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Herald Op Eternity.
It is the day when all the Sons of God
Wait in the roofless senate-house whose floor
Is chaos and the immovable abyss
Frozen by his steadfast word to hyaline.

The shadow of God, and delegate

Of that before whose breath the universe

Is as a print of dew.

Hierarchs and kings,
Who from your thrones pinnacled on the past
Sway the reluctant present, ye who sit
Pavilioned on the radiance or the gloom
Of mortal thought, which, like an exhalation
Steaming from earth, conceals the . . of heaven
Which gave it birth, . . . assemble here
Before your Father's throne. The swift decree
Yet hovers, and the fiery incarnation
Is yet withheld, clothed in which it shall

.... annul

The fairest of those wandering isles that gem
The sapphire space of interstellar air,—
That green and azure sphere, that earth enwrapped
Less in the beauty of its tender light
Than in an atmosphere of living spirit
Which interpenetrating all the . . .
... it rolls from realm to realm
And age to age, and in its ebb and flow
Impels the generations
To their appointed place,
Whilst the high Arbiter
Beholds the strife, and at the appointed time
Sends his decrees veiled in eternal . . .

Within the circuit of this pendent orb

There lies an antique region, on which fell

The dews of thought, in the world's golden dawn,

Earliest and most benign; and from it sprung

Temples and cities and immortal forms,

And harmonies of wisdom and of song,

And thoughts, and deeds worthy of thoughts so fair.

And, when the sun of its dominion failed,

And when the winter of its glory came,

The winds that stripped it bare blew on, and swept

That dew into the utmost wildernesses

In wandering clouds of sunny rain that thawed

The unmaternal bosom of the North.

Haste, Sons of God, . . for ye beheld,

Reluqtant or consenting or astonished,

The stern decrees go forth which heaped on Greece

Ruin and degradation and despair.

A fourth now waits. Assemble, Sons of God,

To speed or to prevent or to suspend

(If, as ye dream, such power be not withheld)

The unaccomplished destiny.

The curtain of the universe
Is rent and shattered,
The splendour-winged worlds disperse
Like wild doves scattered.
Space is roofless and bare,
And in the midst a cloudy shrine,

Dark amid thrones of light .
In the blue glow of hyaline
Golden worlds revolve and shine.
In flight

From every point of the Infinite,
Like a thousand dawns on a single night

The splendours rise and spread.

And through thunder and darkness dread

Light and music are radiated,
And, in their pavilioned chariots led
By living wings, high overhead

The giant Powers move,
Gloomy or bright as the thrones they fill.

A chaos of light and motion
Upon that glassy ocean.

The senate of the Gods is met,
Each in his rank and station set;

There is silence in the spaces—
Lo! Satan, Christ, and Mahomet,
Start from their places I


Almighty Father!
Low-kneeling at the feet of Destiny

There are two fountains in which spirits weep
When mortals err, Discord and Slavery named;
And with their bitter dew two Destinies
Filled each their irrevocable urns. The third,
Fiercest and mightiest, mingled both, and added
Chaos and death, and slow oblivion's lymph,
And hate and terror, and the poisoned rain

The Aurora of the nations. By this brow

Whose pores wept tears of blood; by these wide wounds;

By this imperial crown of agony;

By infamy and solitude and death,

(For this I underwent); and by the pain

Of pity for those who would . . for me

The unremembered joy of a revenge,

(For this I felt); by Plato's sacred light,

Of which my spirit was a burning morrow;

By Greece, and all she cannot cease to be,

Her quenchless words, sparks of immortal truth,

Stars of all night—her harmonies and forms,

Echoes and shadows of what Love adores

In thee; I do compel thee, send forth Fate,

Thy irrevocable child I Let her descend,

A seraph-winged victory [arrayed]

In tempest of the omnipotence of God

Which sweeps through all things.

From hollow leagues, from Tyranny which arms

Adverse miscreeds and emulous anarchies

To stamp, as on a winged serpent's seed,

Upon the name of Freedom; from the storm

Of faction, which like earthquakes shakes and sickens

The solid heart of enterprise; from all

By which the holiest dreams of highest spirits

Are stars beneath the dawn . .

.... She shall arise
Victorious as the world arose from chaos!
And, as the heavens and the earth arrayed
Their presence in the beauty and the light
Of thy first smile, O Father; as they gather
The spirit of thy love, which paves for them
Their path o'er the abyss, till every sphere
Shall be one living spirit; so shall Greece—

Be as all things beneath the empyrean,
Mine I Art thou eyeless like old Destiny,
Thou mockery-king, crowned with a wTeath of thorns—
Whose sceptre is a reed, the broken reed
Which pierces thee, whose throne a chair of scorn?
For seest thou not beneath this crystal floor
The innumerable worlds of golden light
Which are my empire, and the least of them
. . . which thou wouldst redeem from me?
Know'st thou not them my portion?
Or wouldst rekindle the . . strife
Which our great Father then did arbitrate
When he assigned to his competing sons
Each his apportioned realm?

Thou Destiny,
Thou who art mailed in the omnipotence
Of Him who sends thee forth, whate'er thy task,
Speed, spare not to accomplish! and be mine
Thy trophies, whether Greece again become
The fountain in the desert whence the earth
Shall drink of freedom, which shall give it strength
To suffer, or a gulf of hollow death
To swallow all delight, all life, all hope.
Go, thou vicegerent of my will, no less

Than of the Father's. But, lest thou shouldst faint,
The winged hounds famine and pestilence
Shall wait on thee; the hundred-forked snake
Insatiate superstition still shall . . .
The earth behind thy steps; and war shall hover
Above, and fraud shall gape below, and change
Shall flit before thee on her dragon wings,
Convulsing and consuming. And I add
Three phials of the tears which demons weep
When virtuous spirits through the gate of death
Pass triumphing over the thorns of life,—
Sceptres and crowns, mitres and swords and snares,
Trampling in scorn, like him and Socrates.
The first is anarchy; when power and pleasure,
Glory and science and security,
On freedom hang like fruit on the green tree,
Then pour it forth, and men shall gather ashes.
The second, tyranny—


Obdurate spirit!
Thou seest but the past in the to-come.
Pride is thy error and thy punishment.
Boast not thine empire, dream not that thy worlds
Are more than furnace-sparks or rainbow-drops
Before the Power that wields and kindles them.
True greatness asks not space; true excellence
Lives in the Spirit of all things that live,
Which lends it to the worlds thou callest thine.


Haste thou, and fill the waning crescent
With beams as keen as those which pierced the shadow
Of Christian night rolled back upon the West
When the orient moon of Islam rode in triumph
From Tmolus to the Acroceraunian snow.

Wake, thou word
Of God, and from the throne of Destiny
Even to the utmost limit of thy way
May triumph

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