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 Lord
Are come to me. Let us ascend, old man,
The summit of Elijah's cliff, that hangs
High o'er the ocean surge, and see the sun
Rise o'er the Ægean solitude to-day.
John answered, Can these feeble limbs sustain
The labour up the long and slow ascent,
Step by step, when I feel my strength decay
Daily, and draw my breath with pain?
Thy God
Will give thee strength, the stranger said, and took
His trembling hand, and led his feeble step
Slow up the hill; and ever as they went,
And the horizon widened, in his heart
John felt a strange reviving power, that braced
His sinews, and gave a vigour to his steps,
Conquering the pain and labour of the way:
But needs not pain or labour, for a thought
Hath brought them there, the white hairs, in the wind,
Of John, yet gently stirring, and his cheek
Just lighted with a transient glow; and now
Both stood upon the promontory's point,
Thoughtful and silent: soon they saw the sun
Slowly emerging, a vast orb of fire,
Above the shadowy edge of ocean; now
Flaming direct o'er Asia, with a stream
Of long illumination, on the clouds,
Marked with confusion of rich hues, and thence
Touching the nearer promontory's height,
Pale cliffs, and eagles' wings above the clouds,
And now careering through the heaven, supreme,
Full and magnificent, in loneliness
Of 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 fallen
Upon his knees, but a mild voice rebuked:
See that thou do it not; hast thou received
Or 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 heart
Thy presence; more so, in a scene like this,
Raised, as it were, above the shade and clouds
Of transient time. And so, long since, my soul
Felt a divine refreshment, when I stood
Upon the mount of vision with our Lord
That 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 cloud
Wandered far off, and lost in the blue sky,
And not a freckle stained the firmament
High overhead. The mystic mount itself,
Tabor, seemed rising up to heaven, and loomed
In such illumination, that the track
Below, 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 blaze
That wrapped the mount. The crowd of lesser hills
On to the city of Tiberias,
Appeared below o'er which the eagle sailed,
Mute, for his eyes yet blenched from the excess
Of 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 hands
Covered our faces, when we raised our eyes,
We saw three glorified appearances;
Two, as of aged prophets, with their beards
Streaming; each held a book, and in the midst,
And, buoyant in the air, his countenance
Bright as the sun, our Saviour's form appeared
Above 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, ardently
Cried: 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 heard
From 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 hand
He placed upon our heads, and said, Fear not!
And that calm look of dignity and love
Was placed upon us, as before. Again
We saw the sun – the cloudless cope of heaven —
The long green valley of Esdraelon —
The pines of dewy Hermon, and the smoke
Of Nain, where once a widowed mother wept
Her lost and only son, whom Jesus raised
From death's cold sleep, restoring to her tears
Of joy; we saw the cavern and the cliffs
Of Endor, where the wizard-woman called
Up 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 you
Once more! But this great vision of the mount,
With shadowings of glory, was displayed,
That we might be sustained in the dread day
Of 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 Him
Who 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 me
Thy 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 keys
Of death and hell. And wherefore should I fear,
Now waiting only to depart in peace!
But I have wandered in my thoughts; this view
From 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 van
With John, and gazed upon the seas below,
Said, Look towards the East: what dost thou see?
John answered, There is nothing but the clouds
And seas. And both were silent.
 

STRANGER

 
Look again.
John answered, There is nothing but the clouds
And seas, and the great sun above the waves,
That goeth forth in beauty.
 

STRANGER

 
Look again.
John answered, Yes, upon the farthest line
Of the blue ocean-track, there is a speck
Of light; no; yes; there is a distant sail
In sight; it seems as speeding hitherward.
 

STRANGER

 
Enough. Look to the west: what seest thou there?
 

JOHN

 
Ah! all that hid the vast and various scene
Slowly withdraws, like morning mist. I see
Regions, in light and shade, beyond the isles,
Delos and Mycone, mountains and capes
Unfolding, through the mist, as if they stood
Beneath our feet. There, bays, and gulfs, and plains,
And wandering streams appear; and o'er them, high
Upon a hill, in the pale atmosphere,
A temple vast, as of some god renowned
In pagan lands.
 

