tis day.
But on what lonely mountain bare and old
Sitt'st thou beyond the sun,—paternal king?
Why look'st thou, with large eyes so blank and cold,
As though the eternal year were on the wing?
Why at thy feet are they, the Titan brood,
Like brown leaves of the autumn strewed?
In mute enormous anguish lo! they lie:—
No wind nor sullen sound
That shakes the barren ground
Can stir them from their trance. A wake, or die!
Sitt'st thou beyond the sun,—paternal king?
Why look'st thou, with large eyes so blank and cold,
As though the eternal year were on the wing?
Why at thy feet are they, the Titan brood,
Like brown leaves of the autumn strewed?
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No wind nor sullen sound
That shakes the barren ground
Can stir them from their trance. A wake, or die!
The Sun now blazes overhead: Below,
A river filled with ruin and half hid,
But terrible as Ocean at his flow,
Rushes along:—Palace and pyramid
Gray with the spoils of years, and mighty towers
That cost the Titans (all) a thousand hours
Of toil to build them to the cloudy Heaven,
Are rent, and tumble in the stream,
With their dark masters, while a scream
Runs thro' the earth, as tho' its inmost heart was riven.
A river filled with ruin and half hid,
But terrible as Ocean at his flow,
Rushes along:—Palace and pyramid
Gray with the spoils of years, and mighty towers
That cost the Titans (all) a thousand hours
Of toil to build them to the cloudy Heaven,
Are rent, and tumble in the stream,
With their dark masters, while a scream
Runs thro' the earth, as tho' its inmost heart was riven.
And thou—Imperial terror!—Eldest-born!
Hoary Saturnus!—thou whom Heaven and Earth
Flung from their rich embrace, as the dim morn
Sprang from the grave of night, a mingled birth,
Half light, half darkness, yet like both sublime,—
Awake! Arise! Else shall thou, ancient Time,
Father of many years, be swept away,
And no bright record left
That the young world wept
When thou the Patriarch sank before usurping day!
Hoary Saturnus!—thou whom Heaven and Earth
Flung from their rich embrace, as the dim morn
Sprang from the grave of night, a mingled birth,
Half light, half darkness, yet like both sublime,—
Awake! Arise! Else shall thou, ancient Time,
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And no bright record left
That the young world wept
When thou the Patriarch sank before usurping day!
He falls, he falls; His ancient reign is over:
And on his neck a golden chain is laid,
And on his eye an eye
Darts like the blinding sun; and in his ears
Sounds like the morn, terrible harmonies,
Rage, as the ocean rages
Beneath the eclipsing moon.
And on his neck a golden chain is laid,
And on his eye an eye
Darts like the blinding sun; and in his ears
Sounds like the morn, terrible harmonies,
Rage, as the ocean rages
Beneath the eclipsing moon.
Silence is gone: and Night,
Glittering with terror, for the first time bares
Her star-bewildered face, and strangely smiles;
And the winds laugh aloud; and every pore
Of the blue air stung with a radiant life
Drops sweets; and nodding forests lose their gloom;
And twilight caves are shining
Set round with splendours like the set of suns:
And Music (which had perish'd) is born again;
And like a bird new-wakened in the night
Uttereth her liquid notes, from spangled streams
And fountains,—till the leaves are touched to tears;
And every valley sinks writhing with joy;
And every hill aspires,
Ambitious to behold a new born God.
Glittering with terror, for the first time bares
Her star-bewildered face, and strangely smiles;
And the winds laugh aloud; and every pore
Of the blue air stung with a radiant life
Drops sweets; and nodding forests lose their gloom;
And twilight caves are shining
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And Music (which had perish'd) is born again;
And like a bird new-wakened in the night
Uttereth her liquid notes, from spangled streams
And fountains,—till the leaves are touched to tears;
And every valley sinks writhing with joy;
And every hill aspires,
Ambitious to behold a new born God.
