The fall of Nineveh A poem by Edwin Atherstone. Second edition: diligently corrected, and otherwise improved. In two volumes |
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| 30. | BOOK THE THIRTIETH. |
 | The fall of Nineveh |  |
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BOOK THE THIRTIETH.
But, in the thronged, and roaring streets, meantime,
Direful had been the conflict. By the glare
Of numerous fires, had Death his grim work done:
But, chiefly, in the square of Jupiter,
Fit battle-field for thousands, raged the strife.
Fiercer than tigers fighting for their young,
Assyria's bravest captains, foot by foot,
Drew back, yet scorned to yield. With rage as hot,
The Medes pressed on them.
Direful had been the conflict. By the glare
Of numerous fires, had Death his grim work done:
But, chiefly, in the square of Jupiter,
Fit battle-field for thousands, raged the strife.
Fiercer than tigers fighting for their young,
Assyria's bravest captains, foot by foot,
Drew back, yet scorned to yield. With rage as hot,
The Medes pressed on them.
But their mightiest foe,
Arbaces, in mid battle sheathed his sword:
For pity moved him that, in hopeless cause,
One valiant man should fall. With lifted voice,
Clear as a clarion, urgently and oft,
Upon the hostile leaders did he call,—
Imploring them to yield. Not more in vain
Might the tossed seaman bid the waves be still.
They knew all lost: they knew the stern decree,
Death to the king denouncing; and with him,
Resolute stood to die,—but, dying, slay.
Arbaces, in mid battle sheathed his sword:
For pity moved him that, in hopeless cause,
One valiant man should fall. With lifted voice,
Clear as a clarion, urgently and oft,
Upon the hostile leaders did he call,—
Imploring them to yield. Not more in vain
Might the tossed seaman bid the waves be still.
They knew all lost: they knew the stern decree,
Death to the king denouncing; and with him,
Resolute stood to die,—but, dying, slay.
Nought knew they of the palace then in flames:
A broader, redder light, for brief time glowed;
But that they heeded not: the fatal hail,
In solitary bolts, shot here and there;
But that they saw not; where so many fell,
None marked the weapon.
A broader, redder light, for brief time glowed;
But that they heeded not: the fatal hail,
In solitary bolts, shot here and there;
But that they saw not; where so many fell,
None marked the weapon.
But, by swift degrees,
The air 'gan thicken: the red glow of fires
Was blotted out: a midnight darkness, soon,
Shut out their foes. Thicker, and thicker still,
It gathered round them; pressed upon their flesh,
Like a wrapped mantle. No man his own hand
Uplifted, now could see. Perforce all stood,
Astonished, motionless: nor sound was heard,
Save, soft and muffled,—as of chariot wheels
Amid deep snow,—the roar and crack of fires.
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Was blotted out: a midnight darkness, soon,
Shut out their foes. Thicker, and thicker still,
It gathered round them; pressed upon their flesh,
Like a wrapped mantle. No man his own hand
Uplifted, now could see. Perforce all stood,
Astonished, motionless: nor sound was heard,
Save, soft and muffled,—as of chariot wheels
Amid deep snow,—the roar and crack of fires.
But, in that hush, erelong, like stroke of spear,
Or brazen dart, at lessening intervals,
Upon their armour rang the hailstone's blow.
At every stroke, a smothered cry was heard,
A struggle, and a fall. As fell each bolt,
Above them in the air a sound was heard,
As of an arrow-cloud; yet no man guessed
Whence came the invisible mischief.
Or brazen dart, at lessening intervals,
Upon their armour rang the hailstone's blow.
At every stroke, a smothered cry was heard,
A struggle, and a fall. As fell each bolt,
Above them in the air a sound was heard,
As of an arrow-cloud; yet no man guessed
Whence came the invisible mischief.
But, erelong,
The fearful truth all knew. Like thunder-drops,
Singly descending, first, and wide apart,
But, speedily, in cataracts, out-poured,—
Came down at length, in torrent-flood, the hail.
Wild cries from thousands rose; yet, such the din,
No man his own uplifted voice could hear.
As though upon a myriad anvils clanged
A myriad ponderous hammers,—on the roofs,
The stony pavement, and the armour, rang
So loud the awful hail.
The fearful truth all knew. Like thunder-drops,
Singly descending, first, and wide apart,
But, speedily, in cataracts, out-poured,—
Came down at length, in torrent-flood, the hail.
Wild cries from thousands rose; yet, such the din,
No man his own uplifted voice could hear.
As though upon a myriad anvils clanged
A myriad ponderous hammers,—on the roofs,
The stony pavement, and the armour, rang
So loud the awful hail.
Beneath their shields
The soldiers cowered: yet even the strongest fell.
The Median archers, in light armour fenced,
And shieldless, all had perished 'neath the weight
Of that dread battery, but that, far behind,
Nigh to the breach, for closer fight unfit,—
Thus ordered,—they had stayed, and refuge found.
The soldiers cowered: yet even the strongest fell.
The Median archers, in light armour fenced,
And shieldless, all had perished 'neath the weight
Of that dread battery, but that, far behind,
Nigh to the breach, for closer fight unfit,—
Thus ordered,—they had stayed, and refuge found.
Of the Assyrians also, the unarmed,
Or lightly fended, at the first dread frown
Of that strange darkness, all had shelter sought
So life preserved; for even the helmed head
Was smitten to the death; the battered shield
Driven with the strong man flat upon the ground:
Rider, and mail-clad horse, reeled to and fro,
Then sank together. Whomso smote the hail,
Sorely it wounded, even if death he 'scaped.
Or lightly fended, at the first dread frown
Of that strange darkness, all had shelter sought
So life preserved; for even the helmed head
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Driven with the strong man flat upon the ground:
Rider, and mail-clad horse, reeled to and fro,
Then sank together. Whomso smote the hail,
Sorely it wounded, even if death he 'scaped.
