The Sacred Mountain
1.
But then, methought, I heard a voice exclaim,
Hither, my Son, oh, hither take thy flight!
A heavenly voice which call'd me by my name,
And bade me hasten from that treacherous height:
The voice it was which I was wont to hear,
Sweet as a Mother's to her infant's ear.
2.
I hesitated no, but at the call
Sprung from the summit of that tottering tower.
There is a motion known in dreams to all,
When, buoyant by some self-sustaining power,
Through air we seem to glide, as if set free
From all encumbrance of mortality
3.
Thus borne aloft, I reach'd the Sacred Hill,
And left the scene of tempests far behind;
But that old tempter's parting language still
Press'd like a painful burden on my mind;
The troubled soul had lost her inward light,
And all within was black as Erebus and Night.
4.
The thoughts which I had known in youth return'd;
But, oh, how changed! a sad and spectral train;
And while for all the miseries past I mourn'd,
And for the lives which had been given in vain,
In sorrow and in fear I turn'd mine eye
From the dark aspects of futurity.
5.
I sought the thickest woodland's shade profound,
As suited best my melancholy mood,
And cast myself upon the gloomy ground.
When lo! a gradual radiance fill'd the wood;
A heavenly presence rose upon my view,
And in that form divine the awful Muse I knew.
6.
Hath then that Spirit false perplex'd thy heart,
O thou of little faith! severe she cried.
Bear with me, Goddess, heavenly as thou art,
Bear with my earthly nature! I replied,
And let me pour into thine ear my grief;
Thou canst enlighten, thou canst give relief.
7.
The ploughshare had gone deep, the sower's hand
Had scatter'd in the open soil the grain;
The harrow, too, had well prepared the land;
I look'd to see the fruit of all this pain!—
Alas! the thorns and old inveterate weed
Have sprung again, and stifled the good seed.
8.
I hoped that Italy should break her chains,
Foreign and papal, with the world's applause,
Knit in firm union her divided reigns,
And rear a well-built pile of equal laws:
Then might the wrongs of Venice be forgiven,
And joy should reach Petrarca's soul in Heaven.
9.
I hoped that that abhorr'd Idolatry
Had in the strife received its mortal wound:
The Souls which from beneath the Altar cry,
At length, I thought, had their just vengeance found;—
In purple and in scarlet clad, behold
The Harlot sits, adorn'd with gems and gold!
10.
The golden cup she bears full to the brim
Of her abominations, as of yore;
Her eyeballs with inebriate triumph swim;
Though drunk with righteous blood, she thirsts for more,
Eager to reassert her influence fell,
And once again let loose the Dogs of Hell
11.
Woe for that people, too, who by their path
For these late triumphs first made plain the way;
Whom, in the Valley of the Shade of Death,
No fears nor fiery sufferings could dismay;
Art could not tempt, nor violence enthrall
Their firm devotion, faithful found through all.
12.
Strange race of haughty heart and stubborn will,
Slavery they love, and chains with pride they wear;
Inflexible alike in good or ill,
The inveterate stamp of servitude they bear.
Oh fate perverse, to see all change withstood,
There only where all change must needs be good!
13.
But them no foe can force, nor friend persuade;
Impassive souls in iron forms enclosed,
As though of human mould they were not made,
But of some sterner elements composed,
Against offending nations to be sent,
The ruthless ministers of punishment.
14.
Where are those Minas after that career
Wherewith all Europe rang from side to side?
In exile wandering! Where the Mountaineer,—
Late, like Pelayo, the Asturian's pride?
Had Ferdinand no mercy for that life,
Exposed so long for him in daily, hourly strife!
15.
From her Athenian orator of old
Greece never listen'd to sublimer strain
Than that with which, for truth and freedom bold,
Quintana moved the inmost soul of Spain.
What meed is his let Ferdinand declare—
Chains, and the silent dungeon, and despair!
16.
For this hath England borne so brave a part!
Spent with endurance, or in battle slain,
Is it for this so many an English heart
Lies mingled with the insensate soil of Spain!
Is this the issue, this the happy birth
In those long throes and that strong agony brought forth!
17.
And oh! if England's fatal hour draw nigh,—
If that most glorious edifice should fall
By the wild hands of bestial Anarchy,—
Then might it seem that He who ordereth all
Doth take for sublunary things no care;—
The burden of that thought is more than I can bear.
18.
Even as a mother listens to her child
My plaint the Muse divine benignant heard,
Then answer'd, in reproving accents mild,
What if thou seest the fruit of hope deferr'd;
Dost thou for this in faltering faith repine?
