The Revolt of Islam/Canto I

I.
the last hope of trampled France had failed Like a brief dream of unremaining glory, From visions of despair I rose, and scaled The peak of an aerial promontory, Whose caverned base with the vexed surge was hoary; And saw the golden dawn break forth, and waken Each cloud, and every wave:—but transitory The calm; for sudden, the firm earth was shaken, As if by the last wreck its frame were overtaken.

II.
So as I stood, one blast of muttering thunder Burst in far peals along the waveless deep, When, gathering fast, around, above and under, Long trains of tremulous mist began to creep, Until their complicating lines did steep The orient sun in shadow:—not a sound Was heard; one horrible repose did keep The forests and the floods, and all around Darkness more dread than night was pour’d upon the ground.

III.
Hark! ’tis the rushing of a wind that sweeps Earth and the ocean. See! the lightnings yawn Deluging Heaven with fire, and the lash’d deeps Glitter and boil beneath: it rages on, One mighty stream, whirlwind and waves upthrown, Lightning, and hail, and darkness eddying by. There is a pause—the sea-birds, that were gone Into their caves to shriek, come forth, to spy What calm has fall’n on earth, what light is in the sky.

IV.
For, where the irresistible storm had cloven That fearful darkness, the blue sky was seen Fretted with many a fair cloud interwoven Most delicately, and the ocean green, Beneath that opening spot of blue serene, Quiver’d like burning emerald: calm was spread On all below; but far on high, between Earth and the upper air, the vast clouds fled, Countless and swift as leaves on autumn’s tempest shed

V.
For ever, as the war became more fierce Between the whirlwinds and the rack on high, That spot grew more serene; blue light did pierce The woof of those white clouds, which seem’d to lie Far, deep, and motionless; while through the sky The pallid semicircle of the moon Past on, in slow and moving majesty; Its upper horn array’d in mists, which soon But slowly fled, like dew beneath the beams of noon.

VI.
I could not choose but gaze; a fascination Dwelt in that moon, and sky, and clouds, which drew My fancy thither, and in expectation Of what I knew not, I remain’d:—the hue Of the white moon, amid that heaven so blue, Suddenly stain’d with shadow did appear; A speck, a cloud, a shape, approaching grew, Like a great ship in the sun’s sinking sphere Beheld afar at sea, and swift it came anear.

VII.
Even like a bark, which from a chasm of mountains, Dark, vast, and overhanging, on a river Which there collects the strength of all its fountains, Comes forth, whilst with the speed its frame doth quiver, Sails, oars, and stream, tending to one endeavor; So, from that chasm of light a winged Form On all the winds of heaven approaching ever Floated, dilating as it came; the storm Pursued it with fierce blasts, and lightnings swift and warm.

VIII.
A course precipitous, of dizzy speed, Suspending thought and breath; a monstrous sight! For in the air do I behold indeed An Eagle and a Serpent wreathed in fight:— And now, relaxing its impetuous flight, Before the aerial rock on which I stood, The Eagle, hovering, wheel’d to left and right, And hung with lingering wings over the flood, And startled with its yells the wide air’s solitude.

IX.
A shaft of light upon its wings descended, And every golden feather gleam’d therein— Feather and scale inextricably blended. The Serpent’s mail’d and many-color’d skin Shone through the plumes its coils were twined within By many a swollen and knotted fold, and high And far, the neck, receding lithe and thin, Sustain’d a crested head, which warily Shifted and glanced before the Eagle’s steadfast eye.

X.
Around, around, in ceaseless circles wheeling With clang of wings and scream, the Eagle sail’d Incessantly—sometimes on high concealing Its lessening orbs, sometimes as if it fail’d, Droop’d through the air; and still it shrieked and wailed, And casting back its eager head, with beak And talon unremittingly assail’d The wreathed Serpent, who did ever seek Upon his enemy’s heart a mortal wound to wreak.

XI.
What life, what power, was kindled and arose Within the sphere of that appalling fray! For, from the encounter of those wondrous foes, A vapor like the sea’s suspended spray Hung gather’d: in the void air, far away, Floated the shattered plumes; bright scales did leap, Where’er the Eagle’s talons made their way, Like sparks into the darkness;—as they sweep, Blood stains the snowy foam of the tumultuous deep.

XII.
Swift chances in that combat—many a check, And many a change, a dark and wild turmoil; Sometimes the Snake around his enemy’s neck Locked in stiff rings his adamantine coil, Until the Eagle, faint with pain and toil, Remitted his strong flight, and near the sea Languidly flutter’d, hopeless so to foil His adversary, who then rear’d on high His red and burning crest, radiant with victory.

