A Leaf from the Old Forest

by John D. Cossar

Noble and majestic cadence,
Full of might and full of sweetness;
Like tremendous thunders rolling,
Rumbling in their strength and grandeur;
Sweet as nectar, which is pouréd
From the cup which Juno holdeth.
Far and near the echoes answer,
From the vaults and arches flying,
In the distant spaces rising
Over thrones, and crowns, and mansions,
Breaking o’er the vitreous white throne;
Like a music-meteor falling,
Casting down its charms around it,
Ever softest, sweetest, fairest;
Softly as the summer showereth,
From its fragrant bosom, largely,
Dews upon the sleeping meadow.
This is honor to the pilgrim,
Welcome to his seat of glory;
Songs of joy that he is landed
From the perils of the journey
To be one for ever with them.
Now beside the throne he standeth,
In his bosom gladness flowing.
He hath now been crowned and vested;
And the King, arising, speaketh:

‘Guide him to his seat of glory,
To the mansion he hath gainéd.’
Then, as magic fell amid them,
Every voice is mute and silent,
Every sound subdued resideth,
Every strain on faltering pinion
From its gaysome course alighteth;
Still and peaceful is the white throng,
Calmness, as in death, prevaileth.
Now he sits enthroned amid them,
And again the strains are wakened,
Mighty as to storms of thunder
Born as from the womb of calmness,
Rising as from death released.
Now his voice is with them mingled
In the songs, and hymns, and anthems,
Which shall evermore continue
Throughout all this land of Blisses,
Where is love the only bondage,
Love the mighty power which holds them.”
Thuswise speaketh Sero, telling
Of the land whereto the wicket
On his right hand gives admission.
But far different is the story
Which he giveth of the regions,
Whence the wicket on his left hand

To the wanderer gives admission.
Spoken thus his vivid brief is:
“He, who by this wicket enters,
Loseth hope and loseth courage,
Meeteth gloomy fears and terrors,
Misery and anguish rising
In their wildest forms about him;
And upon the distance looming
Awful terrors, monsters hideous,
Scenes and shadows dark and dreary.
Now the stifled groan of murder,—
Now the seething moan of anguish,—
Now bewailings in bereavement,
And lamentings of the ruined,
Loud, and painful, and laborious,
In an awful concert mingled,
Flow upon his ear bewildered,
As in toil he wanders weary
In the crowd, yet lost and lonely,
To the dreaded pit of terrors,
And its dismal dens and dungeons,
Damp, and stifled, and obnoxious,
Burning with eternal anger
And with lurid flames of vengeance.
Lo! aghast, he starts in terror,
And anon doth sink in anguish,

Weeping for the talents wasted,
And the warnings he despiséd;
And for hope he looks and longeth
In a deep and fervent longing,
But it is a vain desire;
Nothing but an awful doom sits
Frowning on his pains and terrors.
Onward, on he fast is driven,
Through a rugged path and perilous;
Rising on the hills above him,
Roaring thunders roll and rumble,
With a mighty noise and terror;
All things at their greatness tremble.
Sheets of flame, in livid fierceness,
Sweep and fly in wildest swiftness;
O’er the rugged heights ascending,
Cast their lurid glares upon them,
In their course revealing further
Of the dangers hid in darkness.
And beneath him gulphs are yawning,
Greedy to devour, are gaping;
Torrents deep within them roaring,
Lashing up their foamy billows;
With the laving of their forces
All the pathway shakes and trembles.
Brutes, in hungry anger raving,

Prowl from dens, and caves, and caverns,
Mingle with the ghosts and spectres,
Lusting for a bloody surfeit.
Reptiles, subtle and obnoxious,
Crawl, and welter, and recoil them
On the path in slimy matters,
Reeking with a poisoned odor,
Darting poisons to molest him.
Arrows from the towers are flying,
Shafts of flame and showers of fire,
Sweeping on through clouds and vapors,
Like unto a storm of hailstones
Driven by a mighty tempest.
Sadder and more bitter feelings,
Deeper, darker fears betake him,
As, above the groans around him,
Coming from the pit of terrors,
Bitter wailings, mournful cryings,
Rise and fill the air with anguish.
Now in view the dingy walls stand,
In their black and dismal bearing,
Of the gloomy pit of terrors;
Gloomy, like a loathsome dungeon.
Now before the gate he standeth,
Worn, and weary, and dejected;
And the lurid glares break through it