A manlier, wiser virtue should be thine!
19.
Ere the good seed can give its fruit in Spain,
The light must shine on that bedarken'd land,
And Italy must break her papal chain,
Ere the soil answer to the sower's hand;
For, till the sons their fathers' fault repent,
The old error brings its direful punishment.
20.
Hath not experience bade the wise man see
Poor hope from innovations premature?
All sudden change is ill: slow grows the tree
Which in its strength through ages shall endure.
In that ungrateful earth it long may lie
Dormant, but fear not that the seed should die.
21.
Falsely that Tempter taught thee that the past
Was but a blind, inextricable maze;
Falsely he taught that evil overcast
With gathering tempests these propitious days,
That he in subtle snares thy soul might bind,
And rob thee of thy hopes for human-kind.
22.
He told thee the beginning and the end
Were indistinguishable all, and dark;
And when from his vain Tower he bade thee bend
Thy curious eye, well knew he that no spark
Of heavenly light would reach the bafiled sense;
The mists of earth lay round him all too dense.
23.
Must I, as thou hadst chosen the evil part,
Tell thee that Man is free and God is good?
These primal truths are rooted in thy heart:
But these, being rightly felt and understood,
Should bring with them a hope, calm, constant, sure,
Patient, and on the rock of faith secure.
24.
The Monitress Divine, as thus she spake,
Induced me gently on, ascending still,
And thus emerging from that mournful brake
We drew toward the summit of the hill,
And reach'd a green and sunny place, so fair
As well with long-lost Eden might compare.
25.
Broad cedars grew around that lovely glade,
Exempted from decay, and never sere,
Their wide-spread boughs diffused a fragrant shade;
The cypress incorruptible was here,
With fluted stem and head aspiring high,
Nature's proud column, pointing to the sky.
26.
There, too, the vigorous olive in its pride,
As in its own Apulian soil uncheck'd,
Tower'd high, and spread its glaucous foliage wide:
With liveliest hues the mead beneath was deck'd,
Gift of that grateful tree that with its root
Repays the earth, from whence it feeds its fruit.
27.
There, too, the sacred bay, of brighter green,
Exalted its rejoicing head on high;
And there the martyrs' holier palm was seen
Waving its plumage as the breeze went by.
All fruits which ripen under genial skies
Grew there, as in another Paradise.
28.
And over all that lovely glade there grew
All wholesome roots and plants of healing power;
The herb of grace, the medicinal rue,
The poppy rich in worth as gay in flower;
The heart's-ease that delighteth every eye,
And sage divine, and virtuous euphrasy.
29.
Unwounded here Judæa's balm distill'd
Its precious juice; the snowy jasmine here
Spread its luxuriant tresses wide, and fill'd
With fragrance the delicious atmosphere;
More piercing still did orange-flowers dispense
From golden groves the purest joy of sense.
30.
As low it lurk'd the tufted moss between,
The violet there its modest perfume shed,
Like humble virtue, rather felt than seen:
And here the Rose of Sharon rear'd its head,
The glory of all flowers, to sense and sight
Yielding their full contentment of delight.
31.
A gentle river wound its quiet way
Through this sequester'd glade, meandering wide;
Smooth as a mirror here the surface lay,
Where the pure lotus, floating in its pride,
Enjoy'd the breath of heaven, the sun's warm beam,
And the cool freshness of its native stream.
32.
Here, o'er green weeds, whose tresses waved outspread,
With silent lapse the glassy waters run;
Here, in fleet motion o'er a pebbly bed,
Gliding they glance and ripple to the sun;
The stirring breeze that swept them in its flight,
Raised on the stream a shower of sparkling light.
33.
And all sweet birds sung there their lays of love;
The mellow thrush, the blackbird loud and shrill,
The rapturous nightingale that shook the grove,
Made the ears vibrate, and the heart-strings thrill;
The ambitious lark, that, soaring in the sky,
Pour'd forth her lyric strain of ecstasy.
34.
Sometimes, when that wild chorus intermits,
The linnet's song was heard amid the trees,
A low, sweet voice; and sweeter still, at fits
The ringdove's wooing came upon the breeze;
While with the wind which moved the leaves among,
The murmuring waters join'd in undersong.
35.
The hare disported here, and fear'd no ill,
For never evil thing that glade came nigh;
The sheep were free to wander at their will,
As needing there no earthly shepherd's eye;
The bird sought no concealment for her nest,
So perfect was the peace wherewith those bowers were blest.