XIII.
Then on the white edge of the bursting surge, Where they had sunk together, would the Snake Relax his suffocating grasp, and scourge The wind with his wild writhings; for to break That chain of torment, the vast bird would shake The strength of his unconquerable wings As in despair, and with his sinewy neck, Dissolve in sudden shock those linked rings— Then soar, as swift as smoke from a volcano springs.

XIV.
Wile baffled wile, and strength encounter’d strength, Thus long, but unprevailing:—the event Of that portentous fight appeared at length: Until the lamp of day was almost spent It had endured, when lifeless, stark, and rent, Hung high that mighty Serpent, and at last Fell to the sea, while o’er the continent With clang of wings and scream the Eagle past, Heavily borne away on the exhausted blast.

XV.
And with it fled the tempest, so that ocean And earth and sky shone through the atmosphere— Only, ’twas strange to see the red commotion Of waves like mountains o’er the sinking sphere Of sunset sweep, and their fierce roar to hear Amid the calm: down the steep path I wound To the sea-shore—the evening was most clear And beautiful, and there the sea I found Calm as a cradled child in dreamless slumber bound.

XVI.
There was a Woman, beautiful as morning, Sitting beneath the rocks, upon the sand Of the waste sea—fair as one flower adorning An icy wilderness—each delicate hand Lay cross’d upon her bosom, and the band Of her dark hair had fall’n, and so she sate Looking upon the waves; on the bare strand Upon the sea-mark a small boat did wait, Fair as herself, like Love by Hope left desolate.

XVII.
It seem’d that this fair Shape had look’d upon That unimaginable fight, and now That her sweet eyes were weary of the sun, As brightly it illustrated her woe; For in the tears which silently to flow Paused not, its lustre hung: she watching aye The foam-wreaths which the faint tide wove below Upon the spangled sands, groan’d heavily, And after every groan look’d up over the sea.

XVIII.
And when she saw the wounded Serpent make His path between the waves, her lips grew pale, Parted, and quiver’d; the tears ceased to break From her immovable eyes; no voice of wail Escaped her; but she rose, and on the gale Loosening her star-bright robe and shadowy hair Poured forth her voice; the caverns of the vale That opened to the ocean, caught it there, And filled with silver sounds the overflowing air.

XIX.
She spake in language whose strange melody Might not belong to earth. I heard alone, What made its music more melodious be, The pity and the love of every tone; But to the Snake those accents sweet were known His native tongue and hers; nor did he beat The hoar spray idly then, but winding on Through the green shadows of the waves that meet Near to the shore, did pause beside her snowy feet.

XX.
Then on the sands the Woman sate again, And wept and clasp’d her hands, and all between, Renew’d the unintelligible strain Of her melodious voice and eloquent mien; And she unveil’d her bosom, and the green And glancing shadows of the sea did play O’er its marmoreal depth:—one moment seen, For ere the next, the Serpent did obey Her voice, and, coil’d in rest, in her embrace it lay.

XXI.
Then she arose, and smiled on me with eyes Serene yet sorrowing, like that planet fair, While yet the daylight lingereth in the skies Which cleaves with arrowy beams the dark-red air, And said: To grieve is wise, but the despair Was weak and vain which led thee here from sleep: This shalt thou know, and more, if thou dost dare With me and with this Serpent, o’er the deep, A voyage divine and strange, companionship to keep.

XXII.
Her voice was like the wildest, saddest tone, Yet sweet, of some loved voice heard long ago. I wept. Shall this fair woman all alone, Over the sea with that fierce Serpent go? His head is on her heart, and who can know How soon he may devour his feeble prey?— Such were my thoughts, when the tide ’gan to flow; And that strange boat like the moon’s shade did sway Amid reflected stars that in the waters lay.

XXIII.
A boat of rare device, which had no sail But its own curved prow of thin moonstone, Wrought like a web of texture fine and frail, To catch those gentlest winds which are not known To breathe, but by the steady speed alone With which it cleaves the sparkling sea; and now We are embark’d—the mountains hang and frown Over the starry deep that gleams below A vast and dim expanse, as o’er the waves we go.

XXIV.
And as we sailed, a strange and awful tale That Woman told, like such mysterious dream As makes the slumberer’s cheek with wonder pale! ’Twas midnight, and around, a shoreless stream, Wide ocean rolled, when that majestic theme Shrined in her heart found utterance, and she bent Her looks on mine; those eyes a kindling beam Of love divine into my spirit sent, And ere her lips could move, made the air eloquent.