And, haply, all on whom its fury fell
At length had perished, but that, as it came,
Even so the Terror passed. First harbinger
Of change at hand,—midst of both armies fell
A thunderbolt, that, in a thousand streams
Of dazzling fire, amid the hailstones flashed;
Then left a thicker darkness. Who stood nigh,
Were blinded by the glare; and many slain:
But, through that Stygian night, to the eye remote,
Even the sky-kindling bolt of Jupiter,
Seemed but as torch's glimmer. With the shaft,
Came the deep peal on peal; but thick, and hoarse,
As by the black air muffled. Still again
The lightning smote; again the thunder spake;
Again, and yet again; each bolt more bright,
Each thunder-roll more loud and terrible.
Like a retreating lion, the dread hail
Its fury stayed, and surlily drew off.
The slumbering wind awakened; and the pall
Of solid blackness, slowly 'gan to move.
At length had perished, but that, as it came,
Even so the Terror passed. First harbinger
Of change at hand,—midst of both armies fell
A thunderbolt, that, in a thousand streams
Of dazzling fire, amid the hailstones flashed;
Then left a thicker darkness. Who stood nigh,
Were blinded by the glare; and many slain:
But, through that Stygian night, to the eye remote,
Even the sky-kindling bolt of Jupiter,
Seemed but as torch's glimmer. With the shaft,
Came the deep peal on peal; but thick, and hoarse,
As by the black air muffled. Still again
The lightning smote; again the thunder spake;
Again, and yet again; each bolt more bright,
Each thunder-roll more loud and terrible.
Like a retreating lion, the dread hail
Its fury stayed, and surlily drew off.
The slumbering wind awakened; and the pall
Of solid blackness, slowly 'gan to move.
The ice-strewed ground now flamed and glittered bright
To the incessant lightnings. Then was seen
The wreck of that dire tempest: steeds, and men,
Stretched numerous on the earth; some, stiff in death;
Some, wounded, and yet struggling to arise;
Helms sorely battered; lighter shields burst through;
The strongest beaten in, as by the blow
Of ponderous stones.
To the incessant lightnings. Then was seen
The wreck of that dire tempest: steeds, and men,
Stretched numerous on the earth; some, stiff in death;
Some, wounded, and yet struggling to arise;
Helms sorely battered; lighter shields burst through;
The strongest beaten in, as by the blow
Of ponderous stones.
Awhile, o'er both hosts hung
A stupor, like to that of shipwrecked men
Just rescued from the waves, and doubtful yet
If dreaming, or awake. But still, as passed
The blackness off, more bright and red appeared
The glow of fires around, and from above,—
As from a furnace roof reflected down,—
More loud and fearful was their roaring heard.
A stupor, like to that of shipwrecked men
Just rescued from the waves, and doubtful yet
If dreaming, or awake. But still, as passed
The blackness off, more bright and red appeared
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As from a furnace roof reflected down,—
More loud and fearful was their roaring heard.
As, at the early morn, the growing light,
And sounds without, from his deep slumber stir
The dreamer, till his senses all are roused,—
So, from their waking dream, the din and glare
Of conflagration, and the sights of woe,
And havoc, moved at length the astonished hosts.
Foe looked on foe, yet not an arm was stirred:
Wrath was extinguished; or the might of man,
The pomp, and noise, and fury of his war,
So poor appeared, when heaven's artillery
But just had ceased. The very hand of God
Seemed to have hung in anger over them!
To have hurled direct that supernatural hail,
And shot the fiery bolts! His threatening voice
Had spoken thunder; and his frown of wrath
Sent down thick darkness! So both hosts awhile,
Mute and unmoving stood.
And sounds without, from his deep slumber stir
The dreamer, till his senses all are roused,—
So, from their waking dream, the din and glare
Of conflagration, and the sights of woe,
And havoc, moved at length the astonished hosts.
Foe looked on foe, yet not an arm was stirred:
Wrath was extinguished; or the might of man,
The pomp, and noise, and fury of his war,
So poor appeared, when heaven's artillery
But just had ceased. The very hand of God
Seemed to have hung in anger over them!
To have hurled direct that supernatural hail,
And shot the fiery bolts! His threatening voice
Had spoken thunder; and his frown of wrath
Sent down thick darkness! So both hosts awhile,
Mute and unmoving stood.
At length, alone,
His shield, sword, spear, and battle-axe laid down;
His head unhelmed, his hands in friendly guise
Extended toward his foes,—Arbaces walked,
And stood before them. Silent, for a time,
And motionless, he stood: with calm tone then,—
Not as a victor, but as one who sues
For but strict justice, equal unto all,—
Thus spake. “Ah! wherefore should we longer strive
In wasteful battle! Glory is it none,
To tread out life: the form divine of man,
Of living, breathing, feeling, thinking man,
To change into a clod, a loathsome clod,
More vile than common clay! Could we create
From the dull earth, one living, sentient thing,
Though humblest far of all that breathe and move,—
That were indeed true glory. To destroy,
Is but the act of the unreasoning brute,
Urged by a blind, fierce instinct: to preserve,
Is attribute of deity. And, see,—
If still ye think of war and glory joined,—
How pitiful the boasted might of man;
His sword, spear, helmet, shield, and armour bright;
His war-horse, and his chariot! There they lie,
The strong, and weak, alike! Who smote them down?
What more than mortal warrior, in the pomp
And splendor of the battle; with an arm
Strong as of banded giants; clothed in mail
Brilliant as sunshine, hard as adamant;
His eye of lightning, thunder his dread voice,—
Who strewed the ground with dead? Alack! alack!
The hailstone, that scarce hurts the butterfly,
A little larger moulded, crushes man;
Strong, valiant, boastful, glory-loving man!
Such, through the simplest means, the power of God!