36.
All blending thus with all in one delight,
The soul was soothed, and satisfied, and fill'd;
This mingled bliss of sense, and sound, and sight,
The flow of boisterous mirth might there have still'd,
And, sinking in the gentle spirit deep,
Have touch'd those strings of joy which make us weep.
37.
Even thus in earthly gardens had it been,
If earthly gardens might with these compare;
But more than all such influences, I ween,
There was a heavenly virtue in the air,
Which laid all vain, perplexing thoughts to rest,
And heal'd, and calm'd, and purified the breast.
38.
Then said I to that guide divine, My soul,
When here we enter'd, was o'ercharged with grief;
For evil doubts, which I could not control,
Beset my troubled spirit. This relief,—
This change,—whence are they? Almost it might seem
I never lived till now:—all else had been a dream.
39.
My heavenly teacher answer'd, Say not seem ;—
In this place all things are what they appear;
And they who feel the past a feverish dream,
Wake to reality on entering here.
These waters are the Well of Life, and lo!
The Rock of Ages there, from whence they flow
40.
Saying thus, we came upon an inner glade,
The holiest place that human eyes might see;
For all that vale was like a temple made
By Nature's hand, and this the sanctuary;
Where, in its bed of living rock, the Rood
Of Man's redemption firmly planted stood.
41.
And at its foot the never-failing Well
Of Life profusely flow'd that all might drink.
Most blessed Water! Neither tongue can tell
The blessedness thereof, nor heart can think,
Save only those to whom it hath been given
To taste of that divinest gift of Heaven.
42.
There grew a goodly Tree this Well beside;—
Behold a branch from Eden planted here,
Pluck'd from the Tree of Knowledge, said my guide.
O Child of Adam, put away thy fear,—
In thy first father's grave it hath its root;
Taste thou the bitter, but the wholesome fruit.
43.
In awe I heard, and trembled, and obey'd:
The bitterness was even as of death;
I felt a cold and piercing thrill pervade
My loosen'd limbs, and losing sight and breath,
To earth I should have fallen in my despair,
Had I not clap'd the Cross, and been supported there.
44.
My heart, I thought, was bursting with the force
Of that most fatal fruit; soul-sick I felt,
And tears ran down in such continuous course,
As if the very eyes themselves should melt.
But then I heard my heavenly teacher say,
Drink, and this mortal stound will pass away.
45.
I stoop'd and drank of that divinest Well,
Fresh from the Rock of Ages where it ran;
It had a heavenly quality to quell
My pain:—I rose a renovated man,
And would not now, when that relief was known,
For worlds the needful suffering have foregone.
46.
Even as the Eagle (ancient storyers say)
When, faint with years, she feels her flagging wing,
Soars up toward the mid sun's piercing ray,
Then, fill'd with fire, into some living spring
Plunges, and casting there her aged plumes,
The vigorous strength of primal youth resumes;—
47.
Such change in me that blessed Water wrought;
The bitterness which, from its fatal root,
The Tree derived, with painful healing fraught,
Pass'd clean away; and in its place the fruit
Produced, by virtue of that wondrous wave,
The savor which in Paradise it gave.
48.
Now, said the heavenly Muse, thou mayst advance,
Fitly prepared toward the mountain's height.
O Child of Man, this necessary trance
Hath purified from flaw thy mortal sight,
That, with scope unconfined of vision free,
Thou the beginning and the end mayst see.
49.
She took me by the hand, and on we went;
Hope urged me forward, and my soul was strong,
With winged speed we scaled the steep ascent,
Nor seem'd the labor difficult or long,
Ere on the summit of the sacred hill
Upraised I stood, where I might gaze my fill.
50.
Below me lay, unfolded like a scroll,
The boundless region where I wander'd late,
Where I might see realms spread and oceans roll,
And mountains from their cloud-surmounting state
Dwarf'd like a map beneath the excursive sight,
So ample was the range from that commanding height.
51.
Eastward with darkness round on every side,
An eye of light was in the farthest sky.
Lo, the beginning!—said my heavenly Guide;
The steady ray which there thou canst descry,
Comes from lost Eden, from the primal land
Of man “waved over by the fiery brand.”
52.
Look now toward the end! no mists obscure,
Nor clouds will there impede the strengthen'd sight;
Unblench'd thine eye the vision may endure.
I look'd,—surrounded with effulgent light
More glorious than all glorious hues of even,
The Angel Death stood there in the open Gate of Heaven.
