The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Vol. 2

PART FIFTH

Day-break – Ascend the highest Mountain – Comparison with the Vision on Mount Tabor – Transfiguration – View to East and West – Ship descried from the East – Descend.

John, gazing on the glimmering eastern surge,Sat with fixed eyes, when thus the stranger spake:Up! for the Word and Spirit of the LordAre come to me. Let us ascend, old man,The summit of Elijah's cliff, that hangsHigh o'er the ocean surge, and see the sunRise o'er the Ægean solitude to-day.John answered, Can these feeble limbs sustainThe labour up the long and slow ascent,Step by step, when I feel my strength decayDaily, and draw my breath with pain?Thy GodWill give thee strength, the stranger said, and tookHis trembling hand, and led his feeble stepSlow up the hill; and ever as they went,And the horizon widened, in his heartJohn felt a strange reviving power, that bracedHis sinews, and gave a vigour to his steps,Conquering the pain and labour of the way:But needs not pain or labour, for a thoughtHath brought them there, the white hairs, in the wind,Of John, yet gently stirring, and his cheekJust lighted with a transient glow; and nowBoth stood upon the promontory's point,Thoughtful and silent: soon they saw the sunSlowly emerging, a vast orb of fire,Above the shadowy edge of ocean; nowFlaming direct o'er Asia, with a streamOf long illumination, on the clouds,Marked with confusion of rich hues, and thenceTouching the nearer promontory's height,Pale cliffs, and eagles' wings above the clouds,And now careering through the heaven, supreme,Full and magnificent, in lonelinessOf glory. When the rays first touched his brow,Then more exalted, and of larger frame,The stranger seemed to grow, as not of earth,Or earth's inhabitants; so tall his form,So glorified his aspect. John had fallenUpon his knees, but a mild voice rebuked:See that thou do it not; hast thou receivedOr strength or comfort, give the thanks to God.John, resting on the crag of the wild rock,Looked up, and then to his companion spoke:Not uninstructive hath thy converse been,Nor unrefreshing to my weary heartThy presence; more so, in a scene like this,Raised, as it were, above the shade and cloudsOf transient time. And so, long since, my soulFelt a divine refreshment, when I stoodUpon the mount of vision with our LordThat day when in transfigured form he rose.Oh! well do I remember it, who saw,With James and Peter, by the sight oppressed,The glorious apparition. Each stray cloudWandered far off, and lost in the blue sky,And not a freckle stained the firmamentHigh overhead. The mystic mount itself,Tabor, seemed rising up to heaven, and loomedIn such illumination, that the trackBelow, and all the plains of Galilee,Rivers and lake to the great western sea,Looked cold and dim, even in the morning sun;Such was the glory of the sudden blazeThat wrapped the mount. The crowd of lesser hillsOn to the city of Tiberias,Appeared below o'er which the eagle sailed,Mute, for his eyes yet blenched from the excessOf light, unlike the sun, that startled him,With bursting splendour, where he slept. He flew,High soaring o'er the hills of Jezreel,On to the mountains of Samaria.We fell upon the ground, and with our handsCovered our faces, when we raised our eyes,We saw three glorified appearances;Two, as of aged prophets, with their beardsStreaming; each held a book, and in the midst,And, buoyant in the air, his countenanceBright as the sun, our Saviour's form appearedAbove them, while his vest, intensely white,Floated, as thus transfigured he arose.With clasped hands, and eyes upraised to heaven,Peter, in joy and wonder, ardentlyCried: Let us build three tabernacles here,To Moses, and Elias, and to thee,Saviour and God! not knowing what he said.A cloud now interposed between the light,Softening its glory, while a voice was heardFrom the bright cloud, Lo, my beloved Son —Hear him! At once the shadowy imagery,The visionary pomp, the radiant cloud,Were rolled away, and Jesus stood alone;For they who held high converse, and whose forms,Appeared in thinner air, above the blaze,Were gone with the departing cloud: his handHe placed upon our heads, and said, Fear not!And that calm look of dignity and loveWas placed upon us, as before. AgainWe