THE WORKS OF ALEISTER CROWLEY Vol. I, part 3 of 3 ASCII VERSION February 18, 1993 e.v. key entry by Bill Heidrick, T.G. of O.T.O. January 8, 1994 e.v. proofed and conformed to the "Essay Competition Copy" edition of 1905 e.v. by Bill Heidrick T.G. of O.T.O. File 3 of 3. Copyright (c) O.T.O. O.T.O. P.O.Box 430 Fairfax, CA 94978 USA (415) 454-5176 ---- Messages only. This work was originally published in two parallel columns. Where such columns are found in the original, they have been rendered as a single text with "A" or "B" added to the page number at the end of each column: A = end page left column. B = end page right column. On many pages a prefatory paragraph or a concluding group of sentences is full across the page. These instances are noted in curly brackets. Pages in the original are marked thus at the bottom: {page number} or {page number A} and {page number B}. Comments and descriptions are also set off by curly brackets {} Comments and notes not in the original are identified with the initials of the source: e.g. WEH note = Bill Heidrick note, etc. Descriptions of illustrations are not so identified, but are simply in curly brackets. Text Footnotes have been expanded at or near the point of citation within double angle brackets, e.g. <>. For poems, most longer footnotes are cited in the text to expanded form below the stanzas. LIMITED LICENSE Except for notations added to the history of modification, the text on this diskette down to the next row of asterisks must accompany all copies made of this file. In particular, this paragraph and the copyright notice are not to be deleted or changed on any copies or print-outs of this file. With these provisos, anyone may copy this file for personal use or research. Copies may be made for other individuals at reasonable cost of copying and mailing only, no additional charges may be added. Not for "share-ware" distribution or inclusion in any commercial enterprise. ************************************************************************ SONNET FOR GERALD KELLY'S DRAWING OF JEZEBEL. LIFT up thine head, disastrous Jezebel! Fire and black stars are melted in thine hair That curls to Hell, as in Satanic prayer; Thy mouth is heavy with its riper smell Than clustered pomegranates beside a well; The cruel savour of thy lust lies there, That blood may tinge thy kisses unaware To fill thy children with the hope of Hell. {180B} O evil beauty! Heart of mystery Wherein my being toils, and in the blood Mixed with thy poison finds its subtle food, Intoxicating my divinity! Disdainful hands behind thee, I may take What joys I will -- but thou wilt not awake. MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE.<<1>> <<1. Canticles viii. 6,7.>> IN my distress I made complaint to Death: Thy shadow strides across the starry air; Thou comest as a serpent unaware, Striking love's heart and crushing out man's breath: Thy destiny is even as God saith To mark the impotence of human prayer, Choke hope, sting all but Love; and never care If man or flower or sparrow perisheth. Thee, I invoke thee, though no mercy move Thy heart! No power is to thy hate assigned On love (sing, poets! shrill, Pandean reeds!). But me, look on me, how my bossom bleeds -- Invoke new power of cruelty; be kind, And ask authority to quench my love! COENUM FATALE. "La cour d'appel de la volonte de l'homme -- C'est le ventre!" - "Old proverb." THE worst of meals is that we have to meet. They trick my purpose and evade my will, Remind my conscience that I love her still, And pull my spirit from its lofty seat. For I withdraw myself: my stealthy feet Seek half-ashamed the alembic which I fill To the epic-mark -- one sonnet to distil, In this poor miracle -- my love to cheat. {181A} Dinner clangs cheerily from my lady's gong. A man must eat in intervals of song! Swift feet run back, to hide my hate of her. And then -- that hate flies truant, as my thought Rests (surely it beseems the overwrought) And I am left her slave and minister. THE SUMMIT OF THE AMOROUS MOUNTAIN. TO love you, Love, is all my happiness; To kill you with my kisses; to devour Your whole ripe beauty in the perfect hour That mingles us in one supreme caress; To drink the purple of your thighs; to press Your beating bosom like a living flower; To die in your embraces, in the shower That dews like death your swooning loveliness To know you love me; that your body leaps With the quick passion of your soul; to know Your fragrant kisses sting my spirit so; To be one soul where Satan smiles and sleeps; -- Ah! in the very triumph-hour of Hell Satan himself remembers whence he fell! CONVENTIONAL WICKEDNESS. BEFORE the altar of Famine and Desire The Two in One, a golden woman stands Holding a heart in her ensanguine hands, The nightly victim of her whore's attire. Quick sobs of lust instead of prayers inspire Some oracle of Death. From many lands Come many worshippers. Their fading brands Rekindle from the sacrificial fire. Before the altar of Plenty, Love, and Peace, Stand purer priests in bloodless sacrifice, And quiet hymns of happiness are heard. Here sound no hatreds and no ecstasies; Here no polluted sacrament of Vice Unveiled! I chose the first without a word! {181B} LOVE'S WISDOM. THERE is a sense of passion after death. Passion for death, desire to kiss the scythe, All know, whose limbs in envious glory writhe, And lie exhausted, mingling happy breath. "Could I end so -- this moment!" Lingereth The lazy gaze half mournful and half blithe. But there's another, when the body dieth -- Hast thou no knowledge what the carcase saith? I watched all night by my dead lover's bed. I saw the spirit; heard the motionless Lips part in uttering a supreme caress: "I care not or for life or death;" they said, "Only for love." "What difference?" said I, "Dead or alive, I love thee utterly." THE PESSIMIST'S PROGRESS.<<1>> <<1. The obscurity of this poem demands explanation. Its thesisis the fact that human happiness is only found in strife and aspiration. Victory and achievement inevitably lead to discontent, because only the impossible is truly desirable.>> MORTAL distrust of mortal happiness Is born of madness and of impotence; A miserable and distorted sense, Defiant in its hatred of success. Even where love's banners flame, and flowers bless The happy head; all faith and hope immense Fly, for possession dwells supreme, intense; And to possess is only -- to possess. But, as the night draws snailwise to its end, And sleep invades the obstinate desire, And lovers sigh -- but not for kisses' sake -- There comes this misery, as half awake I watch the embers of my passion-fire, And see love dwindled in my -- call her friend! {182A} NEPHTHYSS. "There is no light, nor wisdom, nor knowledge in the grave, wither thou goest." -- SOLOMON. A FOOLISH and a cruel thing is said By the Most High that mocks man's empty breast, As if the grave were mere eternal rest, Or merest resurrection of the dead. All petty wishes: at the fountain-head, A dead girl's whisper -- I have stooped and pressed My ear unto her heart -- her soul confessed That none of life her joy relinquished. "I died the moment when you tore away The bleeding veil of my virginity. The pain was sudden -- and the joy was long. Persists that triumph, keenly, utterly! Write, then, in thy mysterious book of song: 'Death chisels marble where life moulded clay.'" AGAINST THE TIDE. I KILLED my wife -- not meaning to, indeed -- Yet knew myself the sheer necessity: For I too died that miracle-hour -- and she, She also knew the immedicable need. She sighed, and laughed, and died. How loves exceed In that strange fact! Yet robbed (you say) are we Of God's own purpose of fecundity. Exactly! You have read the golden rede. That is the pity of all things on earth: That all must have its consequence again. Life ends in death and loving ends in birth. All's made for pleasure: man's device is pain. And in that pain and barrenness men find Triumph on God; and glory of the mind. {182B} STYX. (TO M. M. M.) "The number nine is sacred, as the Oracles inform us, and attaineth the summits of philosophy." -- ZOROASTER. NINE times I kissed my lover in her sleep: The first time, to make sure that she was there; The second, as a sleepy sort of prayer; The third, because I wished that she should weep; The fourth, to draw her kisses and to keep; The fifth, for love; the sixth, in sweet despair; The seventh, to destroy us unaware; The eighth, to dive within the infernal deep. The last, to kill her -- and myself as well! Ah! joy of sweet annihilation, The blackness that invades the burning sun, My swart limbs and her limbs adorable! So nine times dead before the night is done, Even as Styx nine times embraces Hell. LOVE, MELANCHOLY, DESPAIR.