PRINCETON, N". J. 
 
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THE END OF TIME 
 
 A POEM OF THE FUTURE 
 
 BY 
 
 L. G. BARBOUR, D.D. 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON 
 
 27 West Twenty-third St. 24 Bedford St., Strand 
 
 ®Ij£ guuckcrbochn |htss 
 1802 
 
Copyright, 189a 
 
 BY 
 
 L. G. BARBOUR 
 (All Rights Reserved) 
 
 Electroryped, Printed, and Bound by 
 
 Ube IRnfcfeerbocfcer press, IRew j^orfe 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
THE END OF TIME 
 
THE END OF TIME. 
 
 PROEM. 
 
 Scenk : Heaven. 
 
 ANGELS. 
 
 Still winging on our endless flight, 
 From the great, silent Past we come ; 
 And age on age hath sunk in night, 
 Since first we knew Thee, God our Home. 
 Sweeter, than in those earliest hours, 
 Each voice attuned Thy praise to sing ; 
 And mightier every angel wing, 
 Than when it tried its new-fledged powers. 
 
 Ages on ages countless lie 
 
 Before our view, and we shall gain 
 
 A stronger arm, a keener eye, 
 
 A holier love, while Thou shalt reign. 
 
 Th' impetuous winds sublimely sweep 
 
 Across the pathless waste of Ocean ; 
 
 And traverse we without emotion 
 
 Our broader sea, our shoreless deep ? 
 
THE END OF TIME. 
 
 't is a vast, unspoken bliss 
 
 To struggle up with strong endeavor ; 
 As cycles close, to feel but this — 
 That we are nearer Thee than ever ; 
 To mount to regions all untrod, 
 Higher and higher yet to press ; 
 And then with veiled face confess, 
 That Thou art still the Unknown God. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 1 saw from, out a boundless sea 
 A fairy island rise, 
 
 O'erspread with beauty's mystery, 
 O'erhung with loveliest skies. 
 
 It rose from out the vasty sea 
 With a sweet and musical sound 
 
 Of waters rippling cheerily, 
 As they girdled the beach around. 
 
 Straightway leaped up the smiling hills 
 With a sudden and playful bound, 
 
 And from the heights the gurgling rills 
 Came forth to bless the ground ; 
 
 Came forth to bless the valleys green, 
 And the forests so bravely clad ; 
 
 God looked from heaven upon the scene, 
 And the Maker's heart was glad. 
 
 
THE END OF TIME. 3 
 
 O might it be my joy again 
 
 To trace the flowery glade, 
 To wander up the leafy glen, 
 
 And watch the bright cascade ; 
 
 To bend o'er cataracts wild and hoary, 
 
 Dashing to earth in spray, 
 And mountain tops in solemn glory, 
 
 So pure and so still alway ; 
 
 To see the golden light of even 
 
 Stream on the grassy dell, 
 And think, " O were it not for heaven, 
 
 How sweet on earth to dwell ! ' ' 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 God of all wisdom and power, my fortress, my 
 
 shield, and my buckler, 
 Cover my head in the thick of the fight, in the 
 
 fore-front of battle. 
 Swear I by Thee, O Eternal, that art, and that 
 
 wast, and that shalt be. 
 Swear only Thou by Thy life, — I live, I live, saith 
 
 Jehovah. 
 Forth from its scabbard my good sword leaps, 
 
 when I think of the Dragon, 
 Satan, the chief of Thy foes, the maligner of God 
 
 and His angels. 
 
4 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Down in his sulphurous bed, he stirred up the 
 
 fires of Evil, 
 Far underneath the beautiful isle, the isle of the 
 
 blue wave. 
 Upward the flames of hell came bursting through 
 
 valley and mountain, — 
 Bursting and rending their way, and heaping 
 
 up chaos on chaos, — 
 Seething the founts, and the limpid streams, and 
 
 the lakes into frenzy ; 
 So that the waters that fondly embraced the 
 
 island, now maddened, 
 Rushed on the shore, as if to engulf it, and finish 
 
 the ruin : 
 While as the winds that erst had breathed o'er 
 
 the valleys so softly, — 
 Fearing to wake the leaves, and the flowerets out 
 
 of their slumber, — 
 Shuddered, and shrilled, and shrieked o'er the 
 
 deep-toned roar of the billows. 
 Far overhead the heavens grew black, and the 
 
 Night was upon us, — 
 Night on the beautiful island, Night on the sor- 
 rowing Angels. 
 
 GABRIEL. 
 
 lyord of all grandeur and glory, so loving, so gra- 
 cious, so tender, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 5 
 
 Down from the loftiest height of Thy heaven there 
 
 fell on the island 
 Light of Thy light, and began its long, long 
 
 struggle with darkness ; 
 Day-spring that, dim at the first, yet ever grew 
 
 brighter and brighter. 
 Stronger and stronger it grew, till it drave out 
 
 the horrible blackness. 
 Hushed was the tempest's roar, and stilled was 
 
 the rage of the ocean. 
 Little by little the grass came forth and the timid 
 
 young flowers. 
 Little by little the forests again clothed valleys 
 
 and hill-tops. 
 Now, though the beautiful isle could nevermore 
 
 be what it had been, — 
 Fearfully scarred as it was, and torn and rent into 
 
 gorges,— 
 Yet by Thy wonderful working the mountains 
 
 rose nearer to heaven ; 
 Deeper the depth of the lakes, and sweeter the 
 
 founts and the streamlets ; 
 Fairer the winsome flowers that blushed on the 
 
 dales and the hill-sides, 
 Hid themselves in the gorges, and peeped from 
 
 under the snow-drifts, 
 Greeting the joy of the sunlight, and bathed in 
 
 its roseate splendor. 
 
6 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Solemn and grand was the voice of the winds as 
 
 they chanted through pine groves, — 
 Solemn and grand in its strength, but plaintive 
 
 and sad in its weakness, 
 Moving the hearer to tears by its piteous wail, 
 
 and its sighing, — 
 Wail, that changed to rejoicing, and sighing to 
 
 jubilant triumph. 
 Such was the beautiful island ; we wait to see 
 
 what it shall be. 
 
 Why, Almighty, does yonder isle, afar on the 
 
 ocean 
 Pour out fire and smoke evermore from infernal 
 
 abysses ? 
 Why do the winds yet rave ? Why do the billows 
 
 still thunder 
 Curses upon the blackening shore, aye, curses 
 
 forever ? 
 Day is thine, and the Night is thine, the Light 
 
 and the Darkness 
 Both of them publish thy praise, and both of them 
 
 tell of thy glory. 
 Day unto Day utters speech, and Night unto 
 
 Night showeth knowledge ; 
 Day, when the sun goeth forth like a bridegroom 
 
 out of his chamber ; 
 
THE END OF TIME. J 
 
 Night with its nebulous heights, and its fathom- 
 less depths so appalling. 
 
 Sweet is Thy goodness, O Lord our God, and fear- 
 ful Thy justice ; 
 
 God, our strength and our song ; O God the joy 
 of our gladness. 
 
 AU, ANGEI£. 
 
 Thou art our strength and our song, and Thou 
 art the joy of our gladness. 
 
 souls under the; ai/tar. 
 
 How long, O Lord, how long, Thou true and just, 
 Thy vengeance lingers, nor fulfils Thy word ! 
 Thy Martyrs' blood still cries from out the dust, 
 How long, O Lord ? 
 
 Slaughtered were we of old in many a land, 
 By friends betrayed, by enemies abhorred ; 
 And yet thou holdest back thy vengeful hand : 
 How long, O Lord ? 
 
 Stoned, sawn asunder, slain by fire and sword 
 Or thrown to lions 'mid th' arena's throng, 
 O Christ our God, by highest heaven adored, 
 How long, how long ? 
 
8 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Even now thy children faint beneath the rod ; 
 Thy help in vain by prayers and tears implored, 
 And taunting foemen ask, ' ' Where is your God ? ' ' 
 Arise, O Lord ! 
 
 CHRIST. 
 
 The end hath come and I will judge the world 
 In righteousness, — the nations by My truth. 
 
 ANGELS. 
 
 (In a great outburst of joy.) 
 
 Hallelujah ! 
 For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. 
 
 THE CHURCH TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 We praise thee, we bless thee, we worship thee, 
 We glorify thee, we give thanks to thee 
 For thy great glory. 
 
 ANGELS. 
 
 Thou art the King of Glory, O Christ ; 
 Thou art the everlasting Son of the Father. 
 
 CHURCH TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 Therefore with angels and archangels, 
 And with all the company of heaven, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 
 
 We laud and magnify thy glorious name, 
 Evermore praising thee and saying, 
 Holy, holy, holy Lord God of hosts, 
 Heaven and earth are full of thy glory. 
 
 Then from the church on earth, yet militant, 
 Rose into heaven the breathing of a sigh : 
 " Come, I^ord Jesus ; come quickly." 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 Scene : Earth. 
 
 I looked, and lo ! a city great and fair, 
 
 With, palaces and spires and vaulted domes, 
 
 Basked in the sunlight of declining day. 
 
 It lay between two rivers. On the west 
 
 The larger rolled its placid wave due south. 
 
 From the northeast the smaller held its course, 
 
 Rapid and tortuous, to the southern point, 
 
 Where both united swelled into a bay, 
 
 Fit harbor for the navies of a world. 
 
 On every side the city was begirt 
 
 With walls and casemates, towers and bastions 
 
 huge, 
 Strongest along the northern, landward side, 
 Yet elsewhere rearing a granitic front 
 Sheer from the water's edge, — the outline harsh 
 Softened and varied in the passing streams, 
 That from their crystal surface gave again 
 All that o'erhung, so stern and gray with age. 
 At all th' embrasures heavy cannon lowered ; 
 Upon the battlements the sentry paced ; 
 And waving in the gentle summer breeze, 
 
 10 
 
THE END OF TIME. II 
 
 That sighed o'er every loftiest turret there, 
 Banners were floating forth with this device — 
 A blazing altar and a bleeding lamb ; 
 While amid all, conspicuous to the view, 
 Shone one that bore the image of a cross 
 In gold upon a snow-white silken ground, 
 And underneath was written, God is I^ove. 
 Why was it that a silence so profound 
 Rested upon this city ? — That the streets 
 Of the vast mart re-echoed not the sound 
 Of human intercourse or industry ? 
 Not thus without, where, far as eye could reach, 
 A thousand armed legions were encamped, 
 On river-sides, on hills, on spreading plains, 
 Their white tents, like the countless fleecy clouds 
 Upon the vault of heaven, encompassed earth, — 
 Only in martial order justly set, 
 Formed into squares, these bordering on streets, 
 And thus the whole array ; with plazas broad 
 Between the different nations, left for sports 
 Of manly strength or warlike exercise. 
 Central to each division, high in air, 
 Rustled its flag, of many-colored hue, 
 Ensign armorial, and escutcheon quaint, 
 These too were deftly dight with cruel forms, 
 Bears, vultures, serpents, dragons, scorpions. 
 Central to all the host a grand marquee, 
 Of form unusual, wrought with curious art, 
 Dome-like above, whence silken curtains green 
 
12 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 In circular dependence hung around, 
 Festooned with golden fringes. Through the top 
 Shot up a shaft that bore th' imperial flag 
 Proudly o'er all the legions. On one side 
 A tawny lion couched upon his prey. 
 Azure the other where an eagle showed 
 On outspread pinions mounting tow'rd the sun. 
 Throughout the vast encampment all was life, 
 For 't was the hour of martial games and sports. 
 Here Asia's sons in rich and flowing garb, 
 And robes of brilliant oriental dyes, 
 Turbaned and sandaled, like a storm swept by, 
 On steeds of Araby fleet as the wind, — 
 Rightly careering, poising now the lance, 
 Now brandishing their crooked scimitars. 
 There Europe's hardier infantry advanced, 
 Charged bayonet, retreated, counter-marched, 
 Beat back the foe, and won the bloodless field, 
 In all the act and pomp of mimic war. 
 Beyond, were crowds of Afric's swarthy race, 
 In not unseemly, barbarous attire 
 Of curious texture, woven dexterously, 
 And intertwined with threads and beads of gold. 
 These threw the reedy spear, or twanged the 
 
 bow, — 
 Ancestral customs, still in pastime used. 
 On such a scene the sun with level beams 
 Shone on earth's latest day, — his parting rays 
 Flashing along the rows of carabines, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 3 
 
 Pikes, lances, bayoneted stands of arms ; 
 
 On trappings rich with gold and burnished steel, 
 
 Tents by the shore and frigates in the bay. 
 
 As a grieved friend departs reluctantly, 
 
 And pauses on the threshold ere he goes, 
 
 So now the God of day a moment hung 
 
 On the horizon's verge, gave one last look 
 
 Of sorrow at th' embannered king of beasts, 
 
 And king of birds above the hostile camp, 
 
 Smiled faintly on the golden cross afar, 
 
 And bade the world adieu, and shut light's pearly 
 
 gates. 
 Hark ! from ten thousand cannons' brazen throats 
 Thunder the vespers rude of stalwart war, 
 Not like the mellow tones of evening bells, 
 That tell of hope and faith, of love and heaven, 
 And lingering, softening into silence, die. 
 Scarce were the echoes laid, when music rose 
 From cornets, bugles, cymbals, trumpets, drums, 
 And stole o'er river, fortress, field, and grove, 
 Harmoniously breathing life away. 
 Departed Day, it was thy requiem, 
 loosing itself in cloister-like recess, 
 Where the far mountains stretched their colon- 
 nade, 
 And the gray-hooded hills like friars stood ; 
 Or evening song of mother to her child, 
 Saying to the wearied earth, " Rest, loved one, 
 rest." 
 
14 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 And while the dulcet notes were swelling yet 
 Toward the empyrean, in the east 
 The full moon floated up from out the sea, 
 I4ke some fair spirit woke by music's spell. 
 
CANTO II. 
 
 SCENE : The City. 
 
 It was a temple of the living God, 
 
 Of venerable air and grand design, 
 
 Where met that night a band of warlike men, 
 
 And underneath the light of graceful lamps 
 
 And chandeliers wide-flaming, bowed in prayer. 
 
 The gray -haired Richmond's voice alone was 
 
 heard 
 In supplication o'er the kneeling throng. 
 Prayer's eloquence was there, the hush of awe, 
 Love's holy warmth, entreaty's tenderness, 
 From the deep, sacred fountains of the heart. 
 And as they rose from lowliest attitude, 
 'T was with the countenance and look of men 
 In stern extremity, but not despair. 
 Now for a space they all in silence sat, 
 As though in doubt what action to advise. 
 Ashley at length, — of mild, engaging mien, 
 And features where benignity reposed, — 
 Bespake them thus : 
 
 " Fathers and Brethren dear, 
 Yet most beloved in danger's darkest hour, 
 
 15 
 
1 6 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Ye see our state, — beset on every side, 
 Environed and beleaguered by the foe, 
 Whose squadrons stretch beyond the utmost 
 
 sight 
 Of sentries posted on our highest towers. 
 Three sorties have been made at dead of night ; 
 Three desperate attempts to pierce the ranks 
 Of our dire enemy, — all, all repulsed. 
 Our shipping is destroyed, and — worst of all — 
 Hollow-eyed Famine stares us in the face. 
 It was but yesterday I overheard 
 A little child beg piteously for bread. 
 I saw the mother with a burst of grief 
 Clasp the sweet sufferer to her aching heart. 
 And this is the beginning of our woe. 
 The end I hardly dare to look upon, 
 Even in thought ; the dread reality 
 Who of us can behold and ask to live ? 
 Our wives and children wasting day by day, 
 And perishing with hunger's fearful death ! 
 Sinking with torture lingering and slow, 
 And, in their latest moments, thrusting forth 
 Their long and bony fingers as to clutch 
 Food, which unreached, they die with maniac 
 
 scream, 
 And frenzied stare that pleads in vain for help. 
 'T is this that leads me to the advice I give, 
 That on the morrow we capitulate. 
 
THE END OF TIME. \J 
 
 As for myself I do not fear to die. 
 Has e'er my heart in hottest combat failed, 
 Or cheek turned pale in deadliest assault ? 
 Yet there are those for whom all hearts must feel. 
 Shall we delay ? Then, Famine, do thy work ; 
 And when our strength is gone, perchance the foe, 
 Gaining an easy entrance o'er the walls, 
 Will wreak their wrath, long-hoarded, on our 
 
 heads. 
 Can it be wise in us t' exasperate, 
 Whom we can neither conquer nor resist ? 
 Whose overwhelming numbers are too strong 
 For all the prowess of our thinning ranks ? 
 Now, — if we open wide the city gates, — 
 May it not be that woman's feebleness, 
 And the heart-moving cries of tender babes, 
 Shall claim escape from them, though not for us ? 
 Who knows but that some feature, word, or tone 
 Of our beloved ones may serve to wake 
 A memory in the bosoms of the foe, 
 Of mother, wife, or daughter far away ? 
 Or tear, or winning smile on childhood's face, 
 Whisper to them that they too have a home ? 
 Men are not wholly fiends until they pass 
 Away from earth : There still remain some sparks 
 Of natural affection in their breasts ; 
 A little light of love, unquenched as yet, 
 By the dark stream that hurries them to hell. 
 
1 8 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 I offer then myself, to go alone 
 
 Or with two others, to the hostile camp, 
 
 And bear the city keys at risk of death. ' ' 
 
 Scarce had he ended when Dubois sprang up, — 
 
 In gesture, bearing, look, a soldier all : 
 
 ' ' Not such is my advice. If in a word 
 
 I should embody all I feel, 't would be 
 
 ' To arms ! ' Why do these bloodhounds seek our 
 
 lives ? 
 What have we done to rouse their cruel hate ? 
 Why do they thus pursue us unto death ? 
 From country unto country, land to land, 
 Till now at last within one city's walls 
 All are contained that fear the name of God. 
 Do they not know that ev'n the timid deer 
 That pants and flies before the yelping pack 
 While it may hope t' escape, will turn at length 
 And desperately charge its enemy ? 
 We are the hunted ; we too are at bay ; 
 And we are warned not to exasperate 
 These demons lest they slay our wives and babes! 
 ' They may be merciful.' Hear it, ye heavens ! 
 Yes, when the wolf has mercy on the lamb, 
 That unresisting trembles at his feet, 
 Yes, when the hawk compassionates the dove, 
 Or tiger weeps above a dying fawn. 
 Spare them ? It may be ; for the food of lust. 
 But no, — for lust hath not its seat so deep 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 9 
 
 In human hearts, as the wild thirst for blood. 
 Sweet is the face of childhood, sweet the smile 
 That plays on features all unworn by care. 
 But to these miscreants sweeter were the shriek 
 Of frantic mothers when they saw their babes 
 Torn from their arms and brained against the 
 
 wall. 
 God help me ! when such thoughts as these 
 
 obtain 
 Supremacy within me, for the time 
 I sorely fear that I am none of His. 
 But to proceed. The enemy surround 
 Our last fond refuge. Wearied now with arms, 
 And the rude shock of battle, — well aware 
 That famine soon our forces must consume, 
 They give themselves to godless merriment, 
 To games by day, and revelry by night : 
 Such the report now brought us by our spies. 
 Our course of action seems to me most clear, 
 That at some hour between the noon of night 
 And break of day, when deepest slumber wraps 
 The world in wizard mantle, when the noise 
 Of latest revellers is hushed in sleep, 
 Then we shall burst in terror on their camp, 
 With the loud crash of musketry, the roar 
 Of cannon, blare of trumpets, and the shout 
 Of legions pouring o'er the gory field. 
 Perhaps Jehovah, God of Israel, 
 May send a panic to the inmost heart 
 
20 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Of our fierce adversaries. Sudden fear 
 
 May seize them. In the terror and the night, 
 
 Each individual struggling for himself, 
 
 They may put one another to the sword. 
 
 If not, let us at least like soldiers fall, 
 
 Fall sword in hand. I^et us not die like fools, 
 
 Bound hand and foot, and on a gallows hanged. 
 
 For such would be the gentle Ashley's lot, 
 
 And mine and yours, whoever lead the host. 
 
 Thinkest thou, Ashley, that thine honored name, 
 
 Valor in field and wisdom in debate, 
 
 Are all unknown among yon motley crew ? 
 
 For thee, for us the halter is designed, 
 
 If once we fall into the foemen's hands. 
 
 My offer is to follow or to lead 
 
 In one last, bold attack upon our foes. 
 
 To conquer or to perish, be our aim ; 
 
 And may the God of battles aid our arms." 
 
 He said. A murmur of applause was heard. 
 There were, whose hands were laid upon their 
 
 swords. 
 But now the aged Richmond slowly rose : 
 1 ' Not so, my brother, doth it us behoove 
 To carry on our war, and so forget 
 The words of counsel by our Captain given. 
 Man's wrath works not the righteousness of God. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 21 
 
 Vengeance is His alone ; He will repay. 
 There is a just and lawful sense of wrong ; 
 
 | An indignation, we may rightly feel ; 
 
 J But let us keep our anger in due bounds, 
 Ivest the fair breeze, that drives the gallant ship 
 Along its foamy way, become a storm, 
 And rend, and wreck, and then engulf our 
 
 bark. 
 We are exhorted ' sword in hand to fall.' 
 I am content to die, as God appoints ; 
 And yet if I might choose, I would not spend 
 Life's closing hour upon a battle-field. 
 The yells of fiendish rage, the clash of arms, 
 The shouts of living, groans of dying men, 
 
 '. The fire, the smoke, the blood, would ill prelude 
 The peace and love and melody of heaven. 
 No, to die fitly we do not require 
 Such time or place, such scene or circumstance. 
 Nay more, there is a greatness of the soul 
 
 [That doth transcend the power of outward 
 things, 
 And is sublime amid the scoff and scorn 
 And execration of a rabble throng. 
 So died the sinless One ; and Oh, had we 
 More of His Spirit, that we too might say 
 ' Father, forgive ! they know not what they 
 
 do.' 
 Placed as we are, our duty manifest 
 Is to defend our children, wives, and selves. 
 
22 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 The law of self-defence is plainly writ 
 
 Both in the Scriptures and the heart of man. 
 
 From all that we have seen, we cannot hope 
 
 That our inveterate foe will spare. No cry 
 
 For mercy ever yet has reached his heart. 
 
 A night attack is, then, our last resource. 
 
 But let us wait until the enemy 
 
 Are not so vigilant as seem they now ; 
 
 Till they are lost to reason, steeped in wine, 
 
 O'erwhelmed with surfeiting and drunkenness. 
 
 Then with a desperate valor let us hurl 
 
 Our shot and shell upon them, hot and fast. 
 
 Meanwhile, what may not Heaven do for us ? 
 
 A strong persuasion grows upon my mind, 
 
 That we behold the latest days of earth. 
 
 The end draws nigh, by prophets long foretold. 
 
 Of all the prophecies of Holy Writ, 
 
 Recorded for the Church's faith and hope, 
 
 None else remain unravelled, unfulfilled, 
 
 Save what respect the grand catastrophe. 
 
 The great red Dragon, stinging scorpions, 
 
 Iyion-mouthed Leopard rising from the sea, 
 
 Monstrous with many heads and many horns ; 
 
 Woman, in royal purple well attired, 
 
 And decked with gold and pearls and precious 
 
 stones ; 
 Angels with sounding trumpets ; falling stars ; 
 Whatever type or shadow was portrayed 
 By those old Masters on the sacred page,— 
 
THE END OF TIME. 23 
 
 All, all have found their substance and their 
 
 truth 
 In wars, convulsions, potentates, and powers. 
 Nations are born and die. The word of God 
 Liveth for aye, — abideth evermore. 
 Only one mystery is unresolved, 
 The final coming of the Son of Man. 
 Behold He comes in clouds, and every eye 
 Shall see Him, and all kindreds of the earth 
 Shall wail when they behold Him in the sky. 
 Welcome the darkness that enshrouds our state 
 In deepening gloom. But few more hours shall 
 
 be 
 Struck on Time's sounding bell before we hear 
 The Midnight Cry, ' Behold, the Bridegroom 
 
 comes ! ' 
 What if this very night that cry were made ? 
 What if the King of Glory from His throne 
 Should with the heavenly train so soon appear ? ' ' 
 
 Scarce was this said, when lo ! a sudden light, 
 Brighter than noonday's sun, shone overhead ; 
 And on their snowy pinions poised aloft, 
 A band of angels sang : 
 
 "Ye sons of men, 
 Shout, leap for joy, for your redemption 's nigh. 
 Before to-morrow's dawn shall ye behold 
 The Prince of Glory in the clouds of heaven. ' ' 
 
24 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 ITHURIEI,. 
 
 Forth from the regions where day never dieth, 
 Forth from the verdure that knows not decay, 
 
 Swifter than arrow unseen as it fiieth, 
 
 Swifter than light have we sped on our way. 
 
 Forth from the radiance first-born and elysian, 
 Through the star-spaces we 've held on our 
 flight, 
 
 Now in the splendors that dazzled our vision, 
 Now in the gloom and the terror of night. 
 
 ANGELS. 
 
 Yet Thou art with us wherever we rove, 
 God of all wisdom, all power, all love. 
 
 ITHURIEX. 
 
 Not unto shepherds their night watches keeping, 
 Come we to chant o'er Judea's dark plain ; 
 
 Not with the tidings of babe sadly weeping, 
 Or tenderly soothed to his slumbers again. 
 
 But of the pomp of a Warrior victorious, 
 
 Leading invincible armies, we tell, 
 Saving the lowly with grace ever glorious, 
 
 Grinding to powder the forces of hell. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 25 
 
 ANGELS. 
 
 Thus it becomes Thee in grandeur to move, 
 God of all vengeance, all terror, all love. 
 
 ITHURIEL. 
 
 Bright on His head shines the crown of dominion, 
 Sparkles His sceptre, and flashes His sword ; 
 
 Mighty archangels with wide-spreading pinion 
 Marshal their forces, and wait on His word. 
 
 From trump and falchion lightnings are glancing ; 
 
 'Round helm and banner the red fires play, 
 While at the summons the squadrons advancing 
 
 Form into order of battle array. 
 
 ANGELS. 
 
 God of all majesty, mercy, and power, 
 Strengthen man's heart in this terrible hour. 
 