STRANGER

 
Thou 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?
 

JOHN

 
Another land, stretched, like a giant's arm,
Across the deep, with seas on either side.
There, on seven hills, I see a city, crowned
With glittering domes; the nether champagne spread
With aqueducts, and columns, arches, and towers.
 

STRANGER

 
It is the Imperial Mistress of the World,
Rome – Rome – now pagan; but a power unknown
Shall 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 power
Of cowled Superstition, that shall keep
Kingdoms 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.¹⁷⁹
Burns 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:
 

JOHN

 
I see the pillars and the rocky bounds
That gird this inland sea.
 

STRANGER

 
What seest thou more?
 

JOHN

 
I see a ship burst through the narrow frith
Into 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.
 

STRANGER

 
Thither 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 fishermen
Shall here and there be found; even where thy Church
Of 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.
 

JOHN

 
Even now, in vision rapt of days to come,
I see her Christian temples, pale in air,
Above the smoke of cities; o'er the deep
I 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 cloud
Hides, from the straining sight, temple, and tower,
And battlement.
 

STRANGER

 
Pray that it pass away.
 

JOHN

 
Ah! the pale horse and rider! the pale horse
Is there! silence is in the streets! The ark
Of her majestic polity, the Church —
The temple of the Lord – I see no more!
 

STRANGER

 
Pray that her faith preserve her: the event
Is in His hands who bade his angels sound
Their 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 waves
Of the pale-blue Ægean, still intent,
Watching the sail, that, by the western beam
Illumined, 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 sat
Of 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 man
Thus spoke: Among the banished criminals,
As they passed yesterday, didst thou not mark
A pale, emaciate youth, and by his side,
Oft looking in his altered face, with tears,
A beauteous Grecian female! He was one
Who crowned his hair with roses; trod the path
Of 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 rejoice
In 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 died
When I was yet a very child; my sire
Trafficked to Tyre, and when my mother died,
He left the woods, the hills, and shores of Greece
To seek a dwelling-place in Asia,
At Tyre or Smyrna; but the tempest rose,
And cast his vessel on the rocky coast
Of Cyprus. I was found upon the shore,
Escaped I know not how, for he was dead;
And pitying strangers bore me to the fane
Of Paphian Venus.¹⁸⁰ There my infancy
Grew up in opening beauty, like the rose,
Ere summer has unfolded it; I looked
Upon the dove's blue eyes; how sorrowful,
That it must die – upon the altar die;
And then it seemed still dearer, and I heard
Its murmuring on my bosom with a tear,
Kissing it; but a young Athenian,
Whom Epicurus taught that life's sweet prime
Was like the rose; for whom Anacreon
Sang, 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 sound
Of dulcimer, and tambourine, and lute,
While damsels, like immortal goddesses,
Their light hair gently waving to the breath
Of summer, in the bloom and light of youth,
Sang with accord of dulcet harmony,
As if to charm the seas; and Cupid sat
Aloft, his small right hand upon the helm,
While with the left he loosed the purple sail¹⁸¹
Free to the morning zephyrs. So we sailed,
With music on the waters, sailed along,
And thought not of the sounds of a sad world
We had forsaken; while the lute thus woke
The echoes of the listening Cyclades:
 
 
Go, tell that pining boy to cast
His 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 hours
Of 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 train
Of bacchanals, still singing, as we danced
Upon 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 arise
To cloud our happy days; but, hark! the storm
Of night is howling round us; not a star
In 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 spear
Shivered it into fragments at her feet.
Cast on the shore, again I sought the fane
Of her I served in Paphos, and once more
Danced 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 call
Spirits from heaven, of such strange potency,
They can awake the dead, restore to life
The dying: oh! restore the youth I loved,
And bring the rose to his pale cheek again!
 

JOHN

 
Unhappy child! the path of pleasure leads
To sorrow in this world, and in the next.
 

