Book 11: The Valley of Dead Gods -

I woke: the night had fallen — the scene had changed —
And living yet, I wander'd darkly on.

Alone within a Valley lone as death,
Alone tho' all around me shapes like men
Pass'd wailing, and their crying in mine ears
Was as the waves of ocean when they wash
On sunless arctic shores of rock and ice,
I wander'd, and at every step I took
The shadows of the night grew balefuller;
Yet dimly I discern'd on every side
Black mountains rising up to blacker skies,
And hither and thither forked lights that flash'd
O'er gulfs of dread new-riven; and methought
The path I trode was strewn on every side
With tombs of stone and marble sepulchres,
Out of whose darkness look'd the sheeted dead,
Moaning; and oft I paused in act to fall
Into some open grave, and looking down
Saw skulls and bleaching bones and snake-like ghosts
That crawled among them. Then in soul's despair
I call'd aloud on God, and all around
Thunder like hideous laughter answer'd me,
And from the throat of every open grave
Came shrieks and ululation.
Blacker yet
The Valley grew, until in soul's despair
I paused, and, looking upward, saw the heights
Alive with pallid meteors, that like snakes
Crawl'd on the ground, or rose like wan-eyed ghosts
In glimmering shrouds, or plunged into the abyss
And vanish'd; and the wailing all around
Grew thick as clangour of waves that smite each other,
Clash back, and smite again; and suddenly
I saw a blood-red star aloft in heaven
Shoot from its sphere, and fall, and after that
Another and another, till all the air
Was luminous and dreadful, sown with drops
Of flame, like blood! Then, as I upward gazed,
There came a shape in pilgrim's weeds like mine,
Who touch'd my arm and mumbled in mine ear
With voice that seemed faint and far away:
" They fall! they fall! as thick as leaves they fall,
Unpeopling all the starry thrones of heaven.
Rejoice! rejoice!" And when I questioned him
Of that strange Valley where I walk'd in dread,
He answer'd, laughing feebly in his throat,
" The Valley of the shadows of dead gods!
Rejoice! rejoice! the gods are fallen, are fallen!"

Phantom he seem'd where all was phantom-like,
Yet human. As he spoke, those open graves
Echo'd his cheerless laugh, and the white stones
Chatter'd like teeth, and from the heights a voice
Answer'd, " Rejoice — the gods are fallen, are fallen!"
Then, pointing with his hand at that red rain
Which ever fell from heaven, " Behold!" he cried,
" Another and another and another;
Eternity has closed its gates upon them.
Homeless they haunt the void, and fall, and fall!"

Then horror closed upon me like a hand
Clutching mine entrails, while I wander'd on
In darkness visible; and at my back
That greybeard follow'd, wailing, " Fallen, fallen!"
And presently I saw a sheeted form,
Who sat upon a sepulchre, and struck
A harp of gold and sang: golden his hair,
Above a thin face wasted into bone,
And large regretful eyes; and lo! his limbs
Within the open shroud were wasted not
But beautiful as marble, and his arms
As marble too; and round about him danced
Wild ghosts of naked witches in a ring,
Who sang, " Apollo! hail, all hail Apollo!"
Then tore their hair and fell upon the ground
And shriek'd aloud; and overhead the clouds
Were riven and sullen peals of thunder shook
The empty thrones of heaven. Shuddering I pass'd
And came unto a fiery space wherein
Two forms were struggling in a fierce embrace —
One bright and beautiful, one black as night
And winged like an eagle; and around
Monsters, like hideous idols wrought in stone,
Yet living, hover'd, uttering shrieks and cries.
And lo! the first, who wore a golden crown
And robes of white and crimson like a king,
O'ercame and would have slain the night-black foe
But that he spread his great wings monster-wise
And shrieking fled! — Pallid with victory,
Yet ring'd around by frantic shapes of fear,
The bright god stood a moment's space and held
A dagger like the sacrificial knife
Up skyward; from the wold wild voices wail'd
His name, the Buddha, while a lightning-flash
Illumed him head to foot in blinding flame,
And underneath his feet the earth was riven,
And lo! he bared his bosom white as snow,
Sheathing the knife therein, and with a moan
Fell prone upon his face, — while those fierce forms
Crept nearer, hovering o'er him where he lay
Like vultures hovering round a bleeding lamb!

O night of wonder! Thro' that vale accurst
I wander'd, struggling thro' strange seas of souls
That thicken'd on my path like ocean-waves;
And all the place was troubled and alive
With dreadful simulacra of the gods
And ghosts of men; and wheresoe'er I trode
The earth was still torn open into graves.