 This said, they straightway vanished from the 
 
 place, 
 
 Leaving the men bewildered and in fear, 
 But Richmond presently stood forth, and thus 
 Addressed them : 
 
 " Not so soon, beloved ones, 
 Thought I the end would come. This very 
 
 night J 
 
26 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Ah ! who that awful presence can abide ? 
 Who dauntless stand before the judgment seat ? 
 Searcher of hearts, O prove and try our thoughts, 
 Ere yet th' alarum ring its pealing notes, 
 And now let each to his own dwelling go, 
 And every soul prepare to meet his God." 
 
 Softly and slowly, one by one they went. 
 The lights all died away, till fretted vault, 
 Column, and arch were wrapped in dusky folds. 
 Nought could be seen, except th' unsteady gleam 
 Of straggling moonbeams dimly peering through 
 The tall and traceried windows' rich-dyed glass, 
 Falling on pillar, aisle, and sombre wall, 
 In varied tints and strange, fantastic forms. 
 Nought could be heard but the clock's measured 
 
 tick 
 Counting the moments, while Eternity — 
 As some magician old, gray-bearded, grim, 
 Bending o'er couch of infant young and fair — 
 Held finger on the dying pulse of Time. 
 
 Richmond approached his home. A pleasant 
 
 spot : 
 The modest mansion, the embowering trees 
 Waving their branches in the nightly air, 
 And weaving shadows on the smooth green 
 
 sward ; 
 The vine- wreathed trellis, — all a picture made, 
 
 
THE END OF TIME. 27 
 
 That memory might, ah ! shall forever hold. 
 He paused an instant at the gate to take 
 One last look at the dear old place, his home, 
 Scene of his tranquil joys and sorrows blest. 
 A rising tear bedimmed his aged eyes, 
 When on his ear a sweet voice softly stole. 
 
 Not upon the mountains only, 
 
 Nor on castle turrets high 
 Streams the precious light of heaven 
 
 Through the portals of the sky. 
 
 But on lowly vales sequestered 
 Where the brook flows noiselessly, 
 
 And on cottages half-hidden 
 Underneath the linden tree. 
 
 Not to lofty heroes only, 
 
 Sages learned, men of might, 
 Monarchs robed in gold and purple, 
 
 Comes the true, the heavenly light. 
 
 There are hearts that long and meekly 
 Suffer, to the world unknown ; 
 
 Humble ones, the God of glory 
 Stoops to claim you for His own. 
 
 When the sun is clothed in sackcloth, 
 When yon moon to blood doth turn, 
 
28 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 When in final conflagration 
 
 All this spacious globe shall burn ; 
 
 When above th' august tribunal 
 Quick and dead Thy face shall see, 
 
 Can a feeble, trembling maiden 
 Hope to be confessed by Thee ? 
 
 Yes, for once Thy head reclining 
 
 On a mother's bosom lay, 
 And the tender lips of woman 
 
 Kissed Thine infant tears away. 
 
 Beamed upon Thee in Thy cradle 
 Mary's eyes with lustre mild ; 
 
 'T was her voice in gentle accents 
 Whispered : ' ' Sweetly rest, my child ! ' ' 
 
 Not the highest heaven's glory 
 
 Can that memory remove ; 
 On Thy cheek those kisses linger, 
 
 In Thy heart that mother's love. 
 
 She ceased, and Richmond entered hurriedly. 
 Hearing his hasty step, Evangeline 
 Came forth and met her father in the hall. 
 The aged man fell on her neck and wept. 
 "My daughter, O my daughter ! ' ' thus he spoke, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 29 
 
 When he found utterance. ' ' How soon must this 
 Thy precious faith, as gold, be tried by fire ? 
 How soon shall we and all His followers be 
 In the celestial mansions with our Lord ? 
 Thy mother too — ' ' But here the tears afresh 
 Ran down the time-worn furrows of his face ; — 
 " Long lost, beloved wife, but now restored, 
 No more to weep, no more to faint and die. ' ' 
 " How ? what ? my father," said Evangeline ; 
 " Whence this unwonted tumult in thy breast ? 
 My mother ? Now restored ? ' ' 
 
 Her father then : 
 " Evangeline, a band of angels came 
 This night, and to our wondering ears announced 
 The coming of the Son of God from heaven." 
 She fell upon her knees. "Aye, watch and pray, 
 If ever thou wouldst watch and pray on earth. ' ' 
 He said no more, but left her kneeling there, 
 With her meek eyes devoutly raised to heaven. 
 
 It is a quiet chamber. Here is stored 
 In long and comely rows the lore of time. 
 Learning hath often lit her early lamp 
 Within these walls, where spoils of other days 
 And distant climes are gathered ; knowledge 
 
 high, 
 And eloquence of poetry and prose, 
 And modern science by whose regal power 
 Man holds supremacy o'er land and sea. 
 
30 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 The page of History unfolded tells 
 Of vice and virtue, emperors and kings, 
 Empires and kingdoms, states and common- 
 wealths ; 
 Of wise and great, profound and valiant men, 
 And women mighty in their loveliness ; 
 Of famines, tumults, pestilences, wars, 
 Whereby the leaves are blackened and begrimed, 
 And many stuck together fast with blood ; 
 While Sibyl whispers her traditions dire, 
 Or, laying finger on her lips, is dumb. 
 But chief the works of greatly pious men, 
 The consecrated learning of the good, 
 Whose very names are watchwords ; holy thought ; 
 Manful repulse of treacherous assault 
 On God's blest word, or on the cross of Christ ; 
 Copious wisdom fresh from heavenly founts ; 
 And over all, the Book inspired of God, 
 The highest stepping-stone by which to reach 
 The Pure, the True, the Beautiful, the Good- 
 One rapid glance at these his treasures rich, 
 Prized above gold or gems. Forgive a sigh, 
 That all must perish in devouring flames. 
 " Farewell ! companions of my earthly days," — 
 So thought he in that moment passing fleet ; 
 "Guides of my youth, friends of my manhood's 
 
 prime ; 
 Solace in sorrow's hour ; in weakness, strength ; 
 Honor and ornament of prosperous years. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 3 1 
 
 But ah ! I have no time for such regrets. 
 Farewell ! Barth, that gavest birth to me, — 
 Earth, where the Saviour lived, where Jesus died, 
 And where He lay, as I had hoped to lie, 
 In thy fond bosom sheltered from the blast. 
 Farewell, each sacred, each familiar spot, 
 Scenes of my toils and conflicts, hopes and fears. 
 Farewell, ye trees and flowers, ye hills and dales ; 
 Farewell, day's glory, and the calm of night, 
 And all that to my being links itself 
 In ties that can be broken nevermore." 
 
 The vine-leaves quiver in the nightly breeze, 
 Which, passing through them, fans an aged brow ; 
 And tremblingly the moonbeams enter there. 
 Draw reverently nigh, — a good man prays. 
 
 " Ancient of days ! Most high, most holy I^ord ! 
 Lonely wayfarer of eternity ! 
 Of old Thou walkedst in Thy Godhood's might 
 Coming from out the gloom unlimited, 
 Unknown, unfathomed save by Thee alone ; 
 Into the future holding now Thy way, 
 That long eternity which I shall know ; 
 Spirit unseen whose keenly piercing eye 
 Scanneth each thought of every human heart, 
 How can a guilty worm before Thee stand ; 
 When in Thy sight the heavens are unclean, 
 And in Thy presence loftiest cherubim 
 
32 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Cry ' Holy, Holy, Holy God of Hosts ? ' 
 Can I, a wretched sinner, dare appear 
 Before Thy bar ? Can I confront that gaze, 
 Which singles me from out the countless throng, 
 And says ' O why hast thou against Me sinned ? ' 
 What could I do, Thou Judge of all the earth ! 
 Ah ! whither look, or whither turn to flee ! 
 But that Thy love is deeper than my guilt, 
 And Thou art He that wept and bled for man. 
 Grant me, O Christ, to stand so near, that I 
 May see the face that once was wet with blood, 
 And mark the print of iron spike and spear 
 Still visible in hands and feet and side. 
 So without fear may I approach Thy throne, 
 And claim to be a sinner saved by grace. 
 
 Thou lovest me ! Who could this truth believe, 
 
 Did not Thy Spirit witness to his heart ? 
 
 Who comprehend the length and breadth and 
 
 height, 
 Until the light from heaven had dawned thereon 
 As day upon th' illimitable sea. 
 Yet with that witness, that supernal ray, 
 I can, I do unfalteringly repose 
 On Thy sole promise, wondering at myself. 
 Whence is this peace ? for I could not have 
 
 thought 
 Such calmness possible at this last hour. 
 For why do not the darkness, thunders, fires, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 33 
 
 Tempests, convulsions, cries and groans of men, — 
 All which I presently must see and hear, — 
 Now daunt my soul as they were wont to do ? 
 How canst Thou, Lord, so strengthen feeble 
 
 man 
 To stand without dismay upon the verge 
 Of earth that slips from underneath his feet ? 
 
 O God of matchless power, how wise, how deep 
 Thy purposes far-reaching ! Who hath known 
 Thy will, or who hath been Thy counsellor ? 
 Or who can tell why Thou hast chosen man 
 To worship in the temple of the sky ? 
 Were these the themes whereon Thy Godhead 
 
 mused, 
 During th' eternal, uncreative past ? 
 When thou existedst and nought else beside, 
 Nor worshipper was found in all of space, 
 Nor Time its giddy cycles had begun. 
 Viewing our fallen race, didst Thou design 
 A mercy such as none but God could show ? 
 Saviour of sinners, did Thy pitying heart 
 Throb with that love, no other heart could feel ? 
 Before Thy vision did Thy sorrow rise, 
 Thy life of grief, of weariness, of pain, 
 Thy mortal agony, Thy death of blood ? ' ' 
 
 He said thus much, and rose from off his knees, 
 To pace the floor in meditation rapt. 
 
34 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 ' ' What is that change, O wonder-working God, 
 That soon shall pass upon my mortal frame ? 
 How shall this weakness be exchanged for 
 
 strength, 
 This mortal put on immortality ? 
 Shall I be young again ? And shall these eyes, 
 Now dim with age, renew their strength and fire ? 
 These hoary hairs resume their youthful hue, 
 And I walk forth in manhood's early prime ? 
 
 Iyife, that dwellest in the Son of God, 
 A little while and thou too shalt be mine. 
 
 1 shall be like Thee, Thou transfigured Christ, — 
 Be strong to bear the glory Thou shalt bring. 
 
 Friends of my childhood, and my riper years, 
 Who long have slumbered in the silent tomb, 
 Hear the loud clarion and awake from sleep ! 
 Awake ! and put undying vigor on. 
 Ye that have known corruption's foulest stains, 
 Rise, and be clad with beauty and with grace. 
 The hour, by prophets long foretold, is here, 
 And He shall come, the Beautiful, the Strong. 
 
 Can it be true, or is it all a dream, 
 
 That I shall be forever with the Lord ? 
 
 O God, I thank Thee ! L,et these tears of joy, 
 
 And inarticulate sobs express to Thee, 
 
 That which lies not within the power of words. 
 
 Forever and forever ! Glorious thought, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 35 
 
 That I, a creature but of yesterday, 
 Numbering life's fleeting moments by the beat 
 Of pulse, or day and night's succession swift, 
 Should revel in the view of endless years, 
 Draw largely, yet diminish not the store, 
 Mount, soar, and still the mighty prospect find 
 Too broad for human or angelic eye, 
 Thy love too vast for creature heart to hold. ' ' 
 
 He paused, and, going to his cabinet, 
 
 Took out a relic from a secret drawer, 
 
 A paper written by a woman's hand, — 
 
 The long-lost mother of Evangeline ; — 
 
 Then sat him down and read the Vesper Hymn. 
 
 " While the shades of night descending 
 With the light of day are blending, 
 To the love that knows no ending, 
 Lord, we turn ; O hear our humble prayer. 
 
 Byes that once were dim with weeping, 
 Now from highest heaven keeping 
 O'er the flock a watch unsleeping, 
 Rest, O rest on us with tender care. 
 
 To Thy will our spirits molding, 
 To Thy heart Thy loved ones folding, 
 All our helplessness beholding, 
 Son of God, O hear our humble prayer." 
 
36 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Evangeline now quietly stole in, 
 And knelt beside her venerable sire, 
 Clasped her fair palms across his aged knee, 
 And leaned her sweet young cheek upon her 
 
 hands, 
 Waiting the trumpet that should wake the dead. 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 Scene : The Camp. 
 
 What was transacted meanwhile in the camp, 
 
 Comes next in order to relate. The sound 
 
 Of bugles, cornets, drums, and cymbals ceased ; 
 
 And over all the field the kindling fires 
 
 First sent up clouds, of smoke, then burst in 
 
 flames 
 Curling and blazing 'twixt the rustic logs. 
 The ruddy, cheerful gleams lit up each group 
 Surrounding, who, with half-averted face, 
 Brought meats of different kinds from stall and 
 
 fold, 
 From copse and field ; some borne in single hand, 
 Others of ponderous weight, — whole beasts im- 
 paled, — 
 To turn and roast on monstrous iron spits ; 
 The sturdy foremen, shouting their commands, 
 All red, and bustling with important step. 
 Round the hot centres, or in ranges long, 
 Ovens were baking bread, of wheat or maize, 
 Rye, barley, fruit of arto-carpus tree ; 
 And in huge pots simmered the boiling rice, 
 
 37 
 
38 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 The food of half mankind. In the hard earth 
 Holes had been scooped, and tawny men thereat, 
 From the far islands of the Southern Sea, 
 Primeval usage plied, part heating stones 
 To put in them, part sorting out the leaves 
 To line the sides and bottoms of the pits, 
 Wherein swine, fish, or fowl should be bestowed. 
 Before the tent doors or from wagon trains 
 The commissaries equal rations dealt 
 To clamoring men that hurried to and fro. 
 Hard by the fires, barrels of water dripped, 
 Which women's hands were dipping out in cups, 
 And bearing thence, filled caldrons, under which 
 Twigs crackled sharp, or smouldered ashy coals. 
 Sergeants along the outer lines relieved 
 The weary guards, and sentinels detailed ; 
 Each, as he took his station, marching slow, 
 With sabre broad and heavy at his side, 
 And rifled musket with fixed bayonet. 
 Superior officers strolled arm in arm, 
 Sauntering by twos and threes along their way, 
 Marked by their dress and nameless lofty port ; 
 Or stood conversing with that courtesy 
 Ever habitual to men of arms. 
 Now evening's meal was ended, and the time 
 For mirthful sports and revelries came on. 
 The mellow notes of flutes and violins 
 Inured to the dance ; not stately minuets, 
 But fun and frolic cheered by noisy glee ; 
 
THE END OF TIME. 39 
 
 And woman's voice was heard, her step was 
 
 seen 
 Footing it nimbly o'er the smooth-worn ground. 
 Here in the light fandango, gay and free, 
 To sound of castanets and tambourines, 
 Lover and lass disported pantomime. 
 The one advanced ; the other fled, then stopped, 
 And, archly looking back, besought pursuit ; 
 Darted away again, eluded, skimmed 
 Birdlike the borders of th' applauding ring, 
 And featly let herself be caught at last, 
 'Mid smiles and cheers and gifts of showering 
 
 coin. 
 Beyond in graver sort sat turbaned men, 
 On mats and cushions spread upon the grass ; 
 In circles ranged, with oriental pipes 
 Of amber mouthpiece, long and flexile stem, 
 And self-supporting bowl of curious make, 
 From which the smoke came bubbling up through 
 
 cups 
 Filled with perfumes from Araby, the Blest, 
 Rose from their lips and fragrance faint dispensed 
 Of aromatic gums, in a blue cloud 
 That seemed by moonlight an enchanter's veil ; 
 The while they listened to some tale of eld, 
 Of long-remembered Haroun, viziers, ghouls, 
 Sultans, and robbers, hunch-backs, genii, dwarfs, 
 Caverns and neverfailing gems and gold. 
 Next these, the children of the farther East, — 
 
40 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 
 Lands where the Ind and Ganges pour their 
 
 floods, — 
 Gathered in clusters variously engaged ; 
 To one of which thus sang a dark-haired girl, 
 Playing the while upon a silver lute. 
 
 Sons of India, list, while I tell you a tale of the 
 
 Triad. 
 Vishnu ages agone lay sleeping under the Ocean, 
 Up from his bosom there shot a stalk that was 
 
 slender and graceful, 
 And at the top of the stem a lotus unfolded its 
 
 glory. 
 
 II. 
 
 Out of the gorgeous flower sprang Brahma and 
 
 stood on the waters, 
 Looking to North and to South, to Kast and to 
 
 West o'er the broad sea. 
 No one appearing in sight anywhere, in ecstasy 
 
 Brahma 
 Clapped his hands and shouted for joy, " Yes, I 
 
 am the First-born ! ' ' 
 
THE END OF TIME. 4 1 
 
 III. 
 
 " First of all to exist, and maker of all that shall 
 follow, — 
 
 All excepting this lotus. But hold ! " He dived 
 into the water, 
 
 Glided adown the stalk of the flower, as swift as 
 the whirlwind, 
 
 Till he arrived at the bottom, and found the slum- 
 bering Vishnu. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Who art thou, knave? And what dost thou 
 here? Arouse thee, O sleeper ! " 
 
 Vishnu awoke, and proudly exclaimed he, "I am 
 the First-born." 
 
 " Iciest thou, knave, in thy throat ; for I was be- 
 fore thee, ' ' said Brahma. 
 
 Vishnu leaped to his feet. Then began the first 
 of all battles. 
 
 V. 
 
 Long time wrestled the twain, till at last the 
 
 divine Maha Deva 
 Rushed in between them to end their strife, and 
 
 thrust them asunder, 
 Saying, ' ' In vain is your contest, for I myself am 
 
 the First-born. 
 
42 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Natheless will I resign my claim to him who shall 
 
 mount up 
 Through the empyreal heights, and the crown of 
 
 my head shall discover ; 
 Or unto him who shall sound the abyss, and look 
 
 on my sandals." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Brahma then flashed aloft, outstripping the flight 
 
 of an eagle ; 
 Upward and upward he flew, till his pinions were 
 
 weary with flying. 
 Still towered up far above him the head of the 
 
 great Maha Deva, 
 Then he bethought him of guile, and created the 
 
 first of the white cows ; 
 
 VII. 
 
 Brought her to Deva, and said, " I have seen it ; 
 
 this cow is my witness. ' ' 
 " Liars ! " exclaimed the angry Deva, " Yes, both 
 
 of you liars ! 
 Brahma, to thee no rites be performed, no sacrifice 
 
 offered ; 
 Mouth of kine, be foul evermore, and the cause 
 
 of defilement." 
 
THE END OF TIME. 43 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then rose Vishnu, and said, "I saw not thy feet, 
 
 MahaDeva." 
 "True is thy word," quoth Deva, "and thou 
 
 Vishnu art the First-born, 
 First of the Gods ! unto thee shall be rendered the 
 
 loftiest honors, 
 Temples be built, and prayers be addressed 
 
 through all generations." 
 
 Elsewhere stood serpent-charmers wrapped in 
 
 folds 
 Of venomous reptiles, which the looker-on 
 Gazed at amazed, and held his breath for fear ; 
 Sagacious dogs, goats, horses, mountebanks, 
 Jugglers with cards and mirrors, balls and swords, 
 In open field or tent, as seemed them best ; 
 Saloons where liquors in decanters shone ; 
 These and a thousand other toys and sports 
 Made up the scene of vain and motley life, 
 While ever and anon o'er all arose 
 Music in outburst wild, tumultuous, — 
 In melancholy cadence died away. 
 
CANTO IV. 
 
 Seymoicr. 
 
 There were who relished not this noisy glee ; 
 Of whom, some sauntered 'neath the spreading 
 
 trees 
 Along the river's margin, just beyond 
 The range of cannon from the city walls ; 
 Some rowed in skiffs and yawls with muffled oars, 
 That nothing might disturb the heavenly calm. 
 But chief a mimic fleet of lengthened train 
 Floated adown the stream. Here men of rank, 
 Brilliant with decorations, orders, stars, 
 And women fair and graceful, dark and proud. 
 Hark ! from the foremost boat a voice is heard, 
 Accompanied by flutes and mandolins. 
 
 Maid, whose eyes with liquid beam 
 Show like pearls from depth of stream, 
 Look but thus on me forever 
 Gliding down this placid river, 
 By its softly wooded shore ; 
 Grant me this, — I ask no more. 
 
 44 
 
THE END OF TIME. 45 
 
 II. 
 
 Give me moonlight, beauty's daughter, 
 On this wide and limpid water ; 
 ]>t the melody of song 
 Echo far and linger long, 
 Mingling with the plash of oar, 
 Just as now ; I ask no more. 
 
 in. 
 
 Bid thy ringlets all astray 
 With the night-air gently play ; 
 Take my willing hand in thine, 
 Tell me that thy heart is mine ; 
 I desire no greater bliss, 
 Ask no higher heaven than this. 
 
 Now at head-quarters beat the loud tattoo ; 
 Ten thousand drums took up the rapid roll, 
 East Indian tom-toms, and harsh Chinese gongs. 
 At once the lights went out in lesser tents, 
 And, wearied with the active games of day, 
 The common soldiers to their cots retired 
 By little companies. The multitude 
 Thinned off ; the roar of constant hubbub hushed ; 
 
46 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 And only here and there, at intervals, 
 
 A casual shout of merriment was heard, 
 
 Or yell of drunken men that homeward reeled. 
 
 But dissipation was not wholly checked, 
 
 For at this hour the grand marquee began 
 
 To blaze with lights from newly kindled lamps 
 
 Hung in a circle round the central shaft. 
 
 Beneath, a table, set in manner like, 
 
 Held long and slender bottles filled with wine, 
 
 And cups of gold and silver richly chased. 
 
 Here sat the highest officers by land 
 
 In wassail high with admirals of the sea, 
 
 And wine and wit in rival currents flowed. 
 
 Seymour appeared the gayest of the gay, 
 
 Whose deep-blue eyes, and curling chestnut 
 
 hair 
 Falling upon his shoulders, handsome mouth, 
 And gallant manners won him woman's love 
 Where'er he went. Crimson his uniform 
 Turned up with buff. Before him was a cup 
 Poised on a column claret-hued and bronzed. 
 " Ho ! Seymour," cried an entering admiral ; 
 " Thou 'rt here betimes to-night. Was 't thou I 
 
 heard 
 An hour ago, as floating down the wave 
 A sentimental ditty caught my ear ? " 
 "To a chaste maiden, valorous Van Tromp ? " 
 Seymour replied ; ' ' Ah ! my dear admiral, 
 What ditties must we sing to such fair prudes ! ' ' 
 
THE END OF TIME. 47 
 
 VAN TROMP. 
 
 I knew it was no other voice than thine. 
 How now, my friend, what new toy hast thou 
 there ? 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Toy ? By the gods, it is the rarest bowl 
 That ever graced our board. 'T is Vinton's 
 make. 
 
 VAN TROMP. 
 
 Vinton's ? 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Aye ; ' ' crazy George ' ' they call him now, 
 Because his wits are addled — so they say. 
 Who knows if he be more of fool or knave ? 
 He must have had some lucid moments when 
 This piece was wrought. 
 
 VAN TROMP. 
 
 Is 't wood or porcelain ? 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Better than either, sir. It is a skull, 
 
 So small, translucent, smooth and finely grained, 
 
48 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Some noble damsel must have owned it once, 
 And borne it loftily. L,ook at this train, 
 Bacchus returning from the vintage, crowned ; 
 His chariot draped with vines and drawn by- 
 girls. 
 See that blue sky reflected in the lake, 
 Those purple grapes, that thyrsus ivy- wreathed, 
 And girlhood's delicately carmined cheek. 
 The god of wine, — how exquisite his leer, 
 His sidelong glance, and half-shut sleepy eyes ; 
 While from the goblet, reeling in his hand, 
 Gushes the crimson juice. We almost hear 
 The creaking wheels, the peasant's vintage song, 
 And feel the warm rays of the setting sun. 
 
 To whom, Van Tromp : "In truth, it is a gem. 
 
 That Vinton is a genius in his way. ' ' 
 
 " The best part is unseen," Seymour replied, 
 
 ' ' Except by those who from the vessel drink. 
 
 The inside — you may see thus much — is lined 
 
 With porcelain, on which the brush has put 
 
 A form of beauty, earth but seldom sees. 
 
 O raven hair ! O eyes of utter Night ! 
 
 Of blackest Night, that answers back to Night ; 
 
 Cheeks that out-vie the tints of snowy heights 
 
 Blushing beneath the kisses of the sun. 
 
 O figure robed in laces soft and white, 
 
 No vestal virgin ever showed more fair ! 
 
 That background see, of pale and tender green 
 
THE END OF TIME. 49 
 
 Deep'ning to olive. From her dainty feet, 
 
 Shadows of dusky red that die in browns, 
 
 Give but an air of substance to what else 
 
 Might seem the misty pageant of a dream, 
 
 Ye gods, if I were Jupiter himself, 
 
 I 'd part with high Olympus, thunders, throne, 
 
 Nectar and all, for such a maid as this. 
 
 Now mark ! whoever deepest drains the bowl, 
 
 Is blest with fullest view of beauty's queen. 
 
 Spirit, whate'er thou art, that mak'st thy home 
 
 In sky, in earth, in sea, in lovely woman, — 
 
 The Priestess of thine oracle is Wine. 
 
 The Paphian Venus rose from out the foam, 
 
 That surged in creamy breakers on the isle ; 
 
 But this, more sweet, more charming, rises up 
 
 Out of the sparkling waves of ruby wine. 
 
 Comrades, if I in battle hap to fall, 
 
 I charge you put my skull in Vinton's hands." 
 
 " One question, ' ' said Van Tromp, ' ' may I inquire 
 
 Whose skull it was, if thou perchance dost know. ' ' 
 
 Seymour looked down ; a faint blush overspread 
 
 His youthful countenance ; but rallying 
 
 He said : ' ' Why dost thou ask, my good Van 
 
 Tromp ? 
 Ah me ! what wicked tales are told on one. 
 Sad, sad ! I own I 've been a naughty youth. 
 Hast heard the story of ' The Broken Heart ' ? 
 What, no ? well 't is too long to tell just now ; — 
 All about love and folly, sin and woe. 
 