His shield, sword, spear, and battle-axe laid down;
His head unhelmed, his hands in friendly guise
Extended toward his foes,—Arbaces walked,
And stood before them. Silent, for a time,
And motionless, he stood: with calm tone then,—
Not as a victor, but as one who sues
For but strict justice, equal unto all,—
Thus spake. “Ah! wherefore should we longer strive
In wasteful battle! Glory is it none,
To tread out life: the form divine of man,
Of living, breathing, feeling, thinking man,
To change into a clod, a loathsome clod,
More vile than common clay! Could we create
From the dull earth, one living, sentient thing,
Though humblest far of all that breathe and move,—
That were indeed true glory. To destroy,
Is but the act of the unreasoning brute,
Urged by a blind, fierce instinct: to preserve,
Is attribute of deity. And, see,—
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How pitiful the boasted might of man;
His sword, spear, helmet, shield, and armour bright;
His war-horse, and his chariot! There they lie,
The strong, and weak, alike! Who smote them down?
What more than mortal warrior, in the pomp
And splendor of the battle; with an arm
Strong as of banded giants; clothed in mail
Brilliant as sunshine, hard as adamant;
His eye of lightning, thunder his dread voice,—
Who strewed the ground with dead? Alack! alack!
The hailstone, that scarce hurts the butterfly,
A little larger moulded, crushes man;
Strong, valiant, boastful, glory-loving man!
Such, through the simplest means, the power of God!
“Herein may we not read the will of heaven
That our poor war should end? Oh! be it so!
Hard strife hath made us victors; and the terms
Of peace ye know. Plain justice must be done:
No more we ask, though powerful all to take.
Then answer me; and let this night be peace,
Firm peace betwixt us; now, and evermore.”
That our poor war should end? Oh! be it so!
Hard strife hath made us victors; and the terms
Of peace ye know. Plain justice must be done:
No more we ask, though powerful all to take.
Then answer me; and let this night be peace,
Firm peace betwixt us; now, and evermore.”
He paused; and turned his eye from chief to chief,
Expectant of reply. Awhile none spake.
At length, before the rest stepped Jerimoth;
And, with drooped head, and reverential look,
Like one before some higher nature bowed,
Sadly thus spake. “Arbaces, thy great soul
More than thy valour conquers. For myself,
Death, rather than dishonor, would I meet:
And, with but ten resolvëd men, would stand
In arms to oppose, if still thy stern award
To the last link of our long chain of kings
Be ruthless as at first. But I have looked
From face to face among my boldest friends,
And all are vanquished. Let me then depart,
That mine eyes see not that which must be done;
Lest madness seize me, and I do a deed
To shame myself, and all!”
Expectant of reply. Awhile none spake.
At length, before the rest stepped Jerimoth;
And, with drooped head, and reverential look,
Like one before some higher nature bowed,
Sadly thus spake. “Arbaces, thy great soul
More than thy valour conquers. For myself,
Death, rather than dishonor, would I meet:
And, with but ten resolvëd men, would stand
In arms to oppose, if still thy stern award
To the last link of our long chain of kings
Be ruthless as at first. But I have looked
From face to face among my boldest friends,
And all are vanquished. Let me then depart,
That mine eyes see not that which must be done;
Lest madness seize me, and I do a deed
To shame myself, and all!”
While thus he spake,
Voices in lamentation loud were heard,
From distance coming: and Nebaioth soon,
Sennacherib, and many valiant chiefs,
By wailing thousands followed, toward them walked.
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From distance coming: and Nebaioth soon,
Sennacherib, and many valiant chiefs,
By wailing thousands followed, toward them walked.
With head upon the breast, face horror-struck,
Advancing from the rest, the leaders came,
And 'twixt the hosts stood silent. For a time,
None questioned them: so did a secret awe
Of some enormous evil freeze their blood.
Advancing from the rest, the leaders came,
And 'twixt the hosts stood silent. For a time,
None questioned them: so did a secret awe
Of some enormous evil freeze their blood.
At length Arbaces thus: “Nebaioth, speak:
We ask for peace: thy message, if aright
Thy looks I read, more eloquently far
Than subtlest tongue of orator, will move
Your hearts to give it. The great cause of strife
Hath been removed: Assyria's king hath fallen:
Bravely, at last, in battle hath he fallen:
Haply so best; for him; perchance for all!
Answer Nebaioth; have I read aright!”
We ask for peace: thy message, if aright
Thy looks I read, more eloquently far
Than subtlest tongue of orator, will move
Your hearts to give it. The great cause of strife
Hath been removed: Assyria's king hath fallen:
Bravely, at last, in battle hath he fallen:
Haply so best; for him; perchance for all!
Answer Nebaioth; have I read aright!”
Dropping his spear and shield upon the ground,
Nebaioth covered with both hands his face,
Bowed down his head, and wept. “Alas! alas!”
Burst forth at length; “the king indeed hath fallen!
Yet not in battle: fearfully hath fallen!
Boldly, but madly fallen! With him, too,—
Horror on horror!—have his beauteous dames,
His harmless minstrels, perished! His own hand
The palace fired! The music of the dance
Mixed with the death-shriek! All is lost! all! all!
Assyria is no more!” By grief convulsed,
Again he bowed; with both hands hid his face;
And wept out bitterly. As some loved friend
He mourned for, even Arbaces drooped the head,
And heaved the heart-wrung sigh.
Nebaioth covered with both hands his face,
Bowed down his head, and wept. “Alas! alas!”
Burst forth at length; “the king indeed hath fallen!
Yet not in battle: fearfully hath fallen!
Boldly, but madly fallen! With him, too,—
Horror on horror!—have his beauteous dames,
His harmless minstrels, perished! His own hand
The palace fired! The music of the dance
Mixed with the death-shriek! All is lost! all! all!
Assyria is no more!” By grief convulsed,
Again he bowed; with both hands hid his face;
And wept out bitterly. As some loved friend
He mourned for, even Arbaces drooped the head,
And heaved the heart-wrung sigh.
But Jerimoth,
The first recovering, silence broke at length.