<<1>> <<1. This poem is partially composed on Mr. Poe's scheme of verse --"vide" "The Philosophy of Composition." -- A.C.>> DEEP melancholy -- O, the child of folly! -- Looms on my brow, a perched ancestral bird; Black are its plumes, its eyes melancholy, It speaks no word. Like to a star, deep beauty's avatar<> Pales in the dusky skies so far above: Seven rays of gladness crown its passionate star, One heart of love. {183A} The fringing trees, marge of deep-throated seas, Move as I walk: like spectres whispering The spaces of them: let me leave the trees -- It is not spring! Spring -- no! but dying autumn fast and flying, Sere leaves and frozen robins in my breast! There is the winter -- were I sure in dying To find some rest! There is a shallop -- how the breakers gallop, Grinding to dust the unresisting shore, A moon-mad thought to wander in the shallop! Act -- think no more! Pale as a ghost I leave the sounding coast, The waters white with moonrise. I embark, Float on to the horizon as a ghost, Confront the dark. The cadent curve of Dian seems to swerve, Eluding helmcraft: let me drift away Where sea and sky unite their clamorous curve In praise of Day. Is it an edge? Some spray-bechiselled ledge? Some sentry platform to an under sky? Let me drift onward to the azure edge -- I can but die! The moon hath seen! An arrow cold and keen Brings some cold being from the water chill, Rising between me and the world -- unseen, Most terrible. Dawns that unheard-of terror! Never a word of The spells that chain ill spirits I remember. And oh! my soul! What hands of ice unheard-of Disturb, dismember! {183B} It hath no shape; and I have no escape! It wraps around me, as a mist, despair. Fear without sense and horror without shape Most surely there! O melancholy! charming child of folly, Where is thy comfort told without a word? Where are thy plumes, beloved melancholy, Familiar bird? {184midA} O emerald star, deep beauty's avatar, Are thy skies dim? What throne is thine above? Where is the crown of thee -- thy sevenfold star, My heart of love? Then from the clinging mist there came a singing; A dirge re-echoes to the poet prayer: "I am their child to whom thy soul is clinging, I am Despair!" {184midB} {full page next line} II. THE GATE OF THE SANCTUARY. {col. resumes} TO LAURA. MISTRESS, I pray thee, when the wind Exults upon the roaring sea, Come to my bosom, kissed and kind And sleep upon the lips of me! Dream on my breast of quiet days, Kindled of slow absorbing fire! Sleep, while I ponder on the ways And secret paths of my desire! Dream, while my restless brain probes deep The mysteries of its magic power, The secret of forgotten sleep, The birth of knowledge as a flower! Slow and divine thy gentle breath Woos my warm throat: my spirit flies Beyond the iron walls of death, And seeks strange portals, pale and wise. My lips are fervent, as in prayer, Thy lips are parted, as to kiss: My hand is clenched upon the air, Thy hand's soft touch, how sweet it is! The wind is amorous of the sea; The sea's large limbs to its embrace Curl, and thy perfume curls round me, An incense on my eager face. {184A} I see, beyond all seas and star, The gates of hell, the paths of death Open: unclasp the surly bars Before the voice of him that saith: "I will!" Droop lower to my knees! Sink gently to the leopard's skin!<<1>> I must not stoop and take my ease, Or touch the body lithe and thin. <<1. An actual rug: not a symbol.>> Bright body of the myriad smiles, Sweet serpent of the lower life, The smooth silk touch of thee defiles, The lures and languors of a wife. Slip to the floor, I must not turn: There is a lion in the way!<<1>> The star of morning rise and burn: I seek the dim supernal day! <<1. Tennyson: the Holy Grail The phrase is, however, much older.>> Sleep there, nor know me gone: sleep there And never wake, although God's breath Catch thee at midmost of the prayer Of sleep -- that so dream turns to death! Pass, be no more! The beckoning dawn Woos the white ocean: I must go Wither my soul's desire is drawn. Whither? I know not. Even so. {184B} THE LESBIAN HELL. THE unutterable void of Hell is stirred By gusts of sad wind moaning; the inane Quivers with melancholy sounds unheard, Unpastured woes, and unimagined pain, And kisses flung in vain. Pale women fleet around, whose infinite Long sorrow and desire have torn their wombs, Whose empty fruitlessness assails the night With hollow repercussion, like dim tombs Wherein some vampire glooms. Pale women sickeninng for some sister breast; Lone sisterhood of voiceless melancholy That wanders in this Hell, desiring rest From that desire that dwells forever free, Monstrous, a storm, a sea. In that desire their hands are strained and wrung; In that most infinite passion beats the blood, And bursting chants of amorous agony flung To the void Hell, are lost, not understood, Unheard by evil or good. Their sighs attract the unsubstantial shapes Of other women, and their kisses burn Cold on the lips whose purple blood escapes, A thin chill stream; they feel not nor discern, Nor love's low laugh return. They kiss the spiritual dead, they pass Like mists uprisen from the frosty moon, Like shadows fleeting in a seer's glass, Beckoning, yearning, amorous of the noon When earth dreams on in swoon. They are so sick for sorrow, that my eyes Are moist because their passion was so fair, So pure and comely that no sacrifice Seems to waft up a sweeter savour there, Where God's grave ear takes prayer. {185A} O desecrated lovers! O divine Passionate martyrs, virgin unto death! O kissing daughters of the unfed brine! O sisters of the west wind's pitiful breath, There is One that pitieth! One far above the heavens crowned alone, Immitigable, intangible, a maid, Incomprehensible, divine, unknown, Who loves your love, and to high God hath said: "To me these songs are made!" So in a little from the silent Hell Rises a spectre, disanointed now, Who bears a cup of poison terrible, The seal of God upon his blasted brow, To whom His angels bow. Rise, Phantom disanointed, and proclaim Thine own destruction, and the sleepy death Of those material essences that flame A little moment for a little breath, The love that perisheth! Rise, sisters, who have ignorantly striven On pale pure limbs to pasture your desire, Who should have fixed your souls on highest Heaven, And satiated your longings in that fire, And struck that mightier lyre! Let the ripe kisses of your thirsty throats And beating blossoms of your breath, and flowers Of swart illimitable hair that floats Vague and caressing, and the amorous powers Of your unceasing hours, The rich hot fragrance of your dewy skins, The eyes that yearn, the breasts that bleed, the thighs That cling and cluster to these infinite sins, Forget the earthlier pleasures of the prize, And raise diviner sighs; {185B} Cling to the white and bloody feet that hang, And drink the purple of a God's pure side; With your wild hair assuage His deadliest pang, And on His broken bosom still abide His virginal white bride. So, in the dawn of skies unseen above, Your passion's fiercest flakes shall catch new gold, The sun of an immeasurable love More beautiful shall touch the chaos cold Of earth that is grown old. Then, shameful sisterhood of earth's disdain, Your lips shall speak your hearts, and understand; Your lovers shall assuage the amorous pain With spiritual lips more keen and bland, And ye shall take God's hand. THE NAMELESS QUEST.<<1>> <<1. This poem has no foundation in tradition.