XXV.
Speak not to me, but hear! Much shalt thou learn, Much must remain unthought, and more untold, In the dark Future’s ever-flowing urn: Know then, that from the depth of ages old Two Powers o’er mortal things dominion hold, Ruling the world with a divided lot, Immortal, all-pervading, manifold, Twin Genii, equal Gods—when life and thought Sprang forth, they burst the womb of inessential Naught.

XXVI.
The earliest dweller of the world alone, Stood on the verge of chaos: Lo! afar O’er the wide wild abyss two meteors shone, Sprung from the depth of its tempestuous jar: A blood-red Comet and the Morning Star Mingling their beams in combat—as he stood, All thoughts within his mind waged mutual war, In dreadful sympathy—when to the flood That fair Star fell, he turn’d and shed his brother’s blood.

XXVII.
Thus evil triumph’d, and the Spirit of evil, One Power of many shapes which none may know, One Shape of many names; the Fiend did revel In victory, reigning o’er a world of woe, For the new race of man went to and fro, Famish’d and homeless, loathed and loathing, wild, And hating good—for his immortal foe, He changed from starry shape, beauteous and mild, To a dire Snake, with man and beast unreconciled.

XXVIII.
The darkness lingering o’er the dawn of things, Was Evil’s breath and life: this made him strong To soar aloft with overshadowing wings; And the great Spirit of Good did creep among The nations of mankind, and every tongue Cursed and blasphemed him as he passed; for none Knew good from evil, though their names were hung In mockery o’er the fane where many a groan, As King, and Lord, and God, the conquering Fiend did own.

XXIX.
The Fiend, whose name was Legion: Death, Decay, Earthquake and Blight, and Want, and Madness pale, Winged and wan diseases, an array Numerous as leaves that strew the autumnal gale; Poison, a snake in flowers, beneath the veil Of food and mirth, hiding his mortal head; And, without whom all these might naught avail, Fear, Hatred, Faith, and Tyranny, who spread Those subtle nets which snare the living and the dead.

XXX.
His spirit is their power, and they his slaves In air, and light, and thought, and language, dwell; And keep their state from palaces to graves, In all resorts of men—invisible, But when, in ebon mirror, Nightmare fell To tyrant or impostor bids them rise, Black winged demon forms—whom, from the hell, His reign and dwelling beneath nether skies, He loosens to their dark and blasting ministries.

XXXI.
In the world’s youth his empire was as firm As its foundations—Soon the Spirit of Good, Though in the likeness of a loathsome worm, Sprang from the billows of the formless flood, Which shrank and fled; and with that fiend of blood Renewed the doubtful war—thrones then first shook, And earth’s immense and trampled multitude In hope on their own powers began to look, And Fear, the demon pale, his sanguine shrine forsook.

XXXII.
Then Greece arose, and to its bards and sages, In dream, the golden-pinion’d Genii came, Even where they slept amid the night of ages, Steeping their hearts in the divinest flame, Which thy breath kindled, Power of holiest name! And oft in cycles since, when darkness gave New weapons to thy foe, their sunlike fame Upon the combat shone—a light to save, Like Paradise spread forth beyond the shadowy grave.

XXXIII.
Such is this conflict—when mankind doth strive With its oppressors in a strife of blood, Or when free thoughts, like lightnings, are alive; And in each bosom of the multitude Justice and truth with custom’s hydra brood Wage silent war;—when priests and kings dissemble In smiles or frowns their fierce disquietude, When round pure hearts a host of hopes assemble, The Snake and Eagle meet—the world’s foundations tremble!

XXXIV.
Thou hast beheld that fight—when to thy home Thou dost return, steep not its hearth in tears; Though thou mayst hear that earth is now become The tyrant’s garbage, which to his compeers, The vile reward of their dishonor’d years, He will dividing give.—The victor Fiend, Omnipotent of yore, now quails, and fears His triumph dearly won, which soon will lend An impulse swift and sure to his approaching end.

XXXV.
List, stranger, list! mine is a human form, Like that thou wearest—touch me—shrink not now! My hand thou feel’st is not a ghost’s, but warm With human blood.—’Twas many years ago, Since first my thirsting soul aspired to know The secrets of this wondrous world, when deep My heart was pierced with sympathy, for woe Which could not be mine own—and thought did keep In dream, unnatural watch beside an infant’s sleep.

XXXVI.
Woe could not be mine own, since far from men I dwelt, a free and happy orphan child, By the sea-shore, in a deep mountain glen; And near the waves, and through the forests wild, I roam’d, to storm and darkness reconciled: For I was calm while tempest shook the sky: But when the breathless heavens in beauty smiled, I wept, sweet tears, yet too tumultuously For peace, and clasp’d my hands aloft in ecstasy.