Standing before the Mede, from his own head
The helm he took, the sword from off his loins,
And placed them on the earth: then, at the feet
Of his great adversary kneeling, said,
And loud that all might hear; “Arbaces, thou
Thy last and fellest foe hast overcome.
Thine arm in fight was terrible; thy soul
In peace is mightier far: 'gainst that I warred,
To this I bow. Assyria's king hath fallen;
But still Assyria lives; and gloriously
Yet long shall live; for, surely, on thy head
The gods will place her crown; to thy just hands,
Her sceptre will they give. Then, as the last
In arms to oppose, the first be I to bend,
And hail thee king.
The first recovering, silence broke at length.
Standing before the Mede, from his own head
The helm he took, the sword from off his loins,
And placed them on the earth: then, at the feet
Of his great adversary kneeling, said,
And loud that all might hear; “Arbaces, thou
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Thine arm in fight was terrible; thy soul
In peace is mightier far: 'gainst that I warred,
To this I bow. Assyria's king hath fallen;
But still Assyria lives; and gloriously
Yet long shall live; for, surely, on thy head
The gods will place her crown; to thy just hands,
Her sceptre will they give. Then, as the last
In arms to oppose, the first be I to bend,
And hail thee king.
“Brethren in arms,” he cried,
Uprising to his feet, and with strong voice
The Assyrian chiefs addressing, “War is o'er!
The gods, all-wise, all-powerful, have decreed
The fall of this great city: to our foes,—
But foes no longer,—have resistless might
Given to subdue us: nay, with their own hands,
Have sped our downfall: deluge, earthquake, fire,
Have sent against us: and our king, the last,
With madness smitten, that his own life, he,
With his own hand hath taken! Vanquished thus,
What common foe would not exult, and scoff,
And grind us to the earth; and, of our men,
Make slaves; and, of our women, concubines;
And, of our city, lairs for beasts of prey!
But our great victor, godlike in his might,
And his high soul, doth, even at the last,
Ask peace, when, with a word, he might let loose
Utter destruction! Strongest to o'ercome,
The strongest he to save; and this great realm
In glory yet uphold. Cry, then, so loud,
That the great voice may reach the heaven-throned gods,
‘Long live Arbaces! king of kings, long live!’”
Uprising to his feet, and with strong voice
The Assyrian chiefs addressing, “War is o'er!
The gods, all-wise, all-powerful, have decreed
The fall of this great city: to our foes,—
But foes no longer,—have resistless might
Given to subdue us: nay, with their own hands,
Have sped our downfall: deluge, earthquake, fire,
Have sent against us: and our king, the last,
With madness smitten, that his own life, he,
With his own hand hath taken! Vanquished thus,
What common foe would not exult, and scoff,
And grind us to the earth; and, of our men,
Make slaves; and, of our women, concubines;
And, of our city, lairs for beasts of prey!
But our great victor, godlike in his might,
And his high soul, doth, even at the last,
Ask peace, when, with a word, he might let loose
Utter destruction! Strongest to o'ercome,
The strongest he to save; and this great realm
In glory yet uphold. Cry, then, so loud,
That the great voice may reach the heaven-throned gods,
‘Long live Arbaces! king of kings, long live!’”
His ardent tone and look, in every heart
Like fervor waked: as with one voice, cried out
The Assyrian chiefs, “Long live Arbaces, king!
King of Assyria; king of kings, long live!”
Like fervor waked: as with one voice, cried out
The Assyrian chiefs, “Long live Arbaces, king!
King of Assyria; king of kings, long live!”
The soldiers from their leaders caught the word,
And onward sent it. Peal on peal it rose:
From street to street, from wall to wall, it ran
Throughout the fated city.
And onward sent it. Peal on peal it rose:
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Throughout the fated city.
Yet the Medes,
Nigh to Arbaces, joined not in the cry;
For he his hand uplift, admonishing.
But, when the Assyrian leaders now were still;
And when, in token of allegiance, all
Had bared the head, and bent upon the knee,
Thus briefly spake he to them.
Nigh to Arbaces, joined not in the cry;
For he his hand uplift, admonishing.
But, when the Assyrian leaders now were still;
And when, in token of allegiance, all
Had bared the head, and bent upon the knee,
Thus briefly spake he to them.
“Rise, my friends,—
That posture to the gods.—Arise, arise.
Yet not the less I thank you; thank you most
That blood shall cease to flow.
That posture to the gods.—Arise, arise.
Yet not the less I thank you; thank you most
That blood shall cease to flow.
“But now no time,
Even with consent of all who have the voice,
For dealing crown and sceptre. To a day
More calm, and greater leisure, be it left.
Action demands us now; and every hand
Must labor at the work; for fiercely rage
Fires numerous through the city; and best aid
May be too late to quench them. Let the chiefs
Of every country gather instantly
Their soldiers round them; and, in ordered bands,
Toil unrelaxing. Neither day, nor night,
Must there be pause. Meantime, that all may know,
Let heralds of each nation go with speed
Throughout the city; and make full proclaim,
That war is ended; and that every man,
In every man, must henceforth hail a friend.”
Even with consent of all who have the voice,
For dealing crown and sceptre. To a day
More calm, and greater leisure, be it left.
Action demands us now; and every hand
Must labor at the work; for fiercely rage
Fires numerous through the city; and best aid
May be too late to quench them. Let the chiefs
Of every country gather instantly
Their soldiers round them; and, in ordered bands,
Toil unrelaxing. Neither day, nor night,
Must there be pause. Meantime, that all may know,
Let heralds of each nation go with speed
Throughout the city; and make full proclaim,
That war is ended; and that every man,
In every man, must henceforth hail a friend.”
Three days, two nights, the labor was pursued:
For food, or rest, was intermission scant.
The out-worn briefly slept, while toiled the strong;
Then rose, and took their place; while those, for sleep,
An hour perchance, retired; and woke again,
Again in vain to toil: for still the flames,
In one part quenched, as if with doubled rage
Striving for mastery, in another burst;
Roaring triumphant; and their myriad flags
Shaking in mockery.