>> THE king was silent. In the blazoned hall Shadows, more mute than at a funeral True mourners, waited, waited in the gloom; Waited to hear what child was in the womb Of his high thoughts. As dead men were we all; As dead men wait the trumpet in the tomb. The king was silent. Tense the high-strung air<<1>> Must save itself by trembling -- if it dare. Then a lone shudder ran across the space; Each man ashamed to see his fellow's face, Each troubled and confused. He did not spare Our fear -- he spake not yet a little space. {186A} <<1. Here and in several other passages intense energy of will, or importance of situation, is represented as producing an actual condition of strain in the air or the ether. The fact observed is at least subjectively true to many people.>> After a while he took the word again: "Go thou then moonwards<<1>> on the great salt plain; So to a pillar. Adamant, alone, It stands. Around it see them overthrown, King, earl, and knight. There lie the questing slain, A thousand years forgotten -- bone by bone. <<1. The moon here symbolises the path of HB:Gemel, which leads from Tiphereth, the human will, to Kether, the divine Will.>> "No more is spoken -- the tradition goes: 'There learns the seeker what he seeks or knows,' Thence -- none have passed. The desert leagues may keep Some other secret -- some profounder deep Than this one echoed fear: the desert shows Its ghastly triumph -- silence. There they sleep. "There, brave and pure, there, true and strong, they stay Bleached in the desert, till the solemn day Of God's revenge -- none knoweth them: they rest Unburied, unremembered, unconfessed. What names of strength, of majesty, had they? What suns are these gone down into the West? "Even I myself -- my youth within me said: Go, seek this folly; fear not for the dead, And God is with thine arm! I reached the ridge, And saw the river and the ghastly bridge I told you of. Even then, even there, I fled. Nor knight, nor king -- a miserable midge! "Yet from my shame I dare not turn and run. My oath grows urgent as my days are done. Almost mine hour is on me: for its sake I tell you this, as if my heart should break: -- The infinite desire -- a burning sun! The listening fear -- the sun-devouring snake!" {186B} The king was silent. None of us would stir. I sat, struck dumb, a living sepulchre. For -- hear me! in my heart this thing became My sacrament, my penttecostal flame. And with it grew a fear -- a fear of Her. What Her? Shame had not found itself a name. Simply I knew it in myself. I brood Ten years -- so seemed it -- O! the bitter food In my mouth nauseate! In the silent hall One might have heard God's sparrow in its fall. But I was lost in mine own solitude -- I should not hear Mikhael's<<1>> trumpet-call. <<1. Correct of "Michael." A piece of pedantry pardonable in a youth of 25.>> Yet there did grow a clamour shrill and loud: One cursed, one crossed himself, another vowed His soul against the quest; the tumult ran Indecorous in that presence, man to man. Stilled suddenly, beholding how I bowed My soul in thought: another cry began. "Gereth the dauntless! Gereth of the Sea! Gereth the loyal! Child of royalty! witch-mothered Gereth! Sword above the strong, heart pure, head many-wiled!" The knightly throng Clamour my name, and flattering words, to me -- If they may 'scape the quest -- I do them wrong; They are my friends! Yet something terrible Rings in the manly music that they swell. They are all caught in this immense desire Deeper than heaven, tameless as the fire. All catch the fear -- the fear of Her -- as well, And dare not -- even afraid, I must aspire. {187A} A spirit walking in a dream, I went To the high throne -- they shook the firmament With foolish cheers. I knelt before the queen And wept in silence. Then, as it had been And angel's voice and touch, her face she bent, Lifted and kissed me -- oh! her lips were keen! Her voice was softer than a virgin's eyes: "Go! my true knight: for thither, thither lies The only road for thee; thou hast a prayer Wafted each hour -- my spirit will be there!" Too late I knew what subtle Paradise Her dreams and prayers portend: too fresh, too fair! I turned more wretched than myself knew yet. I told my nameless pain I should forget Its shadow as it passed. The king did start, Gripped my strong hands, and held me to his heart, And could not speak a moment. Then he set A curb of sorrow and subdued its dart. "Go! and the blessing of high God attend Thy path, and lead thee to the doubtful end. No tongue that secret ever may reveal. Thy soul is god-like and thy frame is steel; Thou mayst win the quest -- the king, thy friend, Gives thee his sword to keep thee -- Gereth, kneel! "I dub thee Earl; arise!" And then there rings The queen's voice: "Shall my love not match the king's? Here, from my finger drawn, this gem of power Shall guard thee in some unimagined hour. It hath strange virtue over mortal things. I freely give it for thy stirrup's dower." {187B} I left the presence. Now the buffeting wind Gladdens my face -- I leave the court behind. Am I Stark mad? My face grows grim and grave; I see -- O Mary Mother, speak and save! I stare and stare until mine eyes are blind -- There was no jewel in the ring she gave!<<1>> <<1. The gift of a wedding ring is of course typical of the supreme surrender on the part of a married woman.>> Oh! my pure heart! Adulterous love began So subtly to identify the man With its own perfumed thoughts. So steals the grape Into the furtive brain -- a spirit shape Kisses my spirit as no woman can. I love her -- yes; and I have no escape. I never spoke, I never looked! But she Saw through the curtains of the soul of me, And loved me also! It is very well. I am well started on the road to Hell. Loved, and no sin done! Ay, the world shall see The quest is first -- a love less terrible. Yet, as I ride toward the edge of snow That cuts the blue, I think. For even so Comes reason to me: "Oh, return, return! What folly is it for two souls to burn With hell's own fire! What is this quest of woe? What is the end? Consider and discern!" Banish the thought! My working reason still Is the rebellious vassal to my will, Because I will it. That is God's own mind. I cast all thought and prudence to the wind: On, to the quest! The cursed parrot hill Mocks on, on, on! The thought is left behind. {188A} Night came upon me thus -- a wizard hand Grasping with silence the reluctant land. Through night I clomb -- behind me grew the light Reflected in the portal of the night. I reached the crest at dawn -- pallid I stand, Uncomprehending of the sudden sight. The river and the bridge! The river flows, Tears of young orphans for its limpid woes. The red bridge quivers -- how my spirit starts, Its seeming glory built of widows' hearts! And yet I could disdain it -- heaven knows I had no dear ones for their counterparts. Yet the thought chilled me as I touched the reins. Ah! the poor horse, he will not. So remains, Divided in his love. With mastered tears I stride toward the parapet. My ears Catch his low call; and now a song complains. The bridge is bleeding and the river hears. Ah! God! I cannot live for pity deep Of that heart-quelling chant -- I could not sleep Ever again to think of it. I close My hearing with my fingers. Gently goes A quivering foot above them as they weep -- I weep, I also, as the river flows. Slowly the bridge subsides, and I am flung Deep in the tears and terrors never sung. I swim with sorrow bursting at my breast. Yet I am cleansed, and find some little rest. Still from my agonised unspeaking tongue Breaks: I must go, go onward to the quest. Again the cursed cry: "What quest is this? Is it worth heaven in thy lover's kiss? A queen, a queen, to kiss and never tire! Thy queen, quick-breathing for your twin desire!" I shudder, for the mystery of bliss; I go, heart crying and a soul on fire! {188B} "Resolve all question by a moonward tread. Follow the moon!" Even so the king had said. My thought had thanked him for the generous breath Wherewith he warned us: for delay were death. And now, too late! no moon is overhead -- Some other meaning in the words he saith? Or, am I tricked in such a little snare? I lifted up my eyes. What soul stood there, Fronting my path? Tall, stately, delicate, A woman fairer than a pomegranate. A silver spear her hands of lotus bear, One shaft of moonlight quivering and straight. She pointed to the East with flashing eyes: "Thou canst not see her -- but my Queen shall rise." Bowed head and beating heart, with feet unsure I passed her, trembling, for she was too pure. I could have loved her. No: she was too wise. Her presence was to gracious to