I saw, methought, on a dark mountain-side
Legions of ghosts that surged and broke to foam
Of waving banners and of hooked swords
Around a Sepulchre, wherein there sat
One with black eyeballs and a beard of snow,
Who smote his hands together and cried aloud,
" Allah il allah!" — and the crowds around
Echoed the name of Allah, and above
The thunders answer'd Allah, while, behold!
The heavens, blown open high above the peaks,
Reveal'd in bloodiest mirage multitudes
Of phantom armies, struggling, multiplying,
Coming for ever, ever vanishing,
With waving banners and with hooked swords
Like those who heard the voice and named the Name
On that dark mountain-side!
Then in my dream
I saw the spirits of departed gods
Sweep by like changing forms within the fires
Of Ætna, when the forked tongues of flame
Shoot skyward and the lava boils and foams
Down the bright shuddering slopes; so thick and fast
They came and went and changed; and I beheld
Astarte, with her nude dishevell'd train
Of women-worshippers who smote their breasts
And wept and wail'd; Moloch and Baal, two shapes
Inform and monstrous, follow'd by a throng
Of kings in purple and of slaves in rags
And Ethiops clashing cymbals; black-eyed Thor,
Bearded and strong, stript naked to the waist,
Girt round with eager cyclops while he swung
His hammer near the furnace burning red
In a black mountain cavern, — all his face
Gleaming, his form illumed from head to foot
With subterranean fires; Thammuz pale,
Walking through glades of moonlight like a ghost;
Lucifer, serpent-crested, clad in mail,
Shaking his sword at heaven, and with his foot
Set on a writhing dragon: and all I saw
Vanished and came again, and vanishing
Gave place to more, — chaos of gods and ghosts
Confusedly appearing and departing;
Every strange shape that Superstition weaves,
That man or fiend hath fashioned: Gorgons dire,
Chimaeras, kobolds, witches, pixies, elves,
Undines, and vampires, — intermix'd with these,
Saints calendar'd and martyr'd; naked nuns
Embraced by satyrs stoled and shaven-crown'd,
Goat-footed; sable-stoled astrologers,
Waited upon by grinning apes and trolds
And wizards waving wands: so that my soul
Was sicken'd and my fever-thicken'd blood
Paused in me and surcharged my fearful heart
Until it ceased to beat: and as I fled
Weeping, all faded like a tempest-cloud,
And lonely in the night before my face
I saw the form of the eternal Sphinx
Dreadfully brooding with cold pitiless eyes
Fix'd upon mine, and round it momently
Sheet-lightning played, and 'tween its stony claws
It held a woman's naked bleeding corpse
From which the shroud had fallen, and from its throat
There came a murmur like the whole world's moan,
Thunder of doom and uttermost despair!

Frozen to stone, I stood and gazed and gazed,
Dead-eyed as that vast shape!
The vision pass'd
Like vapour from a mirror. Night again,
With one black wing of tempest, blotted out
That portent; and before my face I saw
A pale god with a dove upon his wrist,
Sitting upon a tomb and singing low
Some strange sweet song of summer; then, with tears,
He named the name of his fair brother Christ,
And search'd the gloom with bright blue heavenly eyes,
And listen'd for a coming; and methought
I heard a sound of wailing, and, behold!
Along the valley came three woman-forms
Supporting One who seemed sick and spent,
A crown of thorns upon his bleeding brow,
Blood-drops upon his pierced feet and hands,
And in his dexter hand a lanthorn-light
That flicker'd in the wind; and as they came,
These women wail'd aloud, " He hath arisen!"
And joyfully his blue-eyed brother rose
To greet him coming, but shrank back beholding
The thin grey hair, the worn and weary cheeks,
The pale lacklustre orbs of him who came
Unwitting whither, — wearied out and spent
With centuries of sorrow and despair.

But Balder cried, uplooking in his face,
" O brother, hast thou risen?" and that other,
Moving his head feebly from side to side,
And groping with his hands, moan'd, " Risen! risen!"
Like one who dying murmurs to himself
Some echo from the weepers who surround
His piteous bed of doom; and as he spake,
His eyes grew dimmer, and his bearded chin
Fell forward on his breast, and like a corpse
He swung upheld by those wan women who wail'd
" Rejoice! for Christ hath risen!"
Then methought,
While Heaven and Hell moan'd answer to each other,
And throngs of gods like wolves around a fire
Gather'd, and earth as far as eye could see,
Was one wild sea of open graves, that broke
To foam of dead shapes shining in their shrouds,
I heard a voice out of the darkness calling
And weary voices answering as it sang: —

Black is the night, but blacker my despair;
The world is dark — I walk I know not where;
Yet phantoms beckon still, and I pursue —
Phantoms, still phantoms! there they loom — and there!
Adonai! Lord! art thou a Phantom, too?

One strikes — before the blow I bend full weak;
One beckoning smiles, but fades in act to speak;
One with a clammy touch doth chill me thro' —
See! they join hands in circle, while I shriek,
Adonai! Lord! art thou a Phantom, too?