For food, or rest, was intermission scant.
The out-worn briefly slept, while toiled the strong;
Then rose, and took their place; while those, for sleep,
An hour perchance, retired; and woke again,
Again in vain to toil: for still the flames,
In one part quenched, as if with doubled rage
Striving for mastery, in another burst;
Roaring triumphant; and their myriad flags
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Throughout all that time,
With eyes that never closed, from place to place,—
As chief directing, now,—with his own hand
Now, as a peasant toiling;—warning, now,—
And, now, encouraging,—Arbaces went;
And with him victory. But the flames, subdued
Before him, still behind him burst anew;
Nor, save a flood from heaven, might aught avail
To stop the fiery plague. Like brethren, strove
The soldiers, and the chiefs, so lately foes,
Each, in bold act and vigour, to outdo
His daring comrade.
With eyes that never closed, from place to place,—
As chief directing, now,—with his own hand
Now, as a peasant toiling;—warning, now,—
And, now, encouraging,—Arbaces went;
And with him victory. But the flames, subdued
Before him, still behind him burst anew;
Nor, save a flood from heaven, might aught avail
To stop the fiery plague. Like brethren, strove
The soldiers, and the chiefs, so lately foes,
Each, in bold act and vigour, to outdo
His daring comrade.
One man only, stood
Inactive, unapproving,—the dark priest
Belesis. He, the hand direct of heaven
Beheld, the solemn doom accomplishing
Of that proud city: and but smiled, in scorn
Of man's poor hope to stay it.
Inactive, unapproving,—the dark priest
Belesis. He, the hand direct of heaven
Beheld, the solemn doom accomplishing
Of that proud city: and but smiled, in scorn
Of man's poor hope to stay it.
To the camp,
The women, children, all the sick, the aged,
The feeble,—on the first day had been sent:
The treasures also, gold, and precious stones,
And costly merchandise,—a sumless store,—
Had been borne forth: and, as the fires increased,
With utter ruin threatening,—household goods,
Apparel for the wealthy, and the poor;
Oxen, and sheep, and goats; corn, oil, and wine,
A twelvemonth's full provision; priestly robes,
Ashres, and cherubim; the altars rich;
The images, in silver and in gold;—
All which the hand of man might bear away,
Had to the camp been taken.
The women, children, all the sick, the aged,
The feeble,—on the first day had been sent:
The treasures also, gold, and precious stones,
And costly merchandise,—a sumless store,—
Had been borne forth: and, as the fires increased,
With utter ruin threatening,—household goods,
Apparel for the wealthy, and the poor;
Oxen, and sheep, and goats; corn, oil, and wine,
A twelvemonth's full provision; priestly robes,
Ashres, and cherubim; the altars rich;
The images, in silver and in gold;—
All which the hand of man might bear away,
Had to the camp been taken.
The third night,
Arbaces to the mound of Ninus climbed;
That over all the city he might look,
And mark if much the Fury had been stayed;
Or if all hope were vain.
Arbaces to the mound of Ninus climbed;
That over all the city he might look,
And mark if much the Fury had been stayed;
Or if all hope were vain.
Descending quick,
A hurried council with the chiefs at hand
He called, and briefly thus.
A hurried council with the chiefs at hand
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“Alas! my friends,
Our toil is lost! the gods assist us not!
The lowering clouds, three days did promise rain;
The winds all slumbered; and no idle hope
Upheld us, that heaven's fountains once again
Might open, and give forth a second flood,
To stay this burning: but, since set the sun,
Hath come a perilous change! In one dense mass,
The cloud-sea hath moved off, and left clear sky,
And flashing starlight: token that the winds
In earnest have awakened. Not as yet
Their breath is felt below: but, on the mound
Of Ninus, the high branches give a sound
Of wailing; and along the horizon's marge,
Rugged, and black, the storm-clouds lift their heads.
Not surer follows light upon the sun,
Than on such signs the tempest. 'Mid these fires
Whomso the blast shall find,—him will it leave
Graved there; or whirl in ashes on its wings.
Labor then useless, danger imminent,
I urge that all, through nearest gates, should speed
To leave the city; every living thing;
From man, unto the lowest that draws breath.
Should the relenting gods their purpose change;
Hold back the winds, and let heaven's flood-gates loose,
We still shall be at hand; still prompt to act;
And stronger for brief rest.”
Our toil is lost! the gods assist us not!
The lowering clouds, three days did promise rain;
The winds all slumbered; and no idle hope
Upheld us, that heaven's fountains once again
Might open, and give forth a second flood,
To stay this burning: but, since set the sun,
Hath come a perilous change! In one dense mass,
The cloud-sea hath moved off, and left clear sky,
And flashing starlight: token that the winds
In earnest have awakened. Not as yet
Their breath is felt below: but, on the mound
Of Ninus, the high branches give a sound
Of wailing; and along the horizon's marge,
Rugged, and black, the storm-clouds lift their heads.
Not surer follows light upon the sun,
Than on such signs the tempest. 'Mid these fires
Whomso the blast shall find,—him will it leave
Graved there; or whirl in ashes on its wings.
Labor then useless, danger imminent,
I urge that all, through nearest gates, should speed
To leave the city; every living thing;
From man, unto the lowest that draws breath.
Should the relenting gods their purpose change;
Hold back the winds, and let heaven's flood-gates loose,
We still shall be at hand; still prompt to act;
And stronger for brief rest.”
The outworn chiefs
With voice unanimous his words approved;
And hastily dispersed. From wall to wall,
Throughout the city, trumpets quickly spake
The appointed signal: and, like flooded streams,
Through every gate the affrighted myriads ran.
With voice unanimous his words approved;
And hastily dispersed. From wall to wall,
Throughout the city, trumpets quickly spake
The appointed signal: and, like flooded streams,
Through every gate the affrighted myriads ran.