Of the flames for ever burning;
And he sees the shames, the tortures,
And the writhing objects in them,
Suffering and enduring anguish.
They who once on bounty feasted,
Now enclosed in pangs of hunger;
They who were the poor’s oppressors,
Now oppressed and trodden under.
Now destroyers are destroyéd,
Scoffers are with scoff betaken,
And the lofty are made humble;
And he shudders to behold them.
Then an awful oath is spoken,
Bidding to unbar the passage;
And the burdened words are answered
With another oath as fearful
From the fierce and sullen keeper;
And the creaking bars fly backward
With a mighty clash of vengeance.
Then the brazen gate is opened,
And the poor deluded victim
Thrust into the pit of horrors,
All amid the foulsome vapors.
Flies the postern close behind him,
Back the bolts and bars are driven,
Creaking with their heavy burden;

And a motley throng surround him,
Railing, scoffing, and abusing;
Each devising of some evil
To annoy, or taunt, or torture.
Vengeance burneth black within him,
And infernal wars are raging
In him and in all the dwellers,
One and one against another,
Who are doomed through time eternal
To this awful pit of terrors;
Where the evil spirits harbour,
Keep, and count their spoil and plunder,
Gathered from among the people,
Brought from many ruined cities,
Gained in many depredations,
By the hand of havoc aided.”
These are stories Sero telleth
Of the happy land of Blisses,
Of the dreaded pit of terrors,
To the people of the kingdom,
If perchance he may allure them
By the wonders he revealeth
Of the blisses of the former,
Of the terrors of the latter.
But through all Nimæra’s kingdom
Went a band of evil spirits,

Tribunes of the Prince of Darkness,
Went to aid his evil purpose;
Pried and scouted every corner,
Entered into all the dwellings,
Came to tempt and to misguide them,
Came to tempt Nimæra’s people,
Lead them on to lust and evil,
Taught them how to rob and plunder,
Taught them how to kill and murder,
Put corruption in their wishes,
Poisoned all their thoughts and reasons,
Mingled madness in their pleasures,
Blinded them with show and grandeur,
Gave them longings and ambitions,
That they lost their true discernment,
As a man with wines confuséd
Loses proper sense and caution.
And they gave such sumptuous meetings,
And they said such wondrous fair things—
Things that ne’er before were heard of,
That the dazzled people followed;
And they reaped a mighty harvest,
Leading, drawing as they listed;
For this was a simple people,
Credulous, and blind, and simple.
Now the Maker of the kingdom,

From his pure and dazzling white throne,
Looked and saw the dreadful havoc
Raging mid Nimæra’s people,
And it vexed him very sorely;
For he loved the people fondly
Who were wisely formed by Kalim:
Bones, with matter moulded on them,
Fraught with channels, watercourses,
And red rivers running through them,
From a mystic fountain rising,
Flowing ever fast and constant,
Giving and diffusing vigor
Through the many wondrous members.
Counsel took He to restore them
From destruction’s ruthless havoc,
In an earnest consultation
Saying ever and repeating,
“We must save this ruined people;
We must give them light and caution:
Light, to shew their wayward goings;
Caution, to direct them rightly.”
So a band of spirits went out,
Builded with a holy ardour,
Sped athrough the heights and spaces
To Nimæra’s kingdom, saying:
“We will reason with this people;

Reason boldly, turn and change them,
Warn them of the evil spirits,
Shew them thrones, and crowns, and mansions,
As a trophy of repentance,
Till they cannot fail but hear us,
Till they turn in great rejoicing.”
Thus the spirits went and wandered,
Talked and reasoned with the people,
Shewing thrones, and crowns, and mansions,
Using every power and effort
To persuade them of the folly,
Of the dangers they were choosing.
They who heard the deep entreaties
For a minute turned to listen;
Felt the powers within them moving
Striving to believe and follow.
But, a little season longer,
When the spirits passéd from them,
They returned unto the rapids,
To the mighty stream of ruin
Rolling onward to destruction;
For they were so much enamoured
By the cunning fascinations
Which the evil spirits gave them
That they lackéd strength and courage,
And they failed to turn and follow,