But then, methought, I heard a voice exclaim,
Hither, my Son, oh, hither take thy flight!
A heavenly voice which call'd me by my name,
And bade me hasten from that treacherous height:
The voice it was which I was wont to hear,
Sweet as a Mother's to her infant's ear.
2.
I hesitated no, but at the call
Sprung from the summit of that tottering tower.
There is a motion known in dreams to all,
When, buoyant by some self-sustaining power,
Through air we seem to glide, as if set free
From all encumbrance of mortality
3.
Thus borne aloft, I reach'd the Sacred Hill,
And left the scene of tempests far behind;
But that old tempter's parting language still
Press'd like a painful burden on my mind;
The troubled soul had lost her inward light,
And all within was black as Erebus and Night.
4.
The thoughts which I had known in youth return'd;
But, oh, how changed! a sad and spectral train;
And while for all the miseries past I mourn'd,
And for the lives which had been given in vain,
In sorrow and in fear I turn'd mine eye
From the dark aspects of futurity.
5.
I sought the thickest woodland's shade profound,
As suited best my melancholy mood,
And cast myself upon the gloomy ground.
When lo! a gradual radiance fill'd the wood;
A heavenly presence rose upon my view,
And in that form divine the awful Muse I knew.
6.
Hath then that Spirit false perplex'd thy heart,
O thou of little faith! severe she cried.
Bear with me, Goddess, heavenly as thou art,
Bear with my earthly nature! I replied,
And let me pour into thine ear my grief;
Thou canst enlighten, thou canst give relief.
7.
The ploughshare had gone deep, the sower's hand
Had scatter'd in the open soil the grain;
The harrow, too, had well prepared the land;
I look'd to see the fruit of all this pain!—
Alas! the thorns and old inveterate weed
Have sprung again, and stifled the good seed.
8.
I hoped that Italy should break her chains,
Foreign and papal, with the world's applause,
Knit in firm union her divided reigns,
And rear a well-built pile of equal laws:
Then might the wrongs of Venice be forgiven,
And joy should reach Petrarca's soul in Heaven.
9.
I hoped that that abhorr'd Idolatry
Had in the strife received its mortal wound:
The Souls which from beneath the Altar cry,
At length, I thought, had their just vengeance found;—
In purple and in scarlet clad, behold
The Harlot sits, adorn'd with gems and gold!
10.
The golden cup she bears full to the brim
Of her abominations, as of yore;
Her eyeballs with inebriate triumph swim;
Though drunk with righteous blood, she thirsts for more,
Eager to reassert her influence fell,
And once again let loose the Dogs of Hell
11.
Woe for that people, too, who by their path
For these late triumphs first made plain the way;
Whom, in the Valley of the Shade of Death,
No fears nor fiery sufferings could dismay;
Art could not tempt, nor violence enthrall
Their firm devotion, faithful found through all.
12.
Strange race of haughty heart and stubborn will,
Slavery they love, and chains with pride they wear;
Inflexible alike in good or ill,
The inveterate stamp of servitude they bear.
Oh fate perverse, to see all change withstood,
There only where all change must needs be good!
13.
But them no foe can force, nor friend persuade;
Impassive souls in iron forms enclosed,
As though of human mould they were not made,
But of some sterner elements composed,
Against offending nations to be sent,
The ruthless ministers of punishment.
14.
Where are those Minas after that career
Wherewith all Europe rang from side to side?
In exile wandering! Where the Mountaineer,—
Late, like Pelayo, the Asturian's pride?
Had Ferdinand no mercy for that life,
Exposed so long for him in daily, hourly strife!
15.
From her Athenian orator of old
Greece never listen'd to sublimer strain
Than that with which, for truth and freedom bold,
Quintana moved the inmost soul of Spain.
What meed is his let Ferdinand declare—
Chains, and the silent dungeon, and despair!
16.
For this hath England borne so brave a part!
Spent with endurance, or in battle slain,
Is it for this so many an English heart
Lies mingled with the insensate soil of Spain!
Is this the issue, this the happy birth
In those long throes and that strong agony brought forth!
17.
And oh! if England's fatal hour draw nigh,—
If that most glorious edifice should fall
By the wild hands of bestial Anarchy,—
Then might it seem that He who ordereth all
Doth take for sublunary things no care;—
The burden of that thought is more than I can bear.
18.
Even as a mother listens to her child
My plaint the Muse divine benignant heard,
Then answer'd, in reproving accents mild,
What if thou seest the fruit of hope deferr'd;
Dost thou for this in faltering faith repine?