saw the sun – the cloudless cope of heaven —The long green valley of Esdraelon —The pines of dewy Hermon, and the smokeOf Nain, where once a widowed mother weptHer lost and only son, whom Jesus raisedFrom death's cold sleep, restoring to her tearsOf joy; we saw the cavern and the cliffsOf Endor, where the wizard-woman calledUp from his sleep of death the prophet178 old,To tell to trembling Saul his hour was come.Oh! hills, and streams, and plains of Palestine;Scenes where we heard, long since, our Master's voice,And saw his face! how often, with a tear,Have I remembered you, how often sighed:Oh! for the swiftness of an eagle's wing,That I might flee away, and visit youOnce more! But this great vision of the mount,With shadowings of glory, was displayed,That we might be sustained in the dread dayOf trial, when the very rocks should burst —When, through deep darkness, the loud cry should come:My God, my God, hast thou forsaken me?That we might be prepared, through every ill,In peril and in pain, in life, in death;Though persecution, famine, and the sword,Fronted our way, prepared to hold right on;Calm to take up our cross, and follow HimWho meekly bowed his head upon that cross;For if in this life only we had hope,We were of all most miserable. Lord,Thee have I followed, now in age, and poor,Thy sufferings were for us – for us? for me;For me thy bleeding side was pierced, for meThy spirit groaned! Oh! come, Lord Jesus Christ!Oh! come, for I have tarried long on earth;Come, Lord and Saviour! have I prayed in vain?Thou didst appear in glory on the mount;And thou hast come, even now, and cried, Fear not,I live for evermore, and have the keysOf death and hell. And wherefore should I fear,Now waiting only to depart in peace!But I have wandered in my thoughts; this viewFrom this high mountain, and congenial thoughts,Have waked the memory of that vision bright,When once we saw, above the clouds of earth,Our Lord in glistening apparel shine.Then he who stood upon the mountain's vanWith John, and gazed upon the seas below,Said, Look towards the East: what dost thou see?John answered, There is nothing but the cloudsAnd seas. And both were silent.STRANGERLook again.John answered, There is nothing but the cloudsAnd seas, and the great sun above the waves,That goeth forth in beauty.STRANGERLook again.John answered, Yes, upon the farthest lineOf the blue ocean-track, there is a speckOf light; no; yes; there is a distant sailIn sight; it seems as speeding hitherward.STRANGEREnough. Look to the west: what seest thou there?JOHNAh! all that hid the vast and various sceneSlowly withdraws, like morning mist. I seeRegions, in light and shade, beyond the isles,Delos and Mycone, mountains and capesUnfolding, through the mist, as if they stoodBeneath our feet. There, bays, and gulfs, and plains,And wandering streams appear; and o'er them, highUpon a hill, in the pale atmosphere,A temple vast, as of some god renownedIn pagan lands.STRANGERThou seest the shores of Greece,And that the illustrious city, so renowned,Athens; upon that hill, the hill of Mars,Paul stood, when, pointing to the skies above,He spoke of fanes "not made with hands;" of God,Who liveth in the heaven. What seest thou more?JOHNAnother land, stretched, like a giant's arm,Across the deep, with seas on either side.There, on seven hills, I see a city, crownedWith glittering domes; the nether champagne spreadWith aqueducts, and columns, arches, and towers.STRANGERIt is the Imperial Mistress of the World,Rome – Rome – now pagan; but a power unknownShall rise, and, throned on those seven hills —When Cæsars moulder with their palaces,Shall hold dominion o'er the prostrate world,Not by their glittering legions, but the powerOf cowled Superstition, that shall keepKingdoms and kings in thrall; till, with a shout,A brighter angel, from the heaven of heavens,As ampler knowledge shoots her glorious beams,Shall open the Lamb's book again, and night,Beckoning her dismal shadows, and dark birds,Fly hooting from the dayspring of that dawn.179Burns not thy heart to think upon those days!But long and dire shall be the tale of blood;Let it be hid for ever! Look again:JOHNI see the pillars and the rocky boundsThat gird this inland sea.STRANGERWhat seest thou more?JOHNI see a