50 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Faith, what a mighty sermon I could preach 
 Upon that text ! A dagger at the last 
 Let out the blood o'ercharged upon her heart. 
 Heav'n knows I sorrowed o'er that graceless 
 
 thrust ; 
 But what was to be done ? I did the best 
 Within my power and wit. The body lies 
 Embalmed in costliest style by latest art. 
 The head alone has cost me three months' pay, 
 And here it is before you. I desired 
 To keep some relic to assuage my grief. 
 And then the dagger, — that too I retain. 
 Its jewelled handle, long and piercing blade, 
 May serve me yet if I grow tired of life. 
 To say the truth, she was a charming girl, 
 And if there were a God, I 'd on my knees 
 To crave forgiveness. Smile not, for I would. 
 But who comes now ? Welcome, thou great Bel- 
 mont, 
 Wisest in council, bravest in the field ; 
 And thou, my Walton, second in command. 
 We had begun to think thou wert as mad 
 As Vinton, only in a quiet way. 
 It seems an age since thou hast deigned to join 
 In harmless merry-making, feast, or rout 
 Now that thou 'st left 'the doldrums,' as Van 
 
 Tromp 
 Would naughtily, yet nautically say, 
 Pray tell us why thy face has been so long, 
 Thy gait so moping, and thy tongue so still ? " 
 
THE END OF TIME. 5 1 
 
 To whom then Walton : ' ' Seymour, it is true, 
 I have appeared unhappy, have been sad ; 
 Intolerable weight of anguish has 
 Oppressed my mind ; but now all that is gone. ' ' 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Well said, my Walton ! Welcome thrice, to- 
 night. 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 Seymour, I thought it best to come once more, 
 Though prudence might have urged another 
 course. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Only once more ? Not once ! A thousand 
 times. 
 
 " No," Walton said ; " I never can return." 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Why, that 's a dark enigma ! Thou hast been 
 One of our boldest, gayest, brightest souls. 
 But more of this to-morrow ; for, to-night, 
 I have a vow upon my conscience laid, 
 A solemn duty, brethren, to perform ; 
 Namely, to christen this good head within, 
 Which outwardly has never known the rite : 
 
52 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Christen it not with water, but with wine. 
 {He Jills the skull from a flagon?) 
 Here, pass the goblets, fill to th' very brim, 
 And let me do the honors with a toast : 
 " Perdition to the Christians." 
 
 All obeyed, 
 And willingly the sparkled bumpers tossed, 
 Save Walton, who with aspect sorrowful 
 And folded arms, in moody silence sat. 
 Seymour was touched ; the color mounted high 
 On cheek and forehead, but he checked his 
 wrath. 
 "Cheer up, good Walton, thou art not thy- 
 self, 
 Nor hast been, since we bore the flag of truce 
 Into the city and their chieftains saw. 
 Of all their leaders there is none to fear 
 So much as Richmond. He shall surely die 
 If ever he but fall into our hands. 
 But then his daughter whom I had designed 
 All for mine own, — Evangeline, her name, — 
 A fair-haired, blue-eyed, finely modelled sylph. 
 Come, Walton, brighten up, she shall be thine, 
 If that some brutal soldier slay her not. 
 I will surpass the leader of the Greeks, 
 And yield Achilles his Briseis dear. 
 I fear she may be found a little wan, 
 Unless this siege be shortened in some way." 
 
THE END OF TIME. 53 
 
 At this rude onset Walton's face 'gan glow 
 With crimson, and a soldier's fire lit up 
 His down-cast eyes, but he spoke not a word. 
 Belmont, observing this, to Seymour said, 
 ' ' Thou shouldst not grieve our Walton in this 
 
 style, 
 Who from his recent melancholy seems 
 Somewhat restored. Pray, choose another theme. 
 Monteith, what news of public interest 
 Hast heard since yesternight ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Nothing quite new, ' ' 
 Replied the chief commander's aid-de-camp. 
 ' ' I hear re-affirmations from the guards 
 Nearest the city. Stoutly they maintain, 
 That in the deepest, stillest dead of night 
 They do behold upon the city walls 
 Walking, in state gigantic, warders strange, 
 Chiefly what time the sinking moon in th' west 
 Casteth her baleful, wizard light aslant. 
 L,ast night one bolder than the rest stole near 
 Under the cover of projecting rocks, 
 And says he saw what made his blood run cold. 
 Hence all the soldiers beg to be released 
 From sentry duty there. The bravest men 
 Say they are willing to face flesh and blood 
 But know not how these spectres to engage, 
 ' Gainst whom no mortal weapon will avail. ' ' 
 Whereat Belmont : ' ' Methought the ghostly 
 
 reign 
 
54 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Of anile superstition had gone by. 
 Either the men are wearied with the siege 
 And hence their picket duty wish to shirk ; 
 Or else their drowsy eyes and stupid wits 
 Fashion them giants, gorgons, monsters grim. 
 What more, Monteith ? ' ' 
 
 " They say that sounds are heard, 
 Stern voices, though they know not what is 
 
 said ; 
 Oft threatening in tone ; sometimes a choir 
 Chimes forth mid-air like bells far overhead. 
 Moreover blazing meteors, falling stars 
 Thick thronging, as when fig-trees shed their 
 
 leaves, 
 Startle the constellations from their rounds. 
 'T is very curious, we must admit." 
 " Damnable superstition," said Belmont. 
 ' ' My good Monteith, go with the guard to- 
 night, 
 And see thyself what shadow there may be, 
 Or plausible appearance thus to fright 
 Our soldiers panic-stricken so of late." 
 
 Monteith departed. Silence now ensued. 
 Then Wilmot, cavalry leader of the left : — 
 ' ' Methinks ourselves are not devoid of fear, 
 That we do sit so silent. Where 's the harp ? 
 Ah ! Seymour, here. Tune up its slackened 
 
 wires, 
 And troll us something, be it but a snatch 
 Of an old ballad." 
 
THE END OF TIME. 55 
 
 Seymour, thus addressed, 
 Aided by Wilmot brought the harp, and took 
 Down from its place the key, and stretched the 
 
 strings 
 To the due tension, thrumming gracefully, 
 Then sang : 
 
 " The black earth drinks, 
 
 The water sinks, 
 The trees revive again ; 
 
 The torrents leap 
 
 Adown the steep, 
 To slake the thirsty main. 
 
 " The Sun, too, sups 
 
 From ocean cups ; 
 The moon imbibes her light 
 
 With a pretty grace 
 
 From his jolly, red face 
 No wonder she shines so bright. 
 
 ' ' Then blame not me, 
 
 If blithe and free 
 I drink as long as ' ' 
 
 He ceased, and said, "Walton, a pest on thee ! 
 
 With thy long face thou hast destroyed our sport. 
 
 Anacreon palls to-night. L,et me recall 
 
 A sober song, I wrote but yesterday. 
 
 'T is rather dull, and all, who feel inclined, 
 
 May go to sleep before they hear me through. ' ' 
 
$6 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 I. 
 
 The sun with brightness all undimmed 
 Still bounds from sea to sky ; 
 
 The moon yet holds with queenly sway 
 Martial review on high. 
 
 ii. 
 
 And to the ancient harmonies, 
 In grandeur and in joy, 
 
 Unwearied still the veteran stars 
 With stately tread deploy. 
 
 in. 
 
 The serried columns of the right 
 
 About Polaris wheel ; 
 Orion leads the central mass 
 
 With blade of burnished steel. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Leftward Magellan and the Cross 
 Their banners broad display ; 
 
 Goodly as in the olden time 
 This orderly array. 
 
THE END OF TIME. $y 
 
 V. 
 
 Spring comes with tender grass and flowers ; 
 
 Summer, in vine-wreathed zone ; 
 Autumn, with fruits and golden grain, 
 
 And Winter, — drear and lone. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Through the dim aisles of ancient woods 
 With their drooping-pennon treasures, 
 
 The choral voices of the Winds 
 Chant slow cathedral measures. 
 
 VII. 
 
 They rise to bliss, and echoing clear 
 
 Chapel and nave resound ; 
 They sink to woe, and faintly breathe 
 
 A sweet yet plaintive sound. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Still through the caverns dark and dread, 
 
 Still on the rocky shore, 
 Ocean in changeless majesty 
 
 Rolls with unceasing roar. 
 
58 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Peal yet his thunders, which of old 
 Man's inmost heart have stirred, 
 
 Augustly beautiful, as when 
 The first rapt listener heard. 
 
 x. 
 
 What has been is. What is, shall be. 
 
 In sky, on earth, in deep, 
 All things continue as they were 
 
 Since the fathers fell asleep. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Asleep forever ! O'er their graves 
 To-night the sad winds sigh ; 
 
 To-morrow all this festive throng 
 As low, as still may lie. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The wildest tempest soon is hushed, 
 And calmed the stormiest sea ; 
 
 But we shall know a longer rest, — 
 A deeper silence, we. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 59 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then round we '11 roll the merry bowl, 
 And we '11 give dull Care the slip, 
 
 While the good red wine is in the vine, 
 The smile on woman's lip. 
 
CANTO V. 
 Walton. 
 
 The rest, save Walton, all applauded. He 
 Was silent as before. To whom Belmont : 
 " Why, Walton, sitting at our festal board, 
 Dost thou withhold the tribute of thy praise ? ' ' 
 
 Walton replied : ' ' Belmont, I frankly own 
 My want of sympathy with what was sung ; 
 And more, I hope to meet a better fate 
 Than to lie down and perish with the brutes. 
 Hear my belief, companions, soldiers, friends. 
 There is a God, an immortality, 
 A hell of hate, a heaven of love and joy." 
 
 At this, astonishment was visible 
 On every face, and they who nearest sat 
 Drew back from Walton as in fear or wrath. 
 1 1 A God ? A God ? ' ' re-echoed on all sides. 
 " A spy ! " said one ; " a traitor in the camp." 
 " No, not a spy," rejoined Belmont ; "for see, 
 His principles he openly avows. 
 What frenzy, Walton, hath o'ertaken thee, 
 That thou shouldst utter words so false as 
 these?" 
 
 60 
 
THE END OF TIME. 6 1 
 
 To whom then Walton : ' ' There was once a time 
 When in my heart I said, ' There is no God ' ; 
 No God to mark my deeds, or punish sin ; 
 No bottomless abyss of flaming hell. 
 So I gave rein to lust, — wallowed in mire 
 Of scandalous transgression, vice and guilt. 
 In my career of madness I went forth 
 To hunt the wild beasts in their fastnesses, 
 And lay all night upon a mountain's top 
 With my brave comrades. Kindling first a fire 
 To girdle us with flame, we fell asleep, 
 Wearied with toil. It chanced that I awoke 
 Before the rest, ere morning's light had dawned, 
 While yet the stars their holy watches kept. 
 I knew not why it was, but in that hour 
 They seemed to look upon me pityingly, 
 From their eternal dwelling-place on high. 
 ' Poor mortal of an hour, ' methought they said, 
 ' Tossed to and fro upon a sea of cares 
 A few short moments, then again to sink 
 Into the dark, cold gulf of nothingness, 
 While we in everlasting glory reign.' 
 
 I slept no more. A shudder seized my frame, 
 And quickly climbing up a neighboring crag, 
 That eastward beetled o'er the plain below, 
 I sat and gazed around in blank despair, 
 And madly cursed the day that I was born, — 
 Cursed father, mother, nature, destiny, 
 Fate or whate'er to me had being giv'n, 
 
62 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 To mock me with a breath or two of life, 
 The while within my inmost bosom burned 
 Quenchless desires for everlasting life. 
 
 let me live, O live, forever live, 
 
 1 cried in deadly bitterness of soul. 
 
 No answer came. The oracles were dumb. 
 Far, far below I heard the roar of pines, 
 And mountain torrents leaping from the heights; 
 And loathed the winds and waters that should 
 
 live, 
 And move, and have their being age on age, 
 After myself had mouldered into dust. 
 Anon I heard a jaguar's hungry howl 
 Faint in the distance, and I cried to him, 
 Thou art my brother ; Fate hath made it thine 
 To prey upon the lamb, as I on thee, 
 And then like me to perish from the earth. 
 I thought, why live in such uncertainty, 
 Such horrible suspense, when one brave plunge 
 Over this precipice would end my doubts, 
 And, if my faith be true, forever still 
 This aching heart, this ceaseless agony. 
 God only kept me from that dreadful crime. 
 Again I looked upon the heavenly orbs. 
 Could chance, blind chance, or destiny, or nought, 
 Devise, construct this perfect mechanism ? 
 Balance suns, comets, planets, satellites, 
 To sweep so grandly through immensity ? 
 Is there no Author to so great a work ? 
 
THE END OF TIME. 63 
 
 Who is it that with radiant bars of light 
 
 Bridges the gulfs impassable of space, 
 
 And floods with splendor all th' unmeasured 
 
 voids ; 
 So that innumerable rays, that flash 
 From worlds on worlds, are passing to and fro 
 Without confusion ? That from every point 
 Each star within our vision shows distinct ? 
 What skilful hand has linked with silver wire 
 Globe unto globe, revolving sphere to sphere, 
 So that to me, who on this little orb 
 Away, away am bounding through the deep, 
 Should come these messages from distant realms, 
 These telegraphic signals of the sky ? 
 Who launched this beam, or this vibration sent, 
 Which myriads of years has held its way 
 With unimagined speed, and yet but now 
 Reaches my sight? Who framed the human eye 
 With more than human art ? Who made the mind 
 To read th' impression on the retina ? 
 The soul to see, to understand, to feel 
 The weight of glory in a scene like this ? 
 While thus I mused, a pearly glow of light 
 Spread like a luminous haze o'er th' eastern sky. 
 The ebon background of the nightly heavens 
 Softened to grey ; 't was the transition state. 
 Day dawned, yet darkness mingled with the 
 
 light. 
 But presently a shaft of living fire 
 
64 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Shot through the lofty chambers of the east ; 
 
 Another, and another. Morning's wings ! 
 
 How beautiful their downy pink and gold ! 
 
 The sun arose and from the slumb'ring world 
 
 Iyifted the darkness, as a mother takes 
 
 A veil from off a sleeping infant's face ; 
 
 And earth awaking oped her eyes and smiled. 
 
 The mists came rolling up the mountain slopes, 
 
 Huge, phantom-like, till, mounting on the breeze, 
 
 They vanished in the upper blue of heaven. 
 
 Now all was clear ; the snow-clad peaks appeared, 
 
 Ranges on ranges, far as eye could reach. 
 
 A band of worshippers mid-heaven they stood, 
 
 Choiring their matin song, ' Praise ye the Lord.' 
 
 Westward afar the great Pacific lay. 
 
 It was a goodly sight, and kneeling down 
 
 I worshipped Him who made both heaven and 
 
 earth. 
 The jaguar's howl was heard no more, but still 
 The cataracts leaped exultant in their joy, 
 And I was glad, for in my heart arose 
 Hope of a being that should never end. 
 Since then, in all my years of wickedness, 
 I ever have believed that God exists ; 
 And I have guarded this belief in Him, 
 Even as a wanderer in some labyrinth, 
 IyOst in its mazes, guards the one dim light, 
 On which his only hope of life depends." 
 He paused. Then Seymour first the silence 
 
 broke. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 65 
 
 " Believest thou in God, and endless life? 
 Why art thou here to war 'gainst those who hold 
 The same absurd delusion with thine own ? ' ' 
 To whom then Walton : "I have done foul 
 
 wrong, 
 Led by a love of danger, thirst for fame, 
 And all in war that fires our youthful blood. 
 Methought the Christians were misguided fools, 
 Of whom it might be well to rid the world. 
 For 't is one thing to say that God exists ; 
 Another quite, Jehovah to confess, 
 Three persons in one God, forever one. 
 Now I avow that I believe in Christ." 
 "Then shalt thou die," cried Seymour with the 
 
 rest. 
 They drew their swords. 
 
 " Hold ! hold ! stay ! " said Belmont. 
 " Not thus, not thus doth reason bid us act. 
 I^et Walton tell us why he holds this view. 
 It may be nought but frenzy, which, methinks, 
 Is gaining ground in this good camp of ours. 
 If so, to Bedlam send him. Do not spill 
 The blood of a poor, raving lunatic. 
 Walton, thou mayest answer for thyself." 
 
 He sighed, and thus his narrative resumed : 
 " It is a matter of astonishment 
 Unto myself, that I can dare to-night 
 Uphold the cause of Christ, the crucified, 
 Whose very name is odious to your ears. 
 But to begin. With long inaction tired, 
 
66 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 And camp-life's weariness and listlessness, 
 
 Taking no pleasure in the rabble sports, 
 
 That suit the fancy of our soldiery, 
 
 And willing recreation to obtain 
 
 From any other source, I found one day 
 
 A time-worn volume in a neighb'ring tent." 
 
 Then, from his bosom drawing forth a book, 
 
 He laid it on the table. Seymour, next, 
 
 Taking it up and glancing at the back, 
 
 Said, with contemptuous and disdainful smile, 
 
 " The Holy Bible ! — antiquated stuff, 
 
 To hold enslaved so proud a mind as thine. 
 
 Whence came this volume? Are there traitors 
 
 here? 
 Spies from the city lurking in our camp ? ' ' 
 ' ' Not so, ' ' said Walton ; "it was left behind 
 By some unknown one on that famous day, 
 When the chief captains of the Christian host 
 Came under cover of a flag of truce." 
 Seymour rejoined : " Away with such a book." 
 To whom Belmont : " Revile not, thoughtless 
 
 man, 
 This ancient writing. In the days of eld, 
 When genius wrought within the hearts of men 
 Grandly and mightily, as yet untaught 
 To know its own, inherent, inborn powers, 
 Whoever noblest were in word or deed 
 Were deemed and deemed themselves inspired of 
 
 God. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 6j 
 
 And this was true. Those wondrous men whose 
 
 thoughts, 
 Endowed with immortality, still live,— 
 Perennial fountains in an arid waste, 
 Or voices coming through the nightly gloom, 
 And bidding us take courage in the fight, — 
 Seers, whose sayings dark and parables, 
 Brimful of wisdom, teach each coming age, — 
 Were not all such inspired, — divinely moved ? 
 And yet it was not by a God afar, 
 But by the Godhood in them, all unknown, 
 That they so spake, and wrote, and ruled, and rule. 
 I care not where the words of power are found, 
 In Sanscrit Shaster, Bible, or Koran, 
 Or quaintly and mysteriously carved 
 On tablet, winged bull, or obelisk ; 
 Nor reck what sky he saw, what soil he trod, 
 Whether the waters of Tiberias, 
 Or sacred Nile, or Ganges laved his feet, 
 In whom the Deity so largely dwelt." 
 
 Then Seymour said : ' ' These are strange 
 words, indeed, 
 To come from such a source. Pray tell us now, 
 Why thou art here, if such be thy belief." 
 
 Belmont replied : " I do not own thy right 
 To question thus one higher in command. 
 But natheless I will fittingly respond, 
 Apart from all in war, that makes appeal 
 Unto our best and loftiest faculties, 
 
68 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 The opportunity for high exploit, 
 
 The joy of battle, and the pride of power, 
 
 All that has summoned to th' ensanguined field 
 
 The bravest, greatest men of every age, — 
 
 There yet remains a prime and chiefest cause, 
 
 Why in this conflict I should take a part. 
 
 But first let Walton finish his account. ' ' 
 
 Then Walton spake again with serious air : 
 ' ' Many long years had passed since I had seen 
 A copy of this book. I took it up 
 Only to while the weary hours away. 
 The first line my attention riveted, 
 ' In the beginning God created Heaven 
 And Earth. ' Announcement simple, yet sublime ; 
 Well fitted to commence the word of God, 
 If ever He has spoken unto man. 
 But specially this verse came home to me, 
 As here containing in so brief a space 
 The answer to my once bewildering doubts. 
 Nor mine alone. To the great heart of man 
 In every hour of peril, need, or woe, 
 An affirmation sober, calm, assured, 
 That in this universe a God exists, 
 Of boundless might, sufficient to create 
 Sun, moon, and stars, and earth whereon we stand, 
 Is more than welcome. Such a word is sweet, 
 And unto him that utters it, is turned 
 The eye of hope; outstretched, the trembling hand. 
 God is a Person, not a senseless force ; 
 
THE END OF TIME. 69 
 
 Has understanding, purpose, choice, and will ; 
 
 Ma3^ care for that which His own hands have made. 
 
 The world is not His body ; He, its soul, — 
 
 As some have dreamed in late and ancient days ; — 
 
 For He existed long before the world, 
 
 And out of nought created heaven and earth. 
 
 This the first statement. Next in order came 
 
 Description of the void and formless earth, 
 
 Where darkness, silence, and confusion reigned. 
 
 All this our latest science doth confirm, 
 
 As highly possible at many times 
 
 In the long period that intervened 
 
 Between earth's primitive and molten state, 
 
 And the formations of succeeding years. 
 
 Yet earth is not forsaken ; o'er the waste 
 
 The viewless Spirit of the Highest broods, 
 
 And by His power the six days' work is done. 
 
 The world is fitted up for man's abode, 
 
 As a fair palace for a monarch's son. 
 
 And when God saw the softly rolling globe 
 
 Display in turn each new, each beauteous scene, 
 
 Oceans, and islands green, and continents, 
 
 Gliding from starlit night to sunny day 
 
 Upon the west, or eastward sinking slow 
 
 Into the evening shades ; when He beheld 
 
 Man in the loveliest spot of all the earth, 
 
 In God's own holy, happy image made, 
 
 And heard from beast and bird, from rock and 
 
 wave, 
 5 
 
JO THE END OF TIME. 
 
 
 One universal song of love and praise ; 
 He bare this witness, ' All is very good.' 
 
 'T was true of all, but chiefly so of man, — 
 Man, as he plied his healthful daily toil, 
 Sat on the banks of paradisal streams, 
 Or in the cool of evening walked with God. 
 Such was his primal state ; and such, methought, 
 It must have been. Indeed, no otherwise 
 Could man have come from the Creator's hands. 
 Hitherward, also, old traditions point ; 
 Iyike the dim recollections of a prince 
 Stolen in childhood from his royal home, 
 Whose faint yet glorious reminiscences 
 Tell him that he was born of kingly blood. 
 What else the garden of Hesperides 
 Than a poetic version of this truth ? 
 And whence in various languages remote 
 Accounts so similar of our first state, 
 If not derived from some great common source ? 
 That state is lost. The sacred record saith 
 By voluntary disobedience. 
 The guilty pair were driven from Paradise, 
 And cherubim were placed as sentinels, 
 While that a flaming sword turned every way, 
 Forever to prevent all entrance there. 
 Why may not this be true ? Thus much we know, 
 That perfect happiness and purity 
 For many an age have not been found on earth. 
 Nor have they taken flight without a cause. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 7 1 
 
 Eden is lost. Her radiant light still shines 
 In the far distance, but a bridgeless chasm 
 Stretches between our yearning hearts and her. 
 In our lone wanderings we stop, and turn, 
 And thither bend a long and wistful gaze, 
 And feel, as far and farther yet we roam, 
 That we are plunging into darker night. 
 Hers was the Golden Age. All ages else 
 Are but base metal. Manhood's hope and faith, 
 Honor and truth, and woman's trust and love, 
 With all the winning courtesies of life, 
 Flower from seeds thence straying on the wind. 
 We rear our palaces ; art, genius, gold 
 Conspire the ancient grandeur to restore. 
 High in the air the graceful domes arise, 
 And fountains play, and verdure smiles around. 
 Alas ! in vain ; a random thought of thee, — 
 Eden, thy pleasant paths, thy goodly vales, 
 Thy noon of bliss, thine eventide repose, — 
 Steals on our hearts and wearily we own, 
 Thy brightness and thy glory are not ours. 
 
 But ere the parents of the race were driven 
 From their first home, to wander through the 
 
 earth, 
 God said to him who tempted them to sin, 
 ' Serpent ! I will put enmity between 
 Thee and the woman, and between thy seed 
 And her seed : it shall bruise thy head, and thou 
 Shalt bruise his heel.' 
 
72 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Here the great Leader speaks, 
 
 Captain of all the glorious hosts of Heaven, 
 
 Though woman's seed to be, and gives the world 
 
 The first conception of the coming Christ. 
 
 This was the germ of what should never die ; 
 
 A word that lingered an eternity 
 
 In the God-heart, awaiting utterance, 
 
 But now is spoken, shall be hushed no more. 
 
 Like a sweet bell at midnight's darksome hour, 
 
 So faint, so far, so fraught with hope and cheer. 
 The noblest work of God is here announced 
 
 In language brief, and yet of meaning full. 
 
 It was a promise that should be fulfilled 
 
 After the lapse of forty centuries. 
 
 Four thousand years should pass before the 
 flower 
 
 In royal beauty on our earth should bloom. 
 
 The grand idea of the Saviour-King 
 
 Little by little unto men was given, 
 
 Each prophet breathed a thought unknown be- 
 fore ; 
 
 To the great portrait added some new touch ; 
 
 Then left the work to others yet unborn, 
 
 Who in their turn resumed th' unfinished task. 
 
 From the foundation of the world, of old 
 
 The fulness of this scheme was known to God ; 
 
 Yet was the mystery from the ages hid, 
 
 And slowly to the universe revealed. 
 
 Therefore it was that prophets of old time, 
 
THE END OF TIME, 73 
 
 As moved by God, successively declared 
 So much, no more, but what to them was told, 
 Each adding to the growing store of truth, 
 Which reached at last, increased from age to age, 
 The stature of the vast economy. 
 
 There was no going back to rectify 
 Mistakes or errors of whatever kind ; 
 But all things indicate one stable plan, 
 Never by man entirely understood, 
 Until the work was finished by the L,ord. 
 As when some stately edifice is reared 
 And wrought upon by many a toiling hand, 
 The general plan and full design unknown 
 Save to the architect who guides the whole. 
 So on this noble temple many wrought, 
 Each building on what had been built before, 
 And each preparing for what was to come. 
 In the last days, the fulness of the times ; 
 The crowning glory of the sacred pile 
 For the chief Architect himself reserved 
 Whose power and skill alone the work could 
 end." 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Why was this thought of him, thou callst the 
 
 Christ, 
 Developed slowly through four thousand years ? 
 Methinks it should have flashed upon the world, 
 L,ike a bright meteor in the sky of night. 
 
 
74 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 BEIvMONT. 
 
 The meteor flashes, then in darkness dies ; 
 Day's splendor dawns but slowly in the east. 
 A flower springs up, and lives a summer through ; 
 The yew-tree stands while centuries pass away. 
 And so with thee, divine Philosophy. 
 Some son of earth doth plant thee in the soil, 
 And die, and others, that are later born, 
 Water and tend, then sleep beneath thy shade. 
 
 ancient yew, thy roots are under ground, 
 And feed upon the bodies of the dead. 
 