XXXVII.
These were forebodings of my fate—before A woman’s heart beat in my virgin breast It had been nurtured in divinest lore: A dying poet gave me books, and blest With wild but holy talk the sweet unrest In which I watch’d him as he died away— A youth with hoary hair—a fleeting guest Of our lone mountains—and this lore did sway My spirit like a storm, contending there alway.

XXXVIII.
Thus the dark tale which history doth unfold, I knew, but not, methinks, as others know, For they weep not; and Wisdom had unroll’d The clouds which hide the gulf of mortal woe: To few can she that warning vision show— For I loved all things with intense devotion; So that when Hope’s deep source in fullest flow, Like earthquake did uplift the stagnant ocean Of human thoughts—mine shook beneath the wide emotion.

XXXIX.
When first the living blood through all these veins Kindled a thought in sense, great France sprang forth, And seized, as if to break, the ponderous chains Which bind in woe the nations of the earth. I saw, and started from my cottage hearth; And to the clouds and waves in tameless gladness Shriek’d, till they caught immeasurable mirth— And laugh’d in light and music: soon, sweet madness Was pour’d upon my heart, a soft and thrilling sadness.

XL.
Deep slumber fell on me:—my dreams were fire— Soft and delightful thoughts did rest and hover Like shadows o’er my brain; and strange desire, The tempest of a passion, raging over My tranquil soul, its depths with light did cover, Which past; and calm, and darkness, sweeter far, Came—then I loved; but not a human lover! For when I rose from sleep, the Morning Star Shone through the woodbine wreaths which round my casement were.

XLI.
’Twas like an eye which seemed to smile on me. I watched, till by the sun made pale, it sank Under the billows of the heaving sea; But from its beams deep love my spirit drank, And to my brain the boundless world now shrank Into one thought—one image—yes, for ever! Even like the day-spring, pour’d on vapors dank, The beams of that one Star did shoot and quiver Through my benighted mind—and were extinguished never.

XLII.
The day passed thus: at night, methought, in dream A shape of speechless beauty did appear: It stood like light on a careering stream Of golden clouds which shook the atmosphere; A winged youth, his radiant brow did wear The Morning Star: a wild dissolving bliss Over my frame he breathed, approaching near, And bent his eyes of kindling tenderness Near mine, and on my lips impressed a lingering kiss.

XLIII.
And said: a Spirit loves thee, mortal maiden, How wilt thou prove thy worth? Then joy and sleep Together fled, my soul was deeply laden, And to the shore I went to muse and weep; But as I moved, over my heart did creep A joy less soft, but more profound and strong Than my sweet dream; and it forbade to keep The path of the sea-shore: that Spirit’s tongue Seem’d whispering in my heart, and bore my steps along.

XLIV.
How, to that vast and peopled city led, Which was a field of holy warfare then, I walked among the dying and the dead, And shared in fearless deeds with evil men. Calm as an angel in the dragon’s den— How I braved death for liberty and truth, And spurn’d at peace, and power, and fame; and when Those hopes had lost the glory of their youth, How sadly I returned—might move the hearer’s ruth:

XLV.
Warm tears throng fast! the tale may not be said— Know then, that when this grief had been subdued, I was not left, like others, cold and dead; The Spirit whom I loved in solitude Sustained his child: the tempest-shaken wood, The waves, the fountains, and the hush of night— These were his voice, and well I understood His smile divine, when the calm sea was bright With silent stars, and Heaven was breathless with delight.

XLVI.
In lonely glens amid the roar of rivers, When the dim nights were moonless, have I known Joys which no tongue can tell; my pale lip quivers When thought revisits them:—know thou alone, That after many wondrous years were flown, I was awaken’d by a shriek of woe; And over me a mystic robe was thrown, By viewless hands, and a bright Star did glow Before my steps—the Snake then met his mortal foe.

XLVII.
Thou fearest not then the Serpent on thy heart? Fear it! she said, with brief and passionate cry, And spake no more: that silence made me start— I look’d, and we were sailing pleasantly, Swift as a cloud between the sea and sky; Beneath the rising moon seen far away; Mountains of ice, like sapphire, piled on high, Hemming the horizon round, in silence lay On the still waters—these we did approach alway.

XLVIII.
And swift and swifter grew the vessel’s motion, So that a dizzy trance fell on my brain— Wild music woke me; we had past the ocean Which girds the pole, Nature’s remotest reign— And we glode fast o’er a pellucid plain Of waters, azure with the noon-tide day. Ethereal mountains shone around—a Fane Stood in the midst, girt by green isles which lay On the blue sunny deep, resplendent far away.