ship burst through the narrow frithInto the sea of darkness and of storms,There lost in boundless solitudes. Oh! no,There is an island; with its chalky cliffs,Beauteous it rises from the billowy waste.STRANGERThither that ship is bound: nor storms, nor seas,Rocking in more terrific amplitude,Impede its course. Long years shall roll away,And when deep night shall wrap again the shores,Of Asia; where the "golden candlestick"Now gleams, illumining the pagan world;And where a few poor Christian fishermenShall here and there be found; even where thy ChurchOf Ephesus stood in the light of heaven,From that far isle, amid the desert waves,Back, like the morning on the darkened east,To lands long hid, in ocean-depths unknown,The radiance of the gospel shall go forth,And the Cross float triumphant o'er the world.JOHNEven now, in vision rapt of days to come,I see her Christian temples, pale in air,Above the smoke of cities; o'er the deepI see her fleets, innumerable, spread,Chequering, like shadows, the remotest main;And, lo! a river, winding in the light,Silent, amid a vast metropolis,Beneath the spires, and towers, and glittering domes!Ah! they are vanished, and a sudden cloudHides, from the straining sight, temple, and tower,And battlement.STRANGERPray that it pass away.JOHNAh! the pale horse and rider! the pale horseIs there! silence is in the streets! The arkOf her majestic polity, the Church —The temple of the Lord – I see no more!STRANGERPray that her faith preserve her: the eventIs in His hands who bade his angels soundTheir trumps, or pour the avenging vials out.Let us descend, the wind is fresh and fair,Direct from the north-east, let us descend.And they descended, silently and slow,Towards the craggy cave, and rested there,Looking upon the sunshine on the wavesOf the pale-blue Ægean, still intent,Watching the sail, that, by the western beamIllumined, held its course towards the shore.Icarian figs furnished a scant repast,With water from the rock, after their toil;While they, within the cave, conversing satOf virtue and of vice, of sin and death,Of youth and age, and pleasure's flowery path,Leading to sorrow and untimely death.

PART SIXTH

Reflections – Grecian Girl and Dying Libertine – Reflections on Past History of the World – Angel's Disappearance – Ship brings the Elders of Ephesus to invite John to return – Parting from Patmos, and Last Farewell.

Then the mysterious and majestic manThus spoke: Among the banished criminals,As they passed yesterday, didst thou not markA pale, emaciate youth, and by his side,Oft looking in his altered face, with tears,A beauteous Grecian female! He was oneWho crowned his hair with roses; trod the pathOf love and pleasure, till the vision fled.And left him here, an outcast criminal,Soon, without hope, to sink into the grave,And leave his young companion desolate!So ends a life of pleasure! Woe for them,The young, the gay, the guilty, who rejoiceIn life's brief sunshine, then are swept away,Forgotten as the swarms in summer time.As thus he spake, smiling amid her tears,With eyes that flashed beneath dishevelled hair,A female stood before them.Look on me,She sighed, and spake:No! father, hear my prayer:At Corinth I was born; my mother diedWhen I was yet a very child; my sireTrafficked to Tyre, and when my mother died,He left the woods, the hills, and shores of GreeceTo seek a dwelling-place in Asia,At Tyre or Smyrna; but the tempest rose,And cast his vessel on the rocky coastOf Cyprus. I was found upon the shore,Escaped I know not how, for he was dead;And pitying strangers bore me to the faneOf Paphian Venus.180 There my infancyGrew up in opening beauty, like the rose,Ere summer has unfolded it; I lookedUpon the dove's blue eyes; how sorrowful,That it must die – upon the altar die;And then it seemed still dearer, and I heardIts murmuring on my bosom with a tear,Kissing it; but a young Athenian,Whom Epicurus taught that life's sweet primeWas like the rose; for whom AnacreonSang, Let us seize the moments as they fly,And bind our brows with clusters of the vine;Roaming, in summer, the Ægean deep,Enticed me from the shrines of her I served,And led me with him (for he had a boat,Charmed by the syrens) led from isle to isle.Joyous and reckless were his youthful crew,Their hair