The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume Ii Part 16

ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT.

This poem was first published under the name of "One of the Living Poets of Great Britain." I have thought it best to revise and publish it in my own name, and as it is the last written by me, and the last I may ever live to write, I have added, from volumes long out of print, some selected verses of my earliest days of song.[112]

Since these were written, I have lived to hear the sounds of other harps, whose masters have struck far more sublime chords, and died.

I have lived to see among them females[113] of the highest poetical rank, and many ill.u.s.trious masters of the lyre, whose names I need not specify, crowned with younger and more verdant laurels, which they yet gracefully wear. Some who now rank high in the poet's art have acknowledged that their feelings were first excited by these youthful strains, which I have now, with melancholy feelings, revised for the last time.

It is a consolation that, from youth to age, I have found no line I wished to blot, or departed a moment from the severer taste which I imbibed from the simplest and purest models of cla.s.sical composition.

TIME--Four days.

CHARACTERS.--St John--Mysterious Stranger--Praefect of the Roman Guard--Robber of Mount Carmel, converted--Grecian Girl and Dying Libertine--Elders of Ephesus--Visions.

ST JOHN IN PATMOS.

War, and the noise of battle, and the hum Of armies, by their watch-fires, in the night, And charging squadrons, all in harness bright, The sword, the s.h.i.+eld, the trumpet, and the drum-- Themes such as these, too oft, in lofty song Have been resounded, while the poet strung His high heroic lyre, and louder sung Of chariots flas.h.i.+ng through the armed throng:-- But other sights and other sounds engage, Fitlier, the thoughts of calm-declining age, More worthy of the Christian and the sage; Who, when deep clouds his country have o'ercast, And sadder comes the moaning of the blast, To G.o.d would consecrate a parting lay Of holier homage, ere he pa.s.s away.

PART FIRST.

Cave in Patmos--Apparition--Mysterious Visitant--Day, Night, and Morning.

'Twas in the rugged and forsaken isle Of Patmos, dreariest of the sister isles Which strew the aegean, where the pirate, wont To rove the seas with scymitar of blood, Now scowled in sullen exile, an old man, Tranquilly listening to the ocean-sounds, And resting on his staff, beside a cave, 7 Gazed on the setting sun, as it went down In glory o'er the distant hills of Greece.

Pale precipices frowned above the track Of dark gray sands and stone; nor wood nor stream Cheered the lone valleys, desolate, and sad, And silent; not a goat amid the crags Wandering, and picking here and there a blade Of withered gra.s.s, above the sea-marge hung.

The robber[114] scowled, and spoke not; his dark eye Still flashed unconquered pride, and sullen hate To man, and, looking on his iron chain, He muttered to himself a deeper curse.

The old man had his dwelling in a cave, 20 Half-way upon the desert mountain's side, Now bent with the full weight of eighty years And upwards; and that caverned mountain-crag Five years had been his dwelling:[115] there he sat, Oft holding converse, not with forms of earth, But, as was said, with spirits of the blessed, Beyond this cloudy sphere, or with the dead Of other days. A girdle bound his loins; Figs and Icarian honey were his food; An ill-carved cup by a clear fount was seen; 30 His long locks and his white descending beard Shook when he tottered down into the sun, Supported by a slender cross of pine, His staff; and when the evening star arose O'er Asia, a brief time he stood and gazed, Then sought his melancholy cave and prayed.

And who, in this sad place, was this old man?

Who, in this island, where the robber scowled, Was this old man, exiled and dest.i.tute-- Old, but so reverenced, the murderer pa.s.sed 40 His rocky dwelling, and bade peace to it?

'Twas he who leaned upon our Saviour's breast At the last supper; he to whom the Lord, Looking upon his countenance of youth, His calm, clear forehead, and his cl.u.s.tering hair, Said, What if he shall tarry till I come!

Long years--and many sorrows marked these years-- Had pa.s.sed since this was said; and now that face Was furrowed o'er with age; and weariness And exile, in the last lone days of life, 50 Were now his lot; for they whom he had loved-- They, the disciples of "Him crucified"-- Professing one warm faith, one glorious hope, Were all, in the same faith and the same hope, Laid down in peace, after their pilgrimage, Where the world ceased from troubling.

