CANTO THE FIRST.
See, sweetly cluster’d, that gigantic vine,[107]
Whose globes ambrosial swell with virgin wine? * * *
There you behold, enthroned in majesty—
With all the honors due to royalty
And state—the sovereign source of harmony!
* * * * *
A thousand branches stretch out far and wide,
And every branch adds to her queenly pride:
Yet she hath many sorrows to endure;
For, as the season comes from year to year,
The pruner’s blade (like as the surgeon’s knife)
Makes deep incisions to prolong her life.
Oh! how she mourns when one by one are fled
Those purple beauties which she bore and bred,
And nurtur’d in the glory of her age—
The admiration of her country’s sage:
Contrast her fan-like leaves with her choice fruit;
Trace her frail topmost tendril to its root,
When Horus[108] upon high sends down his beams,
And sheds his golden bounty forth in streams,
Beneath and round about her dwelling-place;
And say—hast thou e’er seen such ample grace,
One lovelier, or goodlier in mien,
Than she, the great terrestrial vineyard Queen?
Turn now and view those Oriental climes—
The golden fountain of the rarest wines,
To-day, resembling the to-day of yore,
Yielding their complements of luscious store;
Observe the varied hues, and fragrancy,
When fiery Leo’s[109] in th’ ascendancy.
’Twas there that Bacchus[110] strove t’obtain a glimpse
Whilst the imperial company of nymphs,
Assembled at the high command of Jove,
Were interchanging sentiments of love!—
And where Apollo,[111] with unusual strains
Inspired his instrument, and thus obtains
The fairest goddess of the mystic throng;
Who, dumb with the enchantment of his song,
Makes loving gestures that she heeds his suit;
He, in return, becomes as equally mute:
But his fair countenance pourtray’d his heart:
Then full of joy they wing’d their golden cart,
And vanish’d in th’ ethereal realms of bliss.
Now, when the other nymphs Apollo miss,
They veil’d their faces with their flowing hair,
And smote their bosoms, sighing in despair,—
Weeping lamentingly,—for each in vain
Had sought the great musician’s hand to gain:
Not as before—bewitchingly in gait—
But lovelorn now, and openly await
Each for a god or whomsoever may
Possess the courage to come there to play.
Bacchus, not oftentimes as then so shrewd,
Saw his advantage, and his aim pursued:
He, great in stature, bearded to the waist,
True to his character (refresh’d with rest),
Avail’d himself of Leo’s brightest hour,
And deign’d to love. Nought could withstand his power.
Like a fat ox, his loins were fair to view,—
The pith of happiness,—he never knew
What sorrow was. Ashamed, the nymphs now hide,
And in their hiding-place they scan his side
But not a sound escapes their lovely lips:—
The while, he taps a thousand globes and sips
Until he staggers, and falls prone to ground:
Then haste the nymphs, the god they circle round!
’Tis vain attempting to describe the joy
Each goddess felt as they tripp’d round so coy:—
One, stray’ng beyond the bound’ry they had plann’d,
Most inadvertently trod on his hand;
Which ’lectrified the god! then he updrew,
Rais’d both his arms, and, like a trumpet, blew
A sound across the purple-cluster’d plain.
Altho’ he lack’d Apollo’s dulcet strain,
The nymphs admired him for his manly look,
For when he moved the very vineprops shook;
Yea—when he spake, the clouds obey’d his voice,
And stood divided that he might rejoice
Beneath the oriental mid-day sky,
With Sol direct on his revolving eye.
His golden goblet, he with outstretch’d arms
(Which, with the god, possess’d peculiar charms),
Held forth towards the sun!—when there advanced
A hundred nymphs, on whom, like fire he glanced:
Bold as a warrior he induced them all
To come and drink from out his flowing bowl!
The nymphs, unable to resist, attend
Obediently to Bacchus’s command:
The god surveys them as they raise the cup,
And, as they drink in turn, he fills it up;—
When all have drunk their loving draught, the god
Lifts high the goblet, and vouchsafes a nod,
And bids the mistress of the fairy throng
Arrange the company to join in song;
She, in obedience to the god’s command,
Waved her white beam, and thus commenc’d the band:—
The high sopranos rock the fragrant breeze,
And lift their voices up by slow degrees
Until they reach the pinnacle of sound;
The first great stanza done, then, most profound,
The sweet contraltos follow in their course—
Ascending and descending with much force
And regulated emphasis, and then,
Uniting, send into the sunnied main
One burst of harmony! the god then leapt,
And—overwhelm’d with ecstasy—he wept.
* * * * *
O, what a sight it must have been to see
Great Bacchus on his throne of ivory,
Reviewing those fair daughters of the moon,
When they struck off their soul-enraptured tune!