with myrtle and with roses wreathed,Who dipped the oar, in cadence, to the soundOf dulcimer, and tambourine, and lute,While damsels, like immortal goddesses,Their light hair gently waving to the breathOf summer, in the bloom and light of youth,Sang with accord of dulcet harmony,As if to charm the seas; and Cupid satAloft, his small right hand upon the helm,While with the left he loosed the purple sail181Free to the morning zephyrs. So we sailed,With music on the waters, sailed along,And thought not of the sounds of a sad worldWe had forsaken; while the lute thus wokeThe echoes of the listening Cyclades:Go, tell that pining boy to castHis willow wreath away;For though life's spring too soon is past,Though youth's sweet roses fade too fast,They shall not fade to-day.Nay, father, frown not thus like withering care,He who is old may yet remember hoursOf happiness like these, and will forgive;And wilt not thou, my father, wilt not thou?From Cyprus, island of the Queen of Love,We came to Naxos, and I joined the trainOf bacchanals, still singing, as we dancedUpon the mountains, to the bell and pipe,Evoe, Bacchus! Thence we sailed away,Careless, in the bright sunshine of the morn,And never thought the tempest would ariseTo cloud our happy days; but, hark! the stormOf night is howling round us; not a starIn heaven appears, to light our wintry way;Alas! the pinnace, with its company,Was dashed upon the rocks of Attica,Where stern Minerva stood, and with her spearShivered it into fragments at her feet.Cast on the shore, again I sought the faneOf her I served in Paphos, and once moreDanced round the altars of the Queen of Love.He, scarce escaping, all his substance gone,Joined the sea-robbers; and of late, I heard,Was banished to this isle, a criminal,Wasted by slow disease, and soon to die.My father, I have heard that thou canst callSpirits from heaven, of such strange potency,They can awake the dead, restore to lifeThe dying: oh! restore the youth I loved,And bring the rose to his pale cheek again!JOHNUnhappy child! the path of pleasure leadsTo sorrow in this world, and in the next.GRECIAN GIRLThe next! the next! My father, I have heardThat thou dost worship a new God – a GodWho has no priestess. I can dance and singLight as Euphrosyne, and I can weepFor pity, and can sigh, how tenderly!For love; and if thou wilt restore that youthTo health and love, oh! I will kneel to thee,And offer sacrifice, morning and eveTo thy great God, and weave a coronal,When I have culled the choicest flowers of Rhodes,182Father, to crown those few white hairs of thine.John answered, I will pray for him and thee;But leave me, child, now leave me to those prayers.The man of loftier wisdom spoke again:How sing the thoughtless in their songs of joy,Our days of happiness, at best, are short183And profitless, and in the death of manThere is no remedy, for we are born,And we shall sleep hereafter in the dust,As we had never been; so all our daysAre vanity, our breath but as a smoke,A vapour, and we turn again to earth,And this high spirit vanishes in air —Into thin air; our very name shall be Forgotten , and Oblivion on our worksSit silent, while our days have sped awayAs clouds that leave no trace, or as a mistDispersed and scattered by the noonday sun!Time is itself the shadow of a shade,Hurrying; and when our tale of days is told,The tomb is sealed, and who ever rose,To stand again beneath the light of day!Then let us crown with rosebuds, ere they fade,Our brows, and pass no blooming flower of spring!Such heartless sophistries have still deceivedEarth's poor wayfarers, they who know not God,For God created man – oh! not to dieEternally, but live, for ever live(So he be found holy, and just, and pure),The image of himself! What dost thou see?Thine eyes are fixed, and turned on vacancy.John said, I see the dead, both great and small,Stand before God; the loud archangel's trumpHath ceased to thunder o'er the bursting graves;How deep, how dread the silence, as that bookIs opened! Ah! there is another book.STRANGERIt is the Book of Life; the dead are judgedAccording to their works.JOHNAbove the throneInterminable space of glorious lightIs spread, and angel-troops and hierarchies,With golden harps, half-seen, into the depthsOf that interminable