He changed from starry shape, beauteous and mild,

To a dire Snake, with man and beast unreconciled.

XXVIII.

The darkness lingering o'er the dawn of things

Was Evil's breath and life: this made him

strong

To soar aloft with overshadowing wings; And the great Spirit of Good did creep among The nations of mankind, and every tongue Cursed and blasphemed him as he passed; for

none

Knew good from evil, though their names were hung

In mockery o'er the fane where many a groan, As King, and Lord, and God, the conquering Fiend did own,

XXIX.

The Fiend, whose name was Legion; Death, Decay,

Earthquake and Blight, and Want, and Madness pale,

Winged and wan diseases, an array

Numerous as leaves that strew the autumnal gale;

Poison, a snake in flowers, beneath the veil Of food and mirth, hiding his mortal head; And, without whom all these might naught avail,

Fear, Hatred, Faith, and Tyranny, who spread Those subtle nets which snare the living and the dead.

XXX.

His spirit is their power, and they his slaves In air, and light, and thought, and language dwell;

And keep their state from palaces to graves,
In all resorts of men-invisible,

But, when in ebon mirror, Nightmare fell
To tyrant or impostor bids them rise,
Black winged dæmon forms-whom, from
the hell,

His reign and dwelling beneath nether skies, He loosens to their dark and blasting ministries.

XXXI.

In the world's youth his empire was as firm As its foundations-soon the Spirit of Good, Though in the likeness of a loathsome worm, Sprang from the billows of the formless flood, Which shrank and fled; and with that Fiend of blood

Renewed the doubtful war-thrones then first shook,

And earth's immense and trampled multitude In hope on their own powers began to look, And Fear, the dæmon pale, his sanguine shrine forsook.

XXXII.

Then Greece arose, and to its bards and sages,

In dream, the golden pinioned Genii came, Even where they slept amid the night of ages, Steeping their hearts in the divinest flame, Which thy breath kindled, Power of holiest name!

And oft in cycles since, when darkness gave New weapons to thy foe, their sunlike fame

Upon the combat shone-a light to save, Like Paradise spread forth beyond the shadowy grave.

XXXIII.

Such is this conflict-when mankind doth

strive

With its oppressors in a strife of blood, Or when free thoughts like lightnings are alive;

And in each bosom of the multitude

Justice and truth, with Custom's hydra brood, Wage silent war;-when Priests and Kings dissemble

In smiles or frowns their fierce disquietude, When round pure hearts a host of hopes assemble,

The Snake and Eagle meet-the world's foundations tremble!

XXXIV.

Thou hast beheld that fight-when to thy

home

Thou dost return, steep not its hearth in tears;

Though thou mayst hear that earth is now become

The tyrant's garbage, which to his compeers, The vile reward of their dishonoured years, He will dividing give.-The victor Fiend, Omnipotent of yore, now quails, and fears His triumph dearly won, which soon will lend An impulse swift and sure to his approaching end.

XXXV.

List, stranger, list!-mine is an human form,

Like that thou wearest-touch me-shrink

not now!

My hand thou feel'st is not a ghost's, but

warm

With human blood.-'Twas many years ago, Since first my thirsting soul aspired to know The secrets of this wondrous world, when deep

My heart was pierced with sympathy, for woe Which could not be mine own-and thought did keep,

In dream, unnatural watch beside an infant's sleep.

XXXVI.

Woe could not be mine own, since far from

men

I dwelt, a free and happy orphan child,
By the sea-shore, in a deep mountain glen;
And near the waves, and through the forests
wild,

I roamed, to storm and darkness reconciled:
For I was calm while tempest shook the sky:
But when the breathless heavens in beauty
smiled,

I wept, sweet tears, yet too tumultuously For peace, and clasped my hands aloft in ecstasy.

XXXVII.

These were forebodings of my fate-before
A woman's heart beat in my virgin breast,
It had been nurtured in divinest lore:
A dying poet gave me books, and bless'd
With wild but holy talk the sweet unrest
In which I watched him as he died away-
A youth with hoary hair-a fleeting guest

Of our lone mountains-and this lore did

sway

My spirit like a storm, contending there alway.1

XXXVIII.

Thus the dark tale which history doth unfold I knew, but not, methinks, as others know; For they weep not; and Wisdom had unrolled The clouds which hide the gulph of mortal woe: To few can she that warning vision show, For I loved all things with intense devotion; So that, when Hope's deep source in fullest flow,

Like earthquake did uplift the stagnant ocean Of human thoughts-mine shook beneath the wide emotion.

XXXIX.

When first the living blood through all these veins

Kindled a thought in sense, great France sprang forth,

And seized, as if to break, the ponderous chains

Which bind in woe the nations of the earth. I saw, and started from my cottage hearth; And to the clouds and waves, in tameless gladness,

Shrieked, till they caught immeasurable mirth

And laughed in light and music soon, sweet

madness

:

Was poured upon my heart, a soft and thrilling sadness.

1

Compare this passage with the episode of the Arab maiden in Alastor.--ED.