endure. "She did not bid me go and chain me to her," I cried, comparing. Then, my spirit knew her For One beyond all song<<1>> -- my poor heart turned: Then, 'tis no wonder. And my passion burned Mightier yet than ever. To renew her Venom from those pure eyes? And yet I yearned. <<1. The "Higher Self.">> Still, I stepped onward. Credit me so far! The harlot had my soul: my will, the star! Thus I went onward, as a man goes blind, Into a torrent crowd of mine own king; Jostlers and hurried folk and mad they are, A million actions and a single mind. [189A} "What is thy purpose, sweet my lord?" I pressed One stalwart. "Ah! the quest," he cried, "the quest." God's heart! the antics, as they toil and shove! One grabs a coin, one life, another love. All shriek, "The prize is mine!" as men possessed. I was not fooled at anything thereof. Rather I hated them, and scorned for slaves; "Fools! all your treasure is at last the grave's!" Mine eyes had fixed them on the sphinx, the sky. "Is then this quest of immortality?" And echo answered from some unseen caves: Mortality! I shrink, and wonder why. Strange I am nothing tainted with this fear Now, that had touched me first. For I am here Half-way I reckon to the field of salt, The pillar, and the bones -- it was a fault I am cured of! praise to God! What meets mine ear, That every nerve and bone of me cries halt? What is this cold that nips me at the throat? This shiver in my blood? this icy note Of awe within my agonising brain? Neither of shame, nor love, nor fear, nor pain, Nor anything? Has love no antidote, Courage no buckler? Hark! it comes again. Friend, hast thou heard the wailing of the damned? Friend, hast thou listened when a murderer shammed Pale smiles amid his fellows as they spoke Low of his crime: his fear is like to choke His palsied throat. How, if Hell's gate were slammed This very hour upon thy womanfolk? {189B} Conceive, I charge thee! Brace thy spirit up To drink at that imagination's cup! Then, shriek, and pass! For thou shalt understand A little of the pressure of the hand That crushed me now. Yes, yes! let fancy sup That grislier banquet than old Atreus<<1>> planned! <<1. Atreus, King of Mycenae, gave a banquet of pretended reconciliation to his half-brother Thyestes, at which the two sons of Thyestes were served up.>> Mind cannot fathom, nor the brain conceive, Nor soul assimilate, nor heart believe The horror of that Thing without a Name. Full on me, boasting, like Death's hand it came, And struck me headlong. Linger, while I weave The web of mine old agony and shame. A little shadow of that hour of mine Touches thy heart? Fill up the foaming wine, And listen for a little! How profound Strikes memory keen-fanged; memory, the hound That tracks me yet! a shiver takes my spine At one half-hint, the shadow of that sound. Where am I? Seven days my spirit fell, Down, down the whirlpools and the gulfs of hell: Seven days a corpse lay desolate -- at last Back drew the spirit and the soul aghast To animate that clay -- O horrible! The resurrection pang is hardly past. Yet in awhile I stumbled to my feet To flee -- no nightmare could be worse to meet. And, spite of that, I knew some deadlier trap Some worm more poisonous would set -- mayhap! {190A} I turned -- the path? My horror was complete -- A flaming sword across the earthquake gap. I cried aloud to God in my despair. "The quest of quests! I seek it, for I dare! Moonward! on, moonward!" And the full moon shone, A glory for God's eyes to dwell upon, A path of silver furrowed in the air, A gateway where an angel might have gone. And forward gleamed a narrow way of earth Crusted with salt: I watch the fairy birth Of countless flashes on the crystal flakes, Forgetting it is only death that makes Its home the centre of that starry girth. Yet, what is life? The manhood in me wakes. The absolute desire hath hold of me. Death were most welcome in that solemn sea; So bitter is my life. But carelessness Of life and death and love is on me -- yes! Only the quest! if any quest there be! What is my purpose? Could the Godhead guess? So the long way seemed moving as I went, Flashing beneath me; and the firmament Moving with quicker robes that swept the air. Still Dian drew me to her bosom bare, And madness more than will was my content. I moved, and as I moved I was aware! The plain is covered with a many dead. Glisten white bone and salt-encrusted head, Glazed eye imagined, of a crystal built. And see! dark patches, as of murder spilt. Ugh! "So thy fellows of the quest are sped! Thou shall be with them: onward, if thou wilt!" {190B} So was the chilling whisper at my side, Or in my brain. Then surged the maddening tide Of my intention. Onward! Let me run! Thy steed, O Moon! Thy chariot, O Sun! Lend me fierce feet, winged sandals, wings as wide As thine, O East wind! And the goal is won! Was ever such a cruel solitude? Up rears the pillar. Quaintly shaped and hued, It focussed all the sky and all the plain To its own ugliness. I looked again, And saw its magic in another mood. A shapeless truth took image in my brain. A hollow voice from every quarter cries: 'O thou, zelator of this Paradise, Tell thou the secret of the pillar! None Can hear thee, of the souls beneath the sun. Speak, or the very Godhead in thee dies. For we are many and thy name is One." The Godhead in me! As a flash there came The jealous secret and the guarded name. The quest was mine! And yet my thoughts confute My intuition; and my will was mute. My voice -- ah! flashes out the word of flame: "Eternal Beauty, One and absolute!" The overwhelming sweetness of a voice Filled me with Godhead. "Still remains the choice! Thou knowest me for Beauty! Canst thou bear The fuller vision, the abundant air?" I only wept. The elements rejoice; No tear before had ever fallen there. I thought within myself a bitter thing, Standing abased. The golden marriage ring The queen had given -- how her beauty stank {191A} Now in mine yes, where once their passion drank Its secret sweets of poison. Let the spring Of love once dawn -- all else hath little thank! Yet resolute I put my love away. I could not live in this amazing day. Love is the lotus that is sickly sweet, That makes men drunken, and betrays their feet: Beauty, the sacred lotus: let me say The word, and make my purity complete. The whole is mine, and shall I keep a part? O Beauty, I must see thee as thou art! Then on my withered gaze that Beauty grew -- Rosy quintessence of alchemic dew! The Self-informing Beauty! In my heart the many were united: and I knew. Smitten by Beauty down I fell as dead -- So strikes the sunlight on a miner's head. Blind, stricken, crushed! That vast effulgence stole, Flooded the caverns of my secret soul, And gushed in waves of weeping. I was wed Unto a part, and could not grasp the whole. Thus, I was broken on the wheel of Truth. Fled all the hope and purpose of my youth, The high desire, the secret joy, the sin That coiled its rainbow dragon scales within. Hope's being, life's delight, time's eager tooth; All, all are gone; the serpent sloughts his skin! The quest is mine! Here ends mortality In contemplating the eternal Thee. Here, she is willing. Stands the Absolute Reaching its arms toward me. I am mute, I draw toward. Oh, suddenly I see The treason-pledge, the royal prostitute. {191B} One moment, and I should have passed beyond Linked unto spirit by the fourfold bond. Not dead to earth, but living as divine, A priest, a king, an oracle, a shrine, A saviour! Yet my misty spirit conned The secret murmur: "Gereth, I am thine!" I must have listened to the voice of hell. The earthly horror wove its serpent spell Against the Beauty of the World: I heard Desolate voices cry the doleful word "Unready!" All the soul invisible Of that vast desert echoed, and concurred. The voices died in mystery away. I passed, confounded, lifeless as the clay, Somewhere I knew not. Many a dismal league Of various terror wove me its intrigue, And many a demon daunted: day by day Death dogged despair, and misery fatigue. Behold! I came with haggard mien again Into the hall, and mingled with the train, A corpse amid the dancers. Then the king Saw me, and knew me -- and he knew the ring! He did not ask me how I sped: disdain Curled his old lips: he said one bitter thing. "You crossed the