Classic Poem

I.

Over that coast whither wronged Dido fled
From brother's murderous hand low vapors brood,
But all is hushed; and reigns a calm as dread
As that fell Roman's, who, like wolf pursued,

In after-times upon a fragment sate
Of ruined Carthage, his fierce eye at rest;
While, hungry, cold, and spent, he mocked at fate,
And fed on the revenge deep smouldering in his breast.

II.

But now that city's turrets frown on high;
And from her distant streets is heard the shriek
Of frenzied mothers, uttered as they fly
From where with children's blood their guilty altars reek.

III.

But far, far off, upon the sea's expanse,
The very silence has a shriek of fear;
And, 'cross the sight, thick shadows seem to glance;
And sounds like laughter ring, yet leave the ear

In racking doubt if it has heard such peal,
Or if 'twas but affrighted fancy spoke:
Past that suspense, and, lesser pain to feel,
As giant rends his chains, the bursting tempest woke.

IV.

Alas for the poor pilot at his prow,
Far from the haven! Will his Neptune save?
The Muse no longer hears his frantic vow,
But follows her fair Sprites still deep beneath the wave.

V.

Soon through the cavern the receding light
Refused its beam. Zophiil, with toil severe,
But bliss in view, through the thrice murky night
Sped swiftly on. A treasure now more dear

He had to guard than boldest hope had dared
To breathe for years: but rougher grew the way;
And soft Phrairion, shrinking back, and scared
At every whirling depth, wept for his flowers and day,

Shivered, and pained, and shrieking, as the waves
Wildly impel them 'gainst the jutting rocks:
Not all the care and strength of Zophiil saves
His tender guide from half the wildering shocks

He bore. The calm, which favored their descent,
And bade them look upon their task as o'er,
Was past; and now the inmost earth seemed rent
With such fierce storms as never raged before.

VI.

Of a long mortal life had the whole pain,
Essenced in one consummate pang, been borne,
Known, and survived, it still would be in vain
To try to paint the pains felt by these Sprites forlorn.

VII.

The Power that made, intending them for bliss,
And gave their thrilling organs but to bless,
Had they been formed for such a world as this,
Had kindly dulled their powers, and made their tortures less.

VIII.

The precious drop, closed in its hollow spar,
Between his lips Zophiil in triumph bore.
Now earth and sea seem shaken! Dashed afar,
He feels it part; 'tis dropped; the waters roar.

IX.

He sees it in a sable vortex whirling
Formed by a cavern vast, that, 'neath the sea,
Sucks the fierce torrent in; and, madly furling
His wings, would plunge: one moment more, and he,
Sucked down, in earth's dark womb must wait eternity.

X.

" Pursue no farther! — stop, alas! for me,
If not thyself! " Phrairion's shrieks accost
Him thus: " Who, Zophiil, shall protect for thee
The maid thou lov'st? Hear! stop! or all are lost! "

XI.

The verge, the verge, is near. Must such a state,
Seraph, be thine? No! sank the spar within;
But the shrill warning reached him through the din
Of waves. Back, back, he struggles, ere too late;
And the whole horror of the avoided fate
Shot through his soul. The wages of his sin
He felt, for once, were light, and clasped his shrieking mate;

XII.

Who thus entreats: " Up! to earth's pleasant fields!
O Zophiil, all this torture's for thy pleasure! "
Twined in his arms, the baffled Seraph yields,
And flies the hungry depth that gorged his dearest treasure.

XIII.

What added torment — gained; then snatched away, —
Pressed to his heart, — and then to feel it riven
From heart and hand, while bearing it to-day
With joy complete as if recalled to heaven!

XIV.

That which to own was perfect transport — lost!
Yet still (to urge a dangerous course contending,
And the fierce passions which his bosom crost,
For pity, or some other hope, suspending),

Resisting all, he forced a desperate way:
His gentle fere, with plaints no longer vain,
Clung closer to his neck, nor ceased to pray
To be restored to sun and flowers again.

XV.

Thus, all intwined, they rose again to air,
Near Lybia's coast. Black clouds, in mass deform,
Were frowning; yet a moment's calm was there,
As if had stopped to breathe a while the storm.

XVI.

Their white feet pressed the desert sod; they shook
From their bright locks the briny drops: nor staid
Zophiil on ills, present or past, to look;
For, weary as he was, his lonely maid

Came to his ardent soul in all her charms:
Unguarded she, what being might molest
Even now? His chilled and wounded substance warms
But at the thought, the while he thus addrest

The shivering Sprite of flowers: " We must not stay:
All is but desolation here, and gloom.
Up! let us through the air, nor more delay.
Nay, droop not now: a little more essay,
I'll bear thee forward to thy bower of bloom,

" And on thy roses lay thee down to rest.
Come through the desert! banquet on thy store
Of dews and sweets! Come, warm thee at my breast!
On! through the air, nor think of danger more.

