Ambition, whose long toil hath nothing won;
He waits till the diurnal course hath run,-
To vent his surcharged bosom's angry fire
On us who must endure it.
With the sick pride of a fall'n potentate,
Who seeks to hide his ineffectual state,
And in dim darkness wears his faded ray
Of crazed and visionary pomp. When Day
Hath disappear'd beneath yon dusky portals,
Which stand in clouded gold on the bright west;
When dewy sleep falls o'er Earth's weary mortals,
These heights shall by his giant foot be prest,
Emerging from night's darkness.
Tyr. Day grows dim
Within yon cloudy curtain of pale gold,
Which mantleth its fair shrine with shadowy fold,
And Earth's deep vales put off their gaudy trim.
Nisr. The many tints of day melt into one
Embrowning shade, from Gilead to the plain,
As, like a fiery giant, the broad Sun
Hurrieth apace to meet the western main.
Tham. Oh, that a wish might stay its fatal course!
Nisr. Its course is fatal-It is past the force
Of angel power to stay it, and must on,
Uncheck'd by mortal's or immortal's care,
Till it hath measured its appointed share
Of seasons, and its tale of days is done.
Aga. It is the circling wheel of Destiny,
And with its revolutions, all things fleet
By many courses to one end; to meet
Assembled on Time's awful boundary-
And part for ever into light and darkness.
Power and dominions shall meet there, to hear
The repetition of our fatal story,
Read from the accuser's book, before the throne :--
And all Heaven's eyes burn fierce on us alone:-
And in our fall all vital beings glory,
From the wing'd Hierarch, to the child of clay,
Even man! Death's victim-slave to every ill
That flesh inherits in its mortal day,
Clothed in the light of that fair star, which still
The powers of earth and air in fear await,
For which wise mortals watch Heaven's eastward gate;
He shall arise as from the tomb newborn,
To look on our sad plight with hate and scorn.
Nisr. That sorrow shall be spared thee; awe shall drown
All triumphs and all glories-lost in one,
As the starr'd sphere grows faint before the sun,
And all those varying spirits be chain'd down
In one deep over-mastering agony,
One breathless pause of fear and mystery.
Tham. Not the bright angels!
Nisr. Angel sympathy
Shall turn their eyes to those weak souls which tremble
Between our fate and theirs.
Aga. Upon them, we
Shall darkly gaze where they in light assemble,
And-stain'd with guilt that cannot be forgiven
Behold the blessed angels, erst our peers,
Where our fates cross and part 'twixt hell and heaven;
For one bright bitter moment-never more!
But, in that momentary meeting, store
More grief than an eternity of tears
Could ever weep away!
Tyr. These murmuring fears
To our unnatural forms, new horror add ;
We want not such vain plaints to make us sad.
Aga. We are too light and vain for our sad fate.
Tyr. We, too, could weep-might tears but wash away The written record-the predestined date
Of that unknown, unutterable day,
Which even the sinless fearfully await;
But nought is left the destined, save to linger,
Forgetful of the doom they may not shun
Among those fair scenes, where creation's finger
Hath writ no record of the deeds we've done.
Aga. Fall'n angel, no!-Sad memory haunts us still,
Far as the spirit's boundless sense of ill.
Our darkness dwells within :-We may not fly
The inborn torture of the conscious mind.-
Seek we the light ?-Reproachful light on high
Bids conscience seek the refuge of the blind!
No!-not the scorpion pang-the fiery throe
Which starts the quick nerve from the burning vein-
The rack of insane terror-guilty woe-
The demons of the human heart and brain-
Wring our pale victim, as we writhe at this
Reproachful symbol of abandon'd bliss!
Tyr. Peace, Aga !-Silence thine ill-boding scream ;
Thou scarest away the sun before his time.
Aga. Ay, thou weak angel-now his latest gleam Is on the faded heaven.
Dost thou not see yon thickening vapour rise
Like a dark yew-tree to the sable skies,
From the bare granite's thunder-emitten cleft?
Tyr. Who rises from beneath it?