bridge -- no man's heart trod you there?" Then crossed his breast in uttering some prayer: "I pray you follow of your courtesy, My lord!" I followed very bitterly. "Likes you the sword I gave?" I did not dare Answer one word. My soul was hating me. He bade me draw. I silently obeyed. My eye shirked his as blade encountered blade. I was determined he should take my life. "Went your glance back -- encountering my wife?" "Taunt me!" I cried; "I will not be afraid!" My whole soul weary of the coward strife. {192A} He seemed to see no opening I gave, But hated me the more. Serene and suave, He fenced with deep contempt. I stumble, slip, Guard wide -- and only move his upper lip. "You know I will not strike, Sir pure and brave! Fight me your best -- or I shall find a whip!" That stung me, even me. He wronged me, so: Therefore some shame and hate informed the blow; Some coward's courage pointed me the steel; Some strength of Hell: we lunge, and leap, and wheel; Hard breath and laboured hands -- the flashes grow Swifter and cruel -- this court hath no appeal! He gladdened then. I would not slip again, And baulk the death of half its shame and pain. I, his best sword, must fall, in earnest fight. The old despair was coward -- he was right. Now, king, I pay your debt. A purple stain Hides his laced throat -- I sober at the sight. "King, you are touched!" "Fight on, Earl Lecherer!" I cursed him to his face -- the added spur Sticks venom in my lunge -- a sudden thrust! No cry, no gasp; but he is in the dust, Stark dead. The queen -- I hate the name of her! So grew the mustard-seed, one moment's lust. I too was wounded: shameful runs the song. She nursed me through that melancholy long Month of despair: she won my life from death. Ah God! she won that most reluctant breath Out of corruption: love! ah! love is strong! What waters quench it? King Shalomeh<<1>> saith. {192B} <<1. Hebrew form of Solomon. See Canticles viii. 6, 7.>> I am the king: you know it, friend! We wed. That is the tale of how my wooing sped. And oh! the quest: half won -- incredible? I am so brave, and pure -- folk love me well. But oh! my life, my being! That is dead, And my whole soul -- a whirlwind out of hell! THE REAPER. IN middle music of Apollo's corn She stood, the reaper, challenging a kiss; The lips of her were fresher than the morn, The perfume of her skin was ambergris; The sun had kissed her body into brown; Ripe breasts thrown forward to the summer breeze; Warm tints of red lead fancy to the crown, Her coils of chestnut, in abundant ease, That bound the stately head. What joy of youth Lifted her nostril to respire the wind? What pride of being? What triumphal truth Acclaimed her queen to her imperial mind? I watched, a leopard, stealthy in the corn, As if a tigress held herself above; My body quivered, eager to be torn, Stung by the snake of some convulsive love! The leopard changed his spots; for in me leapt The mate, the tiger. Murderous I sprang Across the mellow earth: my senses swept, One torrent flame, one soul-dissolving pang. How queenly bent her body to the grip! How lithe it slips, her bosom to my own! The throat leans back, to tantalise the lip: -- The sudden shame of her is overthrown! O maiden of the spirit of the wheat, One ripening sunbeam thrills thee to the soul, Electric from red main to amber feet! The blue skies focus, as a burning bowl, The restless passion of the universe Into our mutual anger and distress, {193A} To be forbidden (the Creator's curse) To comprehend the other's loveliness. We cannot grasp the ecstasy of this; Only we strain and struggle and renew The utter bliss of the unending kiss, The mutual pang that shudders through and through, Repeated and repeated, as the light Can build a partial palace of the day, So, in our anguish for the infinite, One moment gives, the other takes away. (I, the mere rhymer, she, the queen of rhyme, As sweeps her sickle in the falling wheat, Her body's sleek intoxicating time, The music of the motion of her feet!) I swoon in that imperial embrace -- Lay we asleep till evening, or dead? I knew not, but the wonder of her face Grew as the dawn and never satiated. She knew not in her strong imperial soul How hopeless was the slavery of life, How by the part man learns to love the whole, How each man's mistress calls herself a wife. I tired not of the tigress limbs and lips -- Only, my soul was weary of itself, Being so impotent, who only sips The dewdrops from the flower-cup of an elf, Not comprehending the mysterious sea Of black swift waters that can drink it up, Not trusting life to its own ecstasy, Not mixing poison with the loving-cup. I, maker of mad rhymes, the reaper she! We lingered by a day upon the lawn. O thou, the other Reaper! come to me! Thy dark embraces have a germ of Dawn! THE TWO MINDS. "THEY SHALL BE NO MORE TWAIN, BUT ONE FLESH." WELL have I said, "O God, Thou art, alone, In many forms and faces manifest! Thou, stronger than the universe, Thy throne! Thou, calm in strength as the sea's heart at rest!" {193B} But I have also answered: "Let the groan Of this Thy world reach up to Thee, and wrest Thy bloody sceptre: let the wild winds own Man's lordship, and obey at his behest!" Man has two minds: the first beholding all, As from a centre to the endless end: The second reaches from the outer wall, And seeks the centre. This I comprehend. But in the first: "I can -- but what is worth?" And in the second: "I am dust and earth!" THE TWO WISDOMS. SOPHIE! I loved her, tenderly at worst. Yet in my passion's highest ecstasy, When life lost pleasure in desire to die And never taste again the deadly thirst For those caresses; even then a curst Sick pang shot through me: looking afar on high, Beyond, I see Sophia<<1>>in the sky. The petty bubble of Love's pipe is burst! <<1. WEH NOTE TO TRANSCRIPTION: This is in Greek in the text: Sigma-omicron-phi-iota-alpha >> Yea! through the portals of the dusky dawn I see the nameless Rose of Heaven unfold! Yea! through rent passion and desire withdrawn Burns in the East the far ephemeral gold. O Wisdom! Mother of my sorrow! Rise! And lift my love to thine immortal eyes! THE TWO LOVES. WHAT is my soul? The shadow of my will. What is my will? The sleeper's sigh at waking. Osiris! Orient godhead! let me still Rest in the dawn of knowledge, ever slaking My lips and throat where yon rose-glimmering hill, The Mountain of the East, its lips is taking {194A} To Thy life-lips: I hear Thy keen voice thrill; Arise and shine! the clouds of earth are breaking! The clouds are parted: yes! And there above I bathe in either and self-shining light; My soul is filled with eternal love; I am the brother of the Day and Night. I AM! my spirit, and perhaps my mind! But O my heart! I left thy love behind! A RELIGIOUS BRINGING-UP. WITH this our "Christian" parents marred our youth: "One thing is certain of our origin. We are born Adam's bastards into sin, Servants to Death and Time's devouring tooth. God, damning most, had this one thought of ruth To save some dozens -- Us: and by the skin Of teeth to save us from the devil's gin -- Repentance! Blood! Prayer! Sackcloth! This is truth." Our parents answer jesting Pilate so.<<1>> I am the meanest servant of the Christ: But, were I heathen, cannibal, profane, My cruel spirit had not sacrificed My children to this Moloch. I am plain? "Blasphemer! Damned!"? Undoubtedly -- I know! <<1. See Bacon's Essay on Truth.>> THE LAW OF CHANGE. SOME lives complain of their own happiness. In perfect love no sure abiding stands; In perfect faith are no immortal bands Of God and man. This passion we possess Necessitous; insistent none the less Because we know not how its purpose brands Our lives. Even on God's knees and in His hands: The Law of Change. "Out, out, adulteress!"