And thinks the season yet shall come, when Time Sweep headlong to destruction; thou, the while, Rear thou aloft thy standard-Spirit, rear When saints shall shout, and Time shall be no more! Of torpor-He has ransom'd them, Forgotten generations live again, Assume the bodily shapes they own'd of old, Yet there is peace for man.-Yea, there is peace THE CHRISTIAD, A DIVINE POEM. This was the work which the author had most at heart. His riper judgment would probably have perceived that the subject was ill chosen. What is said so well in the Censura Literaria of all Scriptural subjects for narrative poetry, applies peculiarly to this. "Any thing taken from it, leaves the story imperfect; any thing added to it, disgusts and almost shocks us as impious. As Omar said of the Alexandrian Library, we may say of such writings; if they contain only what is in the Scriptures, they are superfluous; if what is not in them, they are false."-It may be added, that the mixture of mythology makes truth itself appear fabulous. There is great power in the execution of this fragment.-In editing these remains, I have, with that decorum which it is to be wished all editors would observe, abstained from informing the reader what he is to admire and what he is not; but I cannot refrain from saying that the two last stanzas greatly affected me, when I discovered them written on the leaf of a different book, and apparently long after the first canto; and greatly shall I be mistaken if they do not affect the reader also.-R. Southey. BOOK I. I SING the Cross!-Ye white-robed angel choirs, Were wont of old your hovering watch to keep, Of music, such as soothes the saint's last sleep, Awake my slumbering spirit from its dream, And teach me how to exalt the high mysterious theme. II. Mourn! Salem, mourn! low lies thine humbled state, Thy glittering fanes are levell'd with the ground: Fallen is thy pride!—Thine halls are desolate! Where erst was heard the timbrel's sprightly sound, And frolic pleasures tripp'd the nightly round, There breeds the wild fox lonely, and aghast Stands the mute pilgrim at the void profound, Unbroke by noise, save when the hurrying blast Sighs, like a spirit, deep along the cheerless waste III. It is for this, proud Solyma! thy towers Lie crumbling in the dust; for this forlorn Thy genius wails along thy desert bowers, While stern Destruction laughs, as if in scorn, That thou didst dare insult God's eldest-born: And with most bitter persecuting ire, Pursued his footsteps till the last day-dawn Rose on his fortunes-and thou saw'st the fire That came to light the world, in one great flash expire. IV. Oh! for a pencil dipt in living light, To hymn the Savior's praise from shore to shore, Spirits of pity! mild crusaders, come! Buoyant on clouds around your minstrel float, And give him eloquence who else were dumb, And raise to feeling and to fire his note! And thou, Urania! who dost still devote Thy nights and days to God's eternal shrine, Whose mild eyes 'lumined what Isaiah wrote, Throw o'er thy Bard that solemn stole of thine, And clothe him for the fight with energy divine. VI. When from the temple's lofty summit prone, Swift as the glancing sunbeam cuts the air, Fled the stern king of Hell-and with the glare Of gliding meteors, ominous and red, Shot athwart the clouds that gather'd round his head. VII. Right o'er the Euxine, and that gulf which late Clothed in dark mists, upon their way they went; Where the North Pole, in moody solitude, Spreads her huge tracks and frozen wastes around, There ice-rocks piled aloft, in order rude, Form a gigantic hall, where never sound Startled dull Silence' ear, save when profound The smoke-frost mutter'd: there drear Cold for aye Thrones him, and, fix'd on his primeval mound, Ruin, the giant, sits; while stern Dismay Stalks like some woe-struck man along the desert way. IX. In that drear spot, grim Desolation's lair, No sweet remain of life encheers the sight; The dancing heart's blood in an instant there Would freeze to marble.-Mingling day and night (Sweet interchange, which makes our labours light) Are there unknown; while in the summer skies The sun rolls ceaseless round his heavenly height, Nor ever sets till from the scene he flies, And leaves the long bleak night of half the year to rise X. "T was there, yet shuddering from the burning lake, The unerring ways of Him whose eye can see The womb of Time, and, in its embryo pent, Discern the colors clear of every dark event. XI. Here the stern monarch stay'd his rapid flight, And his thick hosts, as with a jetty pall, Hovering, obscured the north star's peaceful light, Waiting on wing their haughty chieftain's call. He, meanwhile, downward, with a sullen fall, Dropt on the echoing ice. Instant the sound Of their broad vans was hush'd, and o'er the hall, Vast and obscure, the gloomy cohorts bound, Till, wedged in ranks, the seat of Satan they surround. XII. High on a solium of the solid wave, Prankt with rude shapes by the fantastic frost, He stood in silence;-now keen thoughts engrave Dark figures on his front; and, tempest-tost, He fears to say that every hope is lost. Meanwhile the multitude as death are mute: So, ere the tempest on Malacca's coast, Sweet Quiet, gently touching her soft lute, Sings to the whispering waves the prelude to dispute XIII. At length collected, o'er the dark Divan The arch-fiend glanced, as by the Boreal blaze Their downcast brows were seen, and thus began His fierce harangue :-Spirits! our better days Are now elapsed; Moloch and Belial's praise Shall sound no more in groves by myriads trod. Lo! the light breaks!