The Revolt of Islam/Canto 1
Canto First.
I.WHEN the last hope of trampled France had failedLike a brief dream of unremaining glory,From visions of despair I rose, and scaledThe peak of an aërial promontory,Whose caverned base with the vext surge was hoary;And saw the golden dawn break forth, and wakenEach cloud, and every wave:—but transitoryThe calm: for sudden, the firm earth was shaken,As if by the last wreck its frame were overtaken.
II.So as I stood, one blast of muttering thunderBurst in far peals along the waveless deep,When, gathering fast, around, above and under,Long trains of tremulous mist began to creep,Until their complicating lines did steepThe orient sun in shadow:—not a soundWas heard; one horrible repose did keepThe forests and the floods, and all around.Darkness more dread than night was poured upon the ground.
III,Hark! 'tis the rushing of a wind that sweepsEarth and the ocean. See! the lightnings yawnDeluging Heaven with fire, and the lashed deepsGlitter and boil beneath: it rages on,One mighty stream, whirlwind and waves upthrown,Lightning, and hail, and darkness eddying by.There is a pause—the sea-birds, that were goneInto their caves to shriek, come forth, to spyWhat calm has fall'n on earth, what light is in the sky.
IV.For, where the irresistible storm had clovenThat fearful darkness, the blue sky was seenFretted with many a fair cloud interwovenMost delicately, and the ocean green,Beneath that opening spot of blue serene,Quivered like burning emerald: calm was spreadOn all below; but far on high, betweenEarth and the upper air, the vast clouds fled,Countless and swift as leaves on autumn's tempest shed.
V.For ever, as the war became more fierceBetween the whirlwinds and the rack on high,That spot grew more serene; blue light did pierceThe woof of those white clouds, which seemed to lieFar, deep, and motionless; while thro' the skyThe pallid semicircle of the moonPast on, in slow and moving majesty;Its upper horn arrayed in mists, which soonBut slowly fled, like dew beneath the beams of noon.
VI.I could not choose but gaze; a fascinationDwelt in that moon, and sky, and clouds, which drewMy fancy thither, and in expectationOf what I knew not, I remained:—the hueOf the white moon, amid that heaven so blue,Suddenly stained with shadow did appear;A speck, a cloud, a shape, approaching grew,Like a great ship in the sun's sinking sphereBeheld afar at sea, and swift it came anear.
VII.Even like a bark, which from a chasm of mountains,Dark, vast, and overhanging, on a riverWhich there collects the strength of all its fountains,Comes forth, whilst with the speed its frame doth quiver,Sails, oars, and stream, tending to one endeavour;So, from that chasm of light a winged FormOn all the winds of heaven approaching everFloated, dilating as it came: the stormPursued it with fierce blasts, and lightnings swift and warm.
VIII.A course precipitous, of dizzy speed,Suspending thought and breath; a monstrous sight!For in the air do I behold indeedAn Eagle and a Serpent wreathed in fight:—And now relaxing its impetuous flight,Before the aërial rock on which I stood,The Eagle, hovering, wheeled to left and right,And hung with lingering wings over the flood,And startled with its yells the wide air's solitude.
IX.A shaft of light upon its wings descended,And every golden feather gleamed therein—Feather and scale inextricably blended.The Serpent's mailed and many-coloured skinShone thro' the plumes its coils were twined withinBy many a swollen and knotted fold, and highAnd far, the neck receding lithe and thin,Sustained a crested head, which warilyShifted and glanced before the Eagle's stedfast eye.
X.Around, around, in ceaseless circles wheelingWith clang of wings and scream, the Eagle sailedIncessantly—sometimes on high concealingIts lessening orbs, sometimes as if it failed,Drooped thro' the air; and still it shrieked and wailed,And casting back its eager head, with beakAnd talon unremittingly assailedThe wreathed Serpent, who did ever seekUpon his enemy's heart a mortal wound to wreak.
XI.What life what power was kindled and aroseWithin the sphere of that appalling fray!For, from the encounter of those wond'rous foes,A vapour like the sea's suspended sprayHung gathered: in the void air, far away,Floated the shattered plumes; bright scales did leap,Where'er the Eagle's talons made their way,Like sparks into the darkness;—as they sweep,Blood stains the snowy foam of the tumultuous deep.
XII.Swift chances in that combat—many a check,And many a change, a dark and wild turmoil;Sometimes the Snake around his enemy's neckLocked in stiff rings his adamantine coil,Until the Eagle, faint with pain and toil,Remitted his strong flight, and near the seaLanguidly fluttered, hopeless so to foilHis adversary, who then reared on highHis red and burning crest, radiant with victory.
