Classic Poem

" Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree, "
What doth thy bold voice promise me?"

" I promise thee all joyous things,
That furnish forth the lives of kings!

" For ev'ry silver ringing blow,
Cities and palaces shall grow!"

" Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree,
Tell wider prophecies to me."

" When rust hath gnaw'd me deep and red,
A nation strong shall lift his head!

" His crown the very Heav'ns shall smite,
Æons shall build him in his might!"

" Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree;
Bright Seer, help on thy prophecy!"

Max smote the snow-weigh'd tree and lightly laugh'd.
" See, friend," he cried to one that look'd and smil'd,
" My axe and I — we do immortal tasks —
We build up nations — this my axe and I!"
" O," said the other with a cold, short smile,
" Nations are not immortal! is there now
One nation thron'd upon the sphere of earth,
That walk'd with the first Gods, and saw
The budding world unfold its slow-leav'd flow'r?
Nay; it is hardly theirs to leave behind
Ruins so eloquent, that the hoary sage
Can lay his hand upon their stones, and say:
" These once were thrones! " The lean, lank lion peals
His midnight thunders over lone, red plains,
Long-ridg'd and crested on their dusty waves,
With fires from moons red-hearted as the sun;
And deep re-thunders all the earth to him.
For, far beneath the flame-fleck'd, shifting sands,
Below the roots of palms, and under stones
Of younger ruins, thrones, tow'rs and cities
Honeycomb the earth. The high, solemn walls
Of hoary ruins — their foundings all unknown
(But to the round-ey'd worlds that walk
In the blank paths of Space and blanker Chance)
At whose stones young mountains wonder, and the seas"
New-silv'ring, deep-set valleys pause and gaze —
Are rear'd upon old shrines, whose very Gods
Were dreams to the shrine-builders, of a time
They caught in far-off flashes — as the child
Half thinks he can remember how one came
And took him in her hand and shew'd him that
He thinks she call'd the sun. Proud ships rear high
On ancient billows that have torn the roots
Of cliffs, and bitten at the golden lips
Of firm, sleek beaches, till they conquer'd all,
And sow'd the reeling earth with salted waves.
Wrecks plunge, prow foremost, down still, solemn slopes,
And bring their dead crews to as dead a quay;
Some city built before that ocean grew,
By silver drops from many a floating cloud,
By icebergs bellowing in their throes of death,
By lesser seas toss'd from their rocking cups,
And leaping each to each; by dew-drops flung
From painted sprays, whose weird leaves and flow'rs
Are moulded for new dwellers on the earth,
Printed in hearts of mountains and of mines.
Nations immortal? where the well-trimm'd lamps
Of long-past ages, when Time seem'd to pause
On smooth, dust-blotted graves that, like the tombs
Of monarchs, held dead bones and sparkling gems?
She saw no glimmer on the hideous ring
Of the black clouds; no stream of sharp, clear light
From those great torches, pass'd into the black
Of deep oblivion. She seem'd to watch, but she
Forgot her long-dead nations. When she stirr'd
Her vast limbs in the dawn that forc'd its fire
Up the black East, and saw the imperious red
Burst over virgin dews and budding flow'rs,
She still forgot her moulder'd thrones and kings,
Her sages and their torches, and their Gods,
And said, " This is my birth — my primal day! "
She dream'd new Gods, and rear'd them other shrines,
Planted young nations, smote a feeble flame
From sunless flint, re-lit the torch of mind;
Again she hung her cities on the hills,
Built her rich towers, crown'd her kings again,
And with the sunlight on her awful wings
Swept round the flow'ry cestus of the earth,
And said, " I build for Immortality! "
Her vast hand rear'd her tow'rs, her shrines, her thrones;
The ceaseless sweep of her tremendous wings
Still beat them down and swept their dust abroad;
Her iron finger wrote on mountain sides
Her deeds and prowess — and her own soft plume
Wore down the hills! Again drew darkly on
A night of deep forgetfulness; once more
Time seem'd to pause upon forgotten graves —
Once more a young dawn stole into her eyes —
Again her broad wings stirr'd, and fresh clear airs
Blew the great clouds apart; — again Time said,
" This is my birth — my deeds and handiwork
Shall be immortal. " Thus and so dream on
Fool'd nations, and thus dream their dullard sons.
Naught is immortal save immortal — Death!"
Max paus'd and smil'd: " O, preach such gospel, friend,
To all but lovers who most truly love;
For them , their gold-wrought scripture glibly reads,
All else is mortal but immortal — Love!"