? {194B} These be the furies, and the harpies these? That discontent should sum the happiest sky? That of all boons man lacks the greatest -- rest! Nay! But the promise of the centuries, The certain pledge of immortality, Child-cry of Man at the eternal Breast. SYNTHESIS. WHEN I think of the hundreds of women I have loved from time to time, White throats and living bosoms where a kiss might creep or climb, Smooth eyes and trembling fingers, faint lips or murderous hair, All tunes of love's own music, most various and rare; When I look back on life, as a mariner on the deep Sees, tranced, the white wake foaming, fancies the nereids weep; As, on a mountain summit in the thunders and the snow, I look to the shimmering valley and weep: I loved you so! For a moment cease the winds of God upon the reverent head; I lose the life of the mountain, and my soul is with the dead; Yet am I not unaware of the splendour of the height, Yet am I lapped in the glory of the Sun of Life and Light: -- Even so my heart looks out from the harbour of God's breast, Out from the shining stars where it entered into rest -- Once more it seeks in memory for reverence, not regret, And it loves you still, my sisters! as God shall not forget. It is ill to blaspheme the silence with a wicked whispered thought -- How still they were, those nights! when this web of things was wrought! {195A} How still, how terrible! O my dolorous tender brides, As I lay and dreamt in the dark by your shameful beautiful sides! And now you are mine no more, I know; but I cannot bear The curse -- that another is drunk on the life that stirs your hair: Every hair was alive with a spark of midnight's delicate flame, Or a glow of the nether fire, or an old illustrious shame. Many, so many, were ye to make one Womanhood -- A thing of fire and flesh, of wine and glory and blood, In whose rose-orient texture a golden light is spun, A gossamer scheme of love, as water in the sun Flecked by wonderful bars, most delicately crossed, Worked into wedded beauties, flickering, never lost -- That is the spirit of love, incarnate in your flesh! Your bodies had wearied me, but your passion was ever fresh: You were many indeed, but your love for me was one. Then I perceived the stars to reflect a single sun -- Not burning suns themselves, in furious regular race, But mirrors of midnight, lit to remind us of His face. Thus I beheld the truth: ye are stars that give me light; But I read you aright and learn I am walking in the night. Then I turned mine eyes away to the Light that is above you: The answering splendid Dawn arose, and I did not love you. I saw the breaking light, and the clouds fled far away: I was the resurrection of the Golden Star of Day. {195B} And now I live in Him; my heart may trace the years In drops of virginal blood and springs of virginal tears. I love you now again with an undivided song. Because I can never love you, I cannot do you wrong. I saw in your dying embraces the birth of a new embrace; In the tears of your pitiful faces, another Holier Face. Unknowing it, undesiring, your lips have led me higher; You have taught me purer songs that your souls did not desire; You have led me through your chambers, where the secret bolt was drawn, To the chambers of the Highest and the secrets of the Dawn! You have brought me to command you, and not to be denied; {196midA} You have taught me in perfection to be unsatisfied; You have taught me midnight vigils, when you smiled in amorous sleep; You have even taught a man the woman's way to weep. So, even as you helped me, blindly, against your will, So shall the angel faces watch for your own souls still. A little pain and pleasure, a little touch of time, And you shall blindly reach to the subtle and sublime; You shall gather up your girdles to make ready for the way, And by the Cross of Suffering climb seeing to the Day. Then we shall meet again in the Presence of the Throne, Not knowing; yet in Him! O Thou! knowing as we are known. {196midB} {full page next line} III. THE HOLY PLACE {col. resumes} THE NEOPHYTE.<<1>> <<1. This poem describes the Initiation of the "true" "Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn" in its spiritual aspect.>> TO-NIGHT I tread the unsubstantial way That looms before me, as the thundering night Falls on the ocean: I must stop, and pray One little prayer, and then -- what bitter fight Flames at the end beyond the darkling goal? These are my passions that my feet must tread; This is my sword, the fervour of my soul; This is my Will, the crown upon my head. For see! the darkness beckons: I have gone, Before this terrible hour, towards the gloom, Braved the wild dragon, called the tiger on With whirling cries of pride, sought out the tomb Where lurking vampires battened, and my steel {196A} Has wrought its splendour through the gates of death. My courage did not falter: now I feel My heart beat wave-wise, and my throat catch breath As if I choked; some horror creeps between The spirit of my will and its desire, Some just reluctance to the Great Unseen That coils its nameless terrors, and its dire Fear round my heart; a devil cold as ice Breathes somewhere, for I feel his shudder take My veins: some deadlier asp or cocatrice Slimes in my senses: I am half awake, Half automatic, as I move along Wrapped in a cloud of blackness deep as hell, Hearing afar some half-forgotten song As of disruption; yet strange glories dwell Above my head, as if a sword of light, Rayed of the very dawn, would strike within {196B} The limitations of this deadly night That folds me for the sign of death and sin -- O Light! descend! My feet move vaguely on In this amazing darkness, in the gloom That I can touch with trembling sense. There shone Once, in my misty memory, in the womb Of some unformulated thought, the flame And smoke of mighty pillars; yet my mind Is clouded with the horror of this same Path of the wise men: for my soul is blind Yet: and the foemen I have never feared I could not see (if such should cross the way), And therefore I am strange: my soul is seared With desolation of the blinding day I have come out from: yes, that fearful light Was not the Sun: my life has been the death, This death may be the life: my spirit sight Knows that at last, at least. My doubtful breath Is breathing in a nobler air; I know, I know it in my soul, despite of this, The clinging darkness of the Long Ago, Cruel as death, and closer than a kiss, This horror of great darkness. I am come Into this darkness to attain the light: To gain my voice I make myself as dumb: That I may see I close my outer sight: So, I am here. My brows are bent in prayer; I kneel already in the Gates of Dawn; And I am come, albeit unaware, To the deep sanctuary: my hope is drawn From wells profounder than the very sea. Yea, I am come, where least I guessed it so, Into the very Presence of the Three That Are beyond all Gods. And now I know What spiritual Light is drawing me Up to its stooping splendour. In my soul I feel the Spring, the all-devouring Dawn, Rush with my Rising. There, beyond the goal, The Veil is rent! Yes: let the veil be drawn. {197A} SIN. YE rivers, and ye elemental caves, Above the fountains of the broken ice, Know ye what dragon lurks within your waves? Know ye the secret of the cockatrice? The basilisk whose shapeless brood Take blood and muck for food? The sexless passion, the foul scorpion spawn? The witches and the evil-chanting ones Who strangle stars and suns, Eclipse the moon, and curse against the dawn? Know ye the haunts of death? The hole that harboureth The sickening breath, Whence all disease is bred, and all corruption drawn? Nay, these ye know not, or your waters cold Would stagnate, shudder, putrefy for fear; Your echoes hate existence, and be rolled Into the silent, desolate, dead sphere. For in those sightless lairs No living spirit fares: -- Caught in a chain, linked corpses for a lure! Shall human senses feel Or human tongue reveal? Nay, shall the mortal know them and endure Whose little period Is limited by God; Whose poor abode Is the mean body, prey to all distemperature? Yet, mortal, in the Light and Way divine, Gird on the armour of the Holy One: Seek out the secret of the inmost shrine, Strong in the might and spirit of the sun. Arise, arise, arise, Give passage to mine eyes, {197B Ye airs, ye veils; ye bucklers of the Snake! I knew the deepest cells, Where the foul spirit dwells; Called to the dead, the drowsed, arise! awake! Their dark profoundest thought Was less than She I sought, It was as nought! I drew my soul, I dived beneath the burning lake. Thrice, in the vault of Hell, my Word was born, Abortive, in the empty wilderness, False echoes, made malicious, turn to scorn The awful accents, the Supreme address. The Fourth, the final word! All chaos shrank and heard The terror that vibrated in the breath. Hell, Death, and Sin must hear, Tremble and visibly fear, Shake the intangible chain that hungereth. That Mother of Mankind Sprang in the thunder-wind! The strong words bind For evermore, Amen! the keys of Heal and Death.