Saturn alone (Heaven's king and Earth's) with scorn
Looks on the time; and with impetuous strength
Tears his harmonious bonds and golden chains,
And spurning, with a shout, the obsequious ground,
Invades the shrinking air.
—He rises, like a ruin,
Loosen'd by earthquakes from its deep foundations,
And hung in the days of plague
O'er some bad city, whose wide streets are thronged
With millions, stained with death, yet fearing woe.
How, if he so descend?—
He springs,—he rises:
His course is like the comet's, fierce and bright:—
So the death-hunted serpent, crowned with wrongs,
Springs from the reeds of Nile:—So that vast snake
Strong as a tempest, that lays waste whole lands,
Darts, like a wrath, from out his Asian haunts,
And gripes the groaning lion till he dies.
Looks on the time; and with impetuous strength
Tears his harmonious bonds and golden chains,
And spurning, with a shout, the obsequious ground,
Invades the shrinking air.
—He rises, like a ruin,
Loosen'd by earthquakes from its deep foundations,
And hung in the days of plague
O'er some bad city, whose wide streets are thronged
With millions, stained with death, yet fearing woe.
How, if he so descend?—
He springs,—he rises:
His course is like the comet's, fierce and bright:—
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Springs from the reeds of Nile:—So that vast snake
Strong as a tempest, that lays waste whole lands,
Darts, like a wrath, from out his Asian haunts,
And gripes the groaning lion till he dies.
He rushes thro' the air: the sullen air
Avoids him, and his wings, out-spread in vain,
Flap on the void. His strength departs:—he falls.—
As some brave swimmer whom the waves o'ermatch
Looks far to land—in vain,
So doth the aged Saturn's starting eye
Glare on the faithless sky its red reproach,
Its first,—its last. The fiery Phœbus
Sheds all his ire on that unsheltered brain.
He falls; and not a voice
From Earth or Heaven is heard to speak for him:
No tears (tho' false) are shed: no heart is touched
With human anguish for a God dethroned.
Avoids him, and his wings, out-spread in vain,
Flap on the void. His strength departs:—he falls.—
As some brave swimmer whom the waves o'ermatch
Looks far to land—in vain,
So doth the aged Saturn's starting eye
Glare on the faithless sky its red reproach,
Its first,—its last. The fiery Phœbus
Sheds all his ire on that unsheltered brain.
He falls; and not a voice
From Earth or Heaven is heard to speak for him:
No tears (tho' false) are shed: no heart is touched
With human anguish for a God dethroned.
He falls,—he falls—he falls,
Ten thousand fathoms down,
And the dusky crown
Is stripped for ever from his kingly brow.
His son?—His son is King!
Hark!—the Heavens ring:
Jove is elected Lord of life and woe:
His thunders speak; his lightnings come and go:
His pomps are all around;
Bright light and mighty sound
Attend him, and his radiant armies flow
Like rivers round the throne;
He is God alone.
Ten thousand fathoms down,
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Is stripped for ever from his kingly brow.
His son?—His son is King!
Hark!—the Heavens ring:
Jove is elected Lord of life and woe:
His thunders speak; his lightnings come and go:
His pomps are all around;
Bright light and mighty sound
Attend him, and his radiant armies flow
Like rivers round the throne;
He is God alone.
And where is Saturn?—On what silent shore
Doth he lament his wrongs and old exile?
In what dull woods whereon no Summers smile,
And all the Springs (if any were) are o'er?
Where Autumn and her bounty are not known;
Where Winter pineth for his icy crown,
And the long year, breathing one endless sigh,
Stripped of the seasons hath not learned to die?—
Doth he lament his wrongs and old exile?
In what dull woods whereon no Summers smile,
And all the Springs (if any were) are o'er?
Where Autumn and her bounty are not known;
Where Winter pineth for his icy crown,
And the long year, breathing one endless sigh,
Stripped of the seasons hath not learned to die?—
—Saturn the king is gone:—perhaps in vain
He howleth to the heedless winds his pain.
No matter:—Such great end
Is surely worth a friend:
The Father falls,—but, look! the Son doth reign!