light recede,Till the tired vision shrinks. The sea, the sea,Gives up its dead! and Death and Hell pour forth,All hushed and pale, their countless multitudes,Shivering to meet the light; and millions pray,In silence: Hide us, hide us, earth, again!A gulph, beneath them, black as tenfold night,Glaring at times with intermittent flames,Opens; and, hark! sad sounds, and shrieks of woe,Come through the darkness. At the dreadful voice,Depart from me, ye cursed! John, amazed,Looked 'round: he saw the blue Ægean shine,And the approaching sail white in the wind.Then he who stood by him thus spoke: Awake;Let us toward the sea, for, look! the shipApproaches nearer to the eastern bay.As near, and still more near, she speeds her course,On this gray column, prostrate in the dust,Its tale unknown, the sole sad relic hereOf perishable glory,184 and, who knows,Perhaps a pillar of some marble fane,Raised to dark pagan idols, let us rest,And muse upon the change of mortal things.The Apostle sat, and as he watched the sail,Leaned on his staff to hear.The stranger spoke:Lo! the last fragment of departed days,This shaft of a fallen column; and even soShall all the monuments of human prideBe smitten to the desert dust, like thoseWho raised them, long to desert dust returned.Where are the hundred gates of regal Thebes!Let the clouds answer, and the silent sands.Where is the Tower of Babel, proudly raised,As to defy the Lord, above the clouds!He raised his arm, and, as a dream, it sank.Waters of Babylon, by thy sad shoresThe children of captivity sat down,Sat down and wept, when they remembered thee,O Sion! But the trump and cornet bray;It is Belshazzar's midnight feast! He sitsA god among his lords and concubines.A thousand torches flame aloof; the songsOf wantonness and blasphemy go up!And are those golden vessels, from the shrineAnd temple of the living God, brought forth,In impious derision? Does the hymnResound to Baal, and the gods of gold?And at this hour, do all the princes rise?Is the wine poured from vessels which the LordHad consecrated? Do they drink, and cry,The King shall live for ever? Ah! how changedHis countenance! he trembles, and his knees,Smite one against the other! Look, how changed!God of eternal justice, what is that?The fingers of a man, against the wall,Moving in shadow, and inscribing wordsOf dreadful import, but which none may read.Call the Chaldeans and Astrologers!Are they all mute? Call the poor captive slave,Daniel, the prophet of the Lord! The crowdAll turn their looks in silence, with their breathHushed by their terrors. Has he spoken? Yes!Thy sceptre is departed! Hear, O King!He hears and trembles; and that very night,He who blasphemed is gone to meet his Judge!Proclaim the conquering Persian; it was GodWho led his armies forth, who called his nameCyrus;185 and under him again shall riseThe temple at Jerusalem, shall riseIn beauty and in glory, till the dayOf tribulation smite it to the earth,As we have seen! Weep for Jerusalem;But in the light of heaven, the Church of ChristShall lift its battlements, till He shall come,With all his jubilant, acclaiming hosts,Amid the clouds!The old man raised his eyes,And on his forehead placed his withered hand,A moment musing; then he turned his lookAgain to his companion at his side.Ah! he is gone; but, hark! a rustling soundIs heard, and, bright above the eastern cliffs,Behold, a glorious angel's pennons spread.Look! he ascends into the azure depthOf light; he still ascends, till the blue skyIs only interrupted by some cloudsOf lightest brede and beauty, o'er the seaTransparent hung. John gazed with hands outspread,But nothing in the airy track was seen,Save those small clouds. Then pensive he sat down,His withered hands extending as in prayer.But, lo! the vessel drops its sail; a boatIs hurrying, smooth and rapid, through the spray —The sounds of men are heard – see, they approach!Yes, they are messengers of peace! they comeWith tidings to the lonely habitant.Two elders of the Church of EphesusGreet him with salutations from the shipWhose banner streams – the banner of the Cross —Beneath the rocks of Patmos: from the beachThe elders slow advanced, and one thus spoke:Hail, father! Cæsar is no more! Thy ChurchAt Ephesus again, by us, imploresThy presence