Classic Poem

Suddenly from out the darkness
Sprang the Moon, and thro' the trembling
Pools of azure softly swimming
Flooded Heaven with rippling rays.

Well I knew the Naked Goddess!
Many a midnight, there in London,
She had witch'd my sense with wonder,
Stirr'd my soul to pensive dreams!

In her light the Phantoms faded,
While the lonely Heath around me,
Lit as with a ghastly daylight,
Loom'd distinct against the sky. . . .

Even then I saw before me
Something, featured like a mortal,
Sitting silent in the moonlight
On a fallen wither'd tree.

Gnarl'd and knotted like the branches
Seemed his form, yet bent and weary, —
Worn his features were, and wither'd,
And his hair was white as snow.

In his hands he held the paper
He was quietly perusing,
Glancing up at times and gazing
At the City far away.

Startled to perceive a mortal
Sitting in a place so lonely,
Wondering I paused and watch'd him,
And betimes my wonder grew:

Silent, heedless of my presence,
Sat he reading by the moonlight,
Clerically dress'd, bareheaded,
Spectacles upon his nose.

" 'Tis," I thought, " some priest or parson,
Or some layman who, like Mawworm,
Feels " a call to go a-preaching, "
Yet what folly brings him here? "

Nearer then I stole unto him,
Keen to know what he was reading —
When I saw that 'twas the latest
(Pink) edition of the Star .

Still he heeded not my presence,
Till I broke the gloomy silence,
Saying, " Friend, your sight is surely
Wondrous for a wight so old,

" Since by moonlight dim as this is
You can read your evening paper?"
As I spake he gazed upon me,
Smiling, with uplifted eyes.

" Yes," he said, benignly nodding,
" I am blest with goodly eyesight,
Owing chiefly, like most blessings,
To a strictly moral life.

" In my sanctum, sir, you find me,
After weary hours of labour,
Glancing, to refresh my spirit,
At the doings of the day.

" Never globe of gold or crystal,
Used by any Necromancer,
Flash'd more wonders on the vision
Than the Newspaper I hold!

" Here, epitomis'd and pictured,
We behold the human Pageant, —
All the doings on this planet,
All the stress and strife of men;

" Kings pass by with trains attendant,
Shadowy Armies follow ever,
Ghostly faces glimmer on us, —
Everywhere the Phantoms pass!

" Scenes of wonder and of terror, —
Fields of battle dimly looming,
Cain still slaughtering his brother,
Having cast his Altar down;

" Parliaments in congress gather'd;
Judges on their benches nodding,
While the tedious sleepy trial
Oozes darkly, slowly, on;

" Then, the groups of famish'd creatures
Then, the Pit's Mouth, fiercely flaming,
While the wild-eyed wives and mothers
Clamour round and shriek for aid!

" Of all Miracles the greatest
Is the Newspaper," he added —
" Daily, hourly, adumbrating
All the anarchy of Life!"

" Adumbrating too," I answer'd,
" All life's wonder, all life's beauty —
Telling men of mighty causes,
Solemn issues, glorious deeds!

" Heroes pass across its mirror,
Angel-faces flash before us,
Eyes of countless Saints and Martyrs
Cast upon us looks of love.

" Still the Seer, the Priest, the Poet
Speak of God, and point to Heaven!
Still the Churches stand, proclaiming
Life is more than mere despair."

" Surely!" said the quiet Stranger;
" Here, ev'n here , the Soul is shining;
Still the pious leader-writer
Vaunts the government of God!

" Church and State, sir, Queen and Country,
Party Rule and all its blessings,
Progress, Culture, Loaves and Fishes,
Still are potent in the Land!

" Shibboleths like these are precious
Ev'n though one devours another,
Though the shibboleth of white men
Wrecks the shibboleth of black!

" Yet (you warn me) still the Dreamers
Speak of God and point to Heaven!
Still the spire, like Faith's bright finger,
Points to some far Paradise!

" Meantime, God is busy, bungling,
In the old familiar fashion,
Heedless of the things He crushes
Underneath His clumsy foot!