<<1>> <<1. Rev. i.18.>> Central, supreme, most formidable, Night Gathered its garments, drew itself apart; Gaunt limbs appear athwart the coprolite Veil of deep agony, display the heart; Even as a gloomy sea, Wherein dead fishes be, Poisonous things, nameless; the eightfold Fear, Misshapen crab and worm, The intolerable sperm, Lewd dragons slime-bilt. Stagnant, the foul mere Crawled, moved, gave tongue, The essential soul of dung That lived and stung; That spoke: no word that living head may hear! {198A} Even as a veil imagining Beauty's eyes Behind, lifted, lets flash the maiden face; So that dead putrefying sea supplies A veil to the unfathomable Place. Behind it grew a form, Wrapped in its own dire storm, Dark fires of horror about it and within, A changing, dreadful Shape: Now a distorted ape; Now an impending vampire, vast and lean; Last, a dark woman pressed The world unto her breast, Soothed and caressed With evil words and kisses of the mouth of Sin. The Breath of men adoring. "Worship we! "The mighty Wisdom, the astounding power, "The Horror, the immense profundity, "The stealthy, secret paces of thy Bower! "Thee we adore and praise "Whose breast is broad as day's; "Thee, thee, the mistress of the barren sea, "Deep, deadly, poisonous; "Accept the life of us, "Dwell in our midst; yea, show thy cruelty! "Suck out the life and breath "From breast that quickeneth! "Such pain is death, "Such terror, such delight -- all, all is unto thee!" I too, I also, I have known thy kiss. I also drank the milk that poisons man, Sought to assume the impenetrable bliss By spells profound and draughts Canidian.<<1>> One lifted me: and, lo! Thalassian,<<2>> white as snow, {198B} The scarlet vesture and the crimson skin! As Aphrodite clove The foam, incarnate Love, Maiden; as light leaps the dawn-gardens in, So in the Love and Light, Life slain, yet infinite, The God-Man's night, Leaps pure the Soul re-arisen from the embrace of Sin. <<1. Canidia, a sorceress of Rome in the time of Horace, who attacked her.>> <<2. From GR:Theta-alpha-lambda-alpha-sigma-sigma-alpha, the sea. But Crowley always uses the word as exalting, idealising, personifying the idea.>> Yet, in the terror of that Beast, abides So sweet and deadly a device, a lure Deep in the blood and poison of her sides, Swart, lean, and leprous, that her stings endure. Even the soul of grace Abideth not her face Without vague longing, infinite desire, Stronger because suppressed, Unto the wide black breast, The lips incarnate of blood, flesh, and fire, So to slip down between Thighs vast and epicene, Morose and lean, To that unnameable morass, the ultimate mire. Wherefore behoves the Soul that leaps divine, Even beholding, darkly in a mirror, The face of God, to sink before His Shrine, Weeping: O Beauty, Majesty, and Terror, Wisdom and Mind and Soul, Crown simplex, Mighty Whole, Lord of the Gods! O Thou, the King of Kings! To me a sinner, me, Lowest of all that be, Be merciful, O master Soul of things! Show me thy face of ruth, And in the way of truth Guide my weak youth, That stumbles while it walks, makes discord when it sings! So, Mighty Mother! Pure, Eternal Spouse, Isis, thou Star, thou Moon, thou Mightiest, Lead my weak steps to thine Eternal House! Rest my vain head on thine Eternal Breast! {199A} Spread wide the wings divine Over this shadowy shrine, Where in my heart their hovering leandeth Light! Bend down the amazing Face Of sorrow and of grace, Share the deep vigil of thine eremite! So let the sighing breath Draw on the Hour of Death, Whence wakeneth The Spirit of the Dawn, begotten of the night. THE NAME. SACRED, between the serpent fangs of pain, Ringed by the vortex of the hurricane, Lurks the abyss of fate: the gloomy cave, Sullen as night, and sleepy as a wave When tempest lowers and dare not strike, gapes wide, Vomiting pestilence; the deadly bride Of death, Despair, grins charnel-wise: the gate Of Hope clangs resonant: and starless Fate Glowers like a demon brooding over death. Monstrous and mute, the slow resurgent breath Spreads forth its poison: the pale child at play Coughs in his gutter; the hard slave of day Groans once and dies: the sickly spouse can feel Some cold touch kill the unborn child, and steal Up to her broken heart: the pale hours hang Like death upon the aged: the days clang Like prison portals on the folk of day. Yet for the children of the night they play Like fountains in the moonlight: for the few, The sorrowful, sweet faces of the dew, The laughter-loving daughters of the dawn, Whose moving feet make tremble all the lawn From Hesper to the break of rose and gold, Where Heaven's petals in the East unfold The awful flower of morning: for the folk Bound in one single patient love, a yoke {199A} Too light for fairy fingers to have woven, Too strong for mere archangels to have cloven With adamantine blades from the armoury Of the amazing forges of the sea: The folk that follow with undaunted mein The utmost beauty that their eyes have seen -- O patient sufferers! yet your storm-scarred brows Burn with the star of majesty: your vows Have given you the wisdom and the power To weld eternities within one hour, To bind and braid the north wind's serpent hair, And track the East wind to his mighty lair Even in the caverns of the womb of dawn; To take the South wind and his fire withdrawn And clothe him with your kiss; to seize the West In his gold palace where the sea-winds rest, And hurl him ravening on the breaking foam; To find the Spirit in his glimmering home And draw his secret from unwilling lips; To master earthquake, and the dread eclipse; To dominate the red volcanic rage; To quench the whirlpool, conquering war to wage Against all gods not wholly made as ye, O patient, and O marvellous! I see, I see before me an archangel stand, Whose flaming scimitar, a triple brand, Quivers before him, whose vast eyebrows bend, A million comets: for his locks extend A million flashing terrors: on his breast He bears a mightier cuirass: for his vest All heaven blazes: for his brows a crown Roars into the abyss: his mighty frown Quells many an universe and many an age -- Yea, many eternities! His nostrils rage With fire and fury, and his feet are shod With all the splendours of the avenging God. I see him and I tremble! But my hand Still flings its gesture of supreme command Upwards; my voice still dares to tongue the word That hell and chaos and destruction heard {200A} And ruined, shrieking! yea, my strong voice rolls, That martyr-cry of many slaughtered souls, Utterly potent both to bless and ban -- I, I command thee in the name of Man! He trembled then. And far in thunder rolled Through countless ages, through the infinite gold Beyond existence, grew that master-sound Into the rent and agonized profound, Till even the Highest heard me: and He said, As one who speaks alone among men dead: "Behold, he rules as I the abyss of flame. For lo! he knoweth, and hath said, My Name!" THE EVOCATION. FROM the abyss, the horrible lone world Of agony, more sharp than moonbeams strike The shaken glacier, my cry is hurled, As the avenger lightning. Swiftly whirled, It flings in circles closing serpent-like On the abominable devil-horde I summon to the mastery of the sword. In my white palace, where the flashing dawn Leaps from the girdling bastions, where the light Flames from the talisman as if a fawn Glode through the thickets, where the soul, withdrawn From every element, gleams through the night Into that darkness papable, where They Lurk from the torment of the light of day. Swings the swift sword in paths of vivid blue; Rings the sharp summons in the halls of fear; Flames the great lamen<<1>>; as a fiery dew Falls the keen chanted music; fierce and true Beams the bright diamond of the crowning sphere. {200B} None may withstand the summons: like dead flame Flares darkness deeper, and demands its name. <<1. A plate bearing the Names of God appropriate to the work in hand, with other symbols of power, worn by the exorciser upon his breast.