Classic Poem

PART IV .

Oh piety audacious!
Oh boldness of belief!
Oh sacrilegious force of faith,
That then inspired the thief!
Oh wonderful extent of love,
That Saints enthroned in bliss above
Should bear such profanation,
And not by some immediate act,
Striking the offender in the fact,
Prevent the perpetration!

But sure the Saint that impulse
Himself from Heaven had sent,
In mercy predetermining
The marvellous event;
So inconceivable a thought,
Seeming with such irreverence fraught,
Could else have no beginning;
Nor else might such a deed be done,
As then Pithyrian ventured on,
Yet had no fear of sinning.

Not as that Church he enter'd
Did he from it depart,
Like one bewildered by his grief,
But confident at heart;
Triumphantly he went his way,
And bore the Holy Thumb away,
Elated with his plunder;
That Holy Thumb which well he knew
Could pierce the Dragon through and through,
Like Jupiter's own thunder.

Meantime was meek Marana
For sacrifice array'd;
And now in sad procession forth
They led the flower-crown'd Maid.
Of this infernal triumph vain,
The Pagan Priests precede the train;
Oh hearts devoid of pity!
And to behold the abhorr'd event,
At far or nearer distance went
The whole of that great city.

The Christians go to succor
The sufferer with their prayers,
The Pagans to a spectacle
Which dreadfully declares,
In this their over-ruling hour,
Their Gods' abominable power;
Yet not without emotion
Of grief, and horror, and remorse,
And natural piety, whose force
Prevail'd o'er false devotion

The walls and towers are cluster'd,
And every hill and height
That overlooks the vale, is throng'd
For this accursed sight.
Why art thou joyful, thou green Earth?
Wherefore, ye happy Birds, your mirth
Are ye in carols voicing?
And thou, O Sun, in yon blue sky,
How canst thou hold thy course on high
This day, as if rejoicing?

Already the procession
Hath past the city gate;
And now along the vale it moves
With solemn pace sedate.
And now the spot before them lies
Where, waiting for his promised prize,
The Dragon's chosen haunt is;
Blacken'd beneath his blasting feet,
Though yesterday a green retreat
Beside the clear Orontes.

There the procession halted;
The Priests on either hand
Dividing then, a long array,
In order took their stand.
Midway between the Maid is left,
Alone, of human aid bereft:
The Dragon now hath spied her;
But in that moment of most need,
Arriving breathless with his speed,
Her Father stood beside her.

On came the Dragon rampant,
Half running, half on wing,
His tail uplifted o'er his back
In many a spiral ring;
His scales he ruffled in his pride;
His brazen pennons, waving wide,
Were gloriously distended;
His nostrils smoked; his eyes flash'd fire;
His lips were drawn; and in his ire
His mighty jaws extended.

On came the Dragon rampant,
Expecting there no check,
And open-mouth'd to swallow both
He stretch'd his burnish'd neck.
Pithyrian put his daughter by,
Waiting for this with watchful eye,
And ready to prevent it;
Within arm's length he let him come,
Then in he threw the Holy Thumb,
And down his throat he sent it.

The hugest brazen mortar
That ever yet fired bomb,
Could not have check'd this fiendish beast
As did that Holy Thumb.
He stagger'd as he wheel'd short round;
His loose feet scraped along the ground,
To lift themselves unable;
His pennons in their weakness flagg'd;
His tail, erected late, now dragg'd,
Just like a long, wet cable.

A rumbling and a tumbling
Was heard in his inside;
He gasp'd, he panted, he lay down,
He roll'd from side to side;
He moan'd, he groan'd, he snuff'd, he snored
He growl'd, he howl'd, he raved, he roar'd;
But loud as were his clamors,
Far louder was the inward din,
Like a hundred braziers working in
A caldron with their hammers.

The hammering came faster,
More faint the moaning sound;
And now his body swells, and now
It rises from the ground.
Not upward with his own consent,
Nor borne by his own wings, he went;
Their vigor was abated;
But lifted, no one could tell how,
By power unseen, with which he now
Was visibly inflated.

Abominable Dragon,
Now art thou overmatch'd;
And better had it been for thee
That thou hadst ne'er been hatch'd;
For now, distended like a ball
To its full stretch, in sight of all,
The body mounts ascendant;
The head before, the tail behind,
The wings, like sails that want a wind,
On either side are pendant.

Not without special mercy
Was he thus borne on high,
Till he appear'd no bigger than
An Eagle in the sky.
For when about some three miles height,
Yet still in perfect reach of sight, —
Oh, wonder of all wonders! —
He burst in pieces, with a sound
Heard for a hundred leagues around,
And like a thousand thunders.

But had that great explosion
Been in the lower sky,
All Antioch would have been laid
In ruins, certainly.
And in that vast assembled rout
Who crowded joyfully about
Pithyrian and his daughter,
The splinters of the monster's hide
Must needs have made on every side
A very dreadful slaughter.

So far the broken pieces
Were now dispersed around,
And shiver'd so to dust, that not
A fragment e'er was found.
The Holy Thumb, (so it is thought,)
When it this miracle had wrought,
At once to Heaven ascended;
As if, when it had thus display'd
Its power, and saved the Christian Maid,
Its work on earth was ended.

But at Constantinople
The arm and hand were shown,
Until the mighty Ottoman
O'erthrew the Grecian throne.
And when the Monks, this tale who told
To pious visitors, would hold
The holy hand for kissing,
They never fail'd, with faith devout,
In confirmation to point out
That there the Thumb was missing.