For there he sat, crown’d with the purple vine,
And by his side his goblet of red wine:
At every strain which lifted up his soul
The monarch smil’d, and bow’d, inclined the bowl:
Again, again, he smote his sunburnt breast,
And sent Orion[112] to hunt down a beast,—
To Comus[113] also to prepare a feast,—
That he might entertain the goddesses,
And make them creatures of much happiness.
So Bacchus, rev’ling thus in his desires,
With flooded brain to heav’n at once aspires.
His saffron body sweated down in rills.
At length, o’erpower’d, he frenzically calls
To Jupiter,[114] “O Brother, come to me,
Bring down five thousand gods to help the glee!
O mighty and most gentle Venus,[115] give,
Give gen’rously thy aid that I may live!—
Bring with thee all thy own elect of stars,
Invite our friends—the brave and glorious Mars,
And lordly Herschel,[116] junior of the skies;
And Mercury,[117] with those sharp propitious eyes:
Tell Saturn,[118] also, that I would he’d come
To share with me the comforts of my home:
Earth, goodly creature, is already here
With bountiful provision of good cheer:
I fain would Sol invite, but fear my fate,
Lest the great god should think himself too great:
O! what a blaze of glory there would be
If he would condescend to join the glee
But for an hour, or even but a half:
O! would not Bacchus bid the guests to quaff,
Each with a goblet bumper’d up to brim?
And would not Bacchus even worship him?
* * * * *
’Tis best, perhaps, that Sol should not come down,
For fear my darling Venus might be stol’n:
So bid my chosen-ones bring all their moons!”—
He pauses, mutters, bows his head, and swoons;
Falls (but unhurt) with force upon the ground,
Which vibrates earth and air for miles around.
* * * * *
Thus, senseless, for three hours low laid the god,
And by his side his golden-headed rod.
Then, gather’d ’round him, all the fairy hosts—
Pale and affrighted, like so many ghosts—
Perform a solemn requiem for his soul.
Still stood the sun, and dark; but in the bowl,[119]
The rosy liquid flamed a cubit high,
To mourn poor Bacchus’ death: those standing by
Withdrew in sorrow; one by one they fled,—
For all conceiv’d their benefactor dead!
Then rose a cloudling, circular in shape,
Of matchless beauty, tinted like the grape;
Its outer edge, fring’d round with silvery foil,
Bent gently downwards, archlike, to the soil;
So that an hemisphere of cloud conceal’d
The god’s huge body from the open field.
To Bacchus’ prayers[120] the heavenly orbs attend,
And with precision to the earth descend:
They search the vineyard o’er from end to end;
’Round and about they trip, with angels’ speed;
Alas, they falter! then they (all agreed)
Cry unto Bacchus—“Bacchus! Bacchus! where—
Where art thou gone? Behold thy guests are here,—
All clothed in kingly garments of the best
We’ve come, as bidden, down to join the feast;
Each with a garland delicately bloomed,
And every one his instrument well tuned:
Our cloud-wrought chariots in the heavens await
To take us back, each to his own retreat,
And thou not here! Oh, cruel god, why this?
Thou’st robbed us of anticipated bliss!—
We heard your loud petition, and came down;
But what is here? and where, where art thou gone?
Fie on thee, god! Thou’rt treacherous indeed;
For we have come to thee with utmost speed,
Aroused, in joy, to expectation’s height,
And hoped for day; but lo, ’tis all as night!”
Then they confer, and hence resolved to fly
Back to their mansions in the azure sky.
* * * * *
The clouds dispers’d, and Bacchus starts afresh,
Drinks deep the purple, which inflames his flesh;
Sends his rude orisons again on high;
But they heed not his pray’rs: then, with a sigh,
And almost mad, he strikes his breast, and saith:
“Ye gods, be damn’d.” And now, all in a breath,
He uttereth a prayer to him above,
Beseeching, plaintively, the mighty Jove:
“Oh, well-beloved Jove! I pray thee, hear
My tale of sorrow, which to thee I bear.
O Jove, acquainted with my nature best,
Thou know’st, alone, the cravings of my breast;
Fann’d by the nymphs’ most inspirating strain,
I sought the bowl, and fired my foolish brain:
I cried aloud to thee, as Jupiter,
But lacked, I ween, a right interpreter:
To Venus and to Mars I rais’d my voice,
For they were three respectively my choice;
To Georgian-Herschel, and to Mercury;
To Saturn, but ’twas vain. ’Twas vanity,
I’ll own; yet was it not, O Jove, most cruel—
Now I am old—to treat me as a fool?”