SCENE II.-SAMMAEL.-Angels.-Chorus.
Sam. Spirits, whose birth-place is the highest heaven,
Whose home is in Gehenna's awful star,
Usurpers of earth's altars-earthly gods!
Or how shall I address you?-Revellers?-
Minions of gaudy light, who love thé sun,
And dare to bask ye in his beams of glory?
Or fiends of darkness ?-for like such ye look-
Ye have of late forgotten whose ye are,
Your proper functions and dark destiny ;-
Ye have become ambitious and refined;
Genii of virtues and moralities-
Spirits of pomps and places-deities
Of actions, passions, elements ;-array'd
In all that charms the eye and soothes the sense.
Ye ransack nature for ambrosial tastes,
And decompose the sun-beams for attire.
Courting repose and vain forgetfulness,
Ye slumber on soft breezes and fresh flowers ;-
And dwell apart, or, meeting as earth's gods,
Make honour mean, with mutual reverence-
Rarely with man-or, if ye walk the world,
"Tis to seek fanes and votarists, not victims.
Was it for this, Spirits accurst!— for this
I lost celestial empire ?-To establish
On earth a sensual sty for craven fiends!-
Was it for this? that ye may dwell secure
In light, I may not look unwither'd on.
Earth lacks not revellers; that such as you
Should lift their owl eyes to the glorious day,
And mock its noon of beauty with most foul
And phantom aspects!-Denizens of hell,
Ye are not for this earth, or earth for you;
Your proper home awaits her truant sons
With love, though long forgotten, unconsumed.
Chor. Taunt not thy slaves, lord of the burning throne,
With honours thou hast given,-.
With blighted beauty-hope o'erthrown ;-
We, too, have dwelt in Heaven!
What are Earth's glories to repay
Immortal glory, pass'd away!
Remember all we lost, and deem
Earth's respite brief from woe→→
A light which trembles o'er the stream,
Ere yet it dash below,-
Where Hell's eternity doth spread
Its shoreless billow dark and dread.
Nor grieve thou, if to every wind
Our thrones and altars rise-
Where'er our standards gleam, behind,
Thine own black banner flies:-
Our deeds of seeming light, when done,
"Tis thine own triumph flouts the sun!-
On templed height above the wave
Where spells of power are utter'd,
In mystic shrine within the cave
Where saying dark is mutter'd-
Though Gods within be deem'd to dwell,
Oh, are they not the gates of hell?
All things that precious be, and all things fair,
From the lone desert to the roofs of man
All the bright fields of air,
All the green wave doth span,
Are of our winning, and obey thy powers,
Thine empire-to enjoy them ours.
Sam. To mortals, leave these vain and idle toys,
To fool themselves with, till they are like us,
Immortal grown in sin and suffering.-
'Tis not the fuming altar, festal chant,
The solemn pomp, the wreathed sacrifice,
Can make ye
that ye are not-heroes-Gods.
Can flattery vanquish fate, and lies repell
The eternal edict, which, once heard, even yet
Rings o'er the gulf of many a thousand years
Redemption to our victims,-woe to us ?-
In vain ye blind the superstitious Gentiles ;-
Unless our empire be establish'd here,
O'er Salem's mount and fated Galilee,
Earth's empire is as dust before the wind!
But this high end demands far other means
Than the poor play of mock divinity.
Ye must abandon pride-spurn empty honour
Shake off the sloth of sensual hours; by these
Man is our victim-and with thriftless zeal
Stakes on their worth his soul's futurity,
And finds them worthless, and is lost for ever!-
Watch with enduring toil-your foe sleeps not,
But from Heaven's height laughs with immortal scorn,
To see his foes thus purblind at the brink
Of the unfathom'd pit!-Behold ye not
The footsteps dread of your arch-enemy
Stampt on the ground ye tread? Do not your pleasures
Proclaim the hand that forgeth pains for you?
