Classic Poem

Sitting within her secret vestibule
(Those windows clos'd through which the outward world
Admittance finds), this spirit saw pass by,
As on the sheeted surface of a wall,
In bright dissolving views, a lengthen'd train
Of scenes depicted in prismatic tints
By quick Imagination's vivid art;
Whereof a portion, reader, for thy sake
Shall here be told; the rest is gone from me,
Lost in oblivion's colourless abyss.

At first, a glimmering mist; then, purring soft
Within the secret chamber of mine ear,
A murmur as of distant ocean-waves.
Whereon the mist disparting, shows far down
A sea without a shore, o'er which the clouds
Are floating high, with veins of ruby tinge
Streaking the deep; while gently, here and there,
O'er tracts of open sunshine and of shade,
A thousand glistening billows rise and fall,—
The countless smile of ocean's solitude.
But see, what form is this
Which as a moving mountain breasts the waves,
Borne without mast or sail?
A ship, yet not a ship;
Rising in stories tier on tier,
And by a shadowy Hand
Guided upon its way.

Thus, as I gaze in wonderment, the clouds
Conglomerate into a murky black;
Down leaps the hurricane, up rise the waves,
Rattles the thunder round,—
Ocean and atmosphere are blent in one;
While towering waterspouts,
That each might sink a nation's armament,
In broad and foamy tracks
Stalk o'er the broken level of the main.
Ah, much I trembled then
For thee, O Ark, now nearer in my view;
For thee and for thy crew,—
That awful seed, sole remnant of a world,
The hope of bird and beast and mortal man.
I see thee toss'd upon the shiv'ring waves
Up to the clouds, then downward suck'd again
Into the sheer abyss; ofttimes from sight
Wholly withdrawn, unharm'd thou reappearest,
Upheaving a broad cataract of wave
From thine emerging roof. Around thee swarm
Spirits of darkness fresh from yawning hell,
Spurtling their fiery insatiate wrath
On thy defenceless head.
But all in vain; for still that Hand of might
(The same that on the Babylonian wall
Wrote at a later day)
Still o'er the trackless deep it thee upbears
Unerringly along,
Stemming the fearsome tide.
Long do I watch thy track,
And oft the rising and the setting sun
Salute my anxious gaze;
But still thy course is onward as before,
Nor swerves one point
From its predestin'd line.
At last, from heaven
Propitious calm descends, and swanlike sails
Over the ruffled deep;
All smooth the vast expanse
As a bright mirror lies, where lovely Peace
Might see her face and smile.
Onward, O sacred Ark, thou movest still;
Till on a little isle
Grounding at length, thou settlest rooted there;—
A little isle at first;
But all around the waters fast subside,
And soon into a mountain-peak it soars,
And lo, the Ark amid the skies is seen,
With a bright rainbow shining o'er its head,
While in the place of lately foaming waves
A slimy plain appears;
Slimy and dead, the ruins of a world!

Anon the scene is changed,
And other seas appear, and other times.
A mighty gulf,
Upon whose shore two hostile armies stand;
Then steps a chieftain forth, and with his rod
Smites the white crest of an advancing wave;
Whereat the trembling deep asunder parts,
And a broad sandy path is seen
Betwixt the cloistering walls of waters green;—
Enters the foremost army and arrives,
Safe on the further shore;—
The second follows—and is seen no more!

Then rose a gentle lake
Before my wondering and delighted eye;
A gentle lake with variegated shore
Of rocky promontory—landscape green—
Castles and towers and tranquil villages—
With palm-groves here and there
Fondling the quiet bays—
And in the midst of that same gentle lake,
A little ship with fishermen aboard,
And One , who lies asleep
Upon the pillow at the listless helm.
Sudden there bursts a storm
Spat from Satanic mouth,
And under whirling foam
The stricken bark is sinking, as I gaze;
Then in their fear they wake that sleeping One,
And He forthwith arising, lifts His voice,
Which o'er the billows borne
Hushes them straight
Into an infant's rest.
I look again:—
The self-same lake is there,
Glistening beneath the moonbeam's silver shower;
And lo, far out,
He, whom I saw but now, again appears,—
A solitary shape!
Striding across the fleet careering waves,
With the same ease
As on the green-sward of a quiet lawn!

Then for awhile no vision came, as though
Some curtain had been drawn;
Patient I sit, and wait,—
When lo, a mass of many-mingled shades!
Which slowly breaking up, resolves itself
Into a second train of ocean-scenes,
Wherein the various tenants of the deep,
Before my curious gaze,
Their several parts perform.

I see the dolphin on the stormy wave
Taking his morning roll;
I see the nautilus
Expand her sail of gauze,
And spread with mimic armaments the main.
I see leviathan with scales of pride
Stemming his hoary way.
All these and many more
Unwieldy sporting upon ocean's breast,
Or dwelling in its caves—
Or wandering restlessly from pole to pole,—
Before me pass along:
I mark their most exuberant joy of life,
I mark their pastimes strange,
And own in each a mystery divine.

Anon all calm and still
Before me lay the bottom of the deep
A region unexplor'd,—
Where never yet the storm was heard to rave,—
Stirless abode of solitude profound!
O'er whose white floor
Strange glistening shells were spread,
And gems without a name.
There, 'mid the bulky stems of seaweeds tall,
Whose ancient growth might antedate the flood,
With fear I saw
A mighty monster of an unknown fish,
Dozing and motionless,
Thy wond'rous work, O Lord!
Thick-ribb'd and strong he seem'd,
With skin more rugged than the corky rind;
On whom no sooner had I fix'd my glance,
Than seems to shoot
An Angel down, and whisper in his ear.
Forthwith his fins strike out,
And, as an arrow from the bow, he darts
Upon his order'd course.

I mark him long through the clear underdepth
Sweep on his silent way;
Then suddenly to pause,
His destin'd goal attain'd,
And close beneath
The gently-rippling surface, tranquilly
His station taking wait the will divine.

Nor waits he long:
A storm is on the deep;
A straining ship draws nigh;
Toss'd from the deck,
The Prophet sinks amid engulfing waves;
Up springs the monster from his secret lair,
And down his ghastly jaws
Sucks his appointed prey.

Ah, then all hope was o'er
For thee, O Jonas, in thy fleshly tomb
Absorb'd without reprieve.
I see thee downward borne,
Downward and downward through the wat'ry maze;
Till on the bars thou touchest
Of this compacted globe.
Three days, three nights,
Thy home is in the deep;
Then at thy prayer, the Lord rememb'ring thee,
Sheer on the rocky strand
The monster casts thee forth,
And to his distant solitude returns.

Anon the scene is chang'd, and chang'd again;
Till last of all appears,
As at the first, a sea without a shore;
Gazing whereon, I hear a trumpet-blast
Peal from above. And lo, the ocean parts
Like a rent scroll, and through its yawning clefts
Up from their wat'ry graves in clouds arise
The multitudinous nations of the dead,
From age to age
Drown'd in the savage depth.
In clouds they rise,
Thick as autumnal mist;
Myriads on myriads borne.
Then comes insufferable darkness down,
And sits on the abyss;
And a voice cries, “There shall be sea no more!”
Whereat amid the black obscurity
I hear a formless sound as of the deep
Departing on its way:—then all is hush'd;
Silence and ancient chaos fill the void.