 1 do not marvel that the Godhood yearns 
 Through time's long periods toward perfect Man ; 
 Man the bright mirror of the Deity, 
 Reflecting back the lineaments of God, 
 
 As the clear pool the overhanging sky. 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 Whatever reasons we might give, the fact 
 Is that the Christ-idea slowly grew. 
 Sometimes for centuries it lay quite still, 
 Seemed almost lifeless, then awoke again, 
 As in the case of Moses and his code, 
 Wonderful man whose life in equal part 
 Was spent in Egypt's porphyry palaces, 
 In the stern solitude of Midian's wilds, 
 And in the valley of the Akabah, — 
 Cradled among the sedges of the Nile, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 75 
 
 And dying on the top of Nebo's mount. 
 
 A more eventful life, nor History 
 
 Has told, nor e'en Romance has dreamed. 
 
 A character more noble, more profound, 
 
 The finest dramatists have never drawn. 
 
 But that which my attention mainly caught 
 
 Was this : of his divine economy 
 
 The primal promise was the life and soul. 
 
 Largely expanded now, it comes to light, 
 
 Sad with the agony of bleeding lambs, 
 
 Yet joyful in the hope of future heaven. 
 
 The overpowering truth pressed on my mind 
 That such prediction, fifteen hundred years 
 Before the coming of the promised Christ, 
 Was utterly beyond the wit of man. 
 Here a continual prophecy commenced ; 
 For the High Priest, unceasing, year by year 
 Entered the place Most Holy, all alone, 
 Not without blood wherewith he sprinkled all, 
 To signify that blood of priceless worth, 
 Which should be poured out for the sins of men ; 
 Bearing twelve tribes upon his jewelled breast, 
 And clothed in clean and beautiful attire, 
 To symbolize the great High Priest from heaven. 
 The smoke of countless offerings arose, 
 Fragrant with myrrh and incense, up to God. 
 For many centuries this sacred pomp, — 
 The strangest spectacle upon the earth, — 
 Kept up the hope of an else hopeless world. 
 
y6 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Half a millennium sweeps across the stage, 
 And David comes, sweet lyrist of his race ; 
 And with his psaltery and tuneful voice 
 He tells us of a Prince above all Kings, 
 More beautiful than all the sons of men, 
 Gracious in speech, his sword upon his thigh, 
 Riding before his hosts in majesty ; 
 His throne, the everlasting throne of God, 
 Himself the God whose throne endures for aye. 
 Meanwhile the joyful noise of ten-stringed harps 
 Breaks into wails, the voice is drowned in sobs. 
 
 Three centuries again, and now a bard, 
 
 Rapt with the visions of the future age, 
 
 Sings of the Wonderful, the Counsellor, 
 
 The Mighty God, the gentle Prince of Peace, 
 
 The everlasting Father, yet a child 
 
 Born of a virgin, to dominion born, 
 
 Of tender soul to comfort all that mourn, 
 
 To bless the meek, to bind the broken heart. 
 
 A shout of joy comes thrilling from the lyre ; 
 
 Anon, how changed, how plaintive are the 
 
 strains ! 
 His hero hath no form nor comeliness ; 
 A man of sorrows, and acquaint with grief ; 
 Oppressed, afflicted, opening not his mouth ; 
 Bearing the sins of many, smitten, slain. 
 
THE END OF TIME. Jf 
 
 Two centuries elapse. A statesman-seer 
 
 Foretells the death of God's anointed One ; 
 
 He is a Prince, yet shall he be cut off ; 
 
 The time, a half millennium away. 
 
 And, last of all the prophets of old time, 
 
 One looks far down the flight of troublous 3 T ears, 
 
 And sees a Ruler, stern and dread, arise, 
 
 Whose coming wicked men shall ill abide. 
 
 And then the voice of prophecy is hushed 
 
 Four centuries ; and when 't is heard again, 
 
 It rings from out Judea's wilderness, 
 
 And says, Behold ! the promised Christ is come ! 
 
 Ask ye the reason of this long delay ? 
 O short-lived man, with God a thousand years 
 Are as a single day. The pendulum 
 That swingeth in Eternity's great clock 
 Beats once a century. The earth whereon 
 We stand, was made in weary lengths of time,— 
 Weary to us, but not to God most High. 
 
 None of these prophets, if he knew not all 
 That was to be revealed in distant times, 
 Could know the meaning of the words he spake 
 In their full import, nor prepare the way 
 For words of others that should follow him. 
 Nor could he learn from those, who went before, 
 Precisely what addition he should make, 
 Unless he knew the final unity, 
 In which all prophecy should culminate. 
 There must have been some Mind Superior 
 
78 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 That guided, governed, and directed all. 
 
 For look ! what elements incongruous 
 
 Must need be blended in that unity ! 
 
 The Jews themselves conceived that there must be 
 
 Two Christs : — one lowly, one of royal rank ; 
 
 One gentle, merciful and sad of mien, 
 
 One that should smite his foes with iron rod, 
 
 And when his arm had won the victory, 
 
 His robes should smell of cassia and of myrrh, 
 
 Out of the ivory palaces brought forth, 
 
 That he might wed the daughter of a king 
 
 Clad in wrought gold and rare embroidery. 
 
 And would combined impostors e'er have dared 
 
 To introduce so variant accounts ? 
 
 Characteristics that seem all at war 
 
 One with another ? Is collusion here ? 
 
 And would a skilful writer contradict 
 
 Not only his confederates, but himself ? 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Might not the Galilean fishermen 
 
 Have joined together to concoct a fraud ? 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 Could those unlettered men who spent their youth 
 In fishing in that lake of Galilee, 
 Have woven such discordant elements 
 
THE END OF TIME. Jq 
 
 Into that glorious unity, the Christ ? 
 
 They hoped that One should rise to set them free 
 
 From the accursed yoke of pagan Rome ; 
 
 Ascend the throne where David sat of old, 
 
 And bring again the glory of their past. 
 
 But when the son of Mary pre-announced 
 
 His fearful sufferings and bloody death, 
 
 It shocked their souls. They knew not what he 
 
 said. 
 They could not have invented scenes wherein 
 The Godhead and the Manhood jointly worked, 
 Each doing what His several nature should ; 
 The twain in one grand personage conjoined, 
 But never once commingled or confused. 
 Just as we see on Ocean's farthest verge 
 Heaven stoop to Earth, yet Heaven is always 
 
 Heaven ; 
 Earth lift itself to meet the bending sky, 
 Yet Earth, though glorified, is always Earth. 
 In this strange history, Eternity 
 And Time together sit with clasped hands ; 
 Two sisters they, that look so lovingly 
 Into each other's eyes, and inmost hearts, 
 And whisper of the deepest things of God. 
 Ah ! wondrous Christ, thou wast so strong, so 
 
 weak, 
 Before all worlds, yet born but yesterday, 
 Doing a work that none but God could do, 
 Dying a death that none but man could die ; 
 
80 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Hating all sin, yet loving them who sinned ; 
 With eyes that never sleep, yet slumbering 
 In thy fond mother's arms, or in a boat 
 Rocked by the tempest of Gennesaret ; 
 Highest and lowliest of all that are, 
 Pure as the snow upon Sorata's heights, 
 Yet guilty woman, shrinking from all else, 
 Crept to thy feet and bathed them with her tears. 
 
 Could Galilean peasants have gone back 
 
 Into the dim traditions of their race, 
 
 And gathered up conceptions so apart, 
 
 Scattered along through forty centuries, 
 
 Shreds variant, discordant, as it seemed, 
 
 And woven a transcendent unity, 
 
 Wherein the very points which they had deemed, 
 
 And all mankind would deem, as well as they, 
 
 Irreconcilable and opposite, 
 
 Were found to be most indispensable 
 
 To the complete perfection of the whole ? 
 
 Not one could be omitted from the list, 
 
 Howe'er discordant it appeared at first. 
 
 Could they have so portrayed this character, 
 
 That all the extremes which in His being met, 
 
 Were needed for the likeness which they 
 
 limned, — 
 Were needed for the work He came to do ? 
 
THE END OF TIME. 8 1 
 
 But more, th' Evangelists could not select 
 Such features from the writings of old time 
 As they could fashion at their own mere will. 
 They must take all, each trait, each circum- 
 stance, 
 Each thought, or plainly set in view, or veiled ; 
 Often not understood until th' event 
 Threw back a light on what before was dark. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 If I could but believe there was a God, 
 And that He ever stooped to dwell on earth, 
 Surely this Christ whom you extol was He. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 O shallow thinker ! Is there not a God ? 
 
 And does He not from age to age evolve 
 
 His hidden pow'rs, His latent energies ? 
 
 From germ to plant, to leaf, to flower, to fruit, — 
 
 This is the law of His development. 
 
 And so, germ, plant, leaf, flower, foretell the 
 
 fruit. 
 Full many a fruit the kindly earth brings forth ; 
 And many a man hath been indwelt of God. 
 Such was, mayhap, this Jew of Nazareth, — 
 Greatest of all, as I have sometimes thought. 
 
82 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 I cannot understand thee, noble chief. 
 But tell me, Walton, something of the Jew, 
 The Man who trod this wretched world of ours, 
 And wildly claimed to be Almighty God. 
 Was he what his disciples said he was ? 
 I mean not God. What was he as a man ? 
 Thou know'st how hero-worship often dreams, 
 And gilds the idol which it bows before. 
 Imagination ' ' gives to airy nothing 
 A local habitation and a name. ' ' 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 A just analysis has ever shown 
 
 That they who in the drama have excelled, 
 
 Or in the general poetic art, 
 
 Have always done it by their insight keen 
 
 Into the human heart. It is beyond 
 
 Man's power to create. That work is God's. 
 
 And thus our William Shakspeare was a seer, 
 
 Who held that all the world was but a stage, 
 
 Where kings and clowns, where knaves and 
 
 motley fools 
 All had their exits and their entrances ; 
 While he looked on, and noted what he saw, 
 And through the gorgeous robes of kings and 
 
 queens, 
 As well as through the rags of simpering fools, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 83 
 
 Beheld the palpitating heart of man. 
 
 Then from the garner of his varied lore 
 
 Took here and there a trait that served him best, 
 
 And of these elements, combined anew, 
 
 Made Hamlets, Lears, Othellos, or Macbeths. 
 
 The combination was to some extent 
 
 The poet's own. Not so the elements. 
 
 Now take that book which on the table lies, 
 
 One character appears, pre-eminent 
 
 Above the rest ; and, I had almost said, 
 
 But one appears, — majestic, beautiful, 
 
 Now seen more dimly, now more clearly shown. 
 
 Fairer than all earth's fairest is the Christ, 
 
 Gentler than gentlest, greater than the great. 
 
 I asked whence came these gracious lineaments, 
 
 Found nowhere else but on this spotless page ? 
 
 The separate elements are not of earth ; 
 
 Each single tint is borrowed from the sky ; 
 
 And 't is no earth-born genius that has wrought 
 
 Into one Christ the manifold details. 
 
 Now that full thirty centuries have passed, 
 
 Since He ascended from Mount Olivet, 
 
 And went to sit at God's right hand in heaven, 
 
 All men admit He is above us still. 
 
 In Him are heights the loftiest cannot reach. 
 
 Since His appearance on this stage of ours, 
 
 The nobliest men are all dissatisfied 
 
 With any less ideal. Far too low 
 
 Seems anything that is beneath the Christ ; 
 
84 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 And when they hope for heaven, they hope to 
 
 wake 
 In His blest likeness after death's short sleep. 
 This may seem strange, but stranger is the 
 
 love, 
 They bear to Him who died so long ago. 
 
 Now I bethink me how Napoleon 
 Mused on the ruin of his house and throne, 
 Imprisoned on St. Helena's bare rock, 
 'Gainst which th' Atlantic's waves with restless 
 
 surge- 
 Image of his great spirit, — chafed in vain. 
 
 (Reads from a ms.) 
 
 My clarions long have hushed their cry, 
 My eagles droop o'er land, o'er sea ; 
 And on this lonely isle I die, 
 
 My France, afar from thee. 
 
 On Fame's colossal temple-door 
 High shall my name engraven be ; 
 And yet I pine for something more, 
 
 Far more, my France, from thee. 
 
 Of tender sympathy, a touch ; 
 A sigh when men shall speak of me, 
 A thought, a tear, — are these too much, 
 My France, to ask of thee ? 
 
THE END OF TIME. 8$ 
 
 Too much, alas ! My sceptre flown, 
 And disenthroned v.y dynasty, 
 With, sorrow and with pain I own, 
 France, thou art dead to me. 
 
 Spirits that in the past held sway, 
 My lot with yours must be the same, 
 To conquer, dazzle for a day, 
 
 And leave behind — a name ! 
 
 One sole exception we confess, 
 A man from human frailty free ; 
 A God, for He can be no less, — 
 Th' Incarnate Mystery. 
 
 Him, as the ages onward sweep, 
 Shall greater multitudes adore ; 
 And men shall hear His name and weep, 
 When we are loved no more. 
 
 Then was there silence for a moment's space, 
 Till Seymour : " I am ready to admit, 
 'T is a sublime conception that of One 
 Combining in himself the twofold might, 
 Nature and gracefulness of God and man. 
 Save in the dreams of man, there is no God ; 
 But the conception lives, and never dies. 
 It runneth through the web of poesy, 
 Like a pure thread of gold through coarser stuff. 
 
 6 
 
86 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 It archeth o'er us like the firmament, 
 
 Which by illusion seemeth spherical. 
 
 There is no vault of heaven. 'T is vapor, air; 
 
 Yet thitherward the loftiest mountains rise. 
 
 So God is not, yet toward Him aspire 
 
 Whoso are greatest or in word, or deed. 
 
 Men do great actions in the name of God. 
 
 I cannot solve this riddle. 'T is a spell, 
 
 A word of mystery, of fear, of hope, 
 
 And never on a banner is it writ, 
 
 But some are found to gather 'neath its folds." 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 A spell ? Ah, better say a talisman, 
 
 Graved on the universe, which evermore 
 
 Whispers to man the Name ineffable. 
 
 Few there may be, that have the hearing ear ; 
 
 But they are with divinest frenzy filled. 
 
 This we name Genius, whether it be shown 
 
 In statesmanship, or in the art of war, 
 
 Science, philosophy, or poetry. 
 
 In the first two, almost all men adore 
 
 The revelation of the Infinite 
 
 In the two following, some worshippers, — 
 
 Perhaps I might say many, — wait and kneel. 
 
 But in the last, the vast majority 
 
 Say, as they turn away, The poet raves. 
 
 And yet the sacred fire goes not out 
 
THE END OF TIME. 87 
 
 Upon the mystic altar. Flamens quaint, 
 In long succession through the centuries, 
 Stand in the chancel and supply the flame, 
 Which throws a ruddy and uncertain light 
 On them who prostrate 'mid the shadows bow. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 I lay no claim to comprehend our chief, 
 Whose words of wisdom gloom upon our minds. 
 A thousand years ago Napoleon 
 Uttered some thoughts like those which Walton 
 
 gave. 
 Who could have dreamed that he, that cruel man, 
 Cruel though great, so longed for human love ? 
 Here am I, Seymour, in this pleasant war ; 
 Men smile upon me when they see me pass ; 
 And women, knowing what I am full well, 
 Say with sweet voices, ' ' Gayest of the brave 
 Our Seymour is, and bravest of the gay." 
 Doth any love me ? Not one soul of man ! 
 And in my hours of sadness I exclaim, 
 Ah ! woe is me that ever I was born ! 
 What spell has fall'n upon us here to-night, 
 That we unbosom thus our inmost selves ? 
 None loveth me to-day on all the earth ; 
 Yet I remember one that loved me well ; 
 Who gave me birth, who held me in her arms, 
 Clung 'round my neck when I set forth from home, 
 
88 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 But slumbers now beneath the dewy sod. 
 Ah ! eyes of blue, when I behold your light 
 Beaming upon me through the thickening cloud 
 Of folly, sorrow, passion, and remorse, 
 I seem to lie once more upon the heights 
 O'erlooking Como's broadly placid wave, 
 And see all heaven asleep within its depths. 
 Yes, if there were a heaven, it would be glassed 
 In those sweet eyes that ever follow me. 
 
 look not thus upon me, from the past, 
 Ye haunting eyes, for ye are of the dead. 
 Close your soft lids, and sink to sleep again, 
 For ye are but the loveliest of dreams, 
 And heaven itself a dream within a dream. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 Now speakest thou more nobly than thy wont. 
 
 1 like thee well, fair youth, with all thy faults. 
 In this dead heart of mine, if love still lived, 
 Know that a bounteous share thereof were thine. 
 With all thy gayety thou hast thine hours 
 
 Of sadness. Oh, had I one hour of joy, 
 
 One Faust-like moment I should wish prolonged ! 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Thou art too sad, great chief. If such thy woe, 
 Thou needst this jewelled poniard more than I. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 89 
 
 (He unsheathes the weapon, and holds it toward 
 BEIvMONT.y) 
 
 See, on this golden handle, amethysts 
 Set round with pearls ; and on the topmost one 
 Largest of all, graven in monograms, 
 Her name entwined with mine, ah ! woe is me ! 
 For each to each we gave a solemn pledge, 
 That by this selfsame dagger both would die. 
 But, best of all, this keen and glittering blade, 
 Straight as the line that shortest distance spans ; 
 No crooked scimitar to hack and hew. 
 Study anatomy, like Castlereagh ; 
 Find out just where carotid arteries lie, 
 And having learned thy lesson, — then strike 
 home ! 
 
 BELMONT, smiling. 
 
 Avaunt thee, Satan ! 
 
 [Faded then the smile 
 As fades the glory of the twilight sky, 
 When gold and purple change to steely gray.] 
 My father died ere I beheld the light ; 
 My mother when I was a tiny lad. 
 I just remember how she lay so pale, 
 When by her couch I stood to see her die. 
 Scant love had I in all my boyhood's years, 
 But in my early manhood there was one, 
 Who loved me truly. She became my wife, 
 
90 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 And bore a son, my Ernest. Both are gone. 
 No winsome eyes look on me from the past ; 
 But some that hollow are, from cheeks all gaunt, 
 Look past me with a fixed and frightful stare, 
 As they were gazing down eternity. 
 Then blame me not, my Seymour, if I say, 
 Saddest is wisest, wisest is most sad. 
 
 Walton, thou holdest that the Deity 
 Came down from heaven to dwell upon the earth. 
 This I admit is true. So Vishnu came, 
 As is related in the Hindoo books. 
 So too in classical mythology 
 Jupiter, Juno, Venus, and the rest. 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 Yes, I have read of Vishnu's Avatars. 
 Think how he came, first in the form offish, 
 Next tortoise, bear, half-man, half-lion then ; 
 Such thoughts as these degrade the worshipper. 
 But He, who came to us from highest heaven, 
 So spake and acted that in Him was seen 
 The glory of the only Son of God. 
 And on what trivial errands Vishnu came ! 
 To conquer giants ! No exalted work 
 Such as a God might wisely stoop to do. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Just there, — I recollect what Horace says, 
 A deity should never intervene 
 
THE END OF TIME. 9 1 
 
 Without a knot that man could not untie. 
 What was the work this Christ came down to 
 
 do? 
 Was 't something greater than our chiefest men 
 Have dared or done ? Was it some better thing 
 Than kindly human hearts have sought t' achieve ? 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 It was a twofold scheme, that brought the Prince 
 
 Of Glory down from highest heaven to earth. 
 
 The first had special reference to Time, 
 
 And had in view the history of the world. 
 
 A personage appeared in Paradise, 
 
 Called God at first, — the great Creator's name, — 
 
 And then Jehovah God, th' Eternal one. 
 
 He gave the promise of the Christ to come ; 
 
 Appeared to patriarchs in their humble tents, 
 
 To Moses in the desert's burning bush, 
 
 Again on Sinai 'mid the fire and smoke, 
 
 With lightnings, thunders, and a trumpet's voice 
 
 Exceeding loud, — so terrible it was, 
 
 The hearers quaked and trembled at the sound. 
 
 So dread the sight, that Moses feared and 
 
 quaked. 
 This wondrous Being gave His law to man 
 Out of the darkness of that blazing mount ; 
 Then went before the Hebrews on their march, 
 A cloud by day, a flame of fire by night ; 
 
92 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Glowed in the tabernacle's holiest place, 
 Glowed in the temple o'er the mercy seat ; 
 Appeared from time to time to sundry men ; 
 Made claim to be the God of Israel, 
 With special favor unto Abraham's seed ; 
 But more than this, — claimed to be God most 
 
 High, 
 And said that He Himself would be the Christ ; 
 Yea, that He was the Christ through all these 
 
 years, 
 But after lapse of forty centuries 
 He would appear on earth in human form, 
 Born of a Virgin, and would work a change 
 In the dominion He had held so long. 
 Its narrow stream should widen to a flood, 
 The sway enlarge till it embraced the world, 
 An empire that should last till time should end, 
 Save just before the end, a little while, 
 The powers of darkness should rise up afresh, 
 And make revolt against th' Anointed One. 
 
 In fulness of the times, as long foretold, 
 A Jew arose, of David's royal race, 
 In Bethlehem born, but reared in Nazareth, 
 Who said He was the Christ, the Son of God ; 
 That He had come to execute this plan ; 
 That He would win all nations to himself ; 
 That to this end, all power in heaven and earth 
 Was given Him, a kingdom spiritual, 
 Co-eval with, above, and over all 
 
THE END OF TIME. 93 
 
 The kingdoms of the earth. Such was the 
 
 height, 
 To which this lowly Nazarene aspired. 
 'T was an idea far beyond his age. 
 Not of this world, that holy kingdom was, 
 But in the hearts of men. Its glorious aim 
 Was to restore God's image to the soul, 
 Rescue a race, regenerate mankind, 
 Perpetuate among the nations peace 
 And give to wretched man a life divine, 
 Which, springing not from out the hidden 
 
 depths 
 Of his own nature, comes to him from Heaven, 
 And shows its power in justice, truth, and love. 
 Was not this work one worthy of a God ? 
 
 After His resurrection from the dead, 
 The Christ-Man stood upon a mountain-top, 
 Together with a handful of His friends, 
 And bade them go and conquer all the earth ; 
 And, what no other conqueror ever did, 
 Gave them this pledge and promise of success, 
 " Lo ! I am with you till the world shall end." 
 This was sheer madness, or it was divine. 
 Augustus Caesar, in whose gorgeous reign 
 The human Christ was born in Bethlehem, 
 Never conceived a purpose half so grand. 
 And was it not effected wondrously ? 
 Where is the Roman Empire in our day ? 
 It was a bold prediction on the part 
 
94 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Of Jesus, that His kingdom should endure 
 When Caesar's throne had crumbled. Yet 't was 
 
 true. 
 Where are the Antonines ? Where Constantine 
 Who bound two empires with an iron band, 
 Linking the East to th' West ? And where is he, 
 Great Theodosius, Emperor of the East, 
 Who with his bristling bulwark of brave men 
 Guarded the western throne, and stayed the 
 
 hordes 
 Setting upon it from the savage North ? 
 Alaric's teacher in the art of war, 
 He trained the future conqueror of Rome. 
 The seven-hilled city, trodden under heel, 
 Never regained her proud pre-eminence. 
 And where is Charlemagne, the Frank's stern 
 
 king, 
 Who by his prowess and sagacity 
 Rose to the throne as Emperor of the West ? 
 Where now his weak successors ? Otho, too, 
 The German who aspired to follow him ? 
 Their names survive ; their empires are dis- 
 solved. 
 The kingdom of the Christ stood strong through 
 
 all, 
 Stood many centuries, and stronger grew, 
 And overcame its most inveterate foes ; 
 Drove out all idols and all fetishes, 
 O'erthrew Confucius, Brahm, Mohammed, Budh, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 95 
 
 All hoary systems, all philosophies, 
 
 And flourished on the earth a thousand years. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 I grant the doctrine of the Nazarene 
 
 Of all the superstitions was the best, 
 
 That it should triumph o'er idolatry 
 
 And hideous serpent-worship, was but right. 
 
 But we are in a later time. The torch, 
 
 Held by the Jew, has lit the way to truth. 
 
 We take the true ; the false we throw away ; 
 
 And most of all, reject belief in God. 
 
 As soon believe in ghosts, ' ' chimeras dire, ' ' 
 
 And goblins which affright the little child. 
 
 Yes, in the morning of the human race 
 
 A God hung o'er us, as an early mist, 
 
 Vague, beautiful, hangs o'er the sleeping world. 
 
 The sun shines forth ; the fog is lifted up 
 
 From lowly vales, but lingers on the heights 
 
 That overlook the river's winding way. 
 
 The long, gray fringes, soft and delicate, 
 
 Trail o'er the forest's green anear the sky. 
 
 But day advances, and the morning mist 
 
 Is gone, and all things now are bright and clear. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 What is the mist ? A vapor that we see ; 
 But vapor always dwells amid the air, 
 
96 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Mostly unseen. Sometimes it gathers dense. 
 And shows itself on vale or mountain top ; 
 Anon it floateth as a cloud in heaven. 
 So this belief in God exists for aye, 
 Never quite absent from the hearts of men, 
 Sometimes it seizes on the vulgar mind, 
 And works a reformation or crusade. 
 Yet oftener it hovers 'round the heights 
 Of Socrates, of Plato, or of Christ, — 
 Or, in some Mystic, hath no touch of earth, 
 'T were an ill thing to banish from the air 
 All healthful vapor ; and it were a worse 
 To drive from this our world belief in God. 
 Walton, if thou hast more to say, say on. 
 
 WAI/fON. 
 
 The second part of this great scheme refers 
 Unto Eternity, whose dazzling lights 
 The Gospel like a broad reflector throws 
 Athwart our pathway in this mortal state ; 
 Supernal brilliancy of highest Heaven, 
 Intense, refulgent, brighter than all hope ; 
 While in its shadow more than man can fear 
 Of darkness is concentred. This is Hell, 
 Whose sombre pall covers and hides from view 
 More than Earth's utmost anguish and despair. 
 He, whom you name the Jew, the Nazarene, 
 Says that He came to rescue wretched man 
 
THE END OF TIME. g? 
 
 From ruin darker than a felon's doom, 
 
 More terrible than groans of wounded men, 
 Or shrieks of women bending o'er the slain ; 
 A ruin ending not with earth's brief years, 
 But stretching on and on forevermore. 
 