So he continued venting loud his pray’r:
Deserted and distracted to despair,
He tried to lift the goblet, but he fail’d;
His strength had fled, he found himself assail’d
And at the gate of hell!—still struggling hard,
He ope’d his mouth, but uttered not a word:
He mock’d the gods with his fast fleeting breath;
Gave up the ghost: thus met eternal death!
* * * * *
Three days, or more, the god lay prostrate, bare,
With naught of covering save his ruffled hair,
(And not a creature chancèd to come near,)
Stretched to his full across his bed of leaves;
His hands were clench’d, as firm as iron greaves;
And there he laid; when Daphne,[121] passing by,
Caught the reflection of his glaring eye
(For Bacchus died not, as most mortal men,
With eyes fast shut, but open to the sun),
And, like a good Samaritan, went o’er:
Rememb’ring well the visage which he bore,
She exclaim’d aloud to her great lord[122] of heaven—
(As she, poor nymph, was most severely smitten)—
Crying, “Bassareus[123] lies breathless on the field!
No wounds to show he has been gored or steel’d;
And now, aghast, his eyes still move around,
His lips are quivering, and I hear a sound
Like that of Rhadamanthus (Judge of hell),
But what his converse is I cannot tell.”
Her lord came down, most sorrowful in look,
Conn’d the dead body, and again betook
His brazen chariot in all haste, and rode
Down to the regions of the infernal god:
There was rejoicing to a great extent:—
A thousand fires lit up the firmament;
A myriad spirits danced around the flames,
Each calling Bacchus by a thousand names,
And each, like Argus, had a hundred eyes,
Which direfully glared across the den of lies;
Their heads were horn’d, and each horn bore a lamp,
Mark’d with the great immortal Pluto’s stamp;
(Pluto[124] himself, being ninety leagues away,
Was unacquainted with this revelry—
Till Vulcan[125] forged a bolt with wings, and sent
It in a whirlwind unto Pluto’s tent;
Therein it stood and wrote upon the wall
The brief particulars of the carnival!
This mighty god,[126] astounded to the heart,
Made hasty preparations to depart;
Sent forth his voice, then ’roused his gloomy host,
And travell’d ’round by the south-western coast.)
And each one held two red-hot iron beams;
Their breath ascended in sulphurous streams:
They foamed and snorted, like hard-ridden horse,
And fled across the grim and deathy course
With comets’ speed; then stamp’d with awful force
Their ponderous forms upon th’ upheaving ground,
Which sent afar a hideous crackling sound:
The foam ran down their breasts like molten flame,—
Too dreadful to describe by any name;
Their mouths, when open, were like rocky caves—
Down their vast throats the Styx[127] rush’d in great waves,
And when they spat, a stench obnoxious ’rose—
Offensive to the most inurèd nose.
Around their waists were slung huge buffalo horns
(And farther down hung girdles of black thorns),
With which they went three times a day for drink,
And stood around that dread Avernus’ brink,[128]
Without attempt from the foul task to shrink;
Then, at a word, into the lake they went,
Whose waters were of dreadful temperament:
They plunged therein as horses gored to death,
And sent forth pois’nous vapours with their breath.
Three times a day the ghastly livid lake
Turn’d into blood, with which their thirst they’d slake:
When brass-hair’d Vulcan struck his mighty gong,
Erect they stood, and join’d in woful song,
Another beat, they stretch’d their glaring eyes,
And sent a shriek into the red-wrought skies;[129]
(Conceive a thousand organs thundering forth—
From every point the compass to the north—
The tone of every pipe encompassèd
Within their frames, then only ’t can be said
What was the shout those spirits sent abroad
At the command of this volcanic lord!)
Once more he beat, they rais’d a dismal moan,—
Sustain’d their voices till a day was gone:
For whilst great Vulcan held his beam on high,
They durst not breathe, nor even wink an eye.
(Oh! what a shocking, melancholy fate,
To be the vassals of such low estate:
Dogs upon earth are angels in a heaven,
Compared to those poor wretches who are driven
From south to north, from east to west, with wings
Like flaming firebrands, and whose mouths have stings
As deadly in their touch as adders are:
Their peace is worse than earth’s most direful war!)
The wretches would have slept, but lo! a glare
Of yellow lurid light shot through the air;
And with it came a blast of mingled sounds,
Like as the yellings of as many hounds:
This shook the spirits’ nerves; they trembled, for
They saw and knew the cloud advancing bore
Great Pluto back to his imperial throne.
In but a twinkling of an eye were flown
A swarm of wingèd fiends with gold engraven plates,
To summon forth th’ infernal potentates
To meet their lord and emperor of hell.
