Torment me not, nor fears of hell or devil;
But I have lost all peace of mind:
Whate'er I knew, or thought I knew,
Seems now unmeaning or untrue.
Unhappy, ignorant, and blind,
I cannot hope to teach mankind.
Thus robbed of learning's only pleasure,
Without dominion, rank, or treasure,
Without one joy that earth can give,
Could dog were I a dog-so live?
Therefore to magic, with severe
And patient toil, have I applied,
Despairing of all other guide,
That from some Spirit I might hear
Deep truths, to others unrevealed,
And mysteries from mankind sealed;
And never more, with shame of heart,
Teach things, of which I know no part.
Oh, for a glance into the earth!
To see below its dark foundations,
Life's embryo seeds before their birth
And Nature's silent operations.
Thus end at once this vexing fever
mere words repeated ever.
Beautiful Moon! - Ah! would that now,
For the last time, thy lovely beams
Shone on my troubled brow!
Oft by this desk, at middle night,
I have sat gazing for thy light,
Wearied with search, through volumes endless,
I sate 'mong papers crowded books,
Alone when thou, friend of the friendless,
Camest smiling in, with soothing looks.
Oh, that upon some headland height
I now were wandering in thy light!
Floating with Spirits, like a shadow,
Round mountain-cave, o'er twilight meadow;
And from the toil of thought relieved,
No longer sickened and deceived,
In thy soft dew could bathe, and find
Tranquillity and health of mind.
Alas! and am I in the gloom
Still of this cursed dungeon room?
Where even heaven's light, so beautiful,
Through the stained glass comes thick and dull;
'Mong volumes heaped from floor to ceiling,
Through whose pages worms are stealing;
Dreary walls, where dusty paper
Bears deep stains of smoky vapour;
Glasses, instruments, all lumber
Of this kind the place encumber;
All a man of learning gathers,
All bequeathed me by my fathers,
Crucibles from years undated,
Chairs of structure antiquated,
Are in strange confusion hurled!
Here, Faustus, is thy world a world!
And dost thou ask, why in thy breast
The fearful heart is not at rest?
Why painful feelings, undefined,
With icy pressure cramp thy mind?
From living nature thou hast fled
To dwell 'mong fragments of the dead;
And for the lovely scenes which Heaven
Hath made man for, to man hath given;
Hast chosen to pore o'er mouldering bones
Of brute and human skeletons !
This book, where secret spells are scanned, Traced by NOSTRADAM's own hand,
Will be thy strength and stay:
The courses of the stars to thee
No longer are a mystery;
The thoughts of Nature thou canst seek,
As Spirits with their brothers speak.
It is, it is the sunrise hour
Of thy own being; light, and power,
And fervour to the soul are given,
As proudly it ascends its heaven.
To ponder here, o'er spells and signs,
Symbolic letters, circles, lines;
And from their actual use refrain,
Were time and labour lost in vain :
Then ye, whom I feel floating near me,
Spirits, answer, ye who hear me !
[He opens the book, and lights upon the sign of MACROCOSMUS.
Ha! what new life divine, intense,
Floods in a moment every sense;
I feel the dawn of youth again,
Visiting each glowing vein!
Was it a god who wrote this sign?
The tumults of my soul are stilled,
My withered heart with rapture filled :
In virtue of the spell divine,
The secret powers that nature mould,
Their essence and their acts unfold
Am I a god? Can mortal sight
Enjoy, endure this burst of light?
How clear these silent characters!
All Nature present to my view,
And each creative act of hers
And is the glorious vision true?
The wise man's words at length are plain,
Whose sense so long I sought in vain :
"The Worlde of Spirits no Clouds conceale :
"Man's Eye is dim, it cannot see.
"Man's Heart is dead, it cannot feele.
"Thou, who wouldst knowe the Things that be, “Bathe thy Heart in the Sunrise red,
"Till its Stains of earthlie drosse are fed."
[He looks over the sign attentively.
Oh! how the spell before my sight
Brings nature's hidden ways to light:
See all things with each other blending —
Each to all its being lending -
All on each in turn depending -
Heavenly ministers descending -
And again to heaven up-tending -
Floating, mingling, interweaving —
Rising, sinking, and receiving
Each from each, while each is giving
On to each, and each relieving
Each, the pails of gold, the living
Current through the air is heaving;
Breathing blessings, see them bending,
Balanced worlds from change defending,
While every where diffused is harmony unending!
Oh! what a vision but a vision only!
Can heart of man embrace
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