To Satan

To thee my verses, Unbridled and daring, Shall mount, O Satan, King of the banquet.

Away with thy sprinkling, O Priest, and thy droning, For never shall Satan, O Priest, stand behind thee.

See how the rust is Gnawing the mystical Sword of St. Michael; And how the faithful

Wind-plucked archangel Falls into emptiness! Frozen the thunder in Hand of Jehovah.

Like to pale meteors, or Planets exhausted, Out of the firmament Rain down the angels.

Here in the matter Which never sleeps, King of phenomena, King of all forms,

Thou, Satan, livest! Thine is the empire Felt in the dark eyes' Tremulous flashing,

Whether their languishing Glances resist, or, Glittering and tearful, they Call and invite.

How shine the clusters With happy blood, So that the furious Joy may not perish!

So that the languishing Love be restored, And sorrow be banished And love be increased!

Thy breath, O Satan, My verses inspires When from my bosom The gods I defy

Of Kings pontifical, Of Kings inhuman: Thine is the lightning that Sets minds to shaking.

For thee Arimane, Adonis, Astarte; For thee lived the marbles, The pictures, the parchments,

When the fair Venus Anadiomene Blessed the Ionian Heavens serene.

For thee were roaring the Forests of Lebanon, Of the fair Cyprian Lover reborn;

For thee rose the chorus, For thee raved the dances, For thee the pure shining Loves of the virgins,

Under the sweet-odoured Palms of Idume, Where break in white foam The Cyprian waves.

What if the barbarous Nazarene fury, Fed by the base rites Of secret feastings,

Lights sacred torches To burn down the temples, Scattering abroad The scrolls hieroglyphic?

In thee find refuge The humble-roofed plebs, Who have not forgotten The gods of their household.

Thence comes the power, Fervid and loving, that, Filling the quick-throbbing Bosom of woman,

Turns to the succour Of nature enfeebled, A sorceress pallid, With endless care laden.

Thou to the trance-holden Eye of the alchemist, Thou to the view of the Bigoted mago,

Showest the lightning-flash Of the new time Shining behind the dark Bars of the cloister.

Seeking to fly from thee Here in the world-life, Hides him the gloomy monk In Theban deserts.

O soul that wanderest Far from the straight way, Satan is merciful. See Héloïsa!

In vain you wear yourself Thin in rough gown; I Still murmur the verses Of Maro and Flaccus

Amid the Davidic Psalming and wailing; And—Delphic figures Close to thy side—

Rosy, amid the dark Cowls of the friars, Enters Licorida, Enters Glicera.

Then other images Of days more fair Come to dwell with thee In thy secret cell.

Lo! from the pages of Livy, the Tribunes All ardent, the Consuls, The crowds tumultuous,

Awake; and the fantastic Pride of Italian Drives thee, O Monk, Up to the Capitol;

And you, whom the flaming Pyre never melted, Conjuring voices, Wiclif and Huss,

Send to the broad breeze The cry of the watchman: “The age renews itself; Full is the time!”

Already tremble The mitres and crowns. Forth from the cloister Moves the rebellion.

Under his stole, see, Fighting and preaching, Brother Girolamo Savonarola.

Off goes the tunic Of Martin Luther; Off go the fetters That bound human thought.

It flashes and lightens, Girdled with flame. Matter, exalt thyself! Satan has won!

A fair and terrible Monster unchained Courses the oceans, Courses the earth;

Flashing and smoking, Like the volcanoes, he Climbs over mountains, Ravages plains,

Skims the abysses; Then he is lost In unknown caverns And ways profound,

Till lo! unconquered, From shore to shore, Like to the whirlwind, He sends forth his cry.

Like to the whirlwind Spreading its wings... He passes, O people, Satan the great!

Hail to thee, Satan! Hail, the Rebellion! Hail, of the reason the Great Vindicator!

Sacred to thee shall rise Incense and vows! Thou hast the god Of the priests disenthroned!