Classic Poem

2.

Ev'n while she dream'd, in silence pass'd,
Moon-lighted gloomily,
A wanderer through the forest vast,
Unto the Throne of Mystery
Bearing a child,
That gaz'd around her in surprise,
Or innocently smil'd,
Looking on him, with Konig's eyes
Of deep, deep, darkest blue,
Almost to blackness deepen'd, yet
Blue as Carpathia's violet.
But soon in fear her arms she threw
Around his neck; for the dim light
Made darkness touchable to sight;
Nor darkness only. Through the dusk
Fierce shadows mov'd; from fierce eyes came
Quick sparks of living flame;
Hot pantings gather'd, thicker; then, a husk
Of sound was heard — nor bark, nor growl —
Which sometimes swell'd into a howl;
And still, to hunger's instinct true,
Nearer the dog of forests drew.
Nought fear'd the Wanderer of the Night,
Whose brow of gloom,
And ghastness in the shadow'd light,
Scarce seem'd of earth, or heav'n, or hell;
He, unconvinceable,
Could not have trembled, if, o'erhead,
The desolated heav'ns had fled,
While crash'd the trump of doom.
But, lo, a flash, a glare, a blaze,
Illum'd the wood with ghastly rays,
Suddenly!
And the gaunt prowlers, balk'd of prey,
Stopp'd, whin'd, crouch'd low, and skulk'd away.
The Wanderer sought a temple grand;
Behold! its portal was at hand,
The vast cathedral's forest-porch:
Through which stream'd light from many a torch,
Rays many-colour'd, piercing far
The chaster light of moon and star,
Beneath the wood-rill's canopy;
And, lo, at once, the eastern aisle,
In length, a gloom-foreshorten'd mile,
Reveal'd its groin'd immensity!
So, when, at midnight, thunders roll
O'er lone Roch Abbey's ruin'd fane,
The dead walls, in the lightning's blaze,
To God within the listening soul
Chaunt old Religlon's hymn of praise;
Pillar and arch, in darkness hidden,
Start up to sight, like things forbidden;
And buried ages live again.
" Pretty! " the child, delighted, cried,
And clapp'd her hands; for she espied
Five coming shapes, each bearing high
A staff-rais'd brand of red, blue, green,
Purple, and golden fire; which cast,
As slowly they came nigh,
On living buttress vast,
And cloudy shapes between,
And arch sublime, and tracery
Not wrought by man, commingled hues —
Lovely as emerald ocean's foam
Beneath an April sky;
Disclosing lone side avenues,
And domes which seem'd to come and go,
Dome after dome, dome after dome,
While shaft by shaft advanc'd, withdrew
Like giants countermarching slow.
Grim were the four — coal-black their vests,
Their helms, and crests —
Who bore the red, green, yellow, blue
Torches; but rob'd in purest white,
A female form of stateliest height,
And fair to view
As love and truth,
Was she who bore the purple light:
Her locks of snow,
In amplest flow
Descending to her feet,
Cover'd her, like a sheet;
And in her stedfast eye
And sculptur'd look, eternity
Seem'd wedded to immortal youth.
Sudden, she stopp'd. Around her clos'd
The sable four; their torches rais'd,
Each touching hers, united blaz'd,
And, lo, the cluster'd five compos'd
A many-colour'd flower of flame,
Beautiful, beautiful,
As that bright rose which dark maids cull
Where himalayan summits tower
O'er fiery plain, and fiery flower!
Then, from unnumber'd voices came,
Wailing the forest-depths among,
Unearthly notes of chaunted song,
Wild, mournful, grand; as shipwreck's cry,
Heard through the groan of sea and sky,
Convuls'd in boundless agony;
And like a yell of mockery,
Forestalling worth's reward of pain,
With the laugh'd lie
That virtue toils in vain.
Thus, sang, unseen, deep shades among,
The singers of inhuman song:
" When did the wisdom of the wise
Expunge from life one human ill?
Ever the Seeker's victories
Leave his hard heart unconquer'd still:
Therefore the gods the wretch deride
Whose soul on truths forbidden feeds;
And crush the atheist in his pride,
(Cold, good-pretending deicide!)
Who turns life's fairy flowers to weeds.
Gods! curse him wet; Gods! curse him dry;
Where fin can swim, or foot repair!
In light and darkness, cold and heat!
Curse him wherever wing can fly!
Curse him wherever heart can beat!
And blast him with his granted pray'r! "