 This is the work that Christ came down to do. 
 Its grandeur overpowers the mind of man. 
 It reaches back far, far beyond the time 
 When man first stood upon the smiling earth ; 
 Beyond the geologic eras vast, 
 Whose slow succession dragged their weary 
 
 length ; 
 Beyond what time the worlds came bounding forth, 
 Fleet-footed coursers of the trackless void, 
 Or launched like mighty steamers on the deep, 
 Aglow with inward fires whose billowy smoke 
 Streamed darkly on their path through boundless 
 
 space ; 
 Beyond what time the first-born Sons of God, 
 The principalities and powers of heaven, 
 Flashed forth like lightning into glittering ranks, 
 With primal splendor startling ancient Night, 
 And Silence with their first melodious songs ; 
 Before all things save God Himself alone, 
 This comprehensive plan lay in His thought, 
 As the Eternal mused upon His works, 
 And brooded on the universe to be. 
 It reaches onward into endless years, 
 And lifts a countless multitude to heaven, 
 
98 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 To endless life, and holiness, and bliss. 
 The Christ shall gather into one abode 
 The good of all the ages. There shall be 
 No sin nor shame in all that happy world ; 
 No grave shall lift its long and narrow mound, 
 Nor yawn with sunken and insatiate jaws ; 
 Nor night be there, nor danger to affright, 
 Nor tear, nor cry to mar the perfect peace ; 
 Forebodings none, nor disappointment's blight, 
 Nor falsehood's smile, nor treachery, nor hate. 
 There shall be changeless love in all that realm, 
 Fond hearts that never, never shall grow cold, 
 Each loving all the rest, all loving each, 
 And all forever full of holy joy. 
 So that the Christ shall come again from heaven, 
 And make His dwelling with the sons of men, 
 And they shall reign with Him forevermore. 
 
 O Heaven, how sweet thy name. On dying men 
 Thy prospect, lovelier than childhood's dreams, 
 Dawns like the Day. Thy softened splendors fall 
 On trees and flowers, on gently rolling streams, 
 And glorify the faces of the saved. 
 
 Was not this work, too, worthy of a God ? 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Now, as I live, I would this might be true. 
 It is a very lovely dream ; no more, — 
 Else 't would redeem this empty life of ours 
 From being what it is, a tedious farce. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 99 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 No ! not a farce. Better a tragedy 
 
 Deep in its plot and various, subtle, fierce. 
 
 I long for the denouement, good or ill ; 
 
 But that, I judge, is far from this our day. 
 
 Walton, there is one failing in thy Christ ; 
 
 At the approach of death he shrank and quailed, 
 
 Methinks a man in whom the godhood dwelt 
 
 So largely, as, thou say'st, it dwelt in him, 
 
 Would never falter. Women have been thrown 
 
 Into th' arena where the lions roared 
 
 Waiting their prey, and not a sigh escaped 
 
 The fair young lips. No fear was in their hearts 
 
 Of flaming eyes, or claws, or bloody fangs 
 
 Of beasts about to tear them limb from limb. 
 
 wai/ton. 
 
 There was no tremor in the heart of Christ 
 In view of Roman swords, or spikes, or cross ; 
 But the dread wrath of God because of sin, 
 That He should bear upon th' accursed tree, 
 O'erpowered His soul with sorrow unto death. 
 More bitter was the cup of which He drank, 
 Than all the bitterness of earthly draughts, 
 Something we know not — may we never know — 
 Something mysterious confronted Him, 
 And His heart trembled, for He was a man. 
 Take now Prometheus of the Grecian stage, 
 
IOO THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Chained to a rock by Jupiter's command, 
 On a projecting crag of Caucasus. 
 The fervid sun upon him beats by day, 
 The biting frost congeals his limbs by night. 
 Unborn the man whose hand shall set him free. 
 A moan escapes him. " Woe is me," he saith ; 
 Yet he continues proudly to rebel. 
 When Mercury, the messenger of Jove, 
 Threatens a triple vengeance on his head, — 
 Fierce thunder, winged with the lightning's 
 
 flames, 
 Shall rend the rock, with ruin cover him ; 
 When he at last shall be dragged forth to light, 
 The ravening eagle shall upon him feed, 
 Plunging his beak into his tenderest flesh, — 
 Prometheus disdains the tyrant's threats, 
 And scorns the utmost vengeance of the god. 
 Plainly the Poet understands his theme. 
 Prometheus is a pagan deity, 
 Companion of the gods, a demigod, 
 Weaker than Jove, but stronger much than man ; 
 And far removed above our sympathies. 
 Just as, 't is said, an ancient Russian Czar 
 Had his equestrian statue carved of stone, 
 Horse, rider, pedestal of one huge rock, 
 A granite boulder, man and base alike, 
 That awed and chilled but could not win the 
 
 heart. 
 Ah ! it was necessary that the Christ 
 
THE END OF TIME. 10 1 
 
 Should in one Person be both God and Man. 
 And thus His struggles in Gethsemane, 
 And His sharp cries while on the bitter cross 
 Disclosed the weakness of a human heart. 
 This is a touch beyond the utmost art 
 Of Galilean peasants. 
 
 Look you now 
 At William Shakspeare how he paints Macbeth. 
 He hesitates about that deed of blood ; 
 Advances, halts, his conscience cries, " O stay ! " 
 Ambition says "Goon!" he strikes the blow ; 
 Then, in that hour of darkness and of dread, 
 He trembles when one knocketh at his door. 
 But who of all earth's limners could portray 
 Almighty God and trembling man in one ? 
 And what impostor could have e'er devised 
 That scene amid the shades of Olivet, 
 Or that upon the height of Calvary ? 
 Or would have dared employ them, if he could ? 
 They are beyond all human authors' reach. 
 No ! here we see the hand of God Himself. 
 Those awful cries ring through the centuries, 
 And men who hear them beat upon their breasts. 
 And now, those cries resounding in my ears, 
 Can I continue in this godless war ? 
 Belmont, my high commission I resign ; 
 
 (He lays a paper on the table.) 
 
 I cannot fight against the Christ of God. 
 
102 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Now a dead silence fell upon the group, 
 
 And nought was heard except the soughing wind, 
 
 And the great banner flapping overhead. 
 
 Then Walton raised his eyes to heaven and said : 
 
 Sacred breast for me so riven, 
 
 Hands and feet all pierced and torn ! 
 
 Is it Thou, the Lord of Heaven, 
 On this bloody cross upborne ? 
 
 Pale thy cheek, thy forehead gory, 
 Motionless in death thine eye ! 
 
 Brightness of the Father's glory, 
 Hast Thou stooped, for me to die ? 
 
 Grace beyond my sins abounding, 
 Nameless pity, strong and deep ! 
 
 When I view this scene astounding, 
 I can only kneel and weep. 
 
 While the tears my eyes are blinding, 
 
 To Thy feet my lips I press ; 
 Peace and pardon strangely finding, 
 
 Through my Saviour's sore distress. 
 
 There was another pause. Then Seymour said 
 "Alas ! poor Walton, for thou art but crazed, 
 To sorrow thus about thy Nazarene, 
 Who has been dead for thrice ten centuries. 
 Ah ! woe is me, full many a bitter cry 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 03 
 
 Comes from the dreadful past ; — will not be 
 
 hushed, 
 But echoes through the chambers of the brain. 
 Chiefly at midnight when all other sounds 
 Are stilled. At such an hour one comes to me. 
 I hear it now ! Silence, accursed wail ! 
 
 (He starts up, and clutches the jewelled dagger.) 
 
 " Did ye not hear it ? No ? Was 't but the wind ? 
 
 (He sinks back into his chair.) 
 
 " Yes,'t was the wind. And she is dead, — is 
 dead!" 
 
 WALTON. 
 The dead still live. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Still live ? Oh, craze me not ! 
 Tell me not, Walton, that the dead still live. 
 Out on thee, madman ! For the dead are dead. 
 Yet look not thus upon me, eyes so dark, 
 Out of that pale, pale face, its bloom all gone ; 
 Or I shall madden and destroy myself. 
 
CANTO VI. 
 
 Belmont. 
 
 Belmont was deeply moved. He rose and trod 
 Sternly and silently, as though he mused, 
 From end to end of th' tent. Then at the door 
 Stopped for a moment, looking at the sky ; 
 Stepped forth with face upturned ; came back 
 
 and said : 
 " A storm is rising ; stretch at once o'erhead 
 The cover of the tent. Enlarge the trench. 
 The upper deep is flecked with snowy sails 
 Of a vast cloud-fleet scudding with the breeze. 
 Near th' horizon, mounting momently 
 Toward the zenith, crowds on crowds appear 
 Of black- winged squadrons that infest the air, 
 And wage on high a nobler strife than ours. 
 I see the flash of heaven's artillery ; 
 And hark ! its thunders swell upon the ear, 
 Sweeter than music o'er the nightly wave. 
 I would I were the lightning's subtle flame, 
 Ethereal essence of the godlike fire ! 
 How would I leave afar the haunts of men 
 To weave about each loftiest mountain-top 
 104 
 
THE END OF TIME. 105 
 
 A glittering diadem ; to smite the oak, 
 
 And hurl it crashing to the trembling ground ; 
 
 Or, robed in clouds, to wing my distant flight 
 
 To the remotest corners of the main, 
 
 Whose waters never have been cleft by keel ; 
 
 There, marching on the furious blast by night, 
 
 To gleam along the billows far and wide 
 
 With a terrific splendor, and send forth 
 
 My train of thunders roaring o'er the waste. 
 
 Ah ! that were life ; but this our dull routine 
 
 Of daily drill in arms, and evening sports, 
 
 Is bare existence. O for battle's joy ! 
 
 Had I but had my way, I should have crushed 
 
 This puny, egg-shell city long ago. ' ' 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 Tell me, Belmont, what scheme thy mind has 
 
 formed 
 In reference to this great universe. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 Hear, Soldiers, one and all. 
 Whatever is, was from eternity ; 
 But 't was not in the forms we now behold. 
 There was a time, — if time it may be called, — 
 When there was nought save Matter, Space, and 
 
 God. 
 No worlds were floating in immensity ; 
 
106 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 There were no angels, and no souls of men. 
 
 Then God was one, — as He is now, in truth ; 
 
 Then God was great, as He shall ever be ; 
 
 In nature one, of substance uniform ; 
 
 Not matter ; call Him Spirit, if you like, 
 
 God was not matter ; matter was not God. 
 
 A nobler essence, God, — pervading space, 
 
 Being, not living ; with capacity 
 
 Of boundless life in His vast nature's depths ; 
 
 Spirit without or feeling, thought, or will. 
 
 And yet enshrining potency of all. 
 
 And matter was, through space disseminate, 
 
 Its particles immeasurably small, 
 
 Immeasurably distant, each from each. 
 
 Matter and God alike were uncreate, 
 
 And both alike are indestructible. 
 
 Now what is God ? Yon star, which I beheld 
 
 Shining in highest heaven, a moment since, 
 
 Sent me a message many years ago, 
 
 Borne by the iEther present everywhere. 
 
 This iEther is almighty. It is God ; 
 
 And the star whispered to my soul, ' ' God is ! " 
 
 This is God's substance homogeneous. 
 
 'T is this which was, and is, and is to come. 
 
 No force resides in matter of itself, 
 
 Save power to resist and to repel. 
 
 All force attractive dwells in God alone. 
 
 He is not force, but force is found in Him, 
 
 All power to live, to labor, to create. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 107 
 
 In all His works Deity immanent, 
 
 Producing all effects phenomenal. 
 
 Yet matter is the Godhood's complement. 
 
 He could without it have accomplished nought ; 
 
 For 't is the stuff of which He weaves His robes. 
 
 God acts on matter ; it reacts on Him. 
 
 That rising wind which dashes through the trees 
 
 That crown the heights above yon river's brim, 
 
 Sets them in motion ; branch and twig and leaf 
 
 Play on the wind. All music thus is made. 
 
 The wind must have its harp of ^Eolus ; 
 
 The harp, its wind ; or all is still and dead. 
 
 So, without matter, iEther would have lain 
 
 Dormant forever. Brahm would ne' er have waked 
 
 Out of his slumber in the ages past. 
 
 But matter was from all eternity, 
 
 And ^Ether an eternal waking knew. 
 
 By His intrinsic force each particle 
 
 Moved tow'rd its fellow through unnumbered 
 
 years, 
 Till all became one whole, formless and void, 
 Vast beyond thought and yet not infinite. 
 'T was thus God made the heavens and the 
 
 earth, 
 Ev'n as the Hebrew seer said of old. 
 And darkness rested on the dread Abyss, 
 That nestled under God's o'erbrooding wings. 
 Now atoms smote on atoms, and there came 
 A tremor in the bosom of the Deep ; 
 
108 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 For God said, ' ' I<et light be " ; and lo ! light was. 
 
 The thrill was fainter than our lightest thought, 
 
 A glow most delicate ; yet winged its flight 
 
 Throughout th' Abyss and far beyond its bounds, 
 
 Widening and widening till the circling waves 
 
 Died on the borders of Immensity. 
 
 This was the dawn of Day, that now uprose 
 
 And won a province in Night's ancient realm. 
 
 It lay amid the Night, as lies a pearl 
 
 Hid in the tresses of a Hindoo bride. 
 
 It was a smile upon the face of God, 
 
 The promise of an ecstasy to come. 
 
 It was, in truth, the very Son of God, 
 
 The Word revealing, and the God revealed. 
 
 Or, as the Greeks would say, Minerva sprang, 
 
 Goddess of wisdom, from the brain of Jove. 
 
 The Godhood, like a slumberous giant, strove 
 
 T' arouse Himself. His first grand struggle this, — 
 
 This, His first victory ; for " Know Thyself,"— 
 
 That is the wisest word a Greek e'er spoke. 
 
 Toward this the Deity forever strives, 
 
 And partially attains it in the Great. 
 
 Prophets and Poets all have owned the flame, 
 
 Artists and Sages have confessed the power. 
 
 But this was later. For the first of days 
 
 It was sufficient that the light arose ; 
 
 That the God-heart with its first pulses throbbed 
 
 And felt the joyous, vibratory thrill. 
 
 For light was good. Ah me ! The light is good ! 
 
 
THE END OF TIME. IO9 
 
 Then came the second day, — the period 
 
 When God said, " Let there be a firmament 
 
 Between the waters, and let it divide 
 
 The waters from the waters. ' ' This was done 
 
 Not once, but many times. It was the law 
 
 Of the whole period. The waters are 
 
 Matter existing in a vaporous state : 
 
 Matter has two chief forms that strike the sense ; 
 
 The solid and the fluid, land and sea ; 
 
 The stationary and the movable. 
 
 That early age was not so nice as ours 
 
 In physical distinctions, and the Sage 
 
 Called all things waters in this nascent form, — 
 
 Less scientific, more poetical, 
 
 More philosophical than modern phrase. 
 
 Just as the brightest minds have ever sought 
 
 For formulas of comprehensive grasp, 
 
 Gaining in compass, range, and breadth of 
 
 thought, 
 More than is lost in accurate detail. 
 So with the Hebrew. 
 
 Now the luminous mist 
 Obeyed attraction's and repulsion's laws, 
 And thus was formed each island-universe 
 Of rotatory motion ; globe-like some ; 
 Others in spiral convolutions whirled, 
 Fervid and glowing in the mazy dance. 
 Ages elapsed, the process still went on ; 
 Each island, first removed immensely far 
 
IIO THE END OF TIME. 
 
 From all the rest, in systems now divides. 
 
 These in their turn revolve about themselves, 
 
 And, nicely balanced, 'round a centre wheel. 
 
 Take, for example, that in which we dwell. 
 
 The mist became a burning-glass in shape, 
 
 Revolving on its short diameter. 
 
 As the huge volume small and smaller grew, 
 
 The inner portions sped more rapidly, 
 
 Until a ring was severed from the mass, 
 
 Contracting to a globe in lapse of time. 
 
 This we call Neptune. L,ike a sentinel, 
 
 Darkly and silently he treads his round. 
 
 So with the rest. Planets and asteroids 
 
 Were rent by piecemeal from the shrinking mass. 
 
 Waters from waters were divided thus. 
 
 Now centuries on centuries go by ; 
 
 Matter condenses into molten globes, 
 
 Hotter than seven-times heated furnaces. 
 
 Each planet is a red and threatening star. 
 
 In course of time the surfaces grow cold ; 
 
 And now a fleecy covering is weaved 
 
 With crimson flames that slowly pale to white. 
 
 The molten mass next hardens to a sphere. 
 
 Part that before had been in liquid state, 
 
 Solidifies into an outer crust. 
 
 Vapors that float aloft are turned to rains, 
 
 And fall in showers on the parched ground ; 
 
 Yet some are subtler and remain on high. 
 
 Thus in its order comes the brave expanse, 
 
THE END OF TIME. Ill 
 
 And heaven first spreads its dome above the earth 
 The third day comes, and, cooling down yet more, 
 The crust is cracked and wrinkles in ravines, 
 Into whose depths the waters pour themselves, 
 Dry land appears, but most in mountain-heights. 
 The circumambient waves are called the Seas. 
 Ocean is born, and from its glassy front 
 Reflected gleam volcanic, dreadful flames ; 
 And hissing on its way this bomb-shell earth 
 Spins as it flies. 
 
 Thus were the planets made. 
 Such was the Godhood's first cyclopean life, — 
 Blind, powerful, titanic. Now behold 
 A higher life, a new development. 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 Canst thou unfold the mystery of life ? 
 
 BKIyMONT. 
 
 I can at least disclose my final thought. 
 All life is motion ; not all motion, life. 
 It is not life to whirl as planets do 
 About their suns. Not light itself is life, 
 Though 't is the garment of th' Invisible. 
 The lowest form of life was in the plant, 
 Some type of Algae, — call it Photophyte, — 
 That grew upon the margin of the Sea. 
 But know full well that matter never lives. 
 
112 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Matter may move, is moved ; but life is God's. 
 
 Matter was forced to take some complex form 
 
 By a blind instinct of the deity, 
 
 By fate, or, if you like, by accident ; 
 
 For intellect and choice were not as yet. 
 
 The organism on the iEther then 
 
 Reacted and the iEther thrilled with life, 
 
 As on the first day it had thrilled with light. 
 
 First light, then life, the nobler of the twain. 
 
 Thus the harsh winds, that howl about our tent, 
 
 Smite on the camp, are smitten back in turn, 
 
 And vent their spleen in discord loud and hoarse. 
 
 But let Zephyrus breathe on Seymour's harp, 
 
 And it evokes the Soul of harmony. 
 
 Mayhap at first a single string responds, 
 
 Yet presently another adds its note, 
 
 Touched by the fingers of the breeze unseen, 
 
 Till many-chorded music greets the ear. 
 
 So life began upon this lifeless orb. 
 
 ' ' Let the earth bring forth grass, herbs yielding 
 
 seed, 
 After its kind the fruit-tree bear its fruit. 
 And it was so." Now trunk, and stem, and leaf, 
 Flower and fruit, come dancing from the earth. 
 For Flora, maid of beauty, waves her wand, 
 Like an enchantress, o'er the island peaks, 
 And the rich valleys swelling from the deep. 
 Was it not so ? Do not the igneous rocks 
 Still show the traces of the world of plants, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 113 
 
 Life's first born in their granite sepulchre ? 
 The fourth day now, in which the satellites, — 
 Moons to the planets, — take their shape and place. 
 Planets were fashioned in the previous age. 
 The central masses gather up their strength 
 Into resplendent suns. These viewed from far 
 Are stars that grace the firmament of heaven. 
 These are for lights, signs, seasons, days, and 
 
 years. 
 The fifth day brings a higher grade of life, — 
 The animal, the seat of thought and will, 
 Being that tastes of pleasure and of pain. 
 The Protozoa in the waters move, 
 In numbers countless, — most abundantly. 
 The Godhood first displays intelligence, 
 Now first exhibits consciousness and choice. 
 This life, I know not whether 't was evolved 
 Out of that previous, lower one of plants, 
 Or freshly rose as that had risen before. 
 Certes the deity now struggles up 
 From low beginnings to a higher plane, 
 And higher yet as ages wing their flight. 
 Matter reluctates, but the work goes on ; 
 The Godhood yearns for ever nobler forms, 
 Though sometimes baffled in its upward course, 
 As mightiest rivers have their eddies too, 
 And yet their currents broader, deeper grow. 
 Organs unfinished in the earlier tribes 
 Are prophecies of things which are to come. 
 
114 THE END 0F TIME. 
 
 Now fishes cleave the cool refreshing seas, 
 And the birds mount and carol in the air. 
 Nature is vocal. In preceding days 
 Winds through the forests moaned, and restless 
 
 waves 
 Dashed on the beach in melancholy wail. 
 But now the eagle screams above the main, 
 Thrushes and linnets pipe amid the groves, 
 And the fond turtle to the list'ning vale 
 Breathes the soft notes of tenderness and love. 
 Sentient existence, conscious, blissful life, — 
 Such is the fifth day's gift. The sixth day 
 
 hears 
 The roar of beasts, the lowing of the herds. 
 But one step more and then the goal is reached. 
 O Image of th' Almighty, glorious Man ! 
 Highest development of Deity ; 
 Born to dominion, nobler than the brutes ; 
 Able to count the worlds, to weigh the stars ; 
 And what is greater far, to know Thyself, 
 And thus know God, for God is one with Thee. 
 The hour of thy nativity is come ; 
 It rings upon Eternity's great bell. 
 Walk forth on earth, and as thou viewest all, 
 Flora and Fauna, vales and solemn woods, 
 And snow-clad peaks, and broadly rolling seas, 
 Day's glory, and the quiet heaven of Night, — 
 Say, as thou only canst, that all is good. 
 Thy history is God's. He finds in thee 
 
THE END OF TIME. 115 
 
 Self-consciousness. Thy strength and grace are 
 
 His. 
 In thee the deity's long striving ends ; 
 Thou livest, movest, being hast in Him. 
 And thou, O Spirit of the universe, 
 This, this is life, to know, to feel thy power 
 Thrilling our heart-strings into ecstasy. 
 In thee we claim a kindred with the stars, 
 With the great mountains, deserts, torrents, 
 
 floods ; 
 And as we see the light of myriad worlds 
 Soft glowing through the ethereal regions vast, 
 We kneel to this Shekinah and adore. 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 Art thou, then, God ? 
 
 BEI.MONT. 
 
 I am a part, but not the whole of God. 
 
 He is the substance that pervadeth all 
 
 The personalities that dwell 011 earth. 
 
 I am a part of matter, not the whole ; 
 
 My nervous system finer than the clod, 
 
 My brain more exquisite than that of brutes ; 
 
 And thus I know I am a part of God. 
 
 The seventh day is not yet, but it shall come ; 
 
 That day of rest, when Brahm shall sleep again, 
 
 And souls returning unto God, who gave, 
 
Il6 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Shall find in him their coveted repose. 
 Evening and morning were the first of days ; 
 Evening and morn, the second, and the rest, — 
 Or Night and Day, as we should term them now. 
 Night brightens into Day ; Day sinks to Night. 
 Such is the law of things. The human frame, 
 With the day's labor wearied, falls asleep. 
 Earth has her winter, and man's dozing age 
 Slumbers in death. So with society. 
 Nations are subject to the general law, — 
 Are born, grow, flourish, then decay and die, 
 If we speak truth it is not death, but sleep. 
 Why then should Brahm not sleep ? The Hindoo 
 
 Sage 
 Felt and expressed the strong necessity, 
 The yearning for repose in Nature's heart, 
 When he taught Man each kalpa's rise and end. 
 Like a sweet floweret that folds in its leaves 
 At night's approach, — so shall this mighty frame 
 Reverse the process of its forming age. 
 In all things are the elements of death. 
 Earth's moon is dead ; its plains are deserts bare ; 
 Its mountains girdle horrid chasms and gulfs, 
 Scorched with the fires that died out long ago. 
 No sprig of grass is there ; no drop of dew, 
 No sign of life midst universal death. 
 And earth has passed her days of hey-day youth, 
 Rollicking springtime, rich in bud and bloom. 
 'Tis glorious summer now, when fruits and grains 
 
THE END OF TIME. WJ 
 
 Smile o'er the fertile vales. The little hills 
 
 Clap their glad hands, and shout aloud their joy. 
 
 But Winter couches low at either pole, 
 
 And sternly, coldly, surely bides his time. 
 
 All worlds by imperceptible degrees 
 
 Shall lose the morning swiftness of their course, 
 
 And in one mouldering ruin disappear. 
 
 Just as man's body, wasting in the tomb, 
 
 Into its elements at last resolves ; 
 
 So with God's body, this fair universe. 
 
 L,ife, motion, separate being all shall cease, 
 
 Light, earliest born, the last to close her eyes ; 
 
 And then shall ancient Night resume her reign, 
 
 And quell this rebel province to her sway, 
 
 Ocean of Darkness, thou no pity hast ; 
 
 Forever dashing madly on the beach, 
 
 Where the far nebulae defend the coast ; 
 
 Thou seekest to o'erwhelm this upstart isle, 
 
 And thou shalt gain thine end, Most Terrible ! 
 
 Thus dies the universe. Thou canst not die, 
 Thou, who of old the earth's foundation laidst ; 
 Whose hands have wrought the heavens with all 
 
 their hosts. 
 Perish all else, yet thou shalt still endure. 
 They shall wax old, and as a garment thou 
 Shalt change them, and thy vesture shall be 
 
 changed, 
 Thou art the same. Thy years shall have no end, 
 
Il8 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 And shall the universe awake no more 
 From this dread death which thou hast nam 2d a 
 sleep ? 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 Saith not the Seer, "Thy vesture thou shalt 
 
 change ? ' ' 
 The ^Ether's power is infinite, because 
 The ^Ether's self extends without a bound, 
 And stretches through th' infinitudes of space. 
 It cannot act where it is not itself. 
 Hence as this spacious universe contracts, 
 The Other's power diminishes therewith. 
 Matter repels, — resists the ^Ether's force ; 
 As this grows weak, the other stronger grows ; 
 And so at last an equipoise is reached, — 
 An equilibrium, and that is Death. 
 The iEther uses matter as a means 
 Of acting on Itself. Force never dies. 
 Countless vibrations have but sped abroad 
 To heap up Force in regions far away. 
 Ere it reflows, the stubborn energy 
 Of matter drives the atoms all apart. 
 Kach particle with endless being fraught 
 Survives the wreck. This is the law of laws, 
 And underlies all others. Next to this, 
 Is the great law of change. Man wakes from 
 
 sleep, 
 
THE END OF TIME. II9 
 
 And to the toil of daily life returns. 
 Earth wakes from winter, and spring's kindly- 
 warmth 
 Mantles her form in beauty and in bloom. 
 This is the law of change : From death to life, 
 From life to death again forevermore, 
 As Ocean ebbs and flows, and flows and ebbs. 
 So Brahma, Vishnu, Siva have their roles, 
 And thus they run : Create, Sustain, Destroy ; 
 Or we may say, Uplift, Uphold, Cast down. 
 And Brahma placed our earth in Vishnu's arms, 
 A smiling babe, now grown to womanhood, 
 A dream of beauty. Vishnu falls asleep, 
 And Siva comes and strangles her to death. 
 Then Siva slumbers, and the mystic Three 
 All sleep in Brahm, for He is all in all. 
 Ages on ages pass, and Brahm awakes, 
 And re-creates the Triad, and again 
 The word is given, Create, Sustain, Destroy. 
 
