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Hence, swift hour! and quench thy Which, like flowers, will burst from them.
Lest eyes see their own delight!
So that as if a frozen torrent
The golden gate of Sleep unbar,
When Strength and Beauty, met together,
The blood was curdled in its current ; dared not speak, even in look or motion,
Kindle their image, like a star
But chained within itself its proud
Between Desire and Fear thou wert
Sad was his life who bore thee in his Who from yon thrones pinnacled on the breast,
Wild bird for that weak nest. Till Love even from fierce Desire it bought,
And from the very wound of tender thought
Drew solace, and the pity of sweet eyes Gave strength to bear those gentle agonies,
Surmount the loss, the terror, and the Before your Father's throne; the swift
Then Hope approached, she who
For poor to-day, from rich to
And Fear withdrew, as night when
Descends upon the orient ray,
PROLOGUE TO HELLAS
Herald of Eternity. It is the day when all the sons of God Wait in the roofless senate-house, whose floor
Is Chaos, and the immovable abyss
The shadow of God, and delegate
past Sway the reluctant present, ye who sit Pavilioned on the radiance or the gloom Of mortal thought, which like an exhalation
Steaming from earth, conceals the of heaven
Which gave it birth,
-At one birth these four were born
Whilst the high Arbiter
Beholds the strife, and at the appointed
Sends his decrees veiled in eternal. . .
Yet hovers, and the fiery incarnation
The fairest of those wandering isles that gem
The sapphire space of interstellar air,
Less in the beauty of its tender light
Impels the generations
Temples and cities and immortal forms
And when the sun of its dominion failed,
Within the circuit of this pendant orb There lies an antique region, on which fell
The dews of thought in the world's golden dawn
Earliest and most benign, and from it
In wandering clouds of sunny rain that Low-kneeling at the feet of Destiny thawed
The unmaternal bosom of the North. Haste, sons of God, for ye
Reluctant, or consenting, or astonished, The stern decrees go forth, which heaped on Greece
And with their bitter dew two Destinies Filled each their irrevocable urns; the third,
Ruin and degradation and despair.
A fourth now waits: assemble, sons of Fiercest and mightiest, mingled both,
Chaos and Death, and slow Oblivion's lymph,
And hate and terror, and the poisoned rain
To speed or to prevent or to suspend,
The unaccomplished destiny.
There are two fountains in which spirits weep
When mortals err, Discord and Slavery named,
The senate of the Gods is met,
There is silence in the spaces-
The Aurora of the nations. By this
Whose pores wept tears of blood, by these wide wounds,
By this imperial crown of agony,
The unremembered joy of a revenge,
By Greece and all she cannot cease to
Her quenchless words, sparks of immortal truth,
Stars of all night-her harmonies and forms,
Echoes and shadows of what Love
In thee, I do compel thee, send forth
Thy irrevocable child: let her descend
From hollow leagues, from Tyranny which arms
Adverse miscreeds and emulous anarchies To stamp, as on a winged serpent's seed,
Upon the name of Freedom; from the Of Him who sends thee forth, whate'er
Of faction, which like earthquake shakes Speed, spare not to accomplish, and be and sickens mine
Thy trophies, whether Greece again
The solid heart of enterprise; from all By which the holiest dreams of highest spirits
Are stars beneath the dawn ...
And as the Heavens and the Earth
Their presence in the beauty and the light
Of thy first smile, O Father, as they gather
The spirit of thy love which paves for them
Their path o'er the abyss, till every sphere
Shall be one living Spirit, so shall
Which pierces thee! whose throne a chair of scorn;
The fountain in the desert whence the earth
Shall drink of freedom, which shall give it strength
Insatiate Superstition still shall . .
Satan. Be as all things beneath the Above, and Fraud shall gape below, and
Mine! Art thou eyeless like old Des- Shall fit before thee on her dragon tiny, wings,
To suffer, or a gulph of hollow death
The innumerable worlds of golden light Which are my empire, and the least of them
Than of the Father's; but lest thou shouldst faint,
The winged hounds, Famine and Pestilence,
Shall wait on thee, the hundred-forkèd snake
Thou mockery-king, crowned with a Convulsing and consuming, and I add wreath of thorns? Three vials of the tears which demons Whose sceptre is a reed, the broken weep reed
When virtuous spirits through the gate of Death
Pass triumphing over the thorns of life, For seest thou not beneath this crystal Sceptres and crowns, mitres and swords floor and snares,
Trampling in scorn, like Him and
The first is Anarchy; when Power and
which thou would'st redeem from me?
Know'st thou not them my portion? Or wouldst rekindle the strife tree, Which our great Father then did arbi- Then pour it forth, and men shall gather
Which he assigned to his competing The second Tyranny
Glory and science and security,
On Freedom hang like fruit on the green
Each his apportioned realm ?
Christ. Obdurate spirit! Thou seest but the Past in the Tocome.
Thou Destiny, Thou who art mailed in the omnipotence | Pride is thy error and thy punishment.
Boast not thine empire, dream not that thy worlds
Or could the morning shafts of purest light
Are more than furnace-sparks or rain- Again into the quivers of the Sun bow-drops Be gathered-could one thought from its wild flight
Before the Power that wields and kindles them.
True greatness asks not space, true excellence
Lives in the Spirit of all things that live, Which lends it to the worlds thou callest thine.
Haste thou and
fill the waning crescent A star has fallen upon the earth With beams as keen as those which 'Mid the benighted nations, pierced the shadow Of Christian night rolled back upon the West
When the orient moon of Islam rode in triumph
From Tmolus to the Acroceraunian snow.
Wake, thou Word Of God, and from the throne of Destiny Even to the utmost limit of thy way May Triumph
A quenchless atom of immortal light,
A cresset shaken from the constellations.
To the heart of Earth, the well
Be thou a curse on them whose
In a form of mortal birth,
Divides and multiplies the most high The thin and painted garment of the
FRAGMENTS WRITTEN FOR
FAIREST of the Destinies,
Return into the temple of the brain Without a change, without a stain,
And the smile thou wearest
Could aught that is, ever again
Wraps thee as a star
Is wrapt in light.
Ruining its chaos-a fierce breath
FRAGMENT: "I WOULD NOT
I WOULD not be a king-enough
The path to power is steep and rough,
I would not climb the imperial throne;
Could Arethuse to her forsaken urn
From Alpheus and the bitter Doris run, | Keeping flocks on Himalay!