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And thinks the season yet shall come, when Time Will waft him to repose, to deep repose, Far from the unquietness of life-from noise And tumult far-beyond the flying clouds, Beyond the stars, and all this passing scene, Time, Where change shall cease, and time shall be no more.

Sweep headlong to destruction; thou, the while,
Unmoved and heedless, thou dost hear the rush
Of mighty generations as they pass
To the broad gulf of ruin, and dost stamp
Thy signet on them, and they rise no more.
Who shall contend with Time-unvanquish'd
The conquerer of conquerors, and lord
Of desolation ?-Lo! the shadows fly,
The hours and days, and years and centuries,
They fly, they fly, and nations rise and fall.
The young are old, the old are in their graves.
Heard'st thou that shout! It rent the vaulted skies;
It was the voice of people,-mighty crowds-
Again! 't is hush'd-Time speaks, and all is hush'd;
In the vast multitude now reigns alone.
Unruffled solitude. They all are still;
All-yea, the whole-the incalculable mass,
Still as the ground that clasps their cold remains.

Rear thou aloft thy standard-Spirit, rear
Thy flag on high! and glory in thy strength.
But dost thou know the season yet shall come,
When from its base thine adamantine throne
Shall tumble; when thine arm shall cease to strike,
Thy voice forget its petrifying power;

When saints shall shout, and Time shall be no more!
Yea, He doth come-the mighty champion comes,
Whose potent spear shall give thee thy death-wound,
Shall crush the conqueror of conquerors,
And desolate stern Desolation's lord.
Lo! where he cometh! the Messiah comes!
The King! the Comforter! the Christ!-He comes
To burst the bonds of death, and overturn
The power of Time.-Hark! the trumpet's blast
Rings o'er the heavens!-They rise, the myriads rise-
Even from their graves they spring, and burst the
chains

Of torpor-He has ransom'd them,

Forgotten generations live again,

Assume the bodily shapes they own'd of old,
Beyond the flood:-the righteous of their times
Embrace and weep, they weep the tears of joy.
The sainted mother wakes, and in her lap
Clasps her dear babe, the partner of her grave,
And heritor with her of heaven,-a flower
Wash'd by the blood of Jesus from the stain
Of native guilt, even in its early bud.
And hark! those strains, how solemnly serene
They fall, as from the skies-at distance fall-
Again more loud-the hallelujahs swell:
The newly-risen catch the joyful sound;
They glow, they burn; and now with one accord
Bursts forth sublime from every mouth the song
Of praise to God on high, and to the Lamb
Who bled for mortals.

Yet there is peace for man.—
-Yea, there is peace
Even in this noisy, this unsettled scene;
When from the crowd, and from the city far,
Haply he may be set (in his late walk
O'ertaken with deep thought) beneath the boughs
Of honeysuckle, when the sun is gone,
And with fixt eye, and wistful, he surveys
The solemn shadows of the Heavens sail,

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.

I SING the Cross!-Ye white-robed angel choirs,
Who know the chords of harmony to sweep,
Ye who o'er holy David's varying wires
Were wont of old your hovering watch to keep,
Oh, now descend! and with your harpings deep,
Pouring sublime the full symphonious stream

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 paint the agonies that Jesus bore!
Oh! for the long-lost harp of Jesse's might,

To hymn the Savior's praise from shore to shore,
While seraph hosts the lofty paan pour,
And Heaven enraptured lists the loud acclaim!
May a frail mortal dare the theme explore?
May he to human ears his weak song frame?
Oh! may he dare to sing Messiah's glorious name?
V.

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,
Satan, o'ercome, fell down; and, throned there,
The son of God confest, in splendor shone ;
Swift as the glancing sunbeam cuts the air,
Mad with defeat, and yelling his despair,

*

*

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
The rude Massagetæ adored, he bent

His northering course, while round, in dusky state
The assembling fiends their summon'd troops
augment,

Clothed in dark mists, upon their way they went;
While, as they pass'd to regions more severe,
The Lapland sorcerer swell'd with loud lament
The solitary gale, and, fill'd with fear,
The howling dogs bespoke unholy spirits near.
VIII.