CANTO VII. 
 
 Symposium. 
 
 He said and paused, apparently absorbed 
 In his own thoughts. Then Walton : ' ' Dost accept 
 The first leaf of the Book inspired of God ? 
 What credence givest thou to all the rest ? ' ' 
 To whom Belmont : " I hold, much truth is found 
 In all religions, — much too that is false. 
 To Moses and the Prophets praise is due, 
 And the first chapter of the Book makes clear 
 That the great Hebrew spake as moved of God ; or 
 That is, in him the Godhood largely dwelt, 
 More than in other men of that his day. 
 And otherwise we strive in vain to show 
 The source of his deep wisdom. Yet I think 
 That even here his views too narrow were, 
 Nor understood he fully what he wrote. 
 Ever the sayings of the Wise are dark, 
 Though clearer to themselves than to the herd. 
 The universal Spirit muses long 
 Before it understands its own high thoughts. 
 'T is so in every science ; — most in this 
 Which seeks the knowledge of his inmost self; 
 1 20 
 
THE END OF TIME. 121 
 
 And many centuries had passed away 
 
 Before a true interpreter arose, 
 
 Those words of purest wisdom to expound." 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 Thou speakest of a spirit ; yet 't is plain 
 Thy God is but a subtle form of matter. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 The iEther is not matter, for it has 
 
 No weight ; does not retard the comet's flight, 
 
 Whose gauzy veil dims not the faintest star. 
 
 What men style spirit, seems to me but nought ; 
 
 Kv'n less than empty space, if such might be ; 
 
 A mere vacuity that cannot have 
 
 L,ength, breadth or height, or qualities or powers, 
 
 But is the merest shadow of a name. 
 
 iEther exists, 't is here, 't is everywhere ; 
 
 In its totality has boundless strength ; 
 
 Has been of old, from all th' eternal years ; 
 
 Knows not decay, can never cease to be. 
 
 I ask, of what can these be true save God ? 
 
 All life is God's ; all thought, all will are His ; 
 
 All love, all hate, all sorrow, and all joy. 
 
 Nought else can think, or will, or love, or hate. 
 
 Crass matter surely can do none of these. 
 
 Then what is left us but that wondrous Presence 
 
122 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Which doth inhabit this broad universe, 
 
 But which the heaven of heavens cannot contain ? 
 
 This mighty fabric is engulfed in God, 
 
 Who is around, above, beneath it all ; 
 
 And be it still, or sweepeth it along 
 
 Age after age straight forward on its course, 
 
 Yet is it ever midway of the Deep, 
 
 As Time is midway of Eternity, 
 
 While in at every window looks the Night. 
 
 Would I were all of God, as I am part ; 
 For then through boundless space would I enjoy 
 The long Nirvana of the Buddhist creed, 
 And, stamping out this hostile universe, 
 Would wrap myself in darkness as a robe. 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 This iEther which thou claimest as thy God, 
 
 Is only Matter, thin and tenuous ; 
 
 For 't is elastic, and it answers back 
 
 To thrills of light-producing molecules, 
 
 Or bounding pulse of human nerves or brains, 
 
 As air responds to quivering strings of harps. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 Then call it Matter, Walton, if thou wilt. 
 Names do not terrify me as of yore. 
 A thrill of nerve begets a thrill of soul ; 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 23 
 
 How could this be, if they were not alike ? 
 The chasm betwixt the brain and what is called 
 Spirit, has ne'er been bridged, can never be. 
 How does that ghostly Nothing apprehend 
 The motions of the substance that we are ? 
 Take cognizance by eye, or ear, or hand ? 
 
 wai/ton. 
 
 I cannot tell. This is a depth profound ; 
 
 And yet I know that something in me thinks, 
 
 And feels, and wills. Matter does none of these. 
 
 Canst thou in millimetres measure love ? 
 
 Count the vibrations of a trembling hope ? 
 
 Or graphically represent a fear ? 
 
 My hand, my eye, my ear are not myself, — 
 
 The mystery denominated I. 
 
 Rend them away from me ; I still remain. 
 
 Have ^Ether's particles free will or choice? 
 
 Can they be one, as I myself am one ? 
 
 Is each of them an individual soul ? 
 
 Or does a cluster make one conscious self? 
 
 Do countless tiny atoms, all apart, 
 
 Gyrate in curves or spirals intricate, 
 
 And is this whirling motion thought or will, 
 
 Noble self-sacrifice or tender trust ? 
 
 A movement to the right, — can that be joy ? 
 
 A left-ward progress, terror or despair ? 
 
 Surely, Belmont, thou canst not thus believe ! 
 
124 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 The wine in yonder crystal cup hath caught 
 
 Its color from the sun, and flasheth forth 
 
 From out its heart a beauteous ruby red •• 
 
 And this upon the retina doth beat, 
 
 Making vibrations many million-fold 
 
 In one brief second's space. Thus much we 
 
 know. 
 But is this all ? No ; something stands behind 
 In the brain's deep recesses that can see. 
 I hold it is the iEther, which thou know'st 
 Is there. Why fly to something that is Nought ? 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 Belmont, our spirits are most real things. 
 Infinite ages ere there was a world, 
 Spirit existed. Out of nothingness 
 It summoned matter by creative act, 
 And holds it up in being to this hour. 
 And though this mighty universe should sink 
 Back to the nothingness from which it came, 
 Spirit would live, and live forevermore. 
 That first of spirits is th' eternal God, 
 And we are like Him, though of less degree. 
 We think, we feel, we will, we love, we hate ; 
 All these we do, and yet we know not how. 
 We too are tied to matter, like the Christ, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 25 
 
 Who stooped to earth to share our lowly state, 
 And bore to heaven a body like our own. 
 How can this be ? I own I cannot tell, 
 Nor all the mysteries of life explore. 
 But still thy theory, though 't is akin 
 To ancient Grecian thought, rests on the sand. 
 From star to star thy iEther may extend, 
 Or ev'n beyond ; but is it infinite ? 
 This were a mere assumption, wanting proof. 
 Then as to us poor trembling sons of men, 
 If what thou hold'st be true, death ends us all, 
 And none of us hath life beyond the grave. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 ( With a troubled look and sighing deeply.) 
 
 Sooner or later Seymour's tuneful harp, 
 Its strings all snapped, shall crumble into dust 
 The winds that wont to wake its melodies, 
 Shall seek for it in vain through tent or hall, 
 Shouting, "Where art thou, friend of joyous 
 
 hours? " — 
 Anon to whisper softly, ' ' Art thou dead ? ' ' 
 
 Man dies. His nerves and brain disintegrate, 
 And the fond iEther stirs him not again. 
 Dust unto dust perpetually returns, 
 And these proud bodies shall again be clay. 
 Why not ? We momently are giving back 
 Unto the world of Plants the elements 
 
126 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Which it had lent to us. Thus keep we up 
 The never-ending commerce of the realms. 
 We die ; — our bodies turn again to dust ; 
 That is in part, — for gases first exhale, 
 Float in the air and nourish trees and flowers. 
 Perchance the warrior's sinews re-appear 
 In the tough branches of the sturdy oak ; 
 While the young maiden's bloom adorns the rose, 
 And her fair forehead in the lily shines. 
 
 All vegetation feeds thereon ; the moss, 
 Lowliest of all, — cedars of Lebanon, 
 And giant pines of California, 
 With mountain firs and ash. By these again 
 The animals are fed, save such as prey 
 On others. That removes it but a step. 
 Thus from the rhizopod to th' elephant, 
 And from the dewdrop's viewless denizens 
 Up to the lord of seas, leviathan, 
 The range extends. We may become each one. 
 This is the truth that lay concealed beneath 
 The fables of the East. Who kills a worm, 
 May tread some hero's dust. That dust again 
 May shine in arms, may glow in battle's front. 
 Thus may we live, and thus we still shall be. 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 But hast thou never felt desire, Belmont, 
 For individual life beyond the grave ? 
 
THE END OF TIME. \2J 
 
 And gives thee not that thought a single pang, 
 That thou th5-self, Belmont, shalt cease to be ? 
 
 BELMONT. 
 ( With a dreary smile.) 
 
 " Man is a billow ; God the shoreless sea." 
 So spake the seers of the olden time. 
 Once more to mingle with the Infinite, — 
 This is our end. Should we refuse the boon ? 
 Can we refuse it ? No ! 't is doom ; 't is fate. 
 Once I was in a storm. 'T was night. I slept 
 In a good barque, and dreamed of friends and 
 
 home. 
 Methought the sky was blue, the air was sweet, 
 Laden with votive offerings of the flowers ; 
 And they were there, the long-lost ones, the dead, 
 All there again in that ancestral hall. 
 But suddenly the sky grew black ; the wind 
 Began to howl, the house to rock, the earth 
 To reel beneath our feet, — and I awoke ; 
 Awoke to hear the shouts of frantic men, 
 And woman's scream, and the mad tempest's roar. 
 I felt the strong ship quiver as a horse 
 Under his rider's lash. The Captain cried, 
 ' ' Great God, we 're lost ! ' ' Ah ! there was terror 
 
 then. 
 Men's hearts gave way, that ne'er had quailed 
 
 before. 
 
128 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 They fell upon the deck ; they cried to heaven. 
 All but myself. I struggled through the crowd. 
 One flung his arm around my neck, and said : 
 ' ' O pray, Belmont ! " I sternly thrust him off, 
 And made my way above, and lashed myself 
 Fast to the mainmast. If an age, O Hell ! 
 Spent in thy darkest confines, doth contain, 
 A tithe of that dread hour's agony, 
 Let me ne'er dwell a moment in thy pit. 
 But those weak wretches, how I envied them, — 
 And scorned by turns, — who thought their souls 
 
 should live 
 Forever, and yet shrieked, and raved, and prayed. 
 All that is past ; yet it is sad to think, 
 However high with hope the pulse may beat, 
 Whatever rapture kindle in the heart, 
 Or fire of genius glisten in the eye, 
 All, all must perish from the goodly earth, 
 As lightnings are extinguished in the sea. 
 Great sea of God ! so fathomless, so calm 
 Far down beneath the sparkle of thy waves ; 
 The laughter of the young, sweet music's charm, 
 Blushes of maidens at the words of love, 
 And smiles of mothers o'er their cradled joy ; — 
 These are the ripples playing o'er the Deep, — - 
 God, how deep, and how unmerciful ! 
 But the strong voices of great orators, 
 Rousing the hearts of men to glorious deeds, 
 And the fierce shout of battle, and the rage 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 29 
 
 That overpowers fear in human breasts, — 
 
 Are they not billows surging mountain high, 
 
 And struggling heavenward for the mastery ? 
 
 Yet both alike shall faint, and die away, — 
 
 Shall die in thee, O God, the pitiless ! 
 
 Fate, grant me this, that what I am, be doomed 
 
 Not long to linger in the idle grave. 
 
 L,et me not be the dull, insensate clod. 
 
 The storm, the whirlwind, heaven's resistless 
 
 fire, — 
 Such be Belmont. Or better still, be Man, 
 Man as he shall be, not as he is now. 
 As for the rabble, I would rather be 
 A crawling worm, or some curst pestilence, 
 The scourge of earth, stealing my way by night, 
 And blasting all the coward multitude. 
 
 wai/ton. 
 
 " Man as he shall be," — was it this thou saidst ? 
 And hast thou yet a lingering hope of life 
 Beyond the Present ? 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 The sages taught us that Eternity 
 Moves not straight on, but in a cycle's round. 
 Five myriads of years that round requires ; 
 Then what has happened shall occur again, 
 
130 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Another Tiphys be, and steer his ship, 
 
 The good ship Argo with its heroes choice, 
 
 Seeking the golden fleece from Colchian shore ; 
 
 And swift Achilles sail again to Troy, 
 
 And drag a Hector 'round the city walls. 
 
 In earlier life methought this might be true. 
 
 Matter was finite ; iBther, infinite ; 
 
 And, in the course of endless years, the Past 
 
 Must of necessity repeat itself, 
 
 Though it should take a myriad myriad years. 
 
 But when I saw the struggling Deity 
 
 Advancing step by step to higher forms, 
 
 Saw how imperfect were the noblest men, 
 
 The noblest always most dissatisfied, 
 
 And longing most for something unattained ; 
 
 I held there might arise a golden age 
 
 Foretold by Sibyls, and by horrid Fates, 
 
 Clotho and L,achesis and Atropos, 
 
 And promised to His followers by the Christ. 
 
 Then men shall be immortal like the gods, 
 
 Exalted men, of giant intellect, 
 
 Profound in knowledge, of supernal power 
 
 To fly on tireless wing from star to star, 
 
 And garner knowledge from the utmost heavens. 
 
 If I may not be God, the Infinite, 
 
 I would be Man, the highest form of God ; 
 
 Man with the grandeur that is yet to be. 
 
 But could that wondrous Being, so august, 
 
 Remember me and know that he was I ? 
 
THE END OF TIME. 131 
 
 What is this Personality which binds 
 
 Past, present, future of our life in one ? 
 
 What chain is this, unseen, impalpable, 
 
 Yet stronger than most ponderous links of steel ? 
 
 Am I the same, that once, a little boy, 
 
 Hung 'round my mother's knee, and feared the 
 
 dark? 
 What is the during substance that abides 
 Through all the changes of our mortal state ? 
 Sameness of brain and nerve, of form and mold ? 
 Or, — matter changing — iEther still the same ? 
 But when this human frame disintegrates, 
 And all its atoms scatter to the winds, 
 The bond is broken. It is I no more. 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 Despairing man, thine is a joyless faith. 
 
 Wert thou not happier to be as they 
 
 Who know not, think not of such fearful things ? 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 Thy words were wise, if happiness were all. 
 The highest crags are those most scarred and 
 
 riven 
 By the red thunderbolt. When winds are heard 
 Through the deep forest sighing, 't is the oak, 
 Lifting its lofty head above the rest, 
 That gives so plaintive answer to the breeze. 
 
132 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Noblest are saddest. Christ was sorrowful ; 
 
 And when I see His anguish-stricken face 
 
 From some high Olivet look down on Earth, — 
 
 The tear-drops stealing from His piteous eyes, — 
 
 I almost feel that I could worship Him. 
 
 And worship Him I do, but not as thou. 
 
 I bow before the sadness so divine, 
 
 World-sadness gathered in one woe intense. 
 
 As to myself, thus much I may disclose : 
 
 Once from the Andes' west acclivity 
 
 I saw a condor mounting tow'rd the skies. 
 
 There is a grandeur in a bird's ascent 
 
 That made my heart leap in me, from a boy. 
 
 And so I watched him circling higher still, 
 
 Almost unseen, when lo ! a lurid shaft 
 
 Shot from an envious cloud and pierced his heart. 
 
 Mine too it pierced. "Yet, thou proud bird," I 
 
 said, 
 ' ' May I but reign like thee, and like thee die, 
 Without a moment's warning or a fear." 
 
 Nobly to die — yes, nobly, — that 's the word, — 
 This well becomes the great, and fitly ends 
 The life-long tragedy. Then let me fall 
 Leading my legions, dying sword in hand. 
 Let soldiers bear me to a soldier's grave ; 
 Let wild, impassioned, melancholy strains 
 Of martial music sadden all the air, 
 Supported by the cannon's sullen roar ; 
 And let men say, ' ' Here lies what was Belmont. ' ' 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 33 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 Sorrow is great, but joy is greater still. 
 
 Thou wrongest Christ with any other thought. 
 
 I know that He was sorrowful on earth ; 
 
 But this was for a purpose, — for a time. 
 
 He bare our griefs, He carried all our woes ; 
 
 It pleased the Lord to bruise Him for our sakes ; 
 
 But now the bitterness of death is past. 
 
 God is forever blessed. I rejoice 
 
 To look above the storms that ravage earth, 
 
 To th' undisturbed serenity of heaven ; 
 
 As from some peak we view an azure sky 
 
 While hostile tempests war far, far below. 
 
 God is forever happy, and the good 
 Partake forever of His bliss and peace. 
 Man then at last shall realize those hopes, 
 Man there shall gratify those large desires, 
 Which now and here heave like a troubled sea 
 In some pent cavern by the ocean's marge, 
 That longs t' expatiate on the boundless main. 
 These are what Christ hath promised wretched 
 
 man. 
 What sayest thou of them ? 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 They are prophetic. I have felt them oft, 
 Stirring the waters of my inmost soul ; 
 
134 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Yet they foretell not what myself shall be, 
 
 But what the godhood shall one day attain. 
 
 For progress is a fundamental law 
 
 Of individual men, the race, and God. 
 
 " Onward, still onward," is the word of march ; 
 
 And when the drumbeat of the Universe 
 
 Falls on the listening ear of Deity, 
 
 He presses forward with a warrior's step. 
 
 On, on forever ! There is no retreat. 
 
 His rest is but a sleeping on his arms. 
 
 Not so with us. The oak attains its size 
 After protracted centuries of growth, 
 Then gradually sinks into decay. 
 Man finds his acme, — first in what is called 
 His body ; then in what we style the soul ; 
 Then on his being's shore dies like a wave. 
 The Infinite proceeds far otherwise, 
 Halts but to gather strength for future deeds, 
 And those new deeds are greater evermore. 
 
 wai/ton. 
 
 What thou rejectest is a personal God. 
 
 Thou dost accept the Pantheistic One, 
 
 The Absolute ; Entity tenuous, 
 
 Essence diffused throughout immensity, 
 
 That thinks not, feels not save by matter's aid ; 
 
 That slumbered through a long eternity, 
 
 And slumbers now more deeply than of old, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 35 
 
 Except in this broad temple of the worlds, 
 So vast to us, yet but a point to Him. 
 To Him ? — to It ; that is the proper word. 
 And of this new-made temple we are priests. 
 Only in us can It say Thou, and I. 
 In us the iEther worshippeth itself ; 
 Man is self-conscious God, and God is Man. 
 Man is, forsooth, the highest form of God ! 
 Ah ! in my wildest wanderings from Him, 
 I never strayed so far. Either no God, — 
 None, none at all, — or else a God in truth ; 
 Distinct from Nature, Maker of the worlds ; 
 No fiction crowned and seated on His throne. 
 I reverence but I cannot worship Man ; 
 Much less beasts, birds or reptiles, stocks or 
 stones. 
 " God is not personal except in man." 
 Such thy belief. Now how are we to know 
 That man is personal save by his works ? 
 An author is a person, for he shows 
 Intelligence and will. An artist too 
 For the same reason. Look at Nature's book, 
 With gold and crimson, lily-white and blue 
 Illuminated ; garnished with designs 
 Of mountains, forests, lakes, clouds, waterfalls. 
 If any man interpret what is writ, 
 Or if he catch a glimpse, just here and there, 
 Of the all- wondrous glory that enrobes 
 This little planet whereupon we dwell, 
 
136 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 How loud are our encomiums on his skill ! 
 And shall we say that He, — that That which 
 
 made 
 All, and immeasurably more, hath less 
 Of understanding and of will than Man ? 
 Can He be blind who formed the eye to see ? 
 Or deaf, who made the ear ? Was less required 
 To frame our bodies, exquisitely planned, 
 Than to discover, by research prolonged 
 Through many ages, how and why each part 
 Performs its functions ? Does the mother know 
 The structure of its curious organism, 
 As with unmeasured fondness she surveys 
 Her tender offspring nestling in her arms ? 
 How, of her substance, cartilage and bone, 
 Muscle and nerve, blood, artery and vein 
 Have been wrought out ? How from her crimson 
 
 tide 
 Soft silken hair and eyes of blue were made ? 
 Or why the father's forehead, or those lips, 
 Which she herself now presses to its cheek, 
 So re-appear and claim redoubled love ? 
 Or knows she aught of tissues cellular, 
 And all the deep economy of life ? 
 There is a wisdom loftier than man's ; 
 There is a purpose older than his will ; 
 There is a Spirit whose transcendent power 
 Created and sustains this universe. 
 Him I adore, — not that which He hath made. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 37 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 This fable of the priests I once believed, 
 
 And certainly some instinct leads the mind 
 
 T' attribute personality to God. 
 
 Man looks in Nature's mirror and beholds 
 
 His own reflection, — like a graceful tree 
 
 Leaning above a lake, — and calls it God. 
 
 He stands upon the Brocken of the world, 
 
 Sees his gigantic image on the mist, 
 
 And deems the spectral effigy divine. 
 
 Once I believed as thou. I might again, 
 
 But for the difficulties in the way. 
 
 God, to be God in thy sense of the word, 
 
 Must be not only wise and great, but good ; 
 
 Supremely good, aye ! good beyond our thought, 
 
 Is thy God good ? Answer me from thy heart. 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 Thyself hast said it. Good beyond the thought. 
 Of men or angels. Take thine upward flight 
 Through space, upon imagination's wing 
 For centuries, till thought is wearied quite, 
 And thy tired spirit droops and sighs for rest ; 
 Yet there are heights above thee, all un- 
 reached. 
 They never can be reached by aught save 
 God. 
 
138 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 If so, then wisdom, might, 
 And goodness, all are infinite in Him. 
 Look at this world, deluged with misery. 
 When has there been in all its history 
 An hour, a moment when it could be said, 
 There riseth not a bitter cry of woe 
 To Him, thou callest good ? Despair and death, — 
 Hearts wrung with anguish, mine among the 
 
 rest, — 
 These, these have been the history of the world. 
 Has woman's piercing shriek above her dead 
 E'er ceased to ring in the Eternal's ear? 
 Has He not heard the sound engirdling earth, 
 The dismal wail caught up from land to land ? 
 Man cries in vain to God. He hears us not ; 
 Heeds not our frenzied prayer. O God of Love, — 
 If such there be, — when I stood by my son, 
 Mine only one, my boy, my beautiful, 
 And saw the death-dew gather on his face, 
 I had not prayed for many a long, dark year ; 
 But being in extremity of grief, 
 I said, ' ' Oh ! mercy, fearful, unknown One. ' ' 
 He gasped for breath. I fell upon my knees, 
 And cried, ' ' Behold my bleeding heart, O God, 
 That heart which Thou hast given me, if Thou 
 
 art." 
 No answer came. I heard the night winds moan ; 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 39 
 
 I saw the moonlight resting on the lawn, 
 
 As peacefully as on my bridal eve ; 
 
 But heard not, saw not Him on whom I called. 
 
 I could not bear to see my darling die ; 
 
 So I strode out of doors. The stars moved on 
 
 Just as of old. Then I gave up to Fate, 
 
 Which beareth all things onward, men and worlds, 
 
 All, all alike, with one resistless law. 
 
 Therefore I say, the wisest are most sad ; 
 
 Yet wisely sad. Their sorrows should lie hid, 
 
 As ocean's horrid caverns 'neath the waves 
 
 Whose tranquil surface ripples in the breeze, 
 
 Or, stiller yet, reflects the fleecy clouds. 
 
 So should all genial fancies, lightsome thoughts, 
 
 Play o'er the great man's mind ; but all things 
 
 grand 
 Bury themselves within his mighty heart. 
 Let nothing but the lightning probe those depths, 
 Those rock-ribbed chasms where shipwrecked 
 
 treasures lie. 
 Why speak of this to-night ? I cannot tell. 
 Is the wine poisoned by yon goodly bowl, 
 That ought to give us thoughts if sad, yet sweet ? 
 Ah ! no. The chalice of my life is drugged, 
 And I but taste its bitter dregs to-night. 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 'T were vain to say that Sorrow is not here, 
 Nor has been through a sore and weary past. 
 
140 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 But joy has had a dwelling-place on earth. 
 Man's cup is not all bitter. Not so dark 
 Seemeth this goodly earth to other eyes. 
 The fireside circle with its light and warmth, 
 The glow of health, the bounding pulse's play ; 
 And all th' exhilarating sense of life, 
 When on some balmy morn we wander forth 
 Through shady groves, o'er meadows broad and 
 
 green, 
 While the young lambs are playing, and the 
 
 birds 
 Carol aloft or flit from tree to tree ; 
 The distant cock-crow, and the plowboy's song, 
 The sunshine's splendor free to all the world, 
 The swarms of insects sporting by the rill, 
 And the blue sky above us, tell not me 
 Of a malignant deity on high. 
 Surely we have the rains from bounteous heaven, 
 And pastures rich, and kindly fruits of earth, 
 Filling our hearts with gladness and with food. 
 Storms rend the sky, but then come restful days, 
 And God bestows ten thousand benefits 
 Unneeded for existence on this earth, 
 But teaching us the goodness of His heart. 
 
 Forget not all the pleasure thou didst draw 
 From thy poor son. His birth was hailed with' 
 
 joy ; 
 
 And when thou sawest him in his mother's arms, 
 The while she lay so pale, so beautiful, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 141 
 
 Thy bosom heaved with calm and pure delight. 
 For months and years he gladdened all thy 
 
 home. 
 God lent him to thee for a happy space ; 
 He took his own, — thy anguish knew no bounds, 
 And thy one sorrow drowned a thousand joys. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 Walton, O stay thine hand ! Ope not again 
 The wounds that I had thought would bleed no 
 
 more. 
 They bleed afresh to-night. 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 I fain would soothe 
 Thy bitter agony, not probe it to the quick. 
 Oh ! had the quiet of that moonlit hour 
 But calmed thy troubled soul, and taught thee 
 
 trust 
 In God's great mercy ! Hadst thou wept and 
 
 said, 
 " O God of love, thy will, not mine, be done ! " 
 
 If an Almighty Being reigns on high, 
 How could it profit Him to be unjust, — 
 To be malign to aught that He hath made ? 
 The weak resort to treachery and guile ; 
 The avaricious rob for filthy gain, 
 
142 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Which they could not acquire by other means. 
 But boundless strength and boundless opulence 
 Need not to stoop to measures base like these. 
 Then shall we judge that God, so often good, 
 Is yet malicious for pure malice' sake ? 
 Hyper-Satanic and incredible ! 
 