Safe distance gained at length, the multitudes,
Panting and trembling, stopped, and turned to gaze.
Panting and trembling, stopped, and turned to gaze.
As yet was calm portentous: man on man,
Looked awe-struck, silent, marvelling what should come.
Straight upward from the city rose the flames;
Thick wreaths of smoke, like a huge blood-stained pall,
Above them heavily hanging.
Looked awe-struck, silent, marvelling what should come.
Straight upward from the city rose the flames;
Thick wreaths of smoke, like a huge blood-stained pall,
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But not long
Endured that stillness,—the tornado's crouch,
Before its deadly spring. In the western sky
A dark cloud rose; and every instant waxed
Huger, and blacker. As within it fought
Legions of fiery fiends,—anon it gleamed
With inward lightnings, dense as arrow-showers
In mortal battle. Nearer as it drew,—
Thick as the snaky hairs on Gorgon's head,
On every side out leaped the forkëd flames;
Some spent in air; some in the heart of earth
Plunging to kindred fires. Yet still stirred not
One breath of wind; the flames still upward soared.
But well the signs were known; and to the earth
Fell down the multitudes: so best to abide
The coming of the Terror.
Endured that stillness,—the tornado's crouch,
Before its deadly spring. In the western sky
A dark cloud rose; and every instant waxed
Huger, and blacker. As within it fought
Legions of fiery fiends,—anon it gleamed
With inward lightnings, dense as arrow-showers
In mortal battle. Nearer as it drew,—
Thick as the snaky hairs on Gorgon's head,
On every side out leaped the forkëd flames;
Some spent in air; some in the heart of earth
Plunging to kindred fires. Yet still stirred not
One breath of wind; the flames still upward soared.
But well the signs were known; and to the earth
Fell down the multitudes: so best to abide
The coming of the Terror.
A loud blare
Of thunder's trumpet told its coming on:
And, in a moment,—as, from prow to stern,
A great wave sweeps the ship,—o'er all the plain,—
Crushing the thunder 'neath its avalanche roar,—
At once the enormous hurricane-billow swept.
Of thunder's trumpet told its coming on:
And, in a moment,—as, from prow to stern,
A great wave sweeps the ship,—o'er all the plain,—
Crushing the thunder 'neath its avalanche roar,—
At once the enormous hurricane-billow swept.
So hard it struck that, like one monstrous torch,
The darkened city might have seemed blown out.
But, like an active wrestler, after fall,
Upspringing to his feet,—again the flames
Leaped up to battle. Staggering they appeared
Beneath the onset. Back they sank, and rose,
And sank, and rose again: but fiercer still
With every instant waxing. Not such roar
Goes up from storm-lashed ocean, 'gainst the rocks
Shattered to mist, as from that fiery lake,
Writhing and racked by the mad hurricane.
The darkened city might have seemed blown out.
But, like an active wrestler, after fall,
Upspringing to his feet,—again the flames
Leaped up to battle. Staggering they appeared
Beneath the onset. Back they sank, and rose,
And sank, and rose again: but fiercer still
With every instant waxing. Not such roar
Goes up from storm-lashed ocean, 'gainst the rocks
Shattered to mist, as from that fiery lake,
Writhing and racked by the mad hurricane.
On all sides round the city, myriads lay,
Panting, and trembling: for, from every gate,—
The nighest chosen still,—had crowds poured forth.
Panting, and trembling: for, from every gate,—
The nighest chosen still,—had crowds poured forth.
But they who on the eastern plain reclined,
Not long remained; for, streaming on the blast,
Came choking smoke in clouds; huge flakes of fire;
And scorching heat, as from an oven's mouth,
That headlong drove them, at their swiftest speed,
Trembling, and terrified, and screaming loud,
To 'scape the torturing plague. Yet many fell,
Blown prostrate,—or by fear unnerved and faint;
And in that agony had perished there,
But that the wind, with sudden fitfulness,
Like wild beast on new prey, sprang to and fro;
Now south; now east; north now; and now again
From westward roaring. With each rapid change,
They on whom turned the Fury, shrieking flew:
Oxen ran bellowing; maddened steeds broke loose;
And dogs fled howling.
Not long remained; for, streaming on the blast,
Came choking smoke in clouds; huge flakes of fire;
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That headlong drove them, at their swiftest speed,
Trembling, and terrified, and screaming loud,
To 'scape the torturing plague. Yet many fell,
Blown prostrate,—or by fear unnerved and faint;
And in that agony had perished there,
But that the wind, with sudden fitfulness,
Like wild beast on new prey, sprang to and fro;
Now south; now east; north now; and now again
From westward roaring. With each rapid change,
They on whom turned the Fury, shrieking flew:
Oxen ran bellowing; maddened steeds broke loose;
And dogs fled howling.
Settling, at the last,
Their discord,—as if leagued how best to bring
Swiftest destruction,—in one awful whirl
The winds combined; and round the city tore,
As they would rend it piecemeal; or, as hell
The demons had let loose, earth's fire to urge
To her own ardor.
Their discord,—as if leagued how best to bring
Swiftest destruction,—in one awful whirl
The winds combined; and round the city tore,
As they would rend it piecemeal; or, as hell
The demons had let loose, earth's fire to urge
To her own ardor.
Temple, pinnacle,
Tower, battlement,—whatever highest stood,—
At once was overthrown. Descending then,
Whole streets the blast laid prostrate.
Tower, battlement,—whatever highest stood,—
At once was overthrown. Descending then,
Whole streets the blast laid prostrate.
The huge pile
Of Ninus,—which, for thrice five hundred years,
Unharmed had stood, as though defying Time
To lay his rebel-hand on its great state,—
Proud, and erect, yet held its regal front;
Though, by the whirlwind, and the storm of fire,
All else within the girding walls had sunk,—
But felt, at last, its doom. The century-beat
Of the Time-cycle's mighty pendulum,—
Measuring the dates of empires and of worlds,—
Swept by, and boomed its knell. Shuddering at heart,—
Like some o'erbeetling cliff, on ocean's marge,
Thousands of years by billows undermined,
And worn by storms,—it bent its giant knees;
Bowed its great head; and, death-struck, in a heap
Sank down together!