XLIX.
It was a Temple, such as mortal hand Has never built, nor ecstasy, nor dream Rear’d in the cities of enchanted land: ’Twas likest Heaven, ere yet day’s purple stream Ebbs o’er the western forest, while the gleam Of the unrisen moon among the clouds Is gathering—when with many a golden beam The thronging constellations rush in crowds, Paving with fire the sky and the marmoreal floods.

L.
Like what may be conceived of this vast dome, When from the depths which thought can seldom pierce, Genius beholds it rise, his native home, Girt by the deserts of the Universe, Yet, nor in painting’s light, or mightier verse, Or sculpture’s marble language, can invest That shape to mortal sense—such glooms immerse That incommunicable sight, and rest Upon the laboring brain and overburthen’d breast.

LI.
Winding among the lawny islands fair, Whose bloomy forests starr’d the shadowy deep, The wingless boat paused where an ivory stair Its fretwork in the crystal sea did steep, Encircling that vast Fane’s aerial heap: We disembark’d, and through a portal wide We pass’d—whose roof of moonstone carved, did keep A glimmering o’er the forms on every side, Sculptures like life and thought, immovable, deep-eyed.

LII.
We came to a vast hall, whose glorious roof Was diamond, which had drunk the lightning’s sheen In darkness, and now poured it through the woof Of spell-inwoven clouds hung there to screen Its blinding splendor—through such veil was seen That work of subtlest power, divine and rare; Orb above orb, with starry shapes between, And horned moons, and meteors strange and fair, On night-black columns poised—one hollow hemisphere!

LIII.
Ten thousand columns in that quivering light Distinct—between whose shafts wound far away The long and labyrinthine aisles—more bright With their own radiance than the Heaven of Day; And on the jasper walls around, there lay Paintings, the poesy of mightiest thought, Which did the Spirit’s history display; A tale of passionate change, divinely taught, Which, in their winged dance, unconscious Genii wrought.

LIV.
Beneath, there sate on many a sapphire throne, The Great, who had departed from mankind, A mighty Senate;—some, whose white hair shone Like mountain snow, mild, beautiful, and blind; Some, female forms, whose gestures beam’d with mind; And ardent youths, and children bright and fair; And some had lyres whose strings were intertwined With pale and clinging flames, which ever there Waked faint yet thrilling sounds that pierced the crystal air.

LV.
One seat was vacant in the midst, a throne, Rear’d on a pyramid like sculptured flame, Distinct with circling steps which rested on Their own deep fire—soon as the Woman came Into that hall, she shriek’d the Spirit’s name And fell; and vanish’d slowly from the sight. Darkness arose from her dissolving frame, Which gathering, fill’d that dome of woven light, Blotting its sphered stars with supernatural night.

LVI.
Then first, two glittering lights were seen to glide In circles on the amethystine floor, Small serpent eyes trailing from side to side, Like meteors on a river’s grassy shore, They round each other roll’d, dilating more And more—then rose, commingling into one, One clear and mighty planet hanging o’er A cloud of deepest shadow, which was thrown Athwart the glowing steps and the crystálline throne.

LVII.
The cloud which rested on that cone of flame Was cloven; beneath the planet sate a Form, Fairer than tongue can speak or thought may frame, The radiance of whose limbs rose-like and warm Flowed forth, and did with softest light inform The shadowy dome, the sculptures, and the state Of those assembled shapes—with clinging charm Sinking upon their hearts and mine—He sate Majestic, yet most mild—calm, yet compassionate.

LVIII.
Wonder and joy a passing faintness threw Over my brow—a hand supported me, Whose touch was magic strength: an eye of blue Look’d into mine, like moonlight, soothingly; And a voice said—Thou must a listener be This day—two mighty Spirits now return, Like birds of calm, from the world’s raging sea, They pour fresh light from Hope’s immortal urn; A tale of human power—despair not—list and learn!

LIX.
I look’d, and lo! one stood forth eloquently, His eyes were dark and deep, and the clear brow Which shadowed them was like the morning sky, The cloudless Heaven of Spring, when in their flow Through the bright air, the soft winds as they blow Wake the green world—his gestures did obey The oracular mind that made his features glow, And where his curved lips half open lay, Passion’s divinest stream had made impetuous way.

LX.
Beneath the darkness of his outspread hair He stood thus beautiful; but there was One Who sate beside him like his shadow there, And held his hand—far lovelier—she was known To be thus fair, by the few lines alone Which through her floating locks and gather’d cloak, Glances of soul-dissolving glory, shone:— None else beheld her eyes—in him they woke Memories which found a tongue, as thus he silence broke.