He alone Lingered when all were dead, with fervent prayer Soon in the bosom of his Lord to rest.

And now he comes forth from his rocky cave 60 To gaze a while upon the silent sea, In the calm eventide of the Lord's day; To think on Him he loved, and of that voice Once heard on earth: so, pondering, on his staff, The old man watched another sun go down Beyond the Cape of Tenos.[116] The still sea Slept, in the light of eve, beneath his feet, And often, as in very gentleness, It seemed to touch his sandals, and retire.

And now the last limb of the sinking orb 70 Is hid, yet far away the cloudy track Reddens with its departing glory.

Hark! 73 A voice, and, lo! seven "golden candlesticks,"[117]

The "Angels of the Churches" upon earth, "Seven golden candlesticks," and He, the Lord, Among them, like unto that Son of G.o.d Who radiant on the mount of vision[118] stood, Now recognised the same, in the same shape.

His hair was white as snow; his eyes were flame; 80 His voice, the sound of waters; in his hand-- His raised right hand--seven stars; his countenance As the bright sun, that s.h.i.+neth in his strength; And yet serene as the descending day.

It was the Lord: the old man at his feet Fell down as dead; the apparition stood Glorious above his head, and spoke: Fear not; I am the first and last; the last and first: Lo, I am he that liveth, and was dead: 90 And now, behold, I live for evermore-- For evermore, and have the keys of h.e.l.l And death![119]

The glory pa.s.sed--and all around Is still as death: the old man sinks to earth, Astonied, faint, and pale. When the slow sense Struggled to recollection, he looked around, Yet trembling; but no voice was heard; no form Stood, bending in its glory, o'er him.

Then seemed the hills of that forsaken isle 100 More dreary; and the promontories bare Lifted their weather-beaten brows more dark And desolate. Back to his lonely cave The old man pa.s.sed; and, wrapped in thoughts of heaven, Lifted in prayer his clasped emaciate hands; 105 Then on his bed of rushes in the cave Lay down to rest till dawn. What was his dream?

He saw again, as when the rocks were rent, And "darkness at midday was o'er the land,"

His Saviour calmly bowing his meek head 110 Upon the cross: he heard that thrilling voice Even from the cross, Woman, behold thy son!

Son, look upon thy mother!

Then he saw The forms of those whom he had loved on earth, And heard their voices still; and stood entranced, With Peter and with James, upon the mount Of glorious vision; now he saw, in dreams, Again the glistening apparition rise, And stand above him. He has tarried long 120 And lonely in the world: the vision comes To animate his hopes--to say, Live, live With me, for evermore! And, lo, the keys!

This opens the bright mansions of the blessed; This closes the eternal gates of h.e.l.l, Upon the gnas.h.i.+ng of the teeth, and groans Unutterable. So the Saviour spoke, As seemed in his sleep. Ah! the stern shade Of murdered Caesar rises: Art thou dead, King of the world? for this didst thou proclaim 130 Thyself a G.o.d--a living G.o.d on earth?[120]

Let the pit hide thee! But thou art a G.o.d!

Then bid the fury of these flames a.s.suage Ere they reach thee! Who shrieked?

At the sound, The ancient and the solitary man Started from sleep The cold gray dawn appeared, 138 When, standing opposite, with steadfast look, And in the glimmer of the inmost cave, He saw a stranger.

Whence and who art thou?

With trembling voice he asked--whence? who art thou?

Perhaps the spirit of this dismal isle!

Or, cast upon these melancholy rocks, A poor and world-forsaken thing, like me!

The stranger gazed unmoved, and answered not: His looks were those of pity--of respect-- As mingling thoughtful wisdom with the grace Of beauty. In his hand he held a book: 150 He opened it; and never light appeared So fair as that on his majestic brow, For now the sun had risen, and its beams Shot far into the cave.

John gazed with awe On that majestic man, he knew not why; And well might he have gazed with reverence, For here, in this rude spot, he only saw Men the most dark and savage of their kind, Murderers, and ruthless criminals in chains. 160 He spoke to them of truth and righteousness-- He spoke of an offended G.o.d! Some looked To the bright sun, defying; others turned Muttering. He spoke of pity, and they heard, Even as the relentless hurricane Hears the last prayer of the faint mariner, Whom wintry waves had dashed upon the rocks.

