Third Book

Oh, for the spirit of that matchless man Whom Nature led throughout her whole domain, While he embodied breathed etherial air! Though panting in the play-hour of my youth I drank of Avon too, a dangerous draught, That roused within the feverish thirst of song, Yet never may I trespass o’er the stream Of jealous Acheron, nor alive descend The silent and unsearchable abodes Of Erebus and Night, nor unchastised Lead up long-absent heroes into day. When on the pausing theatre of earth Eve’s shadowy curtain falls, can any man Bring back the far-off intercepted hills, Grasp the round rock-built turret, or arrest The glittering spires that pierce the brow of Heaven? Rather can any with outstripping voice The parting sun’s gigantic strides recall? Twice sounded Gebir! twice th’ Iberian king Thought it the strong vibration of the brain That struck upon his ear; but now descried A form, a man, come nearer: as he came His unshorn hair grown soft in these abodes Waved back, and scattered thin and hoary light. Living, men called him Aroar, but no more In celebration or recording verse His name is heard, no more by Arnon’s side The well-walled city which he reared remains. Gebir was now undaunted—for the brave When they no longer doubt no longer fear— And would have spoken, but the shade began, “Brave son of Hesperus! no mortal hand Has led thee hither, nor without the gods Penetrate thy firm feet the vast profound. Thou knowest not that here thy fathers lie, The race of Sidad; theirs was loud acclaim When living, but their pleasure was in war; Triumphs and hatred followed: I myself Bore, men imagined, no inglorious part: The gods thought otherwise, by whose decree Deprived of life, and more, of death deprived, I still hear shrieking through the moonless night Their discontented and deserted shades. Observe these horrid walls, this rueful waste! Here some refresh the vigour of the mind With contemplation and cold penitence: Nor wonder while thou hearest that the soul Thus purified hereafter may ascend Surmounting all obstruction, nor ascribe The sentence to indulgence; each extreme Has tortures for ambition; to dissolve In everlasting languor, to resist Its impulse, but in vain: to be enclosed Within a limit, and that limit fire; Severed from happiness, from eminence, And flying, but hell bars us, from ourselves. Yet rather all these torments most endure Than solitary pain and sad remorse And towering thoughts on their own breast o’er-turned And piercing to the heart: such penitence, Such contemplation theirs! thy ancestors Bear up against them, nor will they submit To conquering Time the asperities of Fate; Yet could they but revisit earth once more, How gladly would they poverty embrace, How labour, even for their deadliest foe! It little now avails them to have raised Beyond the Syrian regions, and beyond Phoenicia, trophies, tributes, colonies: Follow thou me—mark what it all avails.” Him Gebir followed, and a roar confused Rose from a river rolling in its bed, Not rapid, that would rouse the wretched souls, Nor calmly, that might lull then to repose; But with dull weary lapses it upheaved Billows of bale, heard low, yet heard afar. For when hell’s iron portals let out night, Often men start and shiver at the sound, And lie so silent on the restless couch They hear their own hearts beat. Now Gebir breathed Another air, another sky beheld. Twilight broods here, lulled by no nightingale Nor wakened by the shrill lark dewy-winged, But glowing with one sullen sunless heat. Beneath his foot nor sprouted flower nor herb Nor chirped a grasshopper. Above his head Phlegethon formed a fiery firmament: Part were sulphurous clouds involving, part Shining like solid ribs of molten brass; For the fierce element which else aspires Higher and higher and lessens to the sky, Below, earth’s adamantine arch rebuffed. Gebir, though now such languor held his limbs, Scarce aught admired he, yet he this admired; And thus addressed him then the conscious guide. “Beyond that river lie the happy fields; From them fly gentle breezes, which when drawn Against yon crescent convex, but unite Stronger with what they could not overcome. Thus they that scatter freshness through the groves And meadows of the fortunate, and fill With liquid light the marble bowl of earth, And give her blooming health and spritely force, Their fire no more diluted, nor its darts Blunted by passing through thick myrtle bowers, Neither from odours rising half dissolved, Point forward Phlegethon’s eternal flame; And this horizon is the spacious bow Whence each ray reaches to the world above.” The hero pausing, Gebir then besought What region held his ancestors, what clouds, What waters, or what gods, from his embrace. Aroar then sudden, as though roused, renewed. “Come thou, if ardour urges thee and force Suffices—mark me, Gebir, I unfold No fable to allure thee—on! behold Thy ancestors!” and lo! with horrid gasp The panting flame above his head recoiled, And thunder through his heart and life blood throbbed. Such sound could human organs once conceive, Cold, speechless, palsied, not the soothing voice Of friendship or almost of Deity Could raise the wretched mortal from the dust; Beyond man’s home condition they! with eyes Intent, and voice desponding, and unheard By Aroar, though he tarried at his side. “They know me not,” cried Gebir, “O my sires, Ye know me not! they answer not, nor hear. How distant are they still! what sad extent Of desolation must we overcome! Aroar, what wretch that nearest us? what wretch Is that with eyebrows white, and slanting brow? Listen! him yonder who bound down supine, Shrinks yelling from that sword there engine-hung; He too among my ancestors?” “O King! Iberia bore him, but the breed accursed Inclement winds blew blighting from north-east.” “He was a warrior then, nor feared the gods?” “Gebir, he