A manlier, wiser virtue should be thine!
19.
Ere the good seed can give its fruit in Spain,
The light must shine on that bedarken'd land,
And Italy must break her papal chain,
Ere the soil answer to the sower's hand;
For, till the sons their fathers' fault repent,
The old error brings its direful punishment.
20.
Hath not experience bade the wise man see
Poor hope from innovations premature?
All sudden change is ill: slow grows the tree
Which in its strength through ages shall endure.
In that ungrateful earth it long may lie
Dormant, but fear not that the seed should die.
21.
Falsely that Tempter taught thee that the past
Was but a blind, inextricable maze;
Falsely he taught that evil overcast
With gathering tempests these propitious days,
That he in subtle snares thy soul might bind,
And rob thee of thy hopes for human-kind.
22.
He told thee the beginning and the end
Were indistinguishable all, and dark;
And when from his vain Tower he bade thee bend
Thy curious eye, well knew he that no spark
Of heavenly light would reach the bafiled sense;
The mists of earth lay round him all too dense.
23.
Must I, as thou hadst chosen the evil part,
Tell thee that Man is free and God is good?
These primal truths are rooted in thy heart:
But these, being rightly felt and understood,
Should bring with them a hope, calm, constant, sure,
Patient, and on the rock of faith secure.
24.
The Monitress Divine, as thus she spake,
Induced me gently on, ascending still,
And thus emerging from that mournful brake
We drew toward the summit of the hill,
And reach'd a green and sunny place, so fair
As well with long-lost Eden might compare.
25.
Broad cedars grew around that lovely glade,
Exempted from decay, and never sere,
Their wide-spread boughs diffused a fragrant shade;
The cypress incorruptible was here,
With fluted stem and head aspiring high,
Nature's proud column, pointing to the sky.
26.
There, too, the vigorous olive in its pride,
As in its own Apulian soil uncheck'd,
Tower'd high, and spread its glaucous foliage wide:
With liveliest hues the mead beneath was deck'd,
Gift of that grateful tree that with its root
Repays the earth, from whence it feeds its fruit.
27.
There, too, the sacred bay, of brighter green,
Exalted its rejoicing head on high;
And there the martyrs' holier palm was seen
Waving its plumage as the breeze went by.
All fruits which ripen under genial skies
Grew there, as in another Paradise.
28.
And over all that lovely glade there grew
All wholesome roots and plants of healing power;
The herb of grace, the medicinal rue,
The poppy rich in worth as gay in flower;
The heart's-ease that delighteth every eye,
And sage divine, and virtuous euphrasy.
29.
Unwounded here Judæa's balm distill'd
Its precious juice; the snowy jasmine here
Spread its luxuriant tresses wide, and fill'd
With fragrance the delicious atmosphere;
More piercing still did orange-flowers dispense
From golden groves the purest joy of sense.
30.
As low it lurk'd the tufted moss between,
The violet there its modest perfume shed,
Like humble virtue, rather felt than seen:
And here the Rose of Sharon rear'd its head,
The glory of all flowers, to sense and sight
Yielding their full contentment of delight.
31.
A gentle river wound its quiet way
Through this sequester'd glade, meandering wide;
Smooth as a mirror here the surface lay,
Where the pure lotus, floating in its pride,
Enjoy'd the breath of heaven, the sun's warm beam,
And the cool freshness of its native stream.
32.
Here, o'er green weeds, whose tresses waved outspread,
With silent lapse the glassy waters run;
Here, in fleet motion o'er a pebbly bed,
Gliding they glance and ripple to the sun;
The stirring breeze that swept them in its flight,
Raised on the stream a shower of sparkling light.
33.
And all sweet birds sung there their lays of love;
The mellow thrush, the blackbird loud and shrill,
The rapturous nightingale that shook the grove,
Made the ears vibrate, and the heart-strings thrill;
The ambitious lark, that, soaring in the sky,
Pour'd forth her lyric strain of ecstasy.
34.
Sometimes, when that wild chorus intermits,
The linnet's song was heard amid the trees,
A low, sweet voice; and sweeter still, at fits
The ringdove's wooing came upon the breeze;
While with the wind which moved the leaves among,
The murmuring waters join'd in undersong.
35.
The hare disported here, and fear'd no ill,
For never evil thing that glade came nigh;
The sheep were free to wander at their will,
As needing there no earthly shepherd's eye;
The bird sought no concealment for her nest,
So perfect was the peace wherewith those bowers were blest.