Dark and gigantic, one, with crimson hands
Upstretch'd in protestation, frowning stands,
While tears like blood his night-black cheeks bedew —
He tears his hair, he sinks in shifting sands —
Adonai! Lord! art thou a Phantom, too?

The sad, the glad, the hideous, and the bright,
The kings of darkness, and the lords of light,
The shapes I loved, the forms whose wrath I flew,
Now wail together in eternal night —
Adonai! Lord! art thou a Phantom, too?

Fall'n from their spheres, subdued and overthrown,
Yet living yet, they make their ceaseless moan,
Where never grass waves green or skies are blue —
Theirs is the realm of shades, the sunless zone,
Where thou, O Master, weeping wanderest too!

O Master, is it thou thy servant sees,
Cast down and conquer'd, smitten to thy knees?
Ah, woe! for thou wast fair when life was new —
Adonai! Lord! and art thou even as these?
A shape forlorn and lost, a Phantom too?

Black is the night, but blacker my despair;
The world is dark — I walk I know not where;
Yet phantoms beckon still, and I pursue!
Phantoms, still phantoms! there they loom — and there!
Adonai! Lord! art thou a Phantom, too?

And while the voices wail'd, I watch'd his face
Who swung in anguish to and fro, upheld
By those wan women; and the face was blank
And bloodless, his eyes sightless, and his jaw
Hung heavy as lead; and still the women cried
" Rejoice! for He hath risen!" but when at last
The music of those voices died away,
He slipt from their thin hands and with a spasm
Shot forward on his face and lay as dead,
Still as a stone, while all the mighty vale
Was shaken as by earthquake, and afar
The solid night-black heavens were riven as rocks,
And thunder answer'd thunder!
Then the waves
Of darkness breaking on me like a sea
Seem'd to o'erwhelm me, and I sank and sank
Down, down to unknown depths of black despair
Till sense and feeling fail'd me and me-thought
The end of all was come; but when again
Life flow'd within me, I was wandering still
In that sad valley; and all forms and shapes
Had vanish'd, and the place was sleeping calm
Under a piteous moonlight. Overhead
The ebon peaks touch'd the cold heavens, alive
With stars like feeble specks of silver sand,
And all the heavens and the sad space beneath
Were silent as a sepulchre!
Forlorn
And broken-hearted, then I wander'd on,
With tombs and open graves on either side,
Weeping nor wailing, but subdued to calm
Of weariest despair; and no thing stirr'd
Around me, but full tide of silence fill'd
The shoreless earth and heaven; when suddenly
I saw before me, lying on the path,
One like myself in dreary pilgrim's weeds,
Fall'n prone upon his face; and stooping down,
I turn'd his wan face upward to the light,
And knew him, — Faith, my townsman, cold and dead!
His blind eyes glazed with the frosty film,
Cold icicles in his white hair and beard,
His right and gripping still the empty leash
Which once had held his beauteous snow-white hound,
Now fled for ever to some sunless cave
To wail in desolation. Then my force
Fell from me, and my miserable eyes
Shed tears like blood, and, broken utterly,
I took the poor grey head between my knees,
Making a pillow, and with gentle hand
Smoothing the piteous hair, murmur'd aloud
A sad song sung by women in our town
While weaving long white raiment for the dead,
When the corpse-candles burn and all the night
Time throbs the minutes like a beating heart
To those who weep and wait.
And thus I sang: —

Dead man, clammy cold and white,
With thy twain hands clench'd so tight,
With thy red heart and thy brain
Silent in surcease of pain,
Wherefore still in strange surprise
Fix thine eyes?

Glass'd to mirror some strange ray
Gleaming ghostwise in the day,
Staring silent, in amaze,
Dead man, glimmereth thy gaze,
Glazing through thy cold grey hair
With sick stare.

Not on men, and not on me,
Not on aught the living see,
Gazest thou — but still, alas!
Thou perceivest something pass
I perceive not, tho' its thrill
Cometh chill.

Dead man, dead man, take repose!
Since thy twain eyes will not close,
I will shut them softly over
With the waxen lids for cover;
Look no more upon the sun —
All is done!

And singing thus I knew (within my dream)
That all the gods were dead, and Death was King,
For all the woeful Valley once again
Grew populous with silent ghostly shapes
Tumultuously moving, like a sea;
And gazing thro' my tears I saw, within
The heart of that black valley, a Form that rose
Gigantic, crag-like, frosted o'er and o'er
With the cold crystals of eternity,
Yet naked as a skeleton; and, lo!
I knew the shape and lineaments of Death,
Lord of the gods and chaos, first and last
Of portents and of phantoms: huge he rose,
Swarm'd on by that tumultuous tide of ghosts
Which broke around his feet; and round him stretch'd
The realm of tears and silence, and above him
Heaven open'd, — an abyss of nothingness
Far as Despair could see or hope could wing!
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