Classic Poem

Shunning human sight, like a thief in the night,
Eleimon made no delay,
But went unto a Pagan's tomb
Beside the public way.
Enclosed with barren elms it stood,
There planted when the dead
Within the last abode of man
Had been deposited.
And thrice ten years those barren trees,
Enjoying light and air,
Had grown and flourish'd, while the dead
In darkness moulder'd there.
Long had they overtopp'd the tomb;
And closed was now that upper room
Where friends were wont to pour,
Upon the honor'd dust below,
Libations through the floor.
There on that unblest monument
The young man took his stand,
And northward he the tablets held
In his uplifted hand.
A courage not his own he felt,
A wicked fortitude,
Wherewith bad influences unseen
That hour his heart endued.
The rising Moon grew pale in heaven,
At that unhappy sight;
And all the blessed Stars seem'd then
To close their twinkling light;
And a shuddering in the elms was heard,
Though winds were still that night.
He call'd the Spirits of the Air,
He call'd them in the name
Of Abibas; and at the call
The attendant Spirits came.
A strong hand, which he could not see,
Took his uplifted hand;
He felt a strong arm circle him,
And lift him from his stand; —
A whirr of unseen wings he heard
About him every where,
Which onward, with a mighty force,
Impell'd him through the air.
Fast through the middle sky and far,
It hurried him along;
The Hurricane is not so swift,
The Torrent not so strong; —
The Lightning travels not so fast,
The Sunbeams not so far;
And now behind him he hath left
The Moon and every Star.
And still, erect as on the tomb
In impious act he stood,
Is he rapt onward — onward — still
In that fix'd attitude.
But as he from the living world
Approach'd where Spirits dwell,
His bearers there in thinner air
Were dimly visible; —
Shapeless, and scarce to be descried
In darkness where they flew;
But still, as they advanced, the more
And more distinct they grew.
And when their way fast-speeding they
Through their own region went,
Then were they in their substance seen,
The angelic form, the fiendish mien,
Face, look, and lineament.
Behold where dawns before them now,
Far off, the boreal ray,
Sole daylight of that frozen zone,
The limit of their way.
In that drear realm of outer night,
Like the shadow, or the ghost of light,
It moved in the restless skies,
And went and came, like a feeble flame
That flickers before it dies.
There the fallen Seraph reign'd supreme
Amid the utter waste;
There, on the everlasting ice,
His dolorous throne was placed.
Son of the Morning! is it then
For this that thou hast given
Thy seat, preiminent among
The hierarchies of Heaven? —
As if dominion here could joy
To blasted pride impart;
Or this cold region slake the fire
Of Hell within the heart!
Thither the Evil Angels bear
The youth, and, rendering homage there
Their service they evince,
And in the name of Abibas
Present him to their Prince:
Just as they seized him when he made
The Sorcerer's mandate known,
In that same act and attitude
They set him before the throne.
The fallen Seraph cast on him
A dark, disdainful look;
And from his raised hand scornfully
The proffer'd tablets took.
" Ay, — love! " he cried. " It serves me well
There was the Trojan boy, —
His love brought forth a ten years' war,
And fired the towers of Troy.
" And when my own Mark Antony
Against young Caesar strove,
And Rome's whole world was set in arms,
The cause was, — all for love!
" Some for ambition sell themselves;
By avarice some are driven;
Pride, envy, hatred, best will move
Some souls; and some for only love
Renounce their hopes of Heaven.
" Yes, of all human follies, love,
Methinks, hath served me best;
The Apple had done but little for me,
If Eve had not done the rest.
" Well then, young Amorist, whom love
Hath brought unto this pass,
I am willing to perform the word
Of my servant Abibas.
" Thy Master's daughter shall be thine,
And with her sire's consent;
And not more to thy heart's desire
Than to her own content.
" Yea, more; — I give thee with the girl,
Thine after-days to bless,
Health, wealth, long life, and whatsoe'er
The world calls happiness.
" But, mark me! — on conditions, youth!
No paltering here we know!
Dost thou here, solemnly, this hour,
Thy hope of Heaven forego?
" Dost thou renounce thy baptism,
And bind thyself to me,
My woful portion to partake
Through all eternity?
" No lurking purpose shall avail,
When youth may fail and courage quail,
To cheat me by contrition!
I will have thee written down among
The children of Perdition.
" Remember, I deceive thee not,
Nor have I tempted thee!
Thou comest of thine own accord,
And actest knowingly.
" Dost thou, who now to choose art tree,
Forever pledge thyself to me?
As I shall help thee, say! " —
" I do; so help me, Satan! " said
The wilful castaway.
" A resolute answer, " quoth the Fiend;
" And now then, Child of Dust,
In further proof of that firm heart,
Thou wilt sign a Bond before we part,
For I take thee not on trust! "
Swift as thought, a scroll and a reed were brought,
And to Eleimon's breast,
Just where the heart-stroke plays, the point
Of the reed was gently press'd.
It pierced not in, nor touch'd the skin;
But the sense that it caused was such,
As when an electric pellet of light
Comes forcibly out at a touch; —
A sense no sooner felt than gone,
But, with that short feeling then
A drop of his heart's blood came forth
And fill'd the fatal pen.
And with that pen accurs'd he sign'd
The execrable scroll,
Whereby he to perdition bound
His miserable soul.
" Eleimon, Eleimon! " then said the Demon,
" The girl shall be thine,
By the tie she holds divine,
Till time that tie shall sever;
And by this writing thou art mine,
Forever, and ever, and ever! "