>> Mine eyes peer deeper in the quivering gloom -- What horrors crowd upon the aching sight! Behold! the phantom! Icy as the tomb, His head of writhing scorpions in the womb Of deadlier terrors: how a charnel-light Gleams on his beetle frame! What poison drips Of slime and blood from his disastrous lips! What oceans of decaying water steam For his vast essence! And a voice rolls forth With miserable fury from that stream Of horror: "Thou hast called me by the beam Of glory, by the devastating wrath Of thine accursed godhead: tell me then My Name! Thou hardiest of the Sons of Men!" "Thy name is -- stay! thou liest! I discern In Thee no terror that my spells evoke. Begone, thou wandering corpse of night! return Into thy shadowy world! My symbols burn Against thee, shade of terror! Go!" It spoke: "Yea! I am human. Know my actual truth: I am that ghost, the father of thy youth!" "Poor wandering phantom!" -- the exultant yell And wolfish howling of all damned souls Peals from the ravening jaws and gulfs of hell: Leaps that foul horror through the terrible Extinguished circle of the burning bowls. Then I remember, fling the gleaming rod Against him: "Liar, back! For I am God!" Back flung the baffled corpse. But through the air Looms the more startling vision in the night; {201A} The actual demon of my work is there! Where is the glittering circle? Where, ah, where The radiant bowls whose flame rose fiery bright? I am alone in the absolute abyss; No aid; no helper; no defence -- but this! My left hand seeks the lamen. Once again Fearless I front the awful shape before me, Fearless I speak his Name. My trembling brain Vibrates that Word of Power. I cry amain: "Down, Dweller of the Darkness, and adore me! I am thy Master, and thy God! Behold The Rose of Ruby and the Cross of Gold!<<1>> <<1. "Ave Frater!" "Rosae Rubeae." "Et Aureae Crucis." Greeting of Rosicrucians.>> "I am thy Saviour!" At the kindling word Up springs the dawn-light in the broken bowls; Up leaps the glittering circle. Then I heard A hoarse shrill voice, as if some carrion bird Shrieked, mightier than the storm that rocks and rolls Through desolation: "Thou hast known my Name. What is thy purpose, Master of the Flame?" I made demand: through long appalling hours Stayed he to tempt and try my adamant Purpose: at last the legionary powers Behind him sank affrayed; his visage lowers Less menacing: his head is turned aslant In vain: I bid him kneel and swear: the earth Rocked with the terror of that deadlier birth. He swore: he vanished: the wide sky resounds With echoing thunders: through the blinding night The stars resume their courses: at the bounds Of the four watch-towers cry the waking hounds: "The night is well"; slow steals the ambient light Through all the borders of the universe At that last lifting of my strenuous curse. {201B} Slow steals the ambient light; white peace resumes In planet, element, and sign, her sway. The twisted ether shapes itself: relumes The benediction all the faded fumes With holier incense: in the fervid way All nature rests: with holy calm I blend Blessing and prayer at the appointed end. THE ROSE AND THE CROSS.<<1>> <<1. The symbol of the "Rose and Cross" now replaces that of the"Golden Dawn." We may suppose from this that Crowley was about this time received into the former fraternity.>> OUT of the seething cauldron of my woes, Where sweets and salt and bitterness I flung; Where charmed music gathered from my tongue, And where I chained strange archipelagoes Of fallen stars; where fiery passion flows A curious bitumen; where among The glowing medley moved the tune unsung Of perfect love: thence grew the Mystic Rose. Its myriad petals of divided light; Its leaves of the most radiant emerald; Its heart of fire like rubies. At the sight I lifted up my heart to God and called: How shall I pluck this dream of my desire? And lo! there shaped itself the Cross of Fire! HAPPINESS. IT is the seasonable sun of spring That gilds the all-rejuvenescent air -- New buds, young birds, so happy in the rare Fresh life of earth: myself am bound to sing, Feeling the resurrection crown me king. I am so happy as men never were. Of sorrow much, of suffering a share, Leave me unmoved, or leave me conquering. {202A} O miserable! that is should be so! Lord Jesus, Sufferer for the sins of man, Thou didst invite me to Thy shame and loss. And I am happy! Pity me! Bestow The right to work in the eternal Plan, The right to hang on the eternal Cross! THE LORD'S DAY. THE foolish bells with their discordant clang Summon the harlot-ridden Hell to pray: The vicar's snout is tuned, the curates bray Long gabbled lessons, and their noisy twang Fills the foul worshippers with hate; the fang Of boredom crushes out the holy day, Where whore and jobber sit and gloom, grown grey For hating of each other; the hours hang. But where cliffs tremble, and the wind and sea Calmour, night thunders from the roaring West; I worship in the storm, and fires flee From my gripped lightnings and my burning crest; And when my voice rolls, master of the weather, A thousand mighty angels cry together! BRIGHTON, "January" 1899. CEBERUS. I STOOD within Death's gate, And blew the horn of Hell: Mad laughters echoing against Fate, Harsh groans less terrible, Howled from beneath the vault; in night the avenging thunders swell. The guardian stood aloof, A monster multiform. His armour was of triple proof, His voice out-shrilled the storm. Behind him all the Furies whirl and all the Harpies swarm. {202B} The first face spake and said: "Welcome, O King, art thou! Await thy throne a thousand dead; A crown awaits thy brow, A seven-sting scorpion; for thy rod thou hast a bauble now." The next face spake and said: "Welcome, O Priest, to me! Red blood shall dye thee robes of red, Hell's cries thy litany! Thy mitre sits, divided strength, to end thy church and thee!" The third face spake and said: "Welcome, O Man, to Death! Thy little span of life is sped, Sighed out thy little breath. The worm that never dies is thine; the fire that lingereth!" "Three voices has thy fame, Their music is but one. Fool-demon, slave of night and shame, That canst not see the sun! I am the Lord thy God:<<1>> make thou homage and orison!" <<1. The assumption of the form of the God of the Force whom one addresses is the Egyptian magical spell to subdue it.>> The wild heads sank in fear: Then, troubled, to those eyes Remembrance crept of many a year, Barred gates of Paradise. Again the Voice rolled in the deep, mingled with murmuring sighs: "I mind me of the day One<<1>> came from Death to me; His soul was weary of the day, His look was melancholy; He bade me open in the Name that binds Eternity. <<1. Ieheshua, or "Jesus.">> "Yet though he passed within And plunged within the deep, {203A} The seven palaces of sin, And slept the lonely sleep, Yet came He out alone: but then I thought I heard Them weep. "He passed alone, above, Out of the Gates of Night; Angels of Purity and Love Drew to my sound and sight. I heard Them cry that even there He fixed the eternal Light. "I think beneath these groans, And laughters madness-born, Tears fell that might dissolve the stones That grind the accursed corn. Beneath the deep, beneath the deep, may dwell the star of morn! "Therefore, O God, I pray Redemption for the folk That dread the scourging light of day, That bear the midnight yoke. The Chaos was no less than this -- and there the light awoke." "O Dog of Evil, yea! Thou hast in wisdom said. The glory of the living day Shall shine among the dead. Thy faith shall have a holier task, thy Strength a goodlier stead." Then I withdrew the light Of mine own Godhead up. As stars that close with broken night Their adamantine cup. I sought the solar airs: my soul on its own tears might sup. For in the vast profound Still burns the rescuing sign;<<1>> Beyond all sight and sense and sound The symbol flames divine. For He shall make all life, all death, His solitary shrine. {203B} <<1. The Triangle surmounted by the Cross. This was the symbol of the "Golden Dawn.">> {full page next line} THE HOLY OF HOLIES {col. resumes} THE PALACE OF THE WORLD.<<1>> <<1. Describes the spiritual aspect of the "Lesser Ritual of the Pentagram," which we append, with its explanation. The abstruse nature of many of these poems is well reflected in this one. (i.) Touching the forehead, say Ateh (Unto Thee). (ii.