GRECIAN GIRL

 
The next! the next! My father, I have heard
That thou dost worship a new God – a God
Who has no priestess. I can dance and sing
Light as Euphrosyne, and I can weep
For pity, and can sigh, how tenderly!
For love; and if thou wilt restore that youth
To health and love, oh! I will kneel to thee,
And offer sacrifice, morning and eve
To thy great God, and weave a coronal,
When I have culled the choicest flowers of Rhodes,¹⁸²
Father, 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 short¹⁸³
And profitless, and in the death of man
There is no remedy, for we are born,
And we shall sleep hereafter in the dust,
As we had never been; so all our days
Are 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 works
Sit silent, while our days have sped away
As clouds that leave no trace, or as a mist
Dispersed 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 deceived
Earth's poor wayfarers, they who know not God,
For God created man – oh! not to die
Eternally, 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 trump
Hath ceased to thunder o'er the bursting graves;
How deep, how dread the silence, as that book
Is opened! Ah! there is another book.
 

STRANGER

 
It is the Book of Life; the dead are judged
According to their works.
 

JOHN

 
Above the throne
Interminable space of glorious light
Is spread, and angel-troops and hierarchies,
With golden harps, half-seen, into the depths
Of 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 ship
Approaches 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 here
Of 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 so
Shall all the monuments of human pride
Be smitten to the desert dust, like those
Who 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 shores
The 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 sits
A god among his lords and concubines.
A thousand torches flame aloof; the songs
Of wantonness and blasphemy go up!
And are those golden vessels, from the shrine
And temple of the living God, brought forth,
In impious derision? Does the hymn
Resound to Baal, and the gods of gold?
And at this hour, do all the princes rise?
Is the wine poured from vessels which the Lord
Had consecrated? Do they drink, and cry,
The King shall live for ever? Ah! how changed
His 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 words
Of 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 crowd
All turn their looks in silence, with their breath
Hushed 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 God
Who led his armies forth, who called his name
Cyrus;¹⁸⁵ and under him again shall rise
The temple at Jerusalem, shall rise
In beauty and in glory, till the day
Of tribulation smite it to the earth,
As we have seen! Weep for Jerusalem;
But in the light of heaven, the Church of Christ
Shall 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 look
Again to his companion at his side.
Ah! he is gone; but, hark! a rustling sound
Is heard, and, bright above the eastern cliffs,
Behold, a glorious angel's pennons spread.
Look! he ascends into the azure depth
Of light; he still ascends, till the blue sky
Is only interrupted by some clouds
Of lightest brede and beauty, o'er the sea
Transparent 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 boat
Is hurrying, smooth and rapid, through the spray —
The sounds of men are heard – see, they approach!
Yes, they are messengers of peace! they come
With tidings to the lonely habitant.
Two elders of the Church of Ephesus
Greet him with salutations from the ship
Whose banner streams – the banner of the Cross —
Beneath the rocks of Patmos: from the beach
The elders slow advanced, and one thus spoke:
Hail, father! Cæsar is no more! Thy Church
At Ephesus again, by us, implores
Thy presence and thy guidance; and, behold!
The bark now waits to bear thee o'er the deep,
For Nerva has reversed the stern decree
Passed for thy banishment: arise, return,
Return; for now the light of heaven again
Gleams 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 thanks
To 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 farewell
To that, my cave,¹⁸⁶ where I have seen strange things,
And heard strange voices, and have passed five years
In 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 see
Again thy glorious form upon the earth,
But I have lived to see thy Church arise,
Now in its infancy, and gathering power
From day to day; and thou shalt be adored
Till 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 Word
Was God!
And now farewell! Oh! may I pass
What 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 grow
More 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 mark
The cave where he had lived, when, lo! the dove,
So often fed from his pale hand, has left
The 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 saw
The 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, sorrowing
That they should see his face on earth no more.
The stern centurion hid a starting tear;
The poor emaciate youth knelt down, and she
Who 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 girl
Fell, 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 deep
Is 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 capes
Of dreary Patmos sink to rise no more.