feared the Demons, not the Gods; Though them indeed his daily face adored, And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives Squandered as stones to exercise a sling! And the tame cruelty and cold caprice— Oh, madness of mankind! addressed, adored! O Gebir! what are men, or where are gods! Behold the giant next him, how his feet Plunge floundering mid the marshes yellow-flowered, His restless head just reaching to the rocks, His bosom tossing with black weeds besmeared, How writhes he twixt the continent and isle! What tyrant with more insolence e’er claimed Dominion? when from the heart of Usury Rose more intense the pale-flamed thirst for gold? And called forsooth Deliverer! False or fools Who praised the dull-eared miscreant, or who hoped To soothe your folly and disgrace with praise! Hearest thou not the harp’s gay simpering air And merriment afar? then come, advance; And now behold him! mark the wretch accursed Who sold his people to a rival king— Self-yoked they stood two ages unredeemed.” “Oh, horror! what pale visage rises there? Speak, Aroar! me perhaps mine eyes deceive, Inured not, yet methinks they there descry Such crimson haze as sometimes drowns the moon. What is yon awful sight? why thus appears That space between the purple and the crown?” “I will relate their stories when we reach Our confines,” said the guide; “for thou, O king, Differing in both from all thy countrymen, Seest not their stories and hast seen their fates. But while we tarry, lo again the flame Riseth, and murmuring hoarse, points straighter, haste! ’Tis urgent, we must hence.” “Then, oh, adieu!” Cried Gebir, and groaned loud, at last a tear Burst from his eyes turned back, and he exclaimed, “Am I deluded? O ye powers of hell, Suffer me—Oh, my fathers!—am I torn—” He spake, and would have spoken more, but flames Enwrapped him round and round intense; he turned, And stood held breathless in a ghost’s embrace. “Gebir, my son, desert me not! I heard Thy calling voice, nor fate withheld me more: One moment yet remains; enough to know Soon will my torments, soon will thine, expire. Oh, that I e’er exacted such a vow! When dipping in the victim’s blood thy hand, First thou withdrew’st it, looking in my face Wondering; but when the priest my will explained, Then swearest thou, repeating what he said, How against Egypt thou wouldst raise that hand And bruise the seed first risen from our line. Therefore in death what pangs have I endured! Racked on the fiery centre of the sun, Twelve years I saw the ruined world roll round. Shudder not—I have borne it—I deserved My wretched fate—be better thine—farewell.” “Oh, stay, my father! stay one moment more. Let me return thee that embrace—’tis past— Aroar! how could I quit it unreturned! And now the gulf divides us, and the waves Of sulphur bellow through the blue abyss. And is he gone for ever! and I come In vain?” Then sternly said the guide, “In vain! Sayst thou? what wouldst thou more? alas, O prince, None come for pastime here! but is it nought To turn thy feet from evil? is it nought Of pleasure to that shade if they are turned? For this thou camest hither: he who dares To penetrate this darkness, nor regards The dangers of the way, shall reascend In glory, nor the gates of hell retard His steps, nor demon’s nor man’s art prevail. Once in each hundred years, and only once, Whether by some rotation of the world, Or whether willed so by some power above, This flaming arch starts back, each realm descries Its opposite, and Bliss from her repose Freshens and feels her own security.” “Security!” cried out the Gadite king, “And feel they not compassion?” “Child of Earth,” Calmly said Aroar at his guest’s surprise, “Some so disfigured by habitual crimes, Others are so exalted, so refined, So permeated by heaven, no trace remains Graven on earth: here Justice is supreme; Compassion can be but where passions are. Here are discovered those who tortured Law To silence or to speech, as pleased themselves: Here also those who boasted of their zeal And loved their country for the spoils it gave. Hundreds, whose glitt’ring merchandise the lyre Dazzled vain wretches drunk with flattery, And wafted them in softest airs to Heav’n, Doomed to be still deceived, here still attune The wonted strings and fondly woo applause: Their wish half granted, they retain their own, But madden at the mockery of the shades. Upon the river’s other side there grow Deep olive groves; there other ghosts abide, Blest indeed they, but not supremely blest. We cannot see beyond, we cannot see Aught but our opposite, and here are fates How opposite to ours! here some observed Religious rites, some hospitality: Strangers, who from the good old men retired, Closed the gate gently, lest from generous use Shutting and opening of its own accord, It shake unsettled slumbers off their couch: Some stopped revenge athirst for slaughter, some Sowed the slow olive for a race unborn. These had no wishes, therefore none are crowned; But theirs are tufted banks, theirs umbrage, theirs Enough of sunshine to enjoy the shade, And breeze enough to lull them to repose.” Then Gebir cried: “Illustrious host, proceed. Bring me among the wonders of a realm Admired by all, but like a tale admired. We take our children from their cradled sleep, And on their fancy from our own impress Etherial forms and adulating fates: But ere departing for such scenes ourselves We seize their hands, we hang upon their neck, Our beds cling heavy round us with our tears, Agony strives with agony—just gods! Wherefore should wretched mortals thus believe, Or wherefore should they hesitate to die?” Thus while he questioned, all his strength dissolved Within him, thunder shook his troubled brain, He started, and the cavern’s mouth surveyed Near, and beyond his people; he arose, And bent toward them his bewildered way.