Classic Poem

'T IS said, that in some land, I think in Spain,
(Rising upon you like an awful dream,)
A wondrous Image stands. 'Tis broad and gaunt;
Tall as a giant; with a stormy front;
And snaky hair, and large eyes all of stone;
And arm'd, or so it seems, from head to heel,
With a crook'd falchion, and enormous casque,
And mighty links of mail, which once were brass;
And spurs of marble, and marmoreal limbs;
All bent, like one who staggers. Full at the East
It glares, like a defiance, lowering, bold;
And scorn still lurks about its steadfast eye;
And on its brow a lordly courage sits.
—This statue, as 'tis told, was once a king;
A fierce idolater; who cursed the moon,
And hated Heaven, yet own'd some hellish sway:—
A strange religion this; and yet it was so.
Well,—he was born a king, as I have said,
And reign'd o'er armed millions, without law.
He sold brave men for beggar gold, and stain'd
The innocent youth of virtue. He robb'd altars;
Ate like Apicius; drank, like Afric sands,
Rivers of wine; then fell to frenzy. At last,
Swarming rebellions (like the Atlantic stirred
To madness, by the bellowing of great storms)
Rose up, and lash'd to wrath by horrid wrongs,
Hunted the tyrant from his brazen throne,—
Hunted him, like a wolf, from cave to cave;
Through rocks, and mountains, and deep perilous glens;
Day after day, night after night, until
His soul burst out in curses. On one dull dawn,
Which show'd him lurking to relentless foes,
He flung some terrible reproach at Heaven;
Laugh'd at its God, 'tis said, and cursed the Sun:—
Whereat the broad eye of the Day unclosed,
And stared him into stone!