 Deep, in our hearts the sovereign power of love 
 Has been implanted by our Maker's hand, 
 That we may love our fellow-men, but most 
 That we may love the Fountain of all good. 
 For power and wisdom none of us can love, 
 But all love nobleness, self-sacrifice, 
 Gentleness, sweetness, generosity. 
 Can love be bought ? Ah ! yes. But we must 
 
 pay 
 Gold for its gold ; for love is bought with love. 
 Can we love cruelty ? I,ove malice ? No. 
 If God be cruel, be malignant, then 
 He hath so wrought the temper of our souls, 
 That we can never love Him. Why were this ? 
 Why give us love for that which He was not ? 
 Nay more, there is a hatred in our breasts 
 For cruelty, oppression, falsehood, wrong. 
 Such things deserve our hatred ; and we feel 
 That scorn of them is virtuous, is right. 
 Why form us thus, if He deserved our hate ? 
 Why did He lift us higher than the brutes, 
 That nothing know of virtue or of vice ? 
 At least, we should not then have hated Him. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 43 
 
 Why not have framed us that we should revere 
 What now our inmost spirits do contemn, — 
 A deity of malice and revenge ? 
 Admire and love the cruel and the base, 
 And hate the godlike, and abhor the good ? 
 But as we are, the noblest of our race 
 Most love the good and most detest the ill. 
 If God should perpetrate one cruel deed, 
 It would forever overthrow His throne. 
 Then must we take our choice between these two : 
 A senseless substance which thou namest God, 
 An idiotic something, — who knows what ? — 
 Evolving from itself the loftiest minds, 
 And purest virtues that adorn the world ; 
 Or else a Being great, and wise, and good 
 Beyond the utmost limit of our thought ; 
 Whose ways we cannot fully understand, 
 But who has given us His solemn pledge, 
 That through the ages He will do the right. 
 Most Merciful, Most Gracious is His name ; 
 Abundant both in goodness and in truth ; 
 Yet He will punish sin. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 Sin ! Punish sin ! And what is sin, I pray ? 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 That which is hateful to a holy God. 
 But say thyself. 
 
144 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 BEXMONT. 
 
 Sin is a milestone on the Appian way, 
 Past which we journey to th' eternal city ; 
 A stairway by whose steps we climb to heaven. 
 The brutes feel shame ; they never know remorse ; 
 For only man on earth is self-condemned. 
 Sin is an outer shell, that binds and chafes ; 
 We must burst through it ere we wing our flight. 
 Oh, stairway steep and narrow ! Heaven, how 
 
 high! 
 We slip, we fall, we lacerate our flesh, 
 We cry aloud with pain, and this is Hell. 
 No other hell awaits us. 'T were unjust. 
 Eternal city, art thou but a dream 
 Of slumbering godhood in these poor, poor hearts? 
 The centuries pass. Thou seemst no nearer us. 
 If nearer, thou art still beyond our reach ; 
 And in this curst Campagna's pestilence 
 We sicken, faint, and die afar from thee. 
 We die, alas ! but never live again. 
 Perhaps the godhood that has risen above 
 The brute, and sins and suffers now in man, 
 Shall reach, one day, the height of sinless heaven. 
 So thought the Nazarene. It may be true, 
 But not for those who dwell on earth to-day. 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 And hast thou known remorse ? 
 
THE END OF TIME. 145 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 The godhood in me oft has felt its pang. 
 
 The iEther vibrates in a certain way, 
 
 And years pass by, and lo ! a random word 
 
 Falls on the ear ; the former thrill returns, 
 
 And the dead Past leaps into life again. 
 
 Ev'n while I speak, a scene comes back to view ; 
 
 A leafy wood, a dim secluded nook 
 
 Fanned by the early breeze, the sun not up ; 
 
 Two surgeons, and two seconds, I and he. 
 
 A voice cries ' ' Fire ! ' ' One shot rings out. 
 
 'T is mine. 
 He pales, he sinks, is caught in friendly arms, 
 And gently laid along upon the sward. 
 ' ' Shot through the lungs ' ' : From nostrils and 
 
 from lips 
 Hot scarlet blood flows forth. He gasps for 
 
 breath, 
 And his wild eyes stare upward, all aghast, 
 Into the dread and fathomless Abyss 
 That holds all worlds in its relentless grasp. 
 ' ' Fly i ' ' shouts my second. ' ' Fly ! the law ! 
 
 the law!" 
 Have I not fled o'er scorching desert sands, 
 Through mountain fastnesses, o'er oceans broad? 
 Fled, — but he follows me. There 's no escape. 
 Into that same Abyss my eyes look out, 
 Beyond the worlds, beyond the Day, the I/ight, 
 
I46 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 The joy, the hope that cheer the heart of man. 
 Oh, that our prison walls, impalpable, 
 Yet stronger far than thickest plates of steel, 
 Would close, and crush the universe and me ! 
 I stand in battle's front. Men call me brave ; 
 They do not know how much I long to die. 
 To right, to left of me, a thousand fall ; 
 My life is charmed. Alas ! that it is so. 
 
 WAI/fON. 
 
 Thy life is spared ; then wilt thou not repent ? 
 Thy sin was great, but it may be forgiven. 
 
 BKlvMONT. 
 
 Forgiven ? The past can never be recalled. 
 No power on earth, in fabled heaven or hell, 
 Can change a particle of what has been. 
 Forgive ? How can the iEther pardon sin ? 
 Unconscious deity forgive a crime ? 
 The ancients should have made another Fate, 
 With long, gray hair, with sunken, haggard eyes 
 Forever looking backward at the Past, 
 Wringing her lean and bony hands in vain, 
 And weeping tears that scald her withered cheeks. 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 This holy book reveals a conscious God, 
 Who gave His Son to die for sinful man. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 47 
 
 His blood can wash, away our foulest stains, 
 
 Not by annihilating what is past, 
 
 But by atoning for our blackest guilt. 
 
 Love bids thee come, as multitudes have come, 
 
 To find forgiveness in the Crucified. 
 
 This is the way to holiness and heaven ; 
 
 The path thou treadest leads to death and hell. 
 
CANTO VIII. 
 The Christ. 
 
 He said and paused, and there was silence now 
 About the festive board ; when suddenly 
 There fell upon their ears a thunder-clap 
 With startling nearness. Then Belmont arose, 
 Went to the tent door, and looked out again. 
 " 'Tis very dark, without," he said ; "Is this 
 The first loud peal, or have the rest of you 
 Heard others ? " Mowbray answered, "There 
 
 have been 
 Several but none so near. ' ' Belmont returned, 
 " I do remember now, as 't were a dream, 
 The vague impression of a sullen roar, 
 Which, whether it were thunder, or the sound 
 Of cannon at a distance, I knew not. 
 Now, while I look, it does not seem so dark, 
 The dusky outlines of the neighboring tents 
 Show like huge earth-born monsters ; and afar 
 A glow hangs dim above the city walls. 
 Night's noon is near. I ever loved this hour, 
 So calm, so quiet after day's rude noise. 
 O Night, thou silent mother of us all, 
 148 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 49 
 
 From whom we came, -to whom we shall return 
 To slumber on thy breast, world without end ; 
 The winds, thy mystic daughters, wail, as now ; 
 Thou speakest not a word. No sound of grief 
 Escapes thy lips. Thou gently coverest us 
 With thy soft mantle, and we wake no more. 
 
 'T is strange our spies come not. 'T is time 
 they should, 
 For it grows late. My age demands repose. 
 I am not what I was. These youthful sports 
 Weary me, and in truth I often yearn 
 To sink into that long, unbroken rest. ' ' 
 
 Returning to the table, then, he said : 
 "Thou errest greatly, Walton. I have marked 
 Each thought, each argument thou hast advanced, 
 And nothing thou hast said is new to me. 
 Thou holdest still that hideous dream of hell, 
 Which artful priests, and women long have taught, 
 Priests unto women, women to their babes, 
 Who cover up their heads for fear of ghosts, 
 And kneel as wisely to a vengeful God. 
 The superstition tarries in the mind, 
 And grown men shrink from passing graves by 
 
 night, 
 And tremble at the thought of endless woe. 
 'T was thus the priests for ages ruled the world, 
 But now the world is wiser than the priests, 
 And tramples superstition in the dust ; 
 Nor brooks the folly which so oft had driven 
 
150 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 To groans and prayers before a crucifix, 
 Far from the haunts of men, in cells and caves 
 Beneath the darkly burning taper's ray, 
 While penitents in sackcloth, cord, and cowl, 
 L,ie prostrate on a floor of earth or stone. 
 And now no mothers immolate their babes. 
 Man offers not whole human hecatombs 
 To save himself from hell's eternal flames. 
 Away, then, with this frightful phantasy ; 
 Away with priestcraft and its lake of fire. 
 
 Then as to Christ, that more than wondrous 
 
 man, 
 In many things so far beyond his age ; 
 Beautiful fable of those ancient times, 
 A smile upon the face of deity ! 
 None can admire the story more than I. 
 With him in thought how often have I trod 
 Along the shores of I^ake Gennesaret, 
 Or walked upon the waters by his side ; 
 Have heard the plashing of the mighty waves, 
 Felt the cool waters lave my sandalled feet, 
 Beheld the bark in which the twelve were tossed 
 Fearful amid the tempest and the gloom. 
 I have stood with him, where the great have 
 
 failed, 
 In obloquy, desertion, torture, death. 
 Then, where the story into fable turns, 
 Have seen him issue from his rocky bed ; 
 Have heard his voice breathing of love and peace, 
 
THE END OF TIME. I 5 I 
 
 To those who in his hour of danger fled. 
 
 Yes, I have seen him mounting to the skies, 
 
 And when the cloud received him from my sight, 
 
 I have turned sadly back to earth, convinced 
 
 That all the generations she has borne, 
 
 Could show none like Him. Moments there 
 
 have been 
 When I was tempted to admit His claims, 
 Abandon truth and reason, and believe. 
 But it were idle to believe a myth. 
 ' Rose from the dead ! Ascended into heaven ! 
 Sits at the right hand of Almighty God ! 
 Shall come to judge the living and the dead ! ! ' 
 What ! shall he sit upon a radiant throne, 
 And summon all the nations to his bar ? 
 That Nazarene ? That dead and buried Jew ? 
 How could he judge the dead ? " 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 The dead shall live again. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Grant me a word. The dead shall live again ? 
 Whom meanest thou by this ? The multitude 
 That dwelt on earth in all the hoary past ? 
 Populous cities ? L,ong-forgotten tribes ? 
 The denizens of all the varied climes 
 
 
152 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 From torrid heats to Nova Zemblas' snows ? 
 Men of the stone, the bronze, the iron age ? 
 Thousands of millions shall come forth again 
 Out of their sepulchres ? 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 Their souls still live. 
 Their bodies shall awake from out the dust, 
 And, re-united to their spirits, stand 
 Before the judgment-seat of Christ, our God. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 O madman ! Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! 
 
 (A satirical scream outside of the tent echoes his 
 
 laughter. ) 
 (Seymour turns pale, clutches his sword-handle, and 
 
 springs to his feet, exclaiming,) 
 If there 's a devil, he 's let loose to-night ! 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 Be seated, Seymour. Ho ! there, sentinel ! 
 Arrest that prowler just behind the tent 
 And bring him hither. 
 
 Now once more of Christ. 
 What I have said is well. Would it were all ! 
 But, ah ! there is a very different side 
 To this grand character. 'T is terrible 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 53 
 
 To hear his threateuings of eternal wrath, 
 
 His stern denunciations of his foes ; 
 
 And all are foes who yield not to his sway. 
 
 Shall all the sheeted dead before him stand ? 
 
 And shall he say to them who loved him not, 
 
 " Depart, ye cursed ! " — whither, dreadful Judge ? 
 
 ' ' Into the endless fires, to company 
 
 With devils and the damned ! " I cannot read 
 
 These words without a tremor and a rage. 
 
 For what have I to do with this dead Christ ? 
 
 Dead, buried thirty centuries ago ! 
 
 He be my judge ? Consign me to the flames ? 
 
 Yet this is idle ; nor does it become 
 
 My age, my station, thus to fight the wind. 
 
 Again I tell thee, Walton, he is dead. 
 
 'T is a mere myth, that rising from the tomb. 
 
 As to the fact, I should as soon believe 
 
 The Paphian Venus rose from out the sea, 
 
 Or gods joined battle on the plains of Troy. 
 
 But these his followers, who with pious zeal 
 
 Still prate you of religion, faith, and love, 
 
 And hypocritically kneel and weep, 
 
 And beg for mercy from the Nazarene, — 
 
 Delivering all who dare dissent from them 
 
 To the long tortures of an endless hell, — 
 
 Pah ! how I loathe them ! Grant me this, O 
 
 Fate, 
 In their own blood to drown them, one and all. 
 L,et it be said in all earth's coming years, 
 
154 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 That I was leader of the mighty host, 
 That crushed beneath their heels this serpent 
 brood. 
 
 WALTON. 
 
 Ere thou revilest thus God's blessed Son, 
 
 Thou shouldst bethink thee of thine own foul 
 
 god. 
 All souls of men are part of deity, — 
 Such is thy faith. Now see what thence results. 
 All acts of shame, all deeds of infamy, 
 That have defiled the history of the world, 
 Cold-blooded murders, shocking cruelties, 
 Done by the inquisition's rack, and fire, 
 Have been the acts, the deeds, the crimes of God ! 
 My God hates evil with eternal hate. 
 His view of sin is not the same with thine. 
 With thee it has some element of ill ; 
 Weakness, perchance ; human infirmity ; 
 To be avoided, for it brings remorse. 
 Thou dost rebel against God's just decree 
 To punish sin beyond this present world, 
 So long as wickedness itself shall last. 
 Not so with them whose hearts, divinely touched, 
 Feel that the wrath of Heaven 'gainst sin is just. 
 In them each thunder of the fiery mount 
 Wakes a responsive echo. With what joy 
 Unto the covert from the storm they flee ! 
 But there are those — it may be thou art one — 
 
THE END OF TIME. I 55 
 
 In whom a warfare long and stern is waged 
 Against this painful sense of ill-desert. 
 In vain the Spirit of the living God 
 Whispers of future woe, of wrath to come. 
 Such thoughts are deemed but enemies to peace, 
 Foes to be strangled by life's busy cares, 
 Wrenched from the mind, drowned in the mad- 
 dening bowl, 
 By pleasure's soft enchantments charmed to rest, 
 As threatening specters by the lute and harp. 
 By such devices is the heavenly Guest 
 Grieved quite away. Conscience is drugged to 
 
 sleep. 
 The arch fiend blinds the unbelieving heart, 
 And marks the guilty spirit for his own. 
 Oh ! it is sad to see a soul of man 
 Fighting its downward way to endless woe. 
 'T is said of one of old who ventured far 
 Into the mazes of a labyrinth, 
 That through the darkness of its tortuous paths, 
 Whence none before him ever had returned, 
 He yet retraced his footsteps by the aid 
 Of a slight thread he saw not, but could feel. 
 So, if there lingers in thy heart, Belmont, 
 One faint misgiving that thou mayst have erred, 
 If thou feelst aught of the great love of God, 
 Which like that slender thread retains its hold 
 On thee, thou wanderer from light and life, 
 Turn back thy feet before it be too late. 
 
156 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 If thou wilt not, then mayst thou rest assured, 
 There is a Law from which thou canst not fly ; 
 And a Law-giver to enforce His law. 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 Enough ! The die is cast. 
 Leave me then, Walton ; trouble me no more. 
 I might have heard thee many years ago ; 
 But now thou hadst as well talk to the grave. 
 I have no hope of heaven, no fear of hell. 
 Time will decide between us, which was right. 
 Time answers all enigmas. It should be 
 Hewn out of stone, of like colossal size 
 With Egypt's sphinx, — set face to face with it. 
 A few more days will solve all doubts for me, 
 However long the rest of you may live. 
 Aye ! in a trice a cannon-ball may teach — 
 Rude master — more than all the wisest men 
 Ancient or modern. I have made my choice. 
 
 WAI/TON. 
 
 But little more remains for me to say : 
 To thee, Belmont, as generalissimo, 
 I now resign my place upon thy staff, 
 My rank and my commission under arms. 
 
 (He lays a folded paper on the table by Belmont.) 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 57 
 
 My purpose is to leave the camp at once, 
 
 Nor longer fight in this unholy war. 
 
 Yet ere I go, I take this cup of wine, 
 
 As yet untasted, and profess my faith 
 
 In Christ, the Crucified, the Nazarene. 
 
 Saviour of men, I see Thee on Thy cross. 
 
 Thy life is almost spent. Thy dying eyes 
 
 Are looking softly, tenderly on me. 
 
 Thy heart beats slowly, throbbing forth Thy 
 
 love, 
 Iyove that no word of earth or heaven could 
 
 speak. 
 Thou art surrounded by Thine enemies : 
 Of Thine Apostles all but one are fled. 
 Ev'n thus to-night in all this mighty host 
 Only one heart is found that pities Thee. 
 Thou saidst, ' ' Remember Me ! " If I forget 
 Thy love, Thy grief, Thine agony, Thy death, 
 Forget Thou me in the great hour of doom ! 
 
 (He tastes the wi?ie, a?id replaces the cup on the 
 table.) 
 
CANTO IX. 
 The Alarm. 
 
 Now suddenly a cry of terror rose 
 And nearer grew. All started to their feet 
 And hastened to the tent door. Still the sound 
 Waxed louder and more terrible. The camp 
 Was rousing here and there with hurried rush, 
 As when a whirlwind sweeps along the ground 
 Covered with autumn leaves. The multitude 
 Were in confusion. Now the drums began 
 To beat th' alarm, and the hoarse trumpets' 
 
 notes 
 Sounded a rally. " Is it a new attack ? ' ' 
 Exclaimed Belmont. " I hear no musketry, 
 No war-cry." While he spoke the missing spies 
 Up to the tent door rushed in breathless haste. 
 " How now, Monteith ? What tidings dost thou 
 
 bring ? ' ' 
 Who thus replied : — " 'T is strange, most strange. 
 
 We saw 
 Upon the city walls a ghostly band 
 Treading the sentry rounds. They seemed above 
 The stature of mankind ; their raiment, white, 
 158 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 59 
 
 And, through the darkness, dazzling to our eyes. 
 
 These things I saw myself. In them there was 
 
 In act and mien transcendent majesty ; 
 
 And in their hands bore each a flaming sword. 
 
 I would have tarried longer, but my men 
 
 Were panic-stricken and they fled amain. 
 
 Our sentinels refused to let them pass. 
 
 Hence I o'ertook them. Meanwhile what we 
 
 saw, 
 Was noised along the outskirts of the camp ; 
 And to allay the tumult, on we pressed 
 Toward headquarters." 
 
 " Art thou mad, Monteith ? " 
 Replied Belmont : — " Come, I will go myself, 
 And see if there be truth in what thou sayst. 
 But hold ! a speedier plan occurs to me. 
 Haste, bring my largest field-glass. It may be 
 That of these goblins I shall catch a glimpse 
 Before they vanish out of mortal view. 
 Can they be seen in th' dark ? Or shall I wait 
 For a good flash of lightning ? ' ' 
 
 Then Monteith 
 Essayed to answer him, but peal on peal 
 Crashed the loud thunders as it were their last, 
 And Heaven were scourging Hell, Hell cursing 
 
 Heaven. 
 Then said the chief : ' ' Methinks I do descry 
 The cause of all this panic ; 't is a trick 
 Of the shrewd enemy this stormy night." 
 
l6o THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Now was there heard a strange sepulchral 
 
 sound. 
 It was not thunder. No. It seemed to come 
 From some place underground. The firm earth 
 
 shook, 
 While overhead sobbed the affrighted winds ; 
 And men began to fly they knew not where. 
 I^ouder than thousand thunders came a roar, 
 And this was followed by unearthly screams, 
 Bitter as death, and piercing all the air, 
 And some cursed God and gave them up to die. 
 What could it be ? Anon, a runner came 
 And shouted : " Fly ! Fly for your lives ! The 
 
 earth 
 Is rent. An awful chasm has swallowed up 
 Whole legions of our troops. ' ' 
 
 "Fly? saidst thou; fly?" 
 Exclaimed Belmont ; "So perish all who fly ! 
 Fly ! Never ! " Then he stamped upon the 
 
 ground, 
 And cried : " Be still, thou coward Earth ! Be still, 
 Ye frenzied winds ! And you, ye thunderbolts, 
 Speak not again ! ' ' 
 
 Then was there heard a voice 
 Chanting in measured accents on the gale : 
 
 ' ' Day of vengeance ! Day of burning, 
 All the world to ashes turning, 
 Seer and Sibyl thee portend. 
 
THE END OF TIME. l6l 
 
 Trump of God, thy clang astounding, 
 Through the sepulchres resounding, 
 Quick and dead alike shall hear. 
 
 Death affrighted, Nature quaking, 
 
 Myriads from their graves awaking 
 
 Shall before the judge appear. 
 
 Book of Doom, thy blackened pages 
 Hold the sins of all the ages ; 
 Nothing that our fear assuages. 
 
 King of majesty tremendous, 
 Save me from Thy wrath stupendous, 
 From the woe that shall not end. ' ' 
 
 To whom Belmont : " Away, thou fool, away ! 
 Who art thou ? ' ' Seymour said : " It is the 
 
 voice 
 Of crazy George. " " Away then !" said the chief; 
 " Off ! Off to Bedlam ! Thou but seest the flash 
 Of the mad lightnings, — hearest the frantic winds, 
 Heaven's thunders, and the groans of trembling 
 
 earth. 
 A shame upon you, men. To-morrow morn 
 Will bring a sky of blue, a breath of spring. ' ' 
 ' ' To-morrow ? ' ' shrieked the madman ; ' ' Ha ! 
 
 to-morrow 
 Will be eternity." 
 
1 62 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 ' ' Again, I say, 
 Away ! Begone ! ' ' 
 
 The maniac clenched his fists, 
 And cursed him with a curse of withering hate ; 
 Then chanted yet more wildly than before : 
 
 " No stifled moan, 
 
 No dying groan ; 
 
 No parting cry 
 
 To the dear God on high ! 
 The features of his latest breath 
 As horrible remain in death. ' ' 
 
 This said, he went his way. At intervals 
 
 His voice rang through the tempest, as he howled 
 
 Like some wild beast : ' ' Woe ! Woe to all the 
 
 earth ! 
 Woe unto living men ! Woe to the dead ! ' ' 
 
 Now the storm lulled ; the thunder peals gave 
 
 place 
 To that low, sullen roar, when Nature lies 
 Like a caged lion 'neath th' uplifted lash. 
 " Come," said Belmont ; " re-enter now the tent, 
 Out of this rabble tumult. What ! the lamps 
 Are shattered ? One still burns. Relight the rest. 
 There is no sleep to-night : we must await 
 The coming dawn. Ho ! Walton, art thou here ?" 
 Who thus addressed, replied : ' ' I would not take 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 63 
 
 Advantage of the panic to escape. 
 
 Such had my temper been, I would have gone 
 
 Without appearing in this place to-night. 
 
 You have me in your power. ' ' He laid his hand 
 
 Upon his breast. " Here, strike me to the heart, 
 
 If you adjudge that I deserve to die." 
 
 He paused. None raised a hand. He said : "I 
 
 knew 
 The last great day could not be far removed ; 
 But did not think it was so near as this. 
 Bv'n yet 't is not too late. You may repent, 
 For Mercy's beauteous gate is open still. 
 But, if ye shall refuse to enter in, 
 God's glittering sword is lifted up on high, 
 And His wrath burneth to the lowest hell. 
 Will none of you go with me ? ' ' 
 
 Seymour then, 
 As one bewildered, sprang up from his seat. 
 Belmont cried fiercely, " Down ! thou traitor, 
 
 down ! ' ' 
 Then Walton : ' ' For eternity decide. 
 O what undying interests depend 
 Upon a single step. God help thee now ! ' ' 
 Seymour's lip quivered : " If I only thought — ' ' 
 "Aye ! if thou thoughtest," coldly said Belmont ; 
 " I '11 tell thee what to do. Go, join the foe ! 
 Meanly desert, and then behold thyself 
 To-morrow when this stormy night is past, 
 A renegade amid our enemies, 
 
164 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Scorn of our camp, and deeper scorn of theirs. 
 But surely know that when the city falls 
 Into our hands, as very soon it must, 
 Thou shalt be gibbeted the first of all. ' ' 
 In silence, then, he looked another way : 
 But presently he turned to him again ; 
 ' ' Art thou still here ? Why waitest thou ? Be- 
 gone ! ' ' 
 Seymour sank in his chair ; covered his face 
 With his soft hands, and wept convulsively. 
 The chieftain sneered : ' ' Come, dry these girlish 
 
 tears. 
 To-morrow thou mayst leave the haunts of war. 
 I ever thought thou wert more fit for love, 
 For song, and sparkling wine, and woman's 
 
 smiles, 
 Than for the clash of arms on battlefields." 
 Then he : "O hard, unfeeling, wicked man! 
 Thy taunts are too severe. 'T is over now ; 
 But there came back a scene of other days. 
 Methought I knelt beside my mother's knee ; 
 Once more she laid her hand upon my head, 
 And taught me say, ' Our Father,' and I felt 
 Her warm breath, as she said, ' God bless my 
 
 child,' 
 And pressed her lips upon my little cheek ; 
 And then I clasped my arms about her neck 
 And fell asleep to dream of God and Heaven. 
 O Mother dear, O God, O piteous Heaven, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 165 
 
 Why do ye smile thus on me from the past ? 
 Close thy sweet eyes, my mother ! I am all 
 Unworthy of that look of tenderness. 
 Go, Walton ; we shall never meet again. 
 Never, O never ! Think of me as one 
 Whose light of hope was gone out in despair ; 
 Who fought life's battle wearily and ill, 
 Who won not time, yet lost eternity. ' ' 
 
 Whereat the chief: — " I too a mother had, 
 Who reared me as a lioness her young. 
 Whether to bless or curse her, I know not. 
 But she is dead, and I shall follow soon. ' ' 
 ' ' Soldiers, farewell, a last, a long farewell ! ' ' 
 Said Walton, as he walked from out the tent. 
 