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.

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X.

"T was there, yet shuddering from the burning laka
Satan had fix'd their next consistory,
When parting last he fondly hoped to shake
Messiah's constancy,-and thus to free
The powers of darkness from the dread decree
Of bondage brought by him, and circumvent

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 fall.
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 sur
round.

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!
For, spirits, this is He,-this is the Son of God!

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
My lowly speech:-"Good sir, what leads this way
Your wandering steps? Must hapless chance be
blamed

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

XXII.

Senseless and stunn'd I lay: till, casting round
My half-unconscious gaze, I saw the foe
Borne on a car of roses to the ground,

By volant angels; and as sailing slow
He sunk, the hoary battlement below,
While on the tall spire slept the slant sunbeam,
Sweet on the enamour'd zephyr was the flow
Of heavenly instruments. Such strains oft seem,
On star-light hill, to soothe the Syrian shepherd's
dream.

XXIII.

I saw blaspheming. Hate renew'd my strength;
I smote the ether with my iron wing,
And left the accursed scene.-Arrived at length
In these drear halls, to ye, my peers! I bring
The tidings of defeat. Hell's haughty king
Thrice vanquish'd, baffled, smitten and dismay'd!
O shame! Is this the hero who could fling
Defiance at his Maker, while, array'd

Longs much to greet the sound of fountains gushing High o'er the walls of light, rebellion's banners play'd!

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,
I could not bear his gaze! my mask slipp'd by ;
I would have shunn'd his look, but had not power to fly.
XIX.

Then he rebuked me with the holy word-
Accursed sounds! but now my native pride
Return'd, and by no foolish qualm deterr'd,
I bore him from the mountain's woody side,
Up to the summit, where, extending wide
Kingdoms and cities, palaces and fanes,

Bright sparkling in the sunbeams, were descried;
And in gay dance, amid luxuriant plains,
Tripp'd to the jocund reed the emasculated swains.

XX.

"Behold," I cried, "these glories! scenes divine!
Thou whose sad prime in pining want decays;
And these, O rapture! these shall all be thine,
If thou wilt give to me, not God, the praise.
Hath he not given to indigence thy days?
Is not thy portion peril here and pain?

Oh! leave his temples, shun his wounding ways:
Seize the tiara! these mean weeds disdain,
Kneel, kneel, thou man of woe, and peace and
splendor gain."

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.

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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 "This comes of distant counsels! Here behold are his equals. Open war is impossible. The fruits of wily cunning! the relief Which coward policy would fain unfold,

To soothe the powers that warr'd with Heaven of old!

O wise! O potent! O sagacious snare!

And, lo! our prince-the mighty and the bold, There stands he, spell-struck, gaping at the air, While Heaven subverts his reign, and plants her standard there."

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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, but let us execute our counselled purposes determinately. In power we have learnt, by that experiment

Thus we shall pierce our conqueror, through the

race

Which as himself he loves; thus if we fall, We fall not with the anguish, the disgrace

Of falling unrevenged. The stirring call Of vengeance rings within me! Warriors all, The word is vengeance, and the spur despair. Away the coward wiles!-Death's coal-black pall

Be now our standard!-Be our torch the glare
Of cities fired! our fifes, the shrieks that fill the air!

Him answering rose Mecasphim, who of old,
Far in the silence of Chaldea's groves,
Was worshipp'd, God of Fire, with charms untold
And mystery. His wandering spirit roves,
Now vainly searching for the flame it loves,
And sits and mourns like some white-robed sire
Where stood his temple, and where fragrant
cloves

And cinnamon upheap'd the sacred pyre,
And nightly magi watch'd the everlasting fire.

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THE END.

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