XVII.

" As grateful for the service thou hast done
I live, though lost the object of our task,
As if were still possessed the treasure won;
And all thou wouldst of Zophiil freely ask.

XVIII.

" The Gnome, the secret path, the draught divine,
I know. Tahathyam sighs beneath the wave
For mortal bride: valor and skill are mine:
He may again bestow what once he gave. "

XIX.

Thus Zophiil, renovated, though the air
Was thick and dull, with just enough of hope
To save him from the stupor of despair,
Too much disdained the pains he felt to droop.

XX.

But soft Phrairion, smarting from his toil,
To buffet not a tempest was in plight;
And Egla's lover saw him shrink, recoil,
And beg some nearer shelter for the night:
For now the tempest, bursting in its might,

Raged fiercely round, and made him fain to rest
In cave or tomb. But Zophiil gently caught him,
Sustained him firmly at his fearless breast,
And 'twixt Euphrates and the Tigris brought him;

XXI.

Then paused a moment o'er a desert drear
Until the thunder-clouds around him burst;
His flights renewed, and wished for Media near.
But stronger grows the gale: what Sprites accurst

Ride on the tempest? Warring elements
Might not alone such ardent course impede:
The wretched Spirit from his speed relents
With sense like mortal bosom when they bleed.

XXII.

Loud and more loud the blast: in mingled gyre
Flew leaves and stones, and with a deafening crash
Fell the uprooted trees: heaven seemed on fire, —
Not, as 'tis wont, with intermitting flash,

But, like an ocean all of liquid flame,
The whole broad arch gave one continuous glare;
While through the red light from their prowlings came
The frighted beasts, and ran, but could not find a lair.

XXIII.

" Rest, Zophiil, rest! " Phrairion cries. " The surge
Was lesser pain: I cannot bear it more.
Beaten in seas so long, we but emerge
To meet a fiercer conflict on the shore! "

XXIV.

Then Zophiil: " There's a little grot on high;
The wild doves nestle there; it is secure:
To Ecbatane but for an hour I'll fly,
And come for thee at morn: no more endure.

XXV.

" Nay, wilt not leave me? Then I'll bear thee through
As lately through the whirling floods I bore. "
Still closer clinging, to his bosom grew
The tender Sprite: " Then bear; I can no more, "

XXVI.

He said, and came a shock as if the earth
Crashed 'gainst some other planet: shivered brands
Whirl round their heads; and (shame upon their birth!)
Both Sprites lay mazed and prostrate on the sands.

XXVII.

The delicate Phrairion sought a cave
Low-browed, and, crouching down 'mid trailing snakes
And slimy worms (things that would hide to save
Their loathsome lives), hearkens the roar, and quakes.

XXVIII.

But Zophiil, stung with shame, and in a mood
Too fierce for fear, uprose; yet, ere for flight
Served his torn wings, a form before him stood,
In gloomy majesty. Like starless night

A sable mantle fell in cloudy fold
From its stupendous breast; and, as it trod,
The pale and lurid light at distance rolled
Before its princely feet receding on the sod.

XXIX.

'Twas still as death, save that the thunder spoke
In mutterings low and far: a look severe
Seemed as preluding speech; but Zophiil broke
The silence first: " Why, Spirit, art thou here? "

XXX.

It waved its hand, and instantaneous came
A hissing bolt with new impetus back:
Darts round a group of verdant palms the flame,
That, being pointed to them, blasted black.

XXXI.

" O source of all my guilt! at such an hour "
(The mortal-lover said) " thine answer there
I need not read: too well I know thy power
In all I've felt and feel. But has despair

" Or grief or torment o'er made Zophiil bow?
Declare me that, nor spend thine arts in vain
To torture more: if, like a miscreant, now
I bend to thee, 'tis not for dread of pain;

" That I can bear. Yet bid thy legions cease
Their strife. Oh! spare me this resistance rude
But for an hour; let me but on in peace;
So shall I taste the joy of gratitude,

" Even to thee. " — " The joy? " then first with scorn
Replied that sombre being: " dream'st thou still
Of joy? — a thing accursed, demeaned, forlorn,
As thou art? Is't for joy thou mock'st my will?

" Canst thou taste pleasure? banished, crushed, debased. "
" I can, betrayer! dost thou envy me?
But leave me to my wrongs, and I can taste
Even yet of heaven, spite of my fall and thee.

XXXII.

" But that affects not thee: thine insults spare
But for an hour; leave me to go at will
Only till morn, and I will back, and bear
Whate'er thou wilt. What! dost obstruct me still?

" Thine armies dim, and shrouded in the storm,
Then I must meet, and weary thus and torn,
Essay the force of an immortal arm,
Lone as I am, until another morn

" Shall shame both them and thee to thine abode.
There, on the steam of human heart-blood, spilt
By priest or murderer, make repast; or brood
Over the vile creations of thy guilt.