XIII.Then on the white edge of the bursting surge,Where they had sank together, would the SnakeRelax his suffocating grasp, and scourgeThe wind with his wild writhings; for to breakThat chain of torment, the vast bird would shakeThe strength of his unconquerable wingsAs in despair, and with his sinewy neck,Dissolve in sudden shock those linked rings,Then soar—as swift as smoke from a volcano springs.
XIV.Wile baffled wile, and strength encountered strength,Thus long, but unprevailing:—the eventOf that portentous fight appeared at length:Until the lamp of day was almost spentIt had endured, when lifeless, stark, and rent,Hung high that mighty Serpent, and at lastFell to the sea, while o'er the continent,With clang of wings and scream the Eagle past,Heavily borne away on the exhausted blast.
XV.And with it fled the tempest, so that oceanAnd earth and sky shone through the atmosphere—Only, 'twas strange to see the red commotionOf waves like mountains o'er the sinking sphereOf sun-set sweep, and their fierce roar to hearAmid the calm: down the steep path I woundTo the sea-shore—the evening was most clearAnd beautiful, and there the sea I foundCalm as a cradled child in dreamless slumber bound.
XVI.There was a Woman, beautiful as morning,Sitting beneath the rocks, upon the sandOf the waste sea—fair as one flower adorningAn icy wilderness—each delicate handLay crossed upon her bosom, and the bandOf her dark hair had fall'n, and so she sateLooking upon the waves; on the bare strandUpon the sea-mark a small boat did wait,Fair as herself, like Love by Hope left desolate.
XVII.It seemed that this fair Shape had looked uponThat unimaginable fight, and nowThat her sweet eyes were weary of the sun,As brightly it illustrated her woe;For in the tears which silently to flowPaused not, its lustre hung: she watching ayeThe foam-wreathes which the faint tide wove belowUpon the spangled sands, groaned heavily,And after every groan looked up over the sea.
XVIII.And when she saw the wounded Serpent makeHis path between the waves, her lips grew pale,Parted, and quivered; the tears ceased to breakFrom her immoveable eyes; no voice of wailEscaped her; but she rose, and on the galeLoosening her star-bright robe and shadowy hairPoured forth her voice; the caverns of the valeThat opened to the ocean, caught it there,And filled with silver sounds the overflowing air.
XIX.She spake in language whose strange melodyMight not belong to earth. I heard, alone,What made its music more melodious be,The pity and the love of every tone;But to the Snake those accents sweet were knownHis native tongue and her's; nor did he beatThe hoar spray idly then, but winding onThro' the green shadows of the waves that meetNear to the shore, did pause beside her snowy feet.
XX.Then on the sands the Woman sate again,And wept and clasped her hands, and all between,Renewed the unintelligible strainOf her melodious voice and eloquent mien;And she unveiled her bosom, and the greenAnd glancing shadows of the sea did playO'er its marmoreal depth:—one moment seen,For ere the next, the Serpent did obeyHer voice, and, coiled in rest in her embrace it lay.
XXI.Then she arose, and smiled on me with eyesSerene yet sorrowing, like that planet fair,While yet the day-light lingereth in the skiesWhich cleaves with arrowy beams the dark-red air,And said: To grieve is wise, but the despairWas weak and vain which led thee here from sleep:This shalt thou know, and more, if thou dost dareWith me and with this Serpent, o'er the deep,A voyage divine and strange, companionship to keep.
XXII.Her voice was like the wildest, saddest tone,Yet sweet, of some loved voice heard long ago.I wept. Shall this fair woman all alone,Over the sea with that fierce Serpent go?His head is on her heart, and who can knowHow soon he may devour his feeble prey?—Such were my thoughts, when the tide 'gan to flow;And that strange boat, like the moon's shade did swayAmid reflected stars that in the waters lay.
XXIII.A boat of rare device, which had no sailBut its own curved prow of thin moonstone,Wrought like a web of texture fine and frail,To catch those gentlest winds which are not knownTo breathe, but by the steady speed aloneWith which it cleaves the sparkling sea; and nowWe are embarked, the mountains hang and frownOver the starry deep that gleams belowA vast and dim expanse, as o'er the waves we go.
XXIV.And as we sailed, a strange and awful taleThat Woman told, like such mysterious dreamAs makes the slumberer's cheek with wonder pale!'Twas midnight, and around, a shoreless stream,Wide ocean rolled, when that majestic themeShrined in her heart found utterance, and she bentHer looks on mine; those eyes a kindling beamOf love divine into my spirit sent,And ere her lips could move, made the air eloquent.