Of Ninus,—which, for thrice five hundred years,
Unharmed had stood, as though defying Time
To lay his rebel-hand on its great state,—
Proud, and erect, yet held its regal front;
Though, by the whirlwind, and the storm of fire,
All else within the girding walls had sunk,—
But felt, at last, its doom. The century-beat
Of the Time-cycle's mighty pendulum,—
Measuring the dates of empires and of worlds,—
Swept by, and boomed its knell. Shuddering at heart,—
Like some o'erbeetling cliff, on ocean's marge,
Thousands of years by billows undermined,
And worn by storms,—it bent its giant knees;
Bowed its great head; and, death-struck, in a heap
Sank down together!
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As though mad with joy
At that great overthrow,—its viewless arms,
Terrific in their strength, the whirlwind stretched;
And,—over all the city lifting up
The burning ruins,—in one monstrous wheel,
High in the air upbore them. Ponderous stones,
Red-hot; huge blazing timbers, tall as masts,—
In that tremendous vortex, even like straws
On eddying wind were tossed,—like brilliant motes
In sunbeam, fiercely battled: now aloft,
A clear red burning,—now, in waves of smoke,
And fiery driftings, like the dust of hell,
All swallowed up, and lost.
At that great overthrow,—its viewless arms,
Terrific in their strength, the whirlwind stretched;
And,—over all the city lifting up
The burning ruins,—in one monstrous wheel,
High in the air upbore them. Ponderous stones,
Red-hot; huge blazing timbers, tall as masts,—
In that tremendous vortex, even like straws
On eddying wind were tossed,—like brilliant motes
In sunbeam, fiercely battled: now aloft,
A clear red burning,—now, in waves of smoke,
And fiery driftings, like the dust of hell,
All swallowed up, and lost.
The walls alone,
Those Titan walls, deemed lasting as the hills,
Yet stood; the banks of that terrific lake,
Lashed into fire-foam. But their hour was come.
The death-shriek of the whirlwind rose at last;
Strongest in dying. As from the huge throat
Of torn volcano in its agony,
Resounded the dire roaring.
Those Titan walls, deemed lasting as the hills,
Yet stood; the banks of that terrific lake,
Lashed into fire-foam. But their hour was come.
The death-shriek of the whirlwind rose at last;
Strongest in dying. As from the huge throat
Of torn volcano in its agony,
Resounded the dire roaring.
That dread voice
Called up the awaiting Earthquake. He arose
In his deep regions; and the plains and hills
With a sharp tremor shook; for well they knew
His terrible footstep. Gathering up his strength,
He stretched his vast, far-reaching arms, and shook
The solid earth, as winds the deep sea shake,
In long, slow-rolling waves.
Called up the awaiting Earthquake. He arose
In his deep regions; and the plains and hills
With a sharp tremor shook; for well they knew
His terrible footstep. Gathering up his strength,
He stretched his vast, far-reaching arms, and shook
The solid earth, as winds the deep sea shake,
In long, slow-rolling waves.
The enormous walls,
Like a fast-sinking ship, rocked heavily;
Writhing, and twisting, as they knew the hand
Of death had struck them. Like a riven scroll,
From summit to foundation-stone they gaped,
A hundred hideous fissures. Still they stood;
The ruin of a moment, yet so firm
In their vast bulk, that ages long had lived
The ghastly grandeur yet,—but that again
The Earthquake shook; and lo! from north to south,—
Like some gigantic billow, eagle-swift,
Running aslant in thunder and in foam
Along the howling beach,—the eastern wall,
Through all its length rolled inward. To the clouds
Upflew the fiery spray. The surging ground,—
Tossing the burning lake, as it went on,
In waves of fiercer flame,—the western wall,
All that yet stood, next lifted, and cast down.
Like a fast-sinking ship, rocked heavily;
Writhing, and twisting, as they knew the hand
Of death had struck them. Like a riven scroll,
From summit to foundation-stone they gaped,
A hundred hideous fissures. Still they stood;
The ruin of a moment, yet so firm
In their vast bulk, that ages long had lived
The ghastly grandeur yet,—but that again
The Earthquake shook; and lo! from north to south,—
Like some gigantic billow, eagle-swift,
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Along the howling beach,—the eastern wall,
Through all its length rolled inward. To the clouds
Upflew the fiery spray. The surging ground,—
Tossing the burning lake, as it went on,
In waves of fiercer flame,—the western wall,
All that yet stood, next lifted, and cast down.
As though with havoc satiate, rested then
The dread Earthshaker. But his task not yet
Was all accomplished: still, to south, and north,
As in defiance of his power, stood fixed
The cliff-like barriers: he but summoned up,
For the great final overthrow his might.
The dread Earthshaker. But his task not yet
Was all accomplished: still, to south, and north,
As in defiance of his power, stood fixed
The cliff-like barriers: he but summoned up,
For the great final overthrow his might.
By buried thunder heralded, it came.
As he would burst the globe's strong ceiling in,
And to the eye of day the depths disclose
Of the dread realms beneath,—the Demon shook,
And heaved, and smote the ground. No moment stood
Before that shock the walls. Sheer down they went,
With headlong plunge; as if, in mad despair,
To hasten their own doom.
As he would burst the globe's strong ceiling in,
And to the eye of day the depths disclose
Of the dread realms beneath,—the Demon shook,
And heaved, and smote the ground. No moment stood
Before that shock the walls. Sheer down they went,
With headlong plunge; as if, in mad despair,
To hasten their own doom.
The work was done.
The fitful whirlwind, like a bird of prey
Full gorged, soared upwards, bearing on its wings
Dense smoke, and clouds of fire. Far off it flew,
Angrily murmuring; and in distance died.