Then they return’d, their messages to tell.
* * * * *
Forth came the mighty host, great in their speed
(Their fiery horses panting for the deed):
And all sent on swift-wingèd, prong-like darts,
Which bore the numbers of their brazen carts:
’Twould take a day to count the numbers o’er:
At length they advance with a continuous roar,
Dividing as they sped the sulph’ral air,
Midst fetid vapours like the fumes of war.
Now as they approach with a most deaf’ning noise—
Sixteen abreast arranged, to counterpoise
The basement of the cloud on which they rode—
The mighty host beheld, beheld their god!
* * * * *
Meanwhile—the mighty Vulcan (at his works),
And all his host were welding monster dirks
Of brass and steel; and in each point, an eye
Was fixèd to conduct it through the sky,
Where it was plann’d that at a given word
Each instrument of death should fly abroad
At equal distances, directed straight
To meet the foe who dare oppose the fête.
In warlike attitude th’ inferior fiends
Stood all abreast, and facing the west winds,
(Each held a dirk four cubits in the air,
And on their breast were brazen shields of war,)—
Full fifteen rows, each row a yard advanc’d:
And in the rear ten thousand horses pranc’d,
All cap’rison’d with choicest workmanship:
Each rider held a silver-threaded whip,
Of ponderous weight, which rested on his hip
On his right side; whilst on the left were hung
A massive sabre and a silver gong.
Behind them were arranged each curricle,
To form a background to the spectacle:
According to their numbers in rotation,
And to the high or low degree of station
Of those great potentates, so did they stand—
Prim in their aspect and exceeding’ grand.
The chariots’ sides, inlaid with burnish’d gold,
Reflected all surrounding them two-fold;
On every roof there ’rose a tow’ring rod,
Which bore the banner of each minor god;
The charioteers wore helmets, wrought of brass;
And all their faces shone like silver’d glass.
From north to south three leagues of ground were dark,
Through this great cloud incumbent o’er the park;
And not a voice was heard, not e’en a breath,
So strict was the command. (A second death
Was the sad fate for those who disobey’d
Th’ injunctions and the laws therein decreed.)
All, conscious that their lord was on his way
Back to his seat of fame and royalty,
Now look’d direct towards the bloodshot heav’n,
Through which the god of misery was driv’n;
The lurid light increased its sickly tint,
And shed its glare about the continent:
Near to the zenith of the mystic main
Appear’d the shadow of th’ advancing train,—
Small as a hand, but rapid in its growth,—
As on they came upon the yellow path:
Great as a mountain the dire shade had grown,
When suddenly a dreadful blast was blown
By fifty heralds in the foremost cloud;
They blew again, but fifty times more loud,
So that the atmosphere of hell did quake,
And caus’d a hissing like a python snake.
Then came the thunder of the chariot wheels,
Like cannons roaring on a thousand hills.
A thousand chariots did the train compose:
And then the tramping of the horse arose,
Fell on the ears with dire and dreadful woe
Of those who listen’d with dismay: when lo!
The heavens open’d! * * * Vulcan struck his gong,
And all the multitude burst forth in song:
Which song appall’d th’ ambassador of earth,[130]—
The great musician, minstrel, bard of mirth,—
Who now was there with his attendant gods
Array’d in splendour, holding silver rods,
To greet the Emperor, as the monarch came
Down from the clouds in crimson-colour’d flame.
* * * * *
Apollo, garmented in robes of gold,—
His stature like a giant to behold,—
With voice unmatch’d in compass and in tone,
Pour’d forth his song, which vibrated the zone:
Its text was this—“Hail, Pluto, mighty king;”—
Then all Apollo’s minstrels ’round him sing
“Hail, Pluto, mighty King!” re-echoing
The song of triumph to the utmost bounds
Of the dread region, in concordant sounds.
The multitude manœuvred, gather’d in,
And form’d an ambient circle; where, within,
His Majesty appointed his descent.
The vassals, marshall’d, to the rearward went.
So that the inner ring contain’d the great,—
Such as th’ renownèd Minos, magistrate,
Androgeüs, his son; then, great in name,
Stood Rhadamanthus, ’nother judge of fame;
Æacus, Acheron; and poor Protheus, who,
Vex’d with his form, into great Etna flew;
And by his side Prometheus, martyr’d god,
Who form’d and fired with life a moulded clod:
There, terrible in mien, stood Mulciber,[131]—
He, on his breast, a group of medals bore—
Marks of distinction for those mighty things
Which he had wrought through ages past for kings;
Then his son Cacus, junior god of fire;
And next, perfidious Sisyphus, the liar;
Then Erebus, son of the Invisible;[132]
And grim old Charon, ferryman of hell.