Yet ever with the gentlest offices, With tears and prayers the holy exile strove To wake their better feelings, for he laid 170 His hands upon the sick, and they looked up With hope and blessed him, and, restored to strength, Forgot the vows they made; him, too, who died 173 Hardened, and, as to human eyes, in sin, He laid in the cold grave, and said a prayer For mercy to the G.o.d of all, the Judge, To whom all hearts be open, and from whom No secret thought is hid--and, self-accused, Mortal himself, presumed not to condemn.

So pa.s.sed this ancient holy man his days, 180 Peaceful, amid the banished criminals, Banished and poor himself, but living thus, Among the sternest of their kind, he prayed For their salvation:--so he pa.s.sed his days Peaceful, but sad; and now, with anxious gaze, He turned his look to the mysterious man, Who, steadfastly beholding him, thus spoke: The voice of prophecy has been fulfilled; Where is the Temple? where Jerusalem?

Ah! wretched city! Famine, war, and woe 190 Have done their destined work. The living drops[121]

Dead on the carcase he is burying!

That famished babe is black! Oh! turn away!

All--all is silent now; and thou hast seen This prophecy fulfilled, for not one stone Of beautiful and sacred Solima Is left upon another! He who died, When he beheld the city, o'er it wept, And said, O daughters of Jerusalem!

Weep not for me, but for your little ones! 200 The tender words--dost thou remember them?

Jerusalem, Jerusalem! how oft Would I have gathered up those little ones, Even as a hen beneath a mother's wing; 204 But ye would not: and now, behold your house Is left unto you desolate! Alas!

How desolate! But even in those last days Warning was given, if yet they would repent.

A b.l.o.o.d.y sword, like a red comet, hung Above the Temple, and a strange sad light 210 Sat on the altar; while the inner gate, Untouched, at midnight burst its brazen bars, And stood wide open; armed men did fight Amid the clouds; and, in the dead of night, The pale priest heard a voice, Depart! depart![122]

So the fair city of Jerusalem Perished: but, lo! Christ's holy Church shall rise-- Rise from its ashes--yea, is risen now; Its glorious gates shall never be cast down, Till He, the King of glory, shall appear! 220 He founded it upon a rock--a rock, Which time, the rus.h.i.+ng earthquake, or the storm, Whilst earth endures, shall never shake!

Old man, Beloved of the Lord, wouldst thou know more-- What things shall be hereafter? rise and mark!

The old man, lifting up his eyelids, slow, Saw a door opened in the heaven, and heard A voice, as of a trumpet: Come and see!

Straight he was in the Spirit, and the voice 230 Inquired, What vision comes? The seer replied: There is a throne in heaven,[123] and on the throne One sitteth, and he seems, to look upon, Red as a sardine-stone--a deep, deep red Is round about, yet, as a jasper, bright His face! The sun is of an ashy pale, 236 So red and bright that form!

VOICE.

Thou seest the throne Of the Eternal Justice. Look again.

JOHN.

There is a rainbow[124] round about the throne, 240 Tempering the fiery red.

VOICE.

It is the bow Of mercy, and of pardon, and of peace; Of mercy, as when, stealing from the clouds, It came forth, beautiful and silently, Above the waste of waters, and the flood, Receding--token of the covenant Of grace restored; while the great orb of day Shone westering, and some few small drops of rain Fell transient in the suns.h.i.+ne, where, far off, 250 The wings of the ascending dove were seen, And by the altar, in the rainbow-light-- That light upon the altar and his brow-- The world's survivor stood. What seest thou more?

JOHN.

About the throne are four and twenty seats;[125]

And four and twenty elders, clothed in white, Each having on his head a crown of gold, Are on those seats.

VOICE.[126]

Dost thou not hear a voice? 259

JOHN.

Yea! voices, such as earth ne'er heard; and, lo!

There are seven lamps of fire, before the throne.

VOICE.

They are the Spirits of the living G.o.d.