XXXIII.

" Waste thy life-giving power on reptiles foul,
Slow, slimy worms, and poisonous snakes; then watch,
Like the poor brutes that here for hunger prowl,
To mar the beauty that thou canst not match! "

XXXIV.

Thus he: the other folded o'er its breast
Its arms, and stood as cold and firm the while
As if no passion stirred, save that expressed
Its pale, pale lip a faint, ferocious smile.

XXXV.

While, blent with winds, ten thousand agents wage
The strife anew; and Zophiil, fain to fly,
But foiled, gave up to unavailing rage,
And strove and toiled and strove, but could not mount on high.

XXXVI.

Then thus the torturer: " Hie thee to the bed
Of her thou lov'st; pursue thy dear design;
Go dew the golden ringlets of her head!
Thou wait'st not, sure, for any power of mine.

XXXVII.

" Yet better were the duties, Spirit dull,
Of thine allegiance! Win her o'er to me,
Take all thou canst, — a pleasure brief but full,
Vain dreamer, if not mine , she's lost to thee! "

XXXVIII.

" Wilt thou, then, hurt her? Why am I detained?
O strength once serving 'gainst the powers above!
Where art thou now? " Thus Zophiil; and he strained
His wounded wings to mount, but could not move.

XXXIX.

Then thus the scorner: " Nay, be calm! I'll still
The storm for thee: hear! it recedes; 'tis ended.
Yet, if thou dream'st success awaits thee, ill
Dost thou conceive of boundless power offended.

XL.

" Zophiil, bland Sprite, sublime Intelligence,
Once chosen for my friend, and worthy me,
Not so wouldst thou have labored to be hence
Had my emprise been crowned with victory.

XLI.

" When I was bright in heaven, thy seraph eyes
Sought only mine. But he who every power
Beside, while hope allured him, could despise,
Changed and forsook me in misfortune's hour. "

XLII.

" Changed and forsook thee? This from thee to me,
Once noble Spirit! Oh! had not too much
My o'er-fond heart adored thy fallacy,
I had not now been here to bear thy keen reproach, "

XLIII.

Zophiil replied. " Fallen, wretched, and debased,
E'en to thy scornful words' extent, my doom
Too well I know, and for what cause displaced;
But not from thee should the remembrance come!

XLIV.

" Forsook thee in misfortune? At thy side
I closer fought as peril thickened round;
Watched o'er thee fallen: the light of heaven denied
But proved my love more fervent and profound.

XLV.

" Prone as thou wert, had I been mortal-born,
And owned as many lives as leaves there be,
From all Hyrcania by his tempest torn,
I had lost them, one by one, and given the last for thee.

XLVI.

" Pain had a joy; for suffering could but wring
Love from my soul, to gild the murky air
Of our first rude retreat; while I, fond thing!
Still thought thee true, and smiled upon despair.

XLVII.

" Oh! had thy plighted pact of faith been kept,
Still unaccomplished were the curse of sin:
'Mid all the woes thy ruined followers wept,
Had friendship lingered, hell could not have been.

XLVIII.

" But when to make me thy first minister
Came the proposal, when thy purpose burst
Forth from thy heart's black den disclosed and bare,
Then first I felt alone, and knew myself accurst.
" Though the first seraph formed, how could I tell
The ways of guile? What marvel I believed,
When cold ambition mimicked love so well,
That half the sons of heaven looked on, deceived!

XLIX.

" Ambition thine; to me the Eternal gave
So much of love, his kind design was crost:
Held to thy heart, I thought thee good as brave,
Nor realized my guilt till all was lost.

L.

" Now, writhing at my utmost need, how vain
Are Zophiil's tears and prayers! Alas! heaven-born,
Of all heaven's virtues doth not one remain?
Pity me once, and let me now be gone! "

LI.

" Go! " said the cold detainer with a smile
That heightened cruelty; " yet know from me
Thy foolish hopes but lure thee on a while
To wake thy sense to keener misery. "

LII.

" O skilled in torment! spare me, spare me now! "
Chilled by a dread foreboding, Zophiil said;
" But little time doth waning night allow. "
He knelt; he wept: calm grew the winds; he fled.

LIII.

The clouds disperse. His heavenly voice he sent
In whispers through the caves: Phrairion, there
In covert loathed, to that low music lent
His soft, quick ear, and sprang to join his fere.

LIV.

Soon through the desert, on their airy way,
Mantled in dewy mists, the Spirits prest,
And reached fair Media ere the twilight gray
Recalled the rose's lover to his nest.

LV.

But on the Tigris' winding banks, though night
Still lingers round, two early mortals greet
The first faint gleam with prayer, and bathed and dight
As travellers came forth. The morn rose sweet,
And rushing by them, as the Spirits past,
In tinted vapors while the pale star sets:
The younger asked, " Whence are these odors cast
The breeze has waked from beds of violets? "