36.
All blending thus with all in one delight,
The soul was soothed, and satisfied, and fill'd;
This mingled bliss of sense, and sound, and sight,
The flow of boisterous mirth might there have still'd,
And, sinking in the gentle spirit deep,
Have touch'd those strings of joy which make us weep.
37.
Even thus in earthly gardens had it been,
If earthly gardens might with these compare;
But more than all such influences, I ween,
There was a heavenly virtue in the air,
Which laid all vain, perplexing thoughts to rest,
And heal'd, and calm'd, and purified the breast.
38.
Then said I to that guide divine, My soul,
When here we enter'd, was o'ercharged with grief;
For evil doubts, which I could not control,
Beset my troubled spirit. This relief,—
This change,—whence are they? Almost it might seem
I never lived till now:—all else had been a dream.
39.
My heavenly teacher answer'd, Say not seem ;—
In this place all things are what they appear;
And they who feel the past a feverish dream,
Wake to reality on entering here.
These waters are the Well of Life, and lo!
The Rock of Ages there, from whence they flow
40.
Saying thus, we came upon an inner glade,
The holiest place that human eyes might see;
For all that vale was like a temple made
By Nature's hand, and this the sanctuary;
Where, in its bed of living rock, the Rood
Of Man's redemption firmly planted stood.
41.
And at its foot the never-failing Well
Of Life profusely flow'd that all might drink.
Most blessed Water! Neither tongue can tell
The blessedness thereof, nor heart can think,
Save only those to whom it hath been given
To taste of that divinest gift of Heaven.
42.
There grew a goodly Tree this Well beside;—
Behold a branch from Eden planted here,
Pluck'd from the Tree of Knowledge, said my guide.
O Child of Adam, put away thy fear,—
In thy first father's grave it hath its root;
Taste thou the bitter, but the wholesome fruit.
43.
In awe I heard, and trembled, and obey'd:
The bitterness was even as of death;
I felt a cold and piercing thrill pervade
My loosen'd limbs, and losing sight and breath,
To earth I should have fallen in my despair,
Had I not clap'd the Cross, and been supported there.
44.
My heart, I thought, was bursting with the force
Of that most fatal fruit; soul-sick I felt,
And tears ran down in such continuous course,
As if the very eyes themselves should melt.
But then I heard my heavenly teacher say,
Drink, and this mortal stound will pass away.
45.
I stoop'd and drank of that divinest Well,
Fresh from the Rock of Ages where it ran;
It had a heavenly quality to quell
My pain:—I rose a renovated man,
And would not now, when that relief was known,
For worlds the needful suffering have foregone.
46.
Even as the Eagle (ancient storyers say)
When, faint with years, she feels her flagging wing,
Soars up toward the mid sun's piercing ray,
Then, fill'd with fire, into some living spring
Plunges, and casting there her aged plumes,
The vigorous strength of primal youth resumes;—
47.
Such change in me that blessed Water wrought;
The bitterness which, from its fatal root,
The Tree derived, with painful healing fraught,
Pass'd clean away; and in its place the fruit
Produced, by virtue of that wondrous wave,
The savor which in Paradise it gave.
48.
Now, said the heavenly Muse, thou mayst advance,
Fitly prepared toward the mountain's height.
O Child of Man, this necessary trance
Hath purified from flaw thy mortal sight,
That, with scope unconfined of vision free,
Thou the beginning and the end mayst see.
49.
She took me by the hand, and on we went;
Hope urged me forward, and my soul was strong,
With winged speed we scaled the steep ascent,
Nor seem'd the labor difficult or long,
Ere on the summit of the sacred hill
Upraised I stood, where I might gaze my fill.
50.
Below me lay, unfolded like a scroll,
The boundless region where I wander'd late,
Where I might see realms spread and oceans roll,
And mountains from their cloud-surmounting state
Dwarf'd like a map beneath the excursive sight,
So ample was the range from that commanding height.
51.
Eastward with darkness round on every side,
An eye of light was in the farthest sky.
Lo, the beginning!—said my heavenly Guide;
The steady ray which there thou canst descry,
Comes from lost Eden, from the primal land
Of man “waved over by the fiery brand.”
52.
Look now toward the end! no mists obscure,
Nor clouds will there impede the strengthen'd sight;
Unblench'd thine eye the vision may endure.
I look'd,—surrounded with effulgent light
More glorious than all glorious hues of even,
The Angel Death stood there in the open Gate of Heaven.
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