 After a moment's pause Belmont leaped up, 
 And drew his sword. " Halt ! Walton ; halt ! " 
 
 he cried. 
 Seymour rushed in between him and the door ; 
 ' ' Stay ! stay ! Belmont, and let him go in 
 
 peace. ' ' 
 " Seymour, away ! " There was a tiger's look 
 In his grey eyes, and on his parted lips 
 A ghastly devil-smile. ' ' Walton shall die. 
 His courage dazzled me, but shall not save 
 A traitor' s life. This sword shall not be sheathed, 
 Till it is bathed in blood." 
 
 This having said, 
 He thrust him from the way and hastened forth. 
 Then from the blackness that o'erhung the camp 
 
1 66 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 There fell a bolt of fire upon the point 
 Of his uplifted sword, and set the tent 
 Ablaze with light above the noonday sun, 
 While a strong sulphurous odor filled the place, 
 And a keen thunder-clap deafened all ears. 
 One instant, and the dazzling gleam was gone ; 
 Then tremblingly they went without and saw 
 Belmont upon the ground, still sword in hand. 
 Thus perished he, the Leader of the host ; 
 This, the last death of all the human race. 
 
INTERMEZZO. 
 
 The Two Kings. 
 
 It is a castle strong and high, 
 And haughtily athwart the sky 
 
 The massy towers uploom. 
 'Tis night, and through the windows gleam 
 Full many a light in ruddy stream 
 
 Far out upon the gloom. 
 
 Midnight ! The clangor of a bell 
 From topmost tower is heard to swell 
 
 Out over sea and land ; 
 Over the mountain, down the dell, 
 Over the plain. They know full well 
 
 The sound, that mystic band. 
 
 But never in such sort before 
 
 Rang that knell the broad earth o'er ; 
 
 Never so loud, so clear. 
 They list, they pale ; then trooping home, 
 Vv ith haste, with fright, with speed they come ; 
 
 They come in haste, and fear. 
 167 
 
1 68 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 " To horse ! to horse ! " The coursers sweep 
 O'er deserts. On the rock}'- steep 
 
 The flint-fires fiercely flash ; 
 And where across the wave they take 
 Their way, in long and snowy wake 
 
 The steel-trod billows dash. 
 
 Anon they reach the castle gate. 
 The myriad lesser soldiers wait 
 
 In clamorous dread and wonder ; 
 Three officers in gorgeous dress 
 A-through the crowd and tumult press, 
 
 And at the portal thunder. 
 
 Through all the place resounds the din. 
 The porter's voice is heard within : — 
 
 ' ' Now who be ye, and whence ? ' ' 
 Then answer came, ' ' O warder true, 
 Famine and Slaughter, they are two ; 
 
 The third is Pestilence." 
 
 This heard, the gate flies open wide. 
 Into the court the chieftains ride, 
 
 And hurriedly dismount. 
 Their foam-flecked chargers droop beside 
 The sculptured lions' granite pride, 
 
 Beside the central fount. 
 
 They seek the hall where sits in state 
 Dusky yet grand, the Potentate, 
 Death, on his iron throne ; 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 69 
 
 No courtiers there on either hand, 
 No body-guards around him stand, 
 The Monarch is alone. 
 
 Red Slaughter speaks : " Hail, mighty Lord, 
 I heard th' alarm, and stayed my sword 
 
 Uplifted in the air. ' ' 
 Pale Famine next : "A mother stood 
 Ready to kill her babe for food ; 
 
 I fled and left them there." 
 
 L,ast Pestilence essays to speak, — 
 
 A plague-spot in each burning cheek ; 
 
 His lips are deathly white : 
 "A glorious prey escaped from me, 
 A city sleeping peacefully ; 
 
 Why are we here to-night ? ' ' 
 
 Then Death, — his voice is weak and drear, — 
 " Slaughter, my eldest-born, draw near. 
 
 Hush ! Is that door shut to ? 
 Famine and Pestilence, all three, 
 Nearer, come nearer unto me ; 
 
 Hark what I say to you. 
 
 ' ' Ye know our lives are bound in one ; 
 When dies the father, dies the son. 
 
 I feel about my heart 
 A cold sensation and a pang, 
 As I were struck by serpent fang, 
 
 Or pierced by icy dart. ' ' 
 
I70 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Now in that dim and lofty hall 
 A shudder seizes on them all, 
 
 Death and his sons, all four ; 
 Yet Slaughter whispers : ' ' Never fear, 
 For thou shalt live yet many a year, 
 
 A century, aye ! and more. ' ' 
 
 ' ' It is a lie ! " The words of doom 
 Kcho sharply through the room. 
 
 They look, — they hold their breath. 
 " It was the wind," saith Famine ; then 
 Rolls through the vaulted arch again, 
 
 "It is a lie, O Death !" 
 
 Between them and the bolted door 
 Upriseth through the solid floor 
 
 A spectre gaunt and old, 
 A spectre of gigantic size ; 
 Two blazing caverns are his eyes, 
 
 His hands a sceptre hold. 
 
 And on his head a diadem, 
 Lustrous with many a sparkling gem, 
 
 Rests, ponderous and golden ; 
 His hair and beard are long and hoar, 
 In dark folds trail upon the floor 
 
 His garments quaint and olden. 
 
 " O thou," he cries, " so pitiless 
 
 To mortal weakness and distress, 
 
 Thy throne too long has stood. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 71 
 
 Thine is a heart that could not spare 
 The young, the old, the brave, the fair, 
 The beautiful, the good. 
 
 " Ah ! why could nought escape thy rage, — 
 Nor reverend feebleness of age 
 
 Nor manhood's strength and pride, 
 Nor infant nestling in the arms 
 Of its fond mother, nor the charms 
 
 Of the sweet youthful bride ? 
 
 " No cry for mercy e'er could turn 
 Thee from thy purpose fell and stern, 
 
 Cruel, relentless One ! 
 To thee no mercy shall be shown, 
 Thy last red thunderbolt is thrown. 
 
 O Death, thy work is done." 
 
 They gasp for breath, both sons and sire ; 
 They quail before those eyes of fire ; 
 
 " Dread Goblin, who art thou ? " 
 ' ' Who am I ? Ha ! I heard that bell. 
 I too came hither. I am Hell ! 
 
 Death, dost thou know me now ? 
 
 " Tremble ! Ye die before the morn. 
 I that was old, ere ye were born, 
 
 Iyive on for evermore. ' ' 
 His sceptre strikes the iron crown 
 From off Death's head. It falleth down 
 
 And rings upon the floor. 
 
172 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 The clangor spreads through courts and halls ; 
 Then quake the ancient castle walls 
 
 From base to turret high. 
 The rabble soldiery, that wait 
 Impatient at the guarded gate, 
 
 Hear a loud, bitter cry. 
 
 Now on the pavement hard and cold, 
 Stamps with his foot, that spectre old ; 
 
 The crown sinks through the stone. 
 Then up the yawning fissure through 
 Bursts a flame of ghastly blue 
 
 Before the iron throne. 
 
 From far below, with reeling brain 
 They hear a howl, a clanking chain ; 
 
 They hear the surge and roar, 
 As of a fiery, heaving main, 
 And with one voice they cry again, 
 
 More loudly than before. 
 
 The desperate soldiers charge the guard, 
 They force the gate, — to the grey court-yard 
 
 Impetuously dash. 
 They halt ; the boldest go before, 
 And rush against the bolted door. 
 
 It yieldeth with a crash. 
 
 They see in terror and amaze 
 A Spectre standing by a blaze, 
 Wrapped in a long, dark shroud. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 73 
 
 Back they recoil appalled, and cower. 
 ' ' Ha ! Ha ! It is your mortal hour ! ' ' 
 The Goblin laughs aloud. 
 
 He stamps once more. Then rocks the wall ; 
 Earth opens and engulfs them all, 
 
 King, castle, soldier, son. 
 It closes with a hollow moan ; 
 Thy last red thunder-bolt is thrown ; 
 
 O Death, thy work is done. 
 
CANTO X. 
 
 Novissima. 
 
 Now partial darkness rested on the world, 
 
 For the quick lightnings ceased to leap from 
 
 heaven. 
 But still earth trembled, and the sheeted fire 
 Suffused the concave of th' o'erhanging sky- 
 Fitfully. From midway the upper deep 
 The moon gloomed on the sight a blood-red spot. 
 "Come, soldiers," said Monteith. "Delay not 
 
 thus. 
 It may be that his life is not extinct, 
 And it may be recovered. Let us see." 
 He led the way. They raised the fallen chief, 
 Bore him within and laid him on the board, 
 Moving the flagon and the cups aside. 
 Then stripping off his clothes to find the wound, 
 They saw a long black mark adown his back 
 From head to foot. It was the lightning's path. 
 " It is all over with him. He is dead. ' ' 
 They bathed the corpse, and then in decent haste 
 Arrayed the body, laying on his breast 
 The blade that oft o'er battle-fields had waved ; 
 But strove in vain his features to compose. 
 i74 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 75 
 
 Do what they would, a bitter scowl remained. 
 Meanwhile the news had scattered far and wide, 
 And a crowd gathered at the marquee door. 
 Then in stalked Vinton, chanting mournfully — 
 
 " No parting moan, 
 No dying groan, 
 No parting cry, 
 To the dear God on high ! ' ' 
 
 They turn, they stare at his fantastic guise, 
 Clothed in gay rags, while from his wreath-bound 
 
 head 
 His hair dishevelled on his shoulders lies. 
 He sings again as he looks on the dead : 
 
 ' ' The features of his latest breath 
 As horrible remain in death." 
 
 At this Monteith exclaimed : " O leave the dead ! 
 For if there be a wizard, thou art he. 
 Go, Vinton, go in peace. We pity thee." 
 " Pity yourselves, not me," the madman said. 
 "Yet go, good Vinton ; do ! " Monteith replied, 
 " And lead this over-curious crowd away." 
 ' ' It is thy last command, and I obey. 
 Come, let us go." And as he went, he sang, 
 " I hear from far 
 
 Th' Almighty's car, 
 
 The rushing wing 
 
 Of cherubim who bring 
 
 Jehovah's Son to judgment dire. 
 
176 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 I see on high 
 
 The chariot wheels flash fire. 
 Soon heaven and earth shall fly- 
 Before that dread mysterious eye 
 
 Which pierceth to Creation's utmost shore. 
 
 Time, hoary Time, thyself shalt be no more. 
 
 With him the rest in silence all withdrew. 
 Then were the lights extinguished, all save one ; 
 The tent door closed, a guard before it placed. 
 Seymour within paced slowly to and fro 
 Abstractedly, and sighed from time to time. 
 The rest o'erwearied sank upon the earth, 
 And slumbered waiting for the coming dawn. 
 
 Now was there heard an angel shout from heaven, 
 And a loud trump that shook the firmament, 
 And the earth answered with a frightful groan, 
 Compared with which her thunders all in one 
 Were as the south wind's softly breathing plaint. 
 Travail, O Earth ! Thy birth-throes are upon 
 
 thee! 
 The countless nations sleeping in the dust 
 Awake. Flesh unto flesh, bone unto bone 
 Join in the graves. The coffin-lids burst off. 
 Up through the sod struggle the sheeted dead. 
 Beautiful cemeteries, graveyards waste 
 
THE END OF TIME. \JJ 
 
 And overgrown with thorns and briars rude, 
 Lone hillsides, dark and unfrequented glens, 
 Where, of old time, Murder hath hid his prey, 
 Teem with new life, with numbers vast are 
 
 thronged. 
 The monster sea disgorges all her dead. 
 Shudder, O Earth, thy death-pangs are upon thee. 
 
 Scarce are the echoes of that dreadful blast 
 Hushed into silence, ere a prodigy 
 Enters the tent, — a headless female form 
 In costly cerements robed ; and now the skull, 
 Stripped of its ornaments, resumes its place, 
 But clothed with flesh as in the former days, 
 And from her eyes flame forth the fires of hell. 
 She shrieks to Seymour, ' ' Wretch, art thou 
 
 alive ? 
 Didst think that thou wouldst see my face no 
 
 more ? 
 That I was dead and ne'er would live again ? 
 To-night 't was granted me to leave the pit 
 And come with Satan to thy last carouse. ' ' 
 Upon the instant comes a second blast 
 From the dire trumpet, and all living men 
 Are changed, and in the twinkling of an eye 
 Mortals become immortal. Endless life 
 Thrills through affrighted millions round the 
 
 earth ; 
 Thrills through the trembling Seymour, and he 
 
 grasps 
 
178 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 The fateful dagger, — strikes it to his heart, — 
 Then draws it forth all bloodless ; but the pain 
 Is more intense, than in the mortal state. 
 He falls not, reels not. I^ife in him is strong, 
 Strong for the ages of eternity. 
 And now he cries, ' ' Great God, I cannot die ! ' ' 
 And hurls the poniard down upon the floor. 
 Quick as the lightning's flash, the woman stoops, 
 And snatches from the floor the jeweled blade ; 
 Then screams, while listening devils quake and 
 
 quail, 
 ' ' I keep this weapon evermore for thee ! ' ' 
 
 The Dawn. 
 
 Morning of Eternity, 
 
 Dawning on Time's troubled sea, 
 
 Bid the murky shadows flee, 
 
 Let thy 'larum grand 
 An august reveille roll 
 Round the world from pole to pole, 
 Pass the farthest Ocean's goal, 
 Thunder o'er the land. 
 
 Done ! The trump sublimely sounds. 
 From the ancient battle-grounds, 
 From the abbey's sacred bounds, 
 From the ruins hoary, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 79 
 
 Warriors, on their arms that sleep, 
 Startled out of slumbers deep, 
 From their eenturied bivouac leap 
 At the call of glory. 
 
 Heroes, tower above the storm ! 
 With your storied valor warm ! 
 Shout the martial order, ' ' Form 
 
 Into line of battle!" 
 Haply hang above the grave 
 Banners once your own, ye brave ; 
 Seize again and bid them wave, 
 
 Where the death-shot rattle. 
 
 Conquerors from the buried past, 
 Deem ye this your clarion blast ? 
 Can these legions, trooping fast, 
 
 Warlike legions be ? 
 These, the groans of soldiers dying ? 
 That, the tramp of cowards flying ? 
 Shrieks, to God for mercy crying, 
 
 Shouts of victory ? 
 
 Is the earth, in terror quaking, 
 With the roar of ordnance shaking, 
 Or with charge of horsemen breaking 
 
 Through the front of war ? 
 Wherefore, with that quick surprise, 
 Raise ye to the clouds your eyes ? 
 
l8o THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Whom discern ye in the skies 
 On His judgment car? 
 
 Hearts that not before have failed, 
 Cheeks by peril never paled, 
 Eyes in battle's brunt unquailed, 
 
 Own the Godhead's might ; 
 Voices now in terror call, 
 ' ' Rocks and mountains on us fall, 
 Cover us as with the pall 
 
 Of eternal night !" 
 
 The misty curtain of the clouds rolled up, 
 And in the air, His glittering hosts amid, 
 The King of Glory from His car stepped forth, 
 And took His seat upon the judgment throne. 
 The Nazarene's stern eyes, sweeping the earth, 
 Fell on Belmont. Then first the chieftain feared. 
 Again the trumpet sounded, and a shout 
 Went up from all heaven's army, that the stars 
 Shook in their sockets ; direful meteors fell, 
 As, when the tempests through the forests rage, 
 The leaves in thickening numbers strew the 
 
 ground. 
 Then Earth swept out from underneath their feet, 
 And all mankind were caught up to the clouds. 
 Now was the ponderous orb enwrapped in flame. 
 
THE END OF TIME. l8l 
 
 Sped the huge globe away. The lessening wreck 
 Fired minute-guns, and signals of distress 
 From her deep-mouthed volcanoes ; but the sun, 
 Far underfoot, in sackcloth veiled his face, 
 And with his darkling train of planets fled. 
 Now were they left alone. The sky was hung 
 With black, through which all round the stars 
 
 shone red, 
 L4ke demons' eyeballs glaring on the scene. 
 But floods of light poured from the great white 
 
 throne, 
 And lit each face with glory or despair. 
 
 Pause we, for neither tongue nor pen can tell 
 The rapture or the horror of that hour. 
 
 And now a hush, deeper than that of death, 
 Fell on the countless millions gathered there. 
 Upon the Judge's left a guilty throng, — 
 Alas ! how many they, — waited their doom ; 
 But on His right hand more an hundred-fold, 
 With blissful eyes expectant, fixed on Christ, 
 Yet lips as silent as the emptied graves. 
 Once in eternity such silence is ! 
 About the Judge, behind, above the throne, 
 Legions on legions were of angels bright. 
 The books were opened, — filled with sin and 
 shame 
 
1 82 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Of all the kindreds of our fallen race, 
 From Adam down to the last trumpet's peal. 
 Then an archangel brought the book of life. 
 Massive and fair, emblazoned with the cross, 
 And writ with names of all that loved the I^ord. 
 The Judge smiled sweetly on its opening page ; 
 But ere He spake, a voice of man was heard, 
 Chanting in solemn and pathetic strain : — 
 
 "Thou, whom Thrones and Powers obey, 
 Trod'st for me life's rugged way. 
 Save me by Thy cross and pain. ' ' 
 
 'T was Vinton, standing there among the saved, 
 To his right mind restored, like one of old. 
 Then twice ten thousand saints took up the song : 
 
 ' ' Seeking me Thy wearied feet 
 Fainted in the noontide heat. 
 Be thine anguish not in vain." 
 
 And tears welled forth from out the sacred eyes, 
 
 That oft had wept on earth for sinful men. 
 
 He waved the hands, that once were pierced for 
 
 man, 
 Toward the ransomed, while His quivering lips 
 Essayed to speak the words, ' ' No, not in vain ! ' ' 
 This said, the awful stillness came again 
 And rested on the Christ, on angels, and on men. 
 
CANTO XL 
 
 Space. 
 
 The Judgment over now, they take their way 
 The wicked down to hell to dwell with fiends ; 
 To the new Earth, the Christ with all His Saints, 
 And the good Angels, first-born sons of God, 
 Who as they journeyed, sang melodious praise. 
 
 HOLY ANGELS. 
 
 Almighty God, and heaven's eternal King, 
 Thee, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost we sing. 
 Midway Thy presence evermore our flight, 
 Through dazzling splendors or through darkest 
 
 night. 
 When we look backward to our morning's prime, 
 In thee, O God, we see our joy sublime ; 
 And, when we forward turn our hopeful gaze, 
 Thou art our all, our heaven, to endless days. 
 Thus sail we on upon a boundless sea, 
 Midway forever Thine eternity, 
 Lost in infinitude, and yet at home in Thee ! 
 183 
 
1 84 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 Beautiful home of the ransomed Ones ; thou art 
 
 fairer than heaven, 
 Far away heaven, so long the abode of the Christ 
 
 and His angels. 
 Earth ! thy redemption is come ; thou hast cast 
 
 off thy fiery mantle. 
 Verdure, more lovely than ever, now smiles on 
 
 thy hilltops and valleys ; 
 Softer the mists that droop o'er thy lakes, or 
 
 cling to thy mountains ; 
 Softer the song of the Seas, where the wavelets 
 
 the sands are caressing. 
 Barth, thou art freed from the curse ; no grave 
 
 now thy surface disfigures ; 
 Gone are the pain and the weeping ; and hushed 
 
 is the cry of the mourner ; 
 Murder no more with his eager clutch is throttling 
 
 the helpless ; 
 Silenced the screams of the wounded, and silenced 
 
 the shouts of the victors. 
 Holiness everywhere shall reign in the hearts of 
 
 the Blessed ; 
 Peace of the Purified, bliss of the Glorified crown 
 
 thee forever. 
 
 Beautiful city of God, foretold by the garden of 
 Eden, 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 85 
 
 Sweet are thy groves and thy fountains, and 
 
 gentle the flow of thy river ; 
 Grandly thy domes of pearl and gold loom up 
 
 toward heaven, — 
 Height of calm, where the lifted gaze is lost in 
 
 the azure. 
 Here shall the Christ make His home, and God 
 
 and the Lamb be the temple, 
 Light and joy of the ransomed Ones, in the glory 
 
 eternal. 
 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Sheathed is my sword, for the battle is o'er ; the 
 
 warfare accomplished. 
 Satan is vanquished again, his hosts are sunk in 
 
 Gehenna. 
 So be it, God of Right ; may Thy foes thus perish 
 
 for ever, 
 Angels or men that dare to upraise a hand 'gainst 
 
 Jehovah. 
 
 God of Eternity, tell us : Is conflict the law of 
 
 the ages ? 
 Peace for a time, then again, the buckler, the 
 
 sword, and the war-cry ? 
 And were it wrong to wish that my sword might 
 
 rust in its scabbard ? 
 
1 86 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 Banners stay furled, and shields uphung on the 
 points of the lances ? 
 
 This be my prayer, if such I should make, unto 
 
 Thee, O Eternal. 
 Will what Thou wilt ! I obey ; for Thy will is 
 
 righteous and holy. 
 Battle we on without end, if that be the edict of 
 
 Heaven. 
 Great is the Lord our God ; yea He is alone in 
 
 His greatness. 
 
 gabriei,. 
 
 Half of Thy life had flown, O Lord our God, the 
 
 Eternal, 
 Ere we began to be ; or ere Thou createdst an 
 
 angel. 
 Moment supreme in the life-time of God, the 
 
 moment predestined. 
 While we stand there and peer back o'er Thy 
 
 limitless ocean of being, 
 Silence is on the Deep, a terrible silence and 
 
 darkness ; 
 Brink of our nothingness, infinite God, but the 
 
 marge of Thy fulness. 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 87 
 
 Out of that nothingness angels and archangels 
 flashed into being ; 
 
 Not like the lightnings that leap from the night- 
 cloud, and shine but a moment. 
 
 We are immortal ; we live while Thou livest, O 
 God, the Undying. 
 
 Silence eternal was broken with song, with the 
 voice of thanksgiving, 
 
 Choiring the praise of the Power that made us, 
 the Goodness that blessed us. 
 
 Simple Thy law for the angels : L,ove God and 
 love one another. 
 
 Bright as the sunsets of earth were the hours, — 
 as bright and as fleeting. 
 
 Soon came ambition and pride, the daring rebel- 
 lion of Satan. 
 
 Then too the law that had blest us before, now 
 dealt out its curses, 
 
 Teaching us Thou wouldst reveal Thyself in the 
 Good, by the Evil — 
 
 L,esson amazing and darting a light to the heaven 
 of heavens, 
 
 Sin the meanwhile downcasting its shadow, so 
 baleful, to Tophet. 
 
1 88 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 O the dense darkness till Michael drave out the 
 
 Dragon from heaven ! 
 Then came the morning, the roseate morning, 
 
 that brightened to noonday. 
 Out of the Nothing came Man. O Man, thou 
 
 wonder of wonders ! 
 Mystery fathomless ! Spirit and Matter distinct, 
 
 yet united ; 
 Giving thy life to thine offspring ; bound to them 
 
 all by a race-tie ; 
 Falling away from God, for thyself and for all 
 
 who came after ; 
 Bringing the curse of sin and of death, on all 
 
 generations 
 Knitted together like chain-mail, — an angel cannot 
 
 understand it. 
 
 Joined to the Godhead thrice holy ; the Sinless 
 made sin for the sinful, 
 
 Bearing their horrible guilt, and the pangs that 
 were due to transgression. 
 
 Rising, O Man, from thy grave, to live for ever and 
 ever, 
 
 Dwelling in yonder beautiful home with the 
 Christ in His Glory ; 
 
 Washed from thy sins in His blood, — thy weep- 
 ing forgot in the smiling ; 
 
THE END OF TIME. 1 89 
 
 Whiter than snow thy heart, and fuller of joy 
 than an angel's. 
 
 Here as before we beheld the beauteous tints of 
 
 the sunset, 
 Followed, alas ! by the Night, yet with starlight 
 
 of promise and mercy ; 
 Followed in turn by the Morn, the Morn of the 
 
 brightness unending. 
 Marvellous God, is this the unchangeable law of 
 
 Thy dealings ? 
 Gloamings that vanish away, but Midnights and 
 
 Noondays abiding ? 
 Thus shall we learn what Thou art ? And thus 
 
 shall we fathom Jehovah ? 
 What can we know of Thee more ? And what can 
 
 remain for the future ? 
 Can there be wrath against sin, more just, O 
 
 God, or more fearful ? 
 Can there be love more divine, or pity more deep 
 
 and more tender ? 
 Spare us, O Infinite One ! O spare us ! we tremble 
 
 before Thee, — 
 Not from a fear of Thine anger, but from the 
 
 sight of Thy glory. 
 Rest we on Thee, for Thy gentle arms shall up- 
 hold us forever. 
 
1 90 THE END OF TIME. 
 
 ALL HOLY ANGELS. 
 
 Evening and Morning are Thy Second day, 
 O I<ord Most High ! Thy years shall never fail. 
 
 The Holy City. 
 
 They entered now the circumambient air, 
 
 That softly wrapped the earth with cloudless 
 
 blue. 
 Stars, that had glared so red upon the sight, 
 Turned silver-white and closed their eyes in 
 
 sleep. 
 'T was morn. The sunlight fell on battlements, 
 Next on the tops of lofty palaces, 
 On fountains throwing high their sheeny spray, 
 And stole its downward course to trees and 
 
 flowers, 
 Glistened along the streets of burnished gold, 
 And shimmered on the river's rippling wave. 
 
 Meanwhile a cohort of the heavenly host 
 With doubled speed entered the city first, 
 And stood with folded wings upon the wall 
 Above the gates, each gate a single pearl. 
 Toward the middle one upon the east, 
 Christ, His Apostles, Prophets, Martyrs came. 
 Before them went the vanguard of the host 
 Angelic, choiring in their mightiest notes : 
 
THE END OF TIME. 191 
 
 •' Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; 
 
 And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors ; 
 
 And the King of glory shall come in. ' ' 
 Then answered them the angels on the wall: 
 
 ' ' Who is this King of Glory ? ' ' 
 To which a shout came back in thunder-tones : 
 
 ' ' The Lord strong and mighty ; 
 
 The Lord mighty in battle." 
 Again with voices jubilant they cried ; 
 
 " Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; 
 
 Even lift them up, ye everlasting doors ; 
 
 And the King of Glory shall come in." 
 Then from the cohort : 
 
 ' ' Who is this King of Glory ? ' ' 
 And now once more from angels and from saints, 
 With rapture greater than the bliss of heaven, 
 Because the Morning Stars together sang, 
 And all the Sons of God shouted for joy : 
 
 "The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory." 
 
 FINIS.