XXV.Speak not to me, but hear! much shalt thou learn,Much must remain unthought, and more untold,In the dark Future's ever-flowing urn:Know then, that from the depth of ages old,Two Powers o'er mortal things dominion holdRuling the world with a divided lot,Immortal, all pervading, manifold,Twin Genii, equal Gods—when life and thoughtSprang forth, they burst the womb of inessential Nought.
XXVI.The earliest dweller of the world alone,Stood on the verge of chaos: Lo! afarO'er the wide wild abyss two meteors shone,Sprung from the depth of its tempestuous jar:A blood red Comet and the Morning StarMingling their beams in combat—as he stood,All thoughts within his mind waged mutual war,In dreadful sympathy—when to the floodThat fair Star fell, he turned and shed his brother's blood.
XXVII.Thus evil triumphed, and the Spirit of evil,One Power of many shapes which none may know,One Shape of many names; the Fiend did revelIn victory, reigning o'er a world of woe,For the new race of man went to and fro,Famished and homeless, loathed and loathing, wild,And hating good—for his immortal foe,He changed from starry shape, beauteous and mild,To a dire Snake, with man and beast unreconciled.
XXVIII.The darkness lingering o'er the dawn of things,Was Evil's breath and life: this made him strongTo soar aloft with overshadowing wings;And the great Spirit of Good did creep amongThe nations of mankind, and every tongueCursed, and blasphemed him as he past; for noneKnew good from evil, tho' their names were hungIn mockery o'er the fane where many a groan,As King, and Lord, and God, the conquering Fiend did own.
XXIX.The fiend, whose name was Legion; Death, Decay,Earthquake and Blight, and Want, and Madness pale,Winged and wan diseases, an arrayNumerous as leaves that strew the autumnal gale;Poison, a snake in flowers, beneath the veilOf food and mirth, hiding his mortal head;And, without whom all these might nought avail,Fear, Hatred, Faith, and Tyranny, who spreadThose subtle nets which snare the living and the dead.
XXX.His spirit is their power, and they his slavesIn air, and light, and thought, and language dwell;And keep their state from palaces to graves,In all resorts of men—invisible,But, when in ebon mirror, Nightmare fellTo tyrant or impostor bids them rise,Black winged demon forms—whom, from the hell,His reign and dwelling beneath nether skies,He loosens to their dark and blasting ministries.
XXXI.In the world's youth his empire was as firmAs its foundations—soon the Spirit of Good,Tho' in the likeness of a loathsome worm,Sprang from the billows of the formless flood,Which shrank and fled; and with that fiend of bloodRenewed the doubtful war—thrones then first shook,And earth's immense and trampled multitude,In hope on their own powers began to look,And Fear, the demon pale, his sanguine shrine forsook.
XXXII.Then Greece arose, and to its bards and sages,In dream, the golden pinioned Genii came,Even where they slept amid the night of ages,Steeping their hearts in the divinest flame,Which thy breath kindled, Power of holiest name!And oft in cycles since, when darkness gaveNew weapons to thy foe, their sunlike fameUpon the combat shone—a light to save,Like Paradise spread forth beyond the shadowy grave.
XXXIII.Such is this conflict—when mankind doth striveWith its oppressors in a strife of blood,Or when free thoughts, like lightnings are alive;And in each bosom of the multitudeJustice and truth, with custom's hydra brood,Wage silent war;—when priests and kings dissembleIn smiles or frowns their fierce disquietude,When round pure hearts, a host of hopes assemble,The Snake and Eagle meet—the world's foundations tremble!
XXXIV.Thou hast beheld that fight—when to thy homeThou dost return, steep not its hearth in tears;Tho' thou may'st hear that earth is now becomeThe tyrant's garbage, which to his compeers,The vile reward of their dishonoured years,He will dividing give.—The victor FiendOmnipotent of yore, now quails, and fearsHis triumph dearly won, which soon will lendAn impulse swift and sure to his approaching end.
XXXV.List, stranger list, mine is an human form,Like that thou wearest—touch me—shrink not now!My hand thou feel'st is not a ghost's, but warmWith human blood.—'Twas many years ago,Since first my thirsting soul aspired to knowThe secrets of this wondrous world, when deepMy heart was pierced with sympathy, for woeWhich could not be mine own—and thought did keepIn dream, unnatural watch beside an infant's sleep.
XXXVI.Woe could not be mine own, since far from menI dwelt, a free and happy orphan child,By the sea-shore, in a deep mountain glen;And near the waves, and thro' the forests wild,I roamed, to storm and darkness reconciled:For I was calm while tempest shook the sky:But when the breathless heavens in beauty smiled,I wept, sweet tears, yet too tumultuously.For peace, and clasped my hands aloft in ecstacy.
