Classic Poem

‘High in air on eagle-pinions
I, the outcast Angel, hover'd—
Gazing sadly down while mortals,
Ants on ant-hills, toil'd and struggled.

‘Here and there were armèd nations
Moving restless hither and thither;
'Mong the mountains, gazing upward,
Gather'd lonely tribes of shepherds.

‘Ever darkly multiplying,
Crowning Kings and hailing prophets,
Toiling blindly in the darkness,
Grew the races of the Human.

‘Ever 'mong them Death was busy,
Evermore the units perish'd,
Evermore the new-born creatures
Swarm'd from out the depths of Being.

‘Nought they knew of Heaven above them,
Nought of Earth itself, their dwelling,
Circling with the mightier planets
Round the heliocentric fires;

‘Everywhere the Priest was busy
Raising temples, building altars,—
Everywhere the foolish Prophets
Raved aloud and wail'd for wonders:

‘Everywhere the martyr'd peoples
Toil'd and struggled and were smitten;
Evermore to blind their senses,
Signs and miracles were wrought.

‘'Mong the people rose Messiahs,
Preaching, healing, prophesying,—
Pointing to the empty heavens
With a wan and witless smile. . . .

‘By the Nile the son of Isis
Walked and mused,—upon his mantle
Mystic signs were wrought in silver,
And he wore a crown of thorns,—

‘Saying “Lo, from Phthah the Maker,
I, the human Emanation,
Come and I elect to suffer,
To appease His righteous anger.”

‘Then the people sprang upon him,
Stript him bare and crucified him—
Pityingly I bent above him,
As he swung upon his Cross.

‘Then the faithful who revered him,
In their spicy clothes embalmed him,
While the priesthood which had slain him
Hail'd him “Son of God, Osiris!”

‘'Mong his worshippers I lighted,
Priestly raiment wrapt around me,
Crying with them, “Hail, Osiris!
Woman-born and yet divine!”

‘“Kingly men and mighty monarchs
Are indeed the only godhead—
Wherefore let them have our praises,
Endless worship and hosannahs.”

‘Then I taught them hieroglyphics,
Mystic shapes and signs and letters,
Where the story of the Ages
Written was on brass and stone;

‘Then the busy Ants of Egypt
Raised the Pyramids; around them
Shaping colonnades and pylons
For the sepulchres of Kings.

‘Thus I taught them architecture,—
How to hew the rocks and fashion
Monuments that stand for ever
In despite of God and Time.

‘Nay, to mock the mute Almighty,
I the mystic Sphinx invented,
Silent, impotent, impassive,
Gazing on a million graves!

‘Numbers, too, I taught the people,—
How to measure Earth and Water,
By the stars and their progressions
Guide the floods and count the seasons.

‘Then the God I had offended
Spread his darkness over Egypt,
Sent his Angels, hither, thither,
Turning men against each other;

‘While the haggard Priests and Prophets
Wail'd and work'd their signs and wonders,
The Assyrian and Egyptian
Struggled in their death-embraces.

‘Vain was all that I had taught them—
Peace and wisdom, light and knowledge,
Strength to raise in spite of Nature
Pyramids of mortal making,—

‘'Gainst the angels masquerading
In the forms of Gods and Demons,
Shrieking loud from blood-stain'd altars
For their holocausts of Death.

‘Pharaohs came and Pharaohs vanish'd,
Cities rose and Cities perish'd,—
Still arose, o'er seas of slaughter,
Those sad Sphinxes I had fashion'd. . . .