Reflections—Grecian Girl and Dying Libertine—Reflections on Past History of the World—Angel's Disappearance—Ship brings the Elders of Ephesus to invite John to return—Parting from Patmos, and Last Farewell.
Then the mysterious and majestic man
Thus spoke: Among the banished criminals,
As they passed yesterday, didst thou not mark
A pale, emaciate youth, and by his side,
Oft looking in his altered face, with tears,
A beauteous Grecian female! He was one6
Who crowned his hair with roses; trod the path
Of love and pleasure, till the vision fled.
And left him here, an outcast criminal,
Soon, without hope, to sink into the grave,
And leave his young companion desolate!
So ends a life of pleasure! Woe for them,
The young, the gay, the guilty, who rejoice
In life's brief sunshine, then are swept away,
Forgotten as the swarms in summer time.
As thus he spake, smiling amid her tears,
With eyes that flashed beneath dishevelled hair,
A female stood before them.
Look on me,
She sighed, and spake:20
No! father, hear my prayer:
At Corinth I was born; my mother died
When I was yet a very child; my sire
Trafficked to Tyre, and when my mother died,
He left the woods, the hills, and shores of Greece
To seek a dwelling-place in Asia,
At Tyre or Smyrna; but the tempest rose,
And cast his vessel on the rocky coast
Of Cyprus. I was found upon the shore,
Escaped I know not how, for he was dead;30
And pitying strangers bore me to the fane
Of Paphian Venus.[180] There my infancy
Grew up in opening beauty, like the rose,
Ere summer has unfolded it; I looked
Upon the dove's blue eyes; how sorrowful,
That it must die—upon the altar die;
And then it seemed still dearer, and I heard
Its murmuring on my bosom with a tear,38
Kissing it; but a young Athenian,
Whom Epicurus taught that life's sweet prime
Was like the rose; for whom Anacreon
Sang, Let us seize the moments as they fly,
And bind our brows with clusters of the vine;
Roaming, in summer, the Ægean deep,
Enticed me from the shrines of her I served,
And led me with him (for he had a boat,
Charmed by the syrens) led from isle to isle.
Joyous and reckless were his youthful crew,
Their hair with myrtle and with roses wreathed,
Who dipped the oar, in cadence, to the sound50
Of dulcimer, and tambourine, and lute,
While damsels, like immortal goddesses,
Their light hair gently waving to the breath
Of summer, in the bloom and light of youth,
Sang with accord of dulcet harmony,
As if to charm the seas; and Cupid sat
Aloft, his small right hand upon the helm,
While with the left he loosed the purple sail[181]
Free to the morning zephyrs. So we sailed,
With music on the waters, sailed along,60
And thought not of the sounds of a sad world
We had forsaken; while the lute thus woke
The echoes of the listening Cyclades:
Go, tell that pining boy to cast
His willow wreath away;
For though life's spring too soon is past,
Though youth's sweet roses fade too fast,
They shall not fade to-day.
Nay, father, frown not thus like withering care,69
He who is old may yet remember hours
Of happiness like these, and will forgive;
And wilt not thou, my father, wilt not thou?
From Cyprus, island of the Queen of Love,
We came to Naxos, and I joined the train
Of bacchanals, still singing, as we danced
Upon the mountains, to the bell and pipe,
Evoe, Bacchus! Thence we sailed away,
Careless, in the bright sunshine of the morn,
And never thought the tempest would arise
To cloud our happy days; but, hark! the storm80
Of night is howling round us; not a star
In heaven appears, to light our wintry way;
Alas! the pinnace, with its company,
Was dashed upon the rocks of Attica,
Where stern Minerva stood, and with her spear
Shivered it into fragments at her feet.
Cast on the shore, again I sought the fane
Of her I served in Paphos, and once more
Danced round the altars of the Queen of Love.
He, scarce escaping, all his substance gone,90
Joined the sea-robbers; and of late, I heard,
Was banished to this isle, a criminal,
Wasted by slow disease, and soon to die.
My father, I have heard that thou canst call
Spirits from heaven, of such strange potency,
They can awake the dead, restore to life
The dying: oh! restore the youth I loved,
And bring the rose to his pale cheek again!
JOHN.
Unhappy child! the path of pleasure leads
To sorrow in this world, and in the next.100
GRECIAN GIRL.
The next! the next! My father, I have heard101
That thou dost worship a new God—a God
Who has no priestess. I can dance and sing
Light as Euphrosyne, and I can weep
For pity, and can sigh, how tenderly!
For love; and if thou wilt restore that youth
To health and love, oh! I will kneel to thee,
And offer sacrifice, morning and eve
To thy great God, and weave a coronal,
When I have culled the choicest flowers of Rhodes,[182]110
Father, to crown those few white hairs of thine.
John answered, I will pray for him and thee;
But leave me, child, now leave me to those prayers.
The man of loftier wisdom spoke again:
How sing the thoughtless in their songs of joy,
Our days of happiness, at best, are short[183]
And profitless, and in the death of man
There is no remedy, for we are born,
And we shall sleep hereafter in the dust,
As we had never been; so all our days120
Are vanity, our breath but as a smoke,
A vapour, and we turn again to earth,
And this high spirit vanishes in air—
Into thin air; our very name shall be
Forgotten, and Oblivion on our works
Sit silent, while our days have sped away
As clouds that leave no trace, or as a mist
Dispersed and scattered by the noonday sun!
Time is itself the shadow of a shade,
Hurrying; and when our tale of days is told,130
The tomb is sealed, and who ever rose,131
To stand again beneath the light of day!
Then let us crown with rosebuds, ere they fade,
Our brows, and pass no blooming flower of spring!
Such heartless sophistries have still deceived
Earth's poor wayfarers, they who know not God,
For God created man—oh! not to die
Eternally, but live, for ever live
(So he be found holy, and just, and pure),
The image of himself! What dost thou see?140
Thine eyes are fixed, and turned on vacancy.
John said, I see the dead, both great and small,
Stand before God; the loud archangel's trump
Hath ceased to thunder o'er the bursting graves;
How deep, how dread the silence, as that book
Is opened! Ah! there is another book.
STRANGER.
It is the Book of Life; the dead are judged
According to their works.