Classic Poem

FOLLOWED BY AN A RIA OF Ironic C ONSEQUENCE

Rust, moth, fungus, canker-worm,
Hemlock, nightshade, Upas tree,
All the horrors that there be
Loose upon this pachyderm.

Gods of grottoes, caves, and mountains,
Oracles and visions dire,
Spirits of the air and fire.
Dryads, naiads, nymphs of fountains.

Leave your eagle crags and eyries,
Fly your apple-leaved seclusions,
Bring your dreadfullest confusions,
Mumbled magic misereres.

Spell, and curse, and incantation
Heap upon this froward man,
Every charm and patteran
Use to his complete damnation.

Call in wizards, witches, seers,
With their lore of plant and planet,
Bid them forge a charm of granite
Lasting for a thousand years.

Bid them pick the square-stemmed briars
Out of swamps where vapours ooze,
Watch the faggots that they choose,
Proper for their magic fires.

Watch them come by one and one,
With the fog-web in their hair,
And their yellow eyes astare,
Bearing treasures hardly won.

Slowly tramping round about
The red cauldron, in they drop
Mince and morsel, sip and sop,
Rabbit's paw or weasel's snout,

Snakeskin sloughed at middle moon,
Hair of brindled, five-toed cat,
Spotted burdock which a rat
Gnawed where frosty gibbets croon.

Tail of skunk and owlet's ear,
Earthworms digged from a Jew's grave,
Splinter of a coffin stave
Nicked from off a miser's bier.

Roots of adder's tongue, and yew
Stripped at dawn on Easter even.
" Seven, seven, seven, seven,
Seven stars which buzzed and flew.

Seven devils, flying, dipping,
Diving round the weather-cock
Of the church, while tolls the clock
Seven long strokes without skipping. "

Infant's finger singed and brittle
Stuck upon a dragon's fang,
And, to give the brew a tang,
Seven drops of blindman's spittle.

Rumble, rumble, stir the stew
Round and round in widdershins,
Faster, faster, till it spins.
But there's more I'd have you do.

Summon Gods of Ind and Indies:
Thoth, Sesostris, Voodoo, Bel,
With their sorceries from Hell
And their weird outlandish shindies.

Sibyls, with your erudition,
Read him all the sooth and sin
Under his name written in
Your long records of perdition.

Ancient oracles declaim
Fates concealed in dream and trance,
Tragic jests of circumstance.
Speak them smoothly like a flame.

Every rune and every rite
Shower on him, spare not one,
Till from sun to rising sun
Never lived a sadder wight.

Let the spinning shapes of mist
Lure him to high rocky edges
Over surfy seas, let sedges
Hide the river's sudden twist.

Urge him with the voice of lovers
Into fenny bogs and quakes
Where the tufted marsh-mud shakes
And a green light swoops and hovers.

Elves and pixies, pique him, prick him,
Knot the grass to trip his feet.
Goblin, djinn, and black afreet
Pommel, pound, confuse, and kick him.

Star his darkness thick with faces,
Mewing, mouthing, white as yeast;
Bloody lips on which ghouls feast
Leer at him with foul grimaces.

Beetles, bugs, and dragon-flies,
Sting him with your poisoned stings,
Crawling fogs fold your cold wings
Round about his arms and thighs.

Itching fevers, let him be
Your most constant bourn, attend him
With such pangs that they may send him
Forthright to Eternity.
...

So far done! O Warlocks, Witches,
Thanks. And Gods of cloud and mountain,
And ye nymphs of tree and fountain,
Upland wold and leafy ditches,

I am gratitude unending.
Flit back to your woods and caverns,
Your high palaces, and taverns
Under junipers down bending.

I will lay you jars of wine
At the entrance to your grottoes,
I will carve the trees with mottoes:
Aspen, birch, and scowling pine.

Not a wind shall blow between them
But my words will show the brighter,
Cut through bark to wood that's whiter.
Everyone will soon have seen them.

Everyone will pilgrimage
To your mountains and your rills,
Trampling down the daffodils,
Hauling marble for a stage.

Column, court, and colonnade
Will appear by due degrees,
Overhung with locust-trees
Casting purple pools of shade.

Medals, coins, and carven gems
Will be dropped into your shallows,
Chequered by the brooding sallows
With their pink and silver stems.

Youths and maidens wreathed in crocus
Will parade your solemn larches,
Pruned and fashioned into arches
With the temple as their focus.

All because, you Ancient Spirits,
Sibyls, Oreads, and Elves,
Hoary Gods, you gave yourselves,
Each with his peculiar merits,

To avenge a mortal who
Had received a grievous slight
From a witty, witless wight.
Tell no one what I tell you.

Priests and Vestals shall not know
Why this temple stands to prove
My high gratitude and love.
Why I have proclaimed you so.

Listen then, to solemn truth,
In the arrogance of youth,
What that fellow dared to do:
Write a long, adverse review!

See now, in my rage and rancour,
Goaded by tormenting canker,
What I've done. It might be worse.
Founding creeds upon a curse
Is no new thing, you'll admit.
Take what is and build on it,
Be obliged with what you find,
Wisdom does not pry behind
Any curtain hung between
What is now with what has been.
If you do not wish to see
Your fine temple utterly
Doomed and ruined, never tell.
Gods and oracles, farewell.