At equal distances those magnates stood
About this circle of great magnitude
Much in themselves, but all subordinate
To Pluto; who, now in great pomp and state,
Was in their midst: there He (awaiting him
The harbinger of joy—Earth’s seraphim)
With pow’rful speech and accent, call’d aloud—
“Come hither, O Apollo!” Forth went the god,
When there uprose a nevious curling cloud,
Great in circumference, and six fathoms up,
Bulg’d at its sides, in form like as a cup,
Less at its base; and round about the same
There spread an horizontal ardent flame,
So great the heat, that not a soul could dare
Approach within ten fathoms of the flare:
And on the rim of this most mystic vase—
One fathom high—a bluish flame arose,
Which shed an incense o’er the inner part;
And warders stood thereon, each with a dart,
Fierce in their look and ghastly in their mien:
And farther down a girdle, red and green,
Of furious fire, revolved around the shroud
Which hid the gods[133] from the obsequious crowd:
And where, within, the arbitrators stay’d
For one whole hour, intent upon the dead—
As to the burial of the god, and how
He should be welcom’d in the realms below;—
For ’twas Apollo’s wish that he should be
Receiv’d with pomp into eternity,
And urged the matter to the full extent,
Till Pluto graciously gave his consent.
* * * * *
The god,[134] now pleas’d, sent up a yellow shaft—
Which Boreas,[135] mighty wind, away did waft
Across th’ unfathomable red abyss,—
And which in transit caused a fearful hiss.
When Vulcan, seeing, alone, the signal bound,
Re-beat his gong,—the vassal host around,
Quick as a flash of lightning, then upheld
Their polish’d dirks on high, and then re-yell’d!
The mighty magistrates, obeying the sound,
Inclined their heads, and knelt upon the ground:
The while, Apollo (and his mirthful throng)
Came forth, repeating the triumphant song—
“Hail, Pluto, mighty King!”—around him slung
His instrument of joy,—his eye relit
With his accustom’d dignity and wit.
Immediately, the cloud collaps’d and fled,
And he, the lord of death, appeared glad:
He stood erect, and, in the act of pray’r,
Pour’d forth his orisons into the air:
His pow’rful speech made all the host afraid,
And instantly his mandates were obey’d:
He spoke but once—his chariots were at hand,
And round about him his attendants stand,—
Each in apparel dazzling to the sight,—
Their wings outspread in readiness for flight.
Then Pluto look’d about the torrid space,
Stepp’d in his chariot with a kingly grace,
And rais’d his beam, full half a ton in weight:
When (pointing to his own imperial seat,
Which stood upon a mount encompass’d round
By awful chasms and unstable ground,)
He gave the word—the trumpets shook the vast
With the outpourings of their mighty blast!
* * * * *
The clouds divided, and the train pass’d through;
And now the multitude shout out anew—
“Hail, Pluto, mighty King!” great was the noise.
The quivering earth dissolved into the skies.
Above, below, around, was void and dark
For one whole day, until a vivid spark
Of crimson flame—in form a serpent’s sting—
Shot forth towards the mountain of the king,
And struck the base of the imperial throne,
Which shook with awe; and all the earth did groan;
A flash of light lit up the horrid zone;
The atmosphere ’came full of monster frogs,
Of winged porcupines, and howling dogs.
[107] The venerable grape-vine at Hampton Court Palace, near London.
[108] A title of the Sun.
[109] The zodiacal sign for July.
[110] The god of wine and sensuality.
[111] Represented in this poem as the great Mythological Musician; who fell violently in love with the nymph Daphne, famed for her modesty.
[112] A mighty hunter.
[113] The god of festivals.
[114] The sovereign lord of the Mythological Heaven.
[115] The goddess of Beauty (daughter of Jupiter).
[116] A planet known as the “Georgium Sidus:”—no mythological title.
[117] The god of Eloquence, &c.
[118] The most ancient of all the Heathen Deities; the emblem of Time.
[119] Of Bacchus.
[120] See the two preceding pages.
[121] The beloved nymph of Apollo.
[122] Apollo.
[123] One of the names of Bacchus.
[124] The Lord and Governor of Hell.
[125] The god of subterraneous fire.
[126] Pluto.
[127] A river of hell.
[128] Avernus, a lake on the borders of hell.
[129] The fiery elements.
[130] Apollo—who (having as it were come down from earth to intercede with Pluto in behalf of Bacchus) is, in this instance, to be considered one of the earth.
[131] A title of Vulcan.
[132] Son of Chaos.
[133] Pluto and Apollo.
[134] Pluto.
[135] The north wind.