When ye behold, at morn, yon granite hills
Bask in their Lord's serene and silent sunshine,-
When ye inhale the sweet fresh atmosphere,
Which mantles with life's breath the rolling world,-
Oh! can ye dare be joyful? Dare ye raise
Your phantom eyes to yon sidereal host,
Which throngs Infinitude with fearful brightness,
And hope your darkness may defy his light,
Or fiends exult at noonday?-Know ye not
His eye-beam and his spirit compass you,
His thunders dwell around you? Yet ye sleep!
Chor. We slumber not, dread chief! What mortal man
Escapes our fierce assay?
What moment, since the human world began,
Have we surceased for victims still to play
In the contemptible game of mortal life,
With repetition weary!
Mingling with man's illusions, love, or strife,
Do we not glitter in the far-sought gem,
Gay garment, gold?
Flit we not round the uneasy diadem,
Whispering proud thoughts to things of earth's vile mould, Prompting the base to stratagem,
Do we not tempt the needy slave to stealth,
And win, by secret lure, or coffer'd wealth,
The sensual or the cold?-
Do we not win the wise man's willing ear
With specious pleas,
Tempting from Virtue's stern career
The hunter, with barb'd sheaf and bended bow,
Breathes not with keener glow
The mountain's morning air-than we to chase,
With fine-wove wiles, and fair entanglements,
Our human quarry.-His, less delight
When the dun stag comes tottering to the ground-
Or savage bird, pierced on its airy round,
Flaps down with useless wing through the thin air;
Than ours, when round the victim to thy power,
We flit, in life's last hour,
To whisper horror and our own despair.
Sam. Now speak ye like yourselves: But this I know
That ye are evil.-I did only wonder
That so much wickedness becomes abortive,
By your strange vanity.-Enacting gods,
I've known ye sink the fiend, and preach good morals,
That men might deem you good. But this I pass,
For it is thus Sin fitliest clothes itself
In sounding apophthegms-while mortals, duped.
By the false semblance of a seeming good,
Confide in fabled virtues, and abandon
Their better trust in Heaven.-I now repeat not
Your love of pleasures, which degrade all natures,
Making the best corrupt-vice impotent:-
But your vain malice, fiends! the ebullition
Of evil natures, furious to no end
But to defeat its object, and recoil
From the scared victim to his torturer:
For thus repentance from your fiery rack
Oft mounts to the Eternal Arbiter,
And Grace comes earthward hovering, to impart
Peace to the penitent and weary breast.
Chor. Stern King of Terror! Pain hath spent
Our fiery force of will-
Some power to good o'errules the intent,
Or to recoiling ill,-
Hell, weaving snares a thousand ways,
Finds Mercy central in the maze!
In vain we purpose-act-advise,
And shift the treach'rous view,
We feel the beam of unseen eyes
O'erwatching all we do!
Ambition-Hatred-Passion guides-
Heaven's mercy o'er the end presides.
So do we what we would not, fly
To the result we shun;
And when in fiercest ill we vie,
Lo! good is done.
So do our acts defeat our will
So circumscribed our power of ill!
Sam. Ay-ye are weak, because ye seek oblivion,
And drown Hell's nerving hate with human follies. Touch'd with the frail taint of humanity,
Ye do forget your very selves, and feebly
Talk as if fiends had conscience. Yet for this
Ye may not gain one moment from perdition;
Weak ye may be,-ye must be evil still,
Soft without mercy-without grace producing
The ends of Heaven from your hearts' hatefulness,
As genial warmth glows far, while the live furnace
Burns inward fiercely still.-For shame, ye damn'd,
Forget not your immitigable doom,
And let Hell's memory give relentless force-
Draw the fell purpose from the blighted hope→→
Be stern and unsubdued, as ye are hapless→→
As ye are fated, fatal.-If ye wear
The form of beauty, or the smile of love,
Remember what they cover still, and are
The sunbeam on the lake of bitterness-
The bloom that tempteth on the poison-fruit-
The mask of malice unsubdued-of woe
Eternal, unreprieved: For what avails
This low subsolar world, with all its charms,
To ease your fate's despair? Shall they not fleet?
Sun, stars, and sparkling waters, and gay shores ;—
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