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No matter:—Such great end
Is surely worth a friend:
The Father falls,—but, look! the Son doth reign!
O Saturn, fallen king!
Older than the firmament:—Before the Sun,
Before the Moon, before the glittering Stars
Thou wast;—and art thou gone!—
Older than the firmament:—Before the Sun,
Before the Moon, before the glittering Stars
Thou wast;—and art thou gone!—
Oh! could I with my verse
Stay thy chained ruin,
Strait I would rehearse,
Though my own undoing
Followed, as the night
Followeth the bier of the pale twilight.
Stay thy chained ruin,
Strait I would rehearse,
Though my own undoing
Followed, as the night
Followeth the bier of the pale twilight.
But, ah! in vain, in vain!
Down-smitten by the sun's
Rays, immortal pain
Through thy furrows runs,
Like the fierce quick lightning,
When the storm is brightening.
Down-smitten by the sun's
Rays, immortal pain
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Like the fierce quick lightning,
When the storm is brightening.
And tears, as from huge fountains
Where the Sea is nursed,
Spring,—and lo! the mountains,
Moan until they burst:
The great throne that bore thee
Shrinks to dust before thee.
Where the Sea is nursed,
Spring,—and lo! the mountains,
Moan until they burst:
The great throne that bore thee
Shrinks to dust before thee.
Every thing that ‘was’
Pines its life away;
So shall all things pass
Which have birth to-day:
What is joy or sorrow
But—To-day—To-morrow?
Pines its life away;
So shall all things pass
Which have birth to-day:
What is joy or sorrow
But—To-day—To-morrow?
Life shall re-assume
Its peculiar birth:
Though it seek the tomb,
It shall seek the earth
Again; and like a star,
Or as angels are,
Winged with etherial beauty fair and free,
Shall through finer regions flee,
More bright, more soft, more green;
Than ever here were seen
In Tempe's valley or Idalian groves,
Yet there the Cretan doves
Sang to the silent branches without fear,
And not a voice was near
Save her's who for the boy Narcissus sighed,
And, too much loving, died.
Its peculiar birth:
Though it seek the tomb,
It shall seek the earth
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Or as angels are,
Winged with etherial beauty fair and free,
Shall through finer regions flee,
More bright, more soft, more green;
Than ever here were seen
In Tempe's valley or Idalian groves,
Yet there the Cretan doves
Sang to the silent branches without fear,
And not a voice was near
Save her's who for the boy Narcissus sighed,
And, too much loving, died.
Love in etherial light cannot outrave
Its strength, nor perish from excess of scorn:
But, like the zephyr to the wild sea-wave,—
Like echo to sweet music,—like the morn,
Whose pearl-bright sorrow doth the leaves adorn,
It giveth strength and grace. Its boundless range
Is all the blue dominion of the sky;
It cannot pass away; it cannot change;
But like the perfum'd ether spreads its power
O'er the celestial vales and azure hills,
And with immaculate passion stirs and fills
All hearts, while Beauty—the eternal dower
Of Heaven, grows brighter still thro' each transcendant hour.
Its strength, nor perish from excess of scorn:
But, like the zephyr to the wild sea-wave,—
Like echo to sweet music,—like the morn,
Whose pearl-bright sorrow doth the leaves adorn,
It giveth strength and grace. Its boundless range
Is all the blue dominion of the sky;
It cannot pass away; it cannot change;
But like the perfum'd ether spreads its power
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And with immaculate passion stirs and fills
All hearts, while Beauty—the eternal dower
Of Heaven, grows brighter still thro' each transcendant hour.
Here, on this dusty earth, perhaps the Spirit
Of Love may droop, or soil its radiant wings:
Perhaps a—something it may chance inherit
Of what is around:—and yet the bird that sings
In prison learneth a melodious strain,
And often its sweetest song is born of pain.
So, in the land of sorrows, Love may shine,
Thro' clouds—thro' tears perhaps, yet still divine,
Divine as beauty—as the light of truth,
And fed with passion and immortal youth,
And music, like some white enchanted bird
In old times on Arabian waters heard.