The earth no more was shaken: save the voice
Of the great conflagration, all was still.
The fitful whirlwind, like a bird of prey
Full gorged, soared upwards, bearing on its wings
Dense smoke, and clouds of fire. Far off it flew,
Angrily murmuring; and in distance died.
The earth no more was shaken: save the voice
Of the great conflagration, all was still.
When, far as eye could pierce, the millions looked,—
No stone upon another seemed to stand!
Where, in the pride of power, and boundless pomp,
Long ages had been throned the Eastern Queen,
Raged now a sea of flame unquenchable!
No stone upon another seemed to stand!
Where, in the pride of power, and boundless pomp,
Long ages had been throned the Eastern Queen,
Raged now a sea of flame unquenchable!
Awe-struck, and sad, the gathered nations gazed;
Then, as one soul had ruled them, turned aside,
Bent down the head, and wept. The crown of earth,
Her glory, and her sunshine, seemed at once
Shattered, and quenched; the brightest star of heaven
Darkened, and fallën!
Then, as one soul had ruled them, turned aside,
Bent down the head, and wept. The crown of earth,
Her glory, and her sunshine, seemed at once
Shattered, and quenched; the brightest star of heaven
Darkened, and fallën!
As through forest vast,
The plaintive moaning of the wintry wind,
Pervading far and wide, through midnight sounds,—
So, from that countless multitude, the voice
Of wailing, and of lamentation deep,
Rose on the stirless air.
The plaintive moaning of the wintry wind,
329
So, from that countless multitude, the voice
Of wailing, and of lamentation deep,
Rose on the stirless air.
One man alone,
Erect, exulting, on the ruin gazed,—
The priest Belesis; for, accomplished now,
The visions and the prophecies of years
He saw before him. On the arm he touched
The sorrowing Mede; and, with an eye of fire,
And countenance of triumph glowing bright,
Pointed, and proudly smiled. Arbaces looked,
Yet breathed no word; but shook the head, and wept.
Erect, exulting, on the ruin gazed,—
The priest Belesis; for, accomplished now,
The visions and the prophecies of years
He saw before him. On the arm he touched
The sorrowing Mede; and, with an eye of fire,
And countenance of triumph glowing bright,
Pointed, and proudly smiled. Arbaces looked,
Yet breathed no word; but shook the head, and wept.
Throughout the night was heard the voice of woe:
None to his fellows, save in whisper, spake:
None from his place removed.
None to his fellows, save in whisper, spake:
None from his place removed.
Day dawned at length;
And then, like mourners who long time have bent
O'er the dark grave, and bid the last farewell,
To needful tasks they went.
And then, like mourners who long time have bent
O'er the dark grave, and bid the last farewell,
To needful tasks they went.
Nine days and nights,
Streamed up the flames; and still the downcast hosts
Lingered to watch, and weep. But, on the morn
Of the tenth day,—toward Babylon, new seat
Of Eastern power, the human sea 'gan flow.
Streamed up the flames; and still the downcast hosts
Lingered to watch, and weep. But, on the morn
Of the tenth day,—toward Babylon, new seat
Of Eastern power, the human sea 'gan flow.
On the broad summits of the southern hills,
At eve the nations camped; still full in view
Of that great burning. But the flames no more
Their hands triumphant lifted. One vast sheet,
As 'twere a lake of molten iron, lay,
Voiceless, and motionless; with glare intense,
Dyeing eve's sober raiment!
At eve the nations camped; still full in view
Of that great burning. But the flames no more
Their hands triumphant lifted. One vast sheet,
As 'twere a lake of molten iron, lay,
Voiceless, and motionless; with glare intense,
Dyeing eve's sober raiment!
At deep night,
Heaven's flood-gates wide were opened; and came down
Heavy, incessant rain. Down, down, straight down
As sinking plummet's line,—the broad, close drops
Unceasingly came down.
Heaven's flood-gates wide were opened; and came down
Heavy, incessant rain. Down, down, straight down
As sinking plummet's line,—the broad, close drops
Unceasingly came down.
Day rose; but dark
As Polar twilight: still was heard no sound,
Save the great boiling of the ponderous flood.
Noon came,—a deep eclipse! yet stirred no man.
Eve passed: and night—a pitchy blackness—fell;
Yet still down, down, the unremitting rain
Poured in thick torrents down!
As Polar twilight: still was heard no sound,
Save the great boiling of the ponderous flood.
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Eve passed: and night—a pitchy blackness—fell;
Yet still down, down, the unremitting rain
Poured in thick torrents down!
Another dawn;
Another noon, and eve,—another night
Of Stygian blackness,—and still ceaselessly,
As from wide-opened fountains in the sky,
The roaring deluge fell.
Another noon, and eve,—another night
Of Stygian blackness,—and still ceaselessly,
As from wide-opened fountains in the sky,
The roaring deluge fell.
On the third morn
Again heaven's flood-gates closed; and, when gray light
Stole o'er the sky,—from their close shelter came
The wearied millions, and looked forth. But lo!
The spacious plain seemed now an inland sea:
In midst thereof,—with one high mound alone
Upstanding yet,—an island, low and dark,
And like a cauldron steaming. Where, so late,
The dwellings of the millions, pleasure-steeped;
Palace, and tower, and temple, battlement,
And rock-like wall, eternal deemed, had stood,—
One huge black waste of smouldering ashes lay!
Again heaven's flood-gates closed; and, when gray light
Stole o'er the sky,—from their close shelter came
The wearied millions, and looked forth. But lo!
The spacious plain seemed now an inland sea:
In midst thereof,—with one high mound alone
Upstanding yet,—an island, low and dark,
And like a cauldron steaming. Where, so late,
The dwellings of the millions, pleasure-steeped;
Palace, and tower, and temple, battlement,
And rock-like wall, eternal deemed, had stood,—
One huge black waste of smouldering ashes lay!
So sank, to endless night, that glorious Nineveh!
| The fall of Nineveh | |