-The astonish'd nations gaze! For us is lifted high the avenging rod! XIV. What then!-shall Satan's spirit crouch to fear? Shall he who shook the pillars of God's reign Drop from his unnerved arm the hostile spear? Madness! The very thought would make me fain To tear the spanglets from yon gaudy plain, And hurl them at their Maker!-Fix'd as fate, I am his Foe!-Yea, though his pride should deign To soothe mine ire with half his regal state, Still would I burn with fixt, unalterable hate. XV. Now hear the issue of my curst emprize: When from our last sad synod I took flight, Buoy'd with false hopes, in some deep-laid disguise, To tempt this vaunted Holy One to write His own self-condemnation; in the plight Of aged man in the lone wilderness, Gathering a few stray sticks, I met his sight, And, leaning on my staff, seem'd much to guess What cause could mortal bring to that forlorn recess. XVI. Then thus in homely guise I featly framed That you so far from haunt of mortals stray? Here have I dwelt for many a lingering day, Nor trace of man have seen; but how! methought Thou wert the youth on whom God's holy ray I saw descend in Jordan, when John taught That he to fallen man the saving promise brought." XVII. "I am that man," said Jesus, "I am He! But truce to questions-Canst thou point my feet To some low hut, if haply such there be In this wild labyrinth, where I may meet With homely greeting, and may sit and eat; For forty days I have tarried fasting here, Hid in the dark glens of this lone retreat, And now I hunger; and my fainting ear Longs much to greet the sound of fountains gushing near." XVIII. Then thus I answer'd wily:-" If, indeed, Son of our God thou be'st, what need to seek For food from men?-Lo! on these flint stones feed, Bid them be bread! Open thy lips and speak, And living rills from yon parch'd rock will break." Instant as I had spoke, his piercing eye Fix'd on my face;-the blood forsook my cheek, Then he rebuked me with the holy word- Bright sparkling in the sunbeams, were descried; XX. "Behold," I cried, "these glories! scenes divine! Oh! leave his temples, shun his wounding ways: XXI. "Is it not written," sternly he replied, "Tempt not the Lord thy God?" Frowning he spake, And instant sounds, as of the ocean tide, Rose, and the whirlwind from its prison brake, And caught me up aloft, till in one flake, The sidelong volley met my swift career, And smote me earthward.—Jove himself might quake At such a fall: my sinews crack'd, and near Obscure and dizzy sounds seem'd ringing in mine ear. XXVIII. which lost us Heaven, that we are inferior to the "This comes," at length burst from the furious chief, Thunder-bearer: In subtlety-in subtlety alone we are his equals. Open war is impossible. Thus we shall pierce our conqueror, through the race Which as himself he loves; thus if we fall, Of falling unrevenged. The stirring call Away the coward wiles!-Death's coal-black Be now our standard!-Be our torch the glare cloves And cinnamon upheap'd the sacred pyre, Or, He waved his robe of flame, he cross'd his breast, Ι. Thus far have I pursued my solemn theme On the dark cypress! and the strings which rung no more. Ye powers of Hell, I am no coward. I proved this of old. Who led your forces against the armies of Jehovah? Who coped with Ithuriel and the thunders of the Almighty? Who, when stunned and confused ye lay on the burning lake, who first awoke and collected your scattered powers? Lastly, who led you across the unfathomable abyss to this delightful world, and established that reign here which now totters to its base? How, therefore, dares yon treacherous fiend to cast a stain on Satan's bravery? he who preys only on the defenceless-who sucks the blood of infants, and delights only in acts of ignoble cruelty and unequal contention. Away with the boaster who never joins in action, but, like a cormorant, hovers over the field to feed upon the wounded, and overwhelm the dying. True bravery is as remote from rashness as from hesitation; let us counsel coolly, Ere I with Death shake hands, and smile that I am free. but let us execute our counselled purposes determinately. In power we have learnt, by that experiment And must the harp of Judah sleep again? Oh! thou who visitest the sons of men, One little lapse suspend thy last decree! I am a youthful traveller in the way, 496 |