ETERNAL SPIRIT! God of Truth! to whom All things seem as they are; Thou, who of old The prophet's eye unscaled, that nightly saw, While heavy sleep fell down on other men, In holy vision tranced, the future pass Before him, and to Judah's harp attuned Burdens which made the pagan mountains shake, And Zion's cedars bow,-inspire my song; My eye unscale; me what is substance teach, And shadow what, while I of things to come, As past, rehearsing, sing the Course of Time, The second birth, and final doom of man.
The muse, that soft and sickly wooes the ear Of love, or chanting loud in windy rhyme Of fabled hero, raves through gaudy tale Not overfraught with sense, I ask not: such A strain befits not argument so high. Me thought, and phrase severely sifting out The whole idea, grant, uttering as 'tis The essential truth-time gone, the righteous saved,
The wicked damned, and providence approved. Hold my right hand, Almighty! and me teach To strike the lyre, but seldom struck, to notes Harmonious with the morning stars, and purc As those by sainted bards and angels sung, Which wake the echoes of Eternity; That fools may hear and tremble, and the wise, Instructed, listen, of ages yet to come.
Long was the day, so long expected, past
Of the eternal doom, that gave to each Of all the human race his due reward.
Seen far remote, as country, which has left The traveller's speedy step, retiring back From morn till even; and long Eternity/ Had rolled his mighty years, and with his years Men had grown old. The saints, all home returned From pilgrimage, and war, and weeping, long Had rested in the bowers of peace, that skirt The stream of life; and long-alas, how long To them it seemed!-the wicked, who refused To be redeemed, had wandered in the dark Of hell's despair, and drunk the burning cup Their sins had filled with everlasting wo.
Thus far the years had rolled, which none but God
Doth number, when two sons, two youthful sons Of Paradise, in conversation sweet,—
For thus the heavenly muse instructs me, wooed At midnight hour with offering sincere Of all the heart, poured out in holy prayer,- High on the hills of immortality,
Whence goodliest prospect looks beyond the walls Of heaven, walked, casting oft their eye far through The pure serene, observant if, returned From errand duly finished, any came, Or any, first in virtue now complete, From other worlds arrived, confirmed in good.
Thus viewing, one they saw, on hasty wing Directing towards heaven his course; and now His flight ascending near the battlements And lofty hills on which they walked, approached. For round and round, in spacious circuit wide, Mountains of tallest stature circumscribe The plains of Paradise, whose tops, arrayed In uncreated radiance, seem so pure, That naught but angel's foot, or saint's, elect
The sun, earth's son, and moon, and stars, had Of God, may venture there to walk. Here oft ceased
To number seasons, days, and months, and years To mortal man. Hope was forgotten, and fear: And time, with all its chance, and change, and smiles,
And frequent tears, and deeds of villany,
Or righteousness, once talked of much, as things Of great renown, was now but ill remembered; In dim and shadowy vision of the past
The sons of bliss take morn or evening pastime, Delighted to behold ten thousand worlds Around their suns revolving in the vast External space, or listen the harmonies That each to other in its motion sings. And hence, in middle heaven remote, is seen The mount of God in awful glory bright. Within, no orb create of moon, or star, Or sun, gives light; for God's own countenance,
Beaming eternally, gives light to all.
But farther than these sacred hills, his will Forbids it flow, too bright for eyes beyond. This is the last ascent of Virtue; here All trial ends, and hope; here perfect joy, With perfect righteousness, which to these heights Alone can rise, begins, above all fall.
And now, on wing of holy ardour strong, Hither ascends the stranger, borne upright,― For stranger he did seem, with curious eye Of nice inspection round surveying all,— And at the feet alights of those that stood His coming, who the hand of welcome gave, And the embrace sincere of holy love; And thus, with comely greeting kind, began. Hail, brother! hail, thou son of happiness, Thou son beloved of God, welcome to heaven, To bliss that never fades! thy day is past Of trial, and of fear to fall. Well done, Thou good and faithful servant; enter now Into the joy eternal of thy Lord.
Come with us, and behold far higher sight Than e'er thy heart desired, or hope conceived. See, yonder is the glorious hill of God, 'Bove angel's gaze in brightness rising high. Come, join our wing, and we will guide thy flight To mysteries of everlasting bliss,
The tree, and fount of life, the eternal throne, And presence-chamber of the King of kings. But what concern hangs on thy countenance, Unwont within this place? Perhaps thou deemst Thyself unworthy to be brought before The always Ancient One? So are we too Unworthy; but our God is all in all, And gives us boldness to approach his throne. Sons of the Highest! citizens of heaven! Began the new arrived, right have ye judged: Unworthy, most unworthy is your servant, To stand in presence of the King, or hold Most distant and most humble place in this Abode of excellent glory unrevealed. But God Almighty be for ever praised, Who, of his fulness, fills me with all grace And ornament, to make me in his sight Well pleasing, and accepted in his court. But, if your leisure waits, short narrative Will tell, why strange concern thus overhangs My face, ill seeming here; and haply, too, Your elder knowledge can instruct my youth, Of what seems dark and doubtful, unexplained. Our leisure waits thee. Speak; and what we
Delighted most to give delight, we will; Though much of mystery yet to us remains.
Virtue, I need not tell, when proved, and full Matured, inclines us up to God and heaven, By law of sweet compulsion strong and sure; As gravitation to the larger orb
Virtue in me was ripe. I speak not this In boast; for what I am to God I owe, Entirely owe, and of myself am naught. Equipped and bent for heaven, I left yon world, My native seat, which scarce your eye can reach, Rolling around her central sun, far out
On utmost verge of light. But first, to see What lay beyond the visible creation, Strong curiosity my flight impelled.
Long was my way, and strange. I passed the bounds
Which God doth set to light, and life and love; Where darkness meets with day, where order meets Disorder, dreadful, waste, and wild; and down The dark, eternal, uncreated night
Ventured alone. Long, long on rapid wing, I sailed through empty, nameless regions vast, Where utter Nothing dwells, unformed and void. There neither eye, nor ear, nor any sense
Of being most acute, finds object; there For aught external still you search in vain. Try touch, or sight, or smell; try what you will, You strangely find naught but yourself alone. But why should I in words attempt to tell What that is like, which is, and yet is not? This passed, my path descending led me still O'er unclaimed continents of desert gloom Immense, where gravitation shifting turns The other way; and to some dread, unknown, Infernal centre downward weighs: and now,- Far travelled from the edge of darkness, far As from that glorious mount of God to light's Remotest limb,-dire sights I saw, dire sounds I heard; and suddenly before my eye A wall of fiery adamant sprung up, Wall mountainous, tremendous, flaming high Above all flight of hope. I paused, and looked; And saw, where'er I looked upon that mound, Sad figures traced in fire, not motionless, But imitating life. One I remarked Attentively; but how shall I describe What naught resembles else my eye hath seen? Of worm or serpent kind it something looked, But monstrous, with a thousand snaky heads, Eyed each with double orbs of glaring wrath; And with as many tails, that twisted out In horrid revolution, tipped with stings; And all its mouths, that wide and darkly gaped, And breathed most poisonous breath, had each a sting,
Forked, and long, and venomous, and sharp; And, in its writhings infinite, it grasped Malignantly what seemed a heart, swollen, black, And quivering with torture most intense;
And still the heart, with anguish throbbing high, Made effort to escape, but could not; for,
Howe'er it turned, and oft it vainly turned,
These complicated foldings held it fast..
The less attracts, through matter's whole domain. And still the monstrous beast with sting of head
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