Oh! then Imagination was a God,
And on the world with radiant steps he trod,
And every leaf he touched, and every hue
He glanced on became bright, and all was true:
And still—as soft as fable, Nature sings
Still in the shadowy woods and haunted springs:
And birds at break of morn still wake the sun,
And some (more sweet) still chaunt when day is done;
And some the night wind witch with amorous sighs:
Only the swan is mute—until it dies.
Of Love may droop, or soil its radiant wings:
Perhaps a—something it may chance inherit
Of what is around:—and yet the bird that sings
In prison learneth a melodious strain,
And often its sweetest song is born of pain.
So, in the land of sorrows, Love may shine,
Thro' clouds—thro' tears perhaps, yet still divine,
Divine as beauty—as the light of truth,
And fed with passion and immortal youth,
And music, like some white enchanted bird
In old times on Arabian waters heard.
Oh! then Imagination was a God,
And on the world with radiant steps he trod,
And every leaf he touched, and every hue
He glanced on became bright, and all was true:
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Still in the shadowy woods and haunted springs:
And birds at break of morn still wake the sun,
And some (more sweet) still chaunt when day is done;
And some the night wind witch with amorous sighs:
Only the swan is mute—until it dies.
—No more—no more—no more.
The hour of dream is o'er;
And troubles of the world bloom out anew;
But youth—and sunny day—
And beauty—where are they?—
The earth has lost its green; the sky its blue.
The hour of dream is o'er;
And troubles of the world bloom out anew;
But youth—and sunny day—
And beauty—where are they?—
The earth has lost its green; the sky its blue.
No more with pastoral pipe
Shall I, when the year is ripe,
(Falling in golden showers, and odorous drops
Red as the ruby's light)
Solace the pale twilight:—
Alas! the melancholy music stops.
Shall I, when the year is ripe,
(Falling in golden showers, and odorous drops
Red as the ruby's light)
Solace the pale twilight:—
Alas! the melancholy music stops.
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In vain the reed is blown:
No sorrows save her own,
The watery Syrinx will allow to rise;
But,—as tho' Pan still woo'd,
And she again (pursued)
Fled o'er the amorous shallows,—so she sighs.
No sorrows save her own,
The watery Syrinx will allow to rise;
But,—as tho' Pan still woo'd,
And she again (pursued)
Fled o'er the amorous shallows,—so she sighs.
She sighs—like winds at eve,
Like lovers' tongues that grieve,
Like tones—oh! never to be heard again,
Like voices from the sea
Where the sea-maids be,
Like aught of pleasure with a touch of pain.
Like lovers' tongues that grieve,
Like tones—oh! never to be heard again,
Like voices from the sea
Where the sea-maids be,
Like aught of pleasure with a touch of pain.
A more melodious tune
Never beneath the moon
Was uttered, since the Delphian girls were young,
And the chaste Dian, bright
With beauty and delight,
Lay listening on the mountains, while they sung.
Never beneath the moon
Was uttered, since the Delphian girls were young,
And the chaste Dian, bright
With beauty and delight,
Lay listening on the mountains, while they sung.
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A more entrancing song
Was never borne along
The ethereal sky, when at gray opening morn
The fiery horses rise,
Like victors from the skies,
Trampling the stars away till day is born.—
Was never borne along
The ethereal sky, when at gray opening morn
The fiery horses rise,
Like victors from the skies,
Trampling the stars away till day is born.—
—Alas!—no more may I,
Pale Syrinx, sigh for sigh
Give thee:—Complaining not my song I cease.—
—A spirit came and led
My soul amongst the dead,
And vanish'd. What is left,—but silence—peace?—
Pale Syrinx, sigh for sigh
Give thee:—Complaining not my song I cease.—
—A spirit came and led
My soul amongst the dead,
And vanish'd. What is left,—but silence—peace?—
| The Flood of Thessaly | |