And thinks the season yet shall come, when Time Will waft him to repose, to deep repose, Far from the unquietness of life-from noise And tumult far-beyond the flying clouds, Beyond the stars, and all this passing scene, Time, Where change shall cease, and time shall be no more. Sweep headlong to destruction; thou, the while, Rear thou aloft thy standard-Spirit, rear When saints shall shout, and Time shall be no more! Of torpor-He has ransom'd them, Forgotten generations live again, Assume the bodily shapes they own'd of old, Yet there is peace for man.— THE CHRISTIAD, A DIVINE POEM. This was the work which the author had most at heart. His riper judgment would probably have perceived that the subject was ill chosen. What is said so well in the Censura Literaria of all Scriptural subjects for narrative poetry, applies peculiarly to this. "Any thing taken from it, leaves the story imperfect; any thing added to it, disgusts and almost shocks us as impious. As Omar said of the Alexandrian Library, we may say of such writings; if they contain only what is in the Scriptures, they are superfluous; if what is not in them, they are false."-It may be added, that the mixture of mythology makes truth itself appear fabulous. There is great power in the execution of this fragment.-In editing these remains, I have, with that decorum which it is to be wished all editors would observe, abstained from informing the reader what he is to admire and what he is not; but I cannot refrain from saying that the two last stanzas greatly affected me, when I discovered them written on the leaf of a different book, and apparently long after the first canto; and greatly shall I be mistaken if they do not affect the reader also.-R. Southey. BOOK I. I. I SING the Cross!-Ye white-robed angel choirs, Of music, such as soothes the saint's last sleep, Awake my slumbering spirit from its dream, And teach me how to exalt the high mysterious theme. II. Mourn! Salem, mourn! low lies thine humbled state, Thy glittering fanes are levell'd with the ground! Fallen is thy pride!-Thine halls are desolate! Where erst was heard the timbrel's sprightly sound, And frolic pleasures tripp'd the nightly round, There breeds the wild fox lonely,—and aghast Stands the mute pilgrim at the void profound, Unbroke by noise, save when the hurrying blast Sighs, like a spirit, deep along the cheerless waste. III. It is for this, proud Solyma! thy towers Lie crumbling in the dust; for this forlorn Thy genius wails along thy desert bowers, While stern Destruction laughs, as if in scorn, That thou didst dare insult God's eldest-born: And with most bitter persecuting ire, Pursued his footsteps till the last day-dawn Rose on his fortunes-and thou saw'st the fire That came to light the world, in one great flash expire. IV. Oh! for a pencil dipt in living light, To hymn the Savior's praise from shore to shore, Spirits of pity! mild crusaders, come! Buoyant on clouds around your minstrel float, Whose mild eyes 'lumined what Isaiah wrote, When from the temple's lofty summit prone, * * Fled the stern king of Hell-and with the glare Of gliding meteors, ominous and red, Shot athwart the clouds that gather'd round his head. VII. Right o'er the Euxine, and that gulf which late His northering course, while round, in dusky state Clothed in dark mists, upon their way they went; Where the North Pole, in moody solitude, Form a gigantic hall, where never sound X. "T was there, yet shuddering from the burning laka The unerring ways of Him whose eye can see XI. Here the stern monarch stay'd his rapid flight, Of their broad vans was hush'd, and o'er the hall. XII. High on a solium of the solid wave, Prankt with rude shapes by the fantastic frost, At length collected, o'er the dark Divan The arch-fiend glanced, as by the Boreal blaze Their downcast brows were seen, and thus began His fierce harangue :-Spirits! our better days Are now elapsed; Moloch and Belial's praise For us is lifted high the avenging rod! XIV. What then!-shall Satan's spirit crouch to fear? Shall he who shook the pillars of God's reign I am his Foe!-Yea, though his pride should deign XV. Now hear the issue of my curst emprize : When from our last sad synod I took flight, Gathering a few stray sticks, I met his sight, XVI. Then thus in homely guise I featly framed That you so far from haunt of mortals stray? Here have I dwelt for many a lingering day, Nor trace of man have seen; but how! methought Thou wert the youth on whom God's holy ray I saw descend in Jordan, when John taught That he to fallen man the saving promise brought." XVII. "I am that man," said Jesus, "I am He! But truce to questions-Canst thou point my feet To some low hut, if haply such there be In this wild labyrinth, where I may meet With homely greeting, and may sit and eat; For forty days I have tarried fasting here, Hid in the dark glens of this lone retreat, And now I hunger; and my fainting ear XXII. Senseless and stunn'd I lay: till, casting round By volant angels; and as sailing slow XXIII. I saw blaspheming. Hate renew'd my strength; Longs much to greet the sound of fountains gushing High o'er the walls of light, rebellion's banners play'd! near." XVIII. Then thus I answer'd wily:- "If, indeed, Son of our God thou be'st, what need to seek For food from men?-Lo! on these flint stones feed, Bid them be bread! Open thy lips and speak, And living rills from yon parch'd rock will break." Instant as I had spoke, his piercing eye Fix'd on my face;-the blood forsook my cheek, Then he rebuked me with the holy word- Bright sparkling in the sunbeams, were descried; XX. "Behold," I cried, "these glories! scenes divine! Oh! leave his temples, shun his wounding ways: XXI. "Is it not written," sternly he replied, "Tempt not the Lord thy God?" Frowning he spake, And instant sounds, as of the ocean tide, Rose, and the whirlwind from its prison brake, And caught me up aloft, till in one flake, The sidelong volley met my swift career, And smote me earthward.-Jove himself might quake At such a fall: my sinews crack'd, and near Obscure and dizzy sounds seem'd ringing in mine ear. XXVIII. which lost us Heaven, that we are inferior to the "This comes," at length burst from the furious chief, Thunder-bearer: In subtlety-in subtlety alone we "This comes of distant counsels! Here behold are his equals. Open war is impossible. The fruits of wily cunning! the relief Which coward policy would fain unfold, To soothe the powers that warr'd with Heaven of old! O wise! O potent! O sagacious snare! And, lo! our prince-the mighty and the bold, There stands he, spell-struck, gaping at the air, While Heaven subverts his reign, and plants her standard there." Ye powers of Hell, I am no coward. I proved this of old. Who led your forces against the armies of Jehovah? Who coped with Ithuriel and the thunders of the Almighty? Who, when stunned and confused ye lay on the burning lake, who first awoke and collected your scattered powers? Lastly, who led you across the unfathomable abyss to this delightful world, and established that reign here which now totters to its base? How, therefore, dares yon treacherous fiend to cast a stain on Satan's bravery? he who preys only on the defenceless-who sucks the blood of infants, and delights only in acts of ignoble cruelty and unequal contention. Away with the boaster who never joins in action, but, like a cormorant, hovers over the field to feed upon the wounded, and overwhelm the dying. True bravery is as remote from rashness as from hesitation; let us counsel coolly, but let us execute our counselled purposes determinately. In power we have learnt, by that experiment Thus we shall pierce our conqueror, through the race Which as himself he loves; thus if we fall, We fall not with the anguish, the disgrace Of falling unrevenged. The stirring call Of vengeance rings within me! Warriors all, The word is vengeance, and the spur despair. Away the coward wiles!-Death's coal-black pall Be now our standard!-Be our torch the glare Him answering rose Mecasphim, who of old, And cinnamon upheap'd the sacred pyre, THE END. |