From Hellas

Worlds on Worlds

Worlds on worlds are rolling ever
     From creation to decay,
Like the bubbles on a river
     Sparkling, bursting, borne away.
     But they are still immortal
     Who, through birth's orient portal
And death's dark chasm hurrying to and fro,
     Clothe their unceasing flight
     In the brief dust and light
Gathered around their chariots as they go;
     New shapes they still may weave,
     New Gods, new laws receive,
Bright or dim are they as the robes they last
     On Death's bare ribs had cast.

A power from the unknown God,
     A Promethean conqueror, came;
Like a triumphal path he trod
     The thorns of death and shame.
     A mortal shape to him
     Was like the vapour dim
Which the orient planet animates with light;
     Hell, Sin, and Slavery came,
     Like bloodhounds mild and tame,
Nor preyed, until their Lord had taken flight;
     The moon of Mahomet
     Arose, and it shall set:
While blazoned as on Heaven's immortal noon
     The cross leads generations on.

Swift as the radiant shapes of sleep
     From one whose dreams are Paradise
Fly, when the fond wretch wakes to weep,
     And Day peers forth with her blank eyes;
     So fleet, so faint, so fair,
     The Powers of earth and air
Fled from the folding-star of Bethlehem:
     Apollo, Pan, and Love,
     And even Olympian Jove
Grew weak, for killing Truth had glared on them;
     Our hills and seas and streams,
     Dispeopled of their dreams,
Their waters turned to blood, their dew to tears
     Wailed for the golden years. 

The World's Great Age 

The world's great age begins anew,
    The golden years return,
The earth doth like a snake renew
    Her winter weeds outworn:
Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam,
Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.

A brighter Hellas rears its mountains
    From waves serener far;
A new Peneus rolls his fountains
    Against the morning star.
Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep
Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.

A loftier Argo cleaves the main,
    Fraught with a later prize;
Another Orpheus sings again,
    And loves, and weeps, and dies.
A new Ulysses leaves once more
Calypso for his native shore.

Oh, write no more the tale of Troy,
    If earth Death's scroll must be!
Nor mix with Laian rage the joy
    Which dawns upon the free:
Although a subtler Sphinx renew
Riddles of death Thebes never knew.

Another Athens shall arise,
    And to remoter time
Bequeath, like sunset to the skies,
    The splendour of its prime;
And leave, if nought so bright may live,
All earth can take or Heaven can give.

Saturn and Love their long repose
    Shall burst, more bright and good
Than all who fell, than One who rose,
    Than many unsubdued:
Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers,
But votive tears and symbol flowers.

Oh, cease! must hate and death return?
    Cease! must men kill and die?
Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn
    Of bitter prophecy.
The world is weary of the past,
Oh, might it die or rest at last!