and thy guidance; and, behold!The bark now waits to bear thee o'er the deep,For Nerva has reversed the stern decreePassed for thy banishment: arise, return,Return; for now the light of heaven againGleams on the temple of our infant faith;The radiance of the "golden candlestick,"That shone in the deep darkness of the earth,Shall flame more bright. Arise – arise – return!John took their hands, and, blessing them, gave thanksTo God who rules above; then cried, I go —With many thronging thoughts – back to the world,To wait how Heaven may yet dispose my lot,Till the grave close upon my pilgrimage.Yet would I stay a while, to bid farewellTo that, my cave,186 where I have seen strange things,And heard strange voices, and have passed five yearsIn loneliness and watching, and in prayer.Let me not part till I have said farewell!Hereafter I shall tell what I have seen.But now, O Lord and Saviour! strengthen me,A poor old man, returning to the world;Oh! look and let me feel thy presence now,Whom I have served so long I shall not seeAgain thy glorious form upon the earth,But I have lived to see thy Church arise,Now in its infancy, and gathering powerFrom day to day; and thou shalt be adoredTill the remotest isles, and every land,Shall praise and magnify thy glorious name!My days are well-nigh told, and few remain,But I shall live, protected, to record,O Lord and Saviour! all which I have seen,High and mysterious; as I declared,In the beginning was the Word; the Word,In the beginning, was with God; the WordWas God!And now farewell! Oh! may I passWhat yet remains of life in faith and hope,Till Christ shall call me in his mercy hence,And lead me gently to my last repose.Then may his Church, which he has raised on earth,Stand, though the tempest shake its battlements,Stand, till the trumpet, the last trumpet sound,And He shall come in clouds who founded it!As thus he spoke, his stature seemed to growMore lofty, with a step more firm he trod;Whilst a mild radiance, lambent on his face,Shone, as the radiance from the mercy-seat.He held his way, oft looking back to markThe cave where he had lived, when, lo! the dove,So often fed from his pale hand, has leftThe cliff, and flies, faint-murmuring, round his hair.And now he turns his eyes upon the deep;Yet scarce had reached the margin, when he sawThe sullen dwellers on these rugged shores,Led on by him who had confessed his sins —The robber of Mount Carmel, in his chains —Kneel at his feet. They blessed him, sorrowingThat they should see his face on earth no more.The stern centurion hid a starting tear;The poor emaciate youth knelt down, and sheWho tended him with love and tenderness,Wept, as he faintly sank, and breathed his last,His hands extending feebly, as he sunk,To John, in fervent prayer! The Grecian girlFell, desolate and sobbing, on his breast.But, lo! the wind has veered, and, streaming out,The red cross pennant points to Asia,As heaven-directed. Speed, ye mariners!The sails are swelling, and the widening deepIs all before you, surging to the gale.So they kept on their course to Ephesus,And o'er the Ægean waves beheld, far off,The cave, the lonely sands and lessening capesOf dreary Patmos sink to rise no more.

APOCALYPTIC HORSES

WHITE HORSE, RED HORSE, BLACK HORSE, PALE HORSE

Black Horse. – The period of the "black horse and rider with the balance" is generally referred to the reign of Severus. But here the commentators are at a loss. "The balance" sometimes betokens justice; sometimes is considered as indicative of a season of scarcity. The "black horse" is always associated with calamity. I humbly differ from all commentators. The "horse is black," say some, to show the "severity of the nature" of this emperor. But his nature was generally the reverse of severity. Now I shall give reasons for considering that "the balance" is the balance of Justice, and the "bread for a penny, and oil and wine," indicative of plenty, not scarcity – of plenty owing entirely to the prudent provisions of this emperor; and in proof of this, as well as what I shall say further on the subject, I adduce, not the testimony of professed Christian commentators, but the undesigned testimony – the stronger for that reason – of one of the most astute adversaries of Christianity – Gibbon.