XXXVII.These were forebodings of my fate—beforeA woman's heart beat in my virgin breast,It had been nurtured in divinest lore:A dying poet gave me books, and blestWith wild but holy talk the sweet unrestIn which I watched him as he died away—A youth with hoary hair—a fleeting guestOf our lone mountains—and this lore did swayMy spirit like a storm, contending there alway.
XXXVIII.Thus the dark tale which history doth unfold,I knew, but not, methinks, as others know,For they weep not; and Wisdom had unrolledThe clouds which hide the gulf of mortal woe;To few can she that warning vision shew,For I loved all things with intense devotion;So that when Hope's deep source in fullest flow,Like earthquake did uplift the stagnant oceanOf human thoughts—mine shook beneath the wide emotion.
XXXIX.When first the living blood thro' all these veins.Kindled a thought in sense, great France sprang forth,And seized, as if to break, the ponderous chainsWhich bind in woe the nations of the earth.I saw, and started from my cottage hearth;And to the clouds and waves in tameless gladness,Shrieked, till they caught immeasurable mirth—And laughed in light and music: soon, sweet madnessWas poured upon my heart, a soft and thrilling sadness.
XL.Deep slumber fell on me:—my dreams were fire,Soft and delightful thoughts did rest and hoverLike shadows o'er my brain; and strange desire,The tempest of a passion, raging overMy tranquil soul, its depths with light did cover,Which past; and calm, and darkness, sweeter farCame—then I loved; but not a human lover!For when I rose from sleep, the Morning StarShone thro' the woodbine wreaths which round my case ment were.
XLI.'Twas like an eye which seemed to smile on me.I watched, till by the sun made pale, it sankUnder the billows of the heaving sea;But from its beams deep love my spirit drank,And to my brain the boundless world now shrankInto one thought—one image—yes, for ever!Even like the dayspring, poured on vapours dank,The beams of that one Star did shoot and quiverThro' my benighted mind—and were extinguished never.
XLII.The day past thus: at night, methought in dreamA shape of speechless beauty did appear:It stood like light on a careering streamOf golden clouds which shook the atmosphere;A winged youth, his radiant brow did wearThe Morning Star: a wild dissolving blissOver my frame he breathed, approaching near,And bent his eyes of kindling tendernessNear mine, and on my lips impressed a lingering kiss.
XLIII.And said: a Spirit loves thee, mortal maiden,How wilt thou prove thy worth? Then joy and sleepTogether fled, my soul was deeply laden,And to the shore I went to muse and weep;But as I moved, over my heart did creepA joy less soft, but more profound and strongThan my sweet dream; and it forbade to keepThe path of the sea-shore: that Spirit's tongueSeemed whispering in my heart, and bore my steps along.
XLIV.How, to that vast and peopled city led,Which was a field of holy warfare then,I walked among the dying and the dead,And shared in fearless deeds with evil men.Calm as an angel in the dragon's den—How I braved death for liberty and truth,And spurned at peace, and power, and fame; and whenThose hopes had lost the glory of their youth,How sadly I returned—might move the hearer's ruth:
LXV.Warm tears throng fast! the tale may not be said—Know then, that when this grief had been subdued,I was not left, like others, cold and dead;The Spirit whom I loved in solitudeSustained his child: the tempest-shaken wood,The waves, the fountains, and the hush of night—These were his voice, and well I understoodHis smile divine, when the calm sea was brightWith silent stars, and Heaven was breathless with delight.
XLVI.In lonely glens, amid the roar of rivers,When the dim nights were moonless, have I knownJoys which no tongue can tell; my pale lip quiversWhen thought revisits them:—know thou alone,That after many wondrous years were flown,I was awakened by a shriek of woe;And over me a mystic robe was thrown,By viewless hands, and a bright Star did glowBefore my steps—the Snake then met his mortal foe.
XLVII.Thou fearest not then the Serpent on thy heart?Fear it! she said, with brief and passionate cry,And spake no more: that silence made me start—I looked, and we were sailing pleasantly,Swift as a cloud between the sea and sky,Beneath the rising moon seen far away;Mountains of ice, like sapphire, piled on highHemming the horizon round, in silence layOn the still waters—these we did approach alway.
XLVIII.And swift and swifter grew the vessel's motion,So that a dizzy trance fell on my brain—Wild music woke me: we had past the oceanWhich girds the pole, Nature's remotest reign—And we glode fast o'er a pellucid plainOf waters, azure with the noon-tide day.Ætherial mountains shone around—a FaneStood in the midst, girt by green isles which layOn the blue sunny deep, resplendent far away.
XLIX.It was a Temple, such as mortal handHas never built, nor ecstacy, nor dream,Reared in the cities of inchanted land:'Twas likest Heaven, ere yet day's purple streamEbbs o'er the western forest, while the gleamOf the unrisen moon among the cloudsIs gathering—when with many a golden beamThe thronging constellations rush in crowds,Paving with fire the sky and the marmoreal floods.
L.Like what may be conceived of this vast dome,When from the depths which thought can seldom pierceGenius beholds it rise, his native home,Girt by the desarts of the Universe.Yet, nor in painting's light, or mightier verse,Or sculpture's marble language can investThat shape to mortal sense—such glooms immerseThat incommunicable sight, and restUpon the labouring brain and overburthened breast.
LI.Winding among the lawny islands fair,Whose blosmy forests starred the shadowy deep,The wingless boat paused where an ivory stairIts fretwork in the crystal sea did steep,Encircling that vast Fane's aerial heap:We disembarked, and thro' a portal wideWe past—whose roof of moonstone carved, did keepA glimmering o'er the forms on every side,Sculptures like life and thought; immoveable, deep-eyed.
LII.We came to a vast hall, whose glorious roofWas diamond, which had drank the lightning's sheenIn darkness, and now poured it thro' the woofOf spell-inwoven clouds hung there to screenIts blinding splendour—thro' such veil was seenThat work of subtlest power, divine and rare;Orb above orb, with starry shapes between,And horned moons, and meteors strange and fair,On night-black columns poised—one hollow hemisphere!
LIII.Ten thousand columns in that quivering lightDistinct—between whose shafts wound far awayThe long and labyrinthine aisles—more brightWith their own radiance than the Heaven of Day;And on the jasper walls around, there layPaintings, the poesy of mightiest thought,Which did the Spirit's history display;A tale of passionate change, divinely taught,Which, in their winged dance, unconscious Genii wrought.
LIV.Beneath, there sate on many a sapphire throne,The Great, who had departed from mankind,A mighty Senate;—some, whose white hair shoneLike mountain snow, mild, beautiful, and blind.Some, female forms, whose gestures beamed with mind;And ardent youths, and children bright and fair;And some had lyres whose strings were intertwinedWith pale and clinging flames, which ever thereWaked faint yet thrilling sounds that pierced the crystal air.
LV.One seat was vacant in the midst, a throne,Reared on a pyramid like sculptured flame,Distinct with circling steps which rested onTheir own deep fire—soon as the Woman cameInto that hall, she shrieked the Spirit's nameAnd fell; and vanished slowly from the sight.Darkness arose from her dissolving frame,Which gathering, filled that dome of woven light,Blotting it's sphered stars with supernatural night.
LVI.Then first, two glittering lights were seen to glideIn circles on the amethystine floor,Small serpent eyes trailing from side to side,Like meteors on a river's grassy shore,They round each other rolled, dilating moreAnd more—then rose, commingling into one,One clear and mighty planet hanging o'erA cloud of deepest shadow, which was thrownAthwart the glowing steps and the crystàlline throne.
LVII.The cloud which rested on that cone of flameWas cloven; beneath the planet sate a Form,Fairer than tongue can speak or thought may frame,The radiance of whose limbs rose-like and warmFlowed forth, and did with softest light informThe shadowy dome, the sculptures, and the stateOf those assembled shapes—with clinging charmSinking upon their hearts and mine—He sateMajestic, yet most mild—calm, yet compassionate.
LVIII.Wonder and joy a passing faintness threwOver my brow—a hand supported me,Whose touch was magic strength: an eye of blueLooked into mine, like moonlight, soothingly;And a voice said—Thou must a listener beThis day—two mighty Spirits now return,Like birds of calm, from the world's raging sea,They pour fresh light from Hope's immortal urn;A tale of human power—despair not—list and learn!
LIX.I looked, and lo! one stood forth eloquently,His eyes were dark and deep, and the clear browWhich shadowed them was like the morning sky,The cloudless Heaven of Spring, when in their flowThro' the bright air, the soft winds as they blowWake the green world—his gestures did obeyThe oracular mind that made his features glow,And where his curved lips half open lay,Passion's divinest stream had made impetuous way.
LX.Beneath the darkness of his outspread hairHe stood thus beautiful: but there was OneWho sate beside him like his shadow there,And held his hand—far lovelier—she was knownTo be thus fair, by the few lines aloneWhich thro' her floating locks and gathered cloke,Glances of soul-dissolving glory, shone:—None else beheld her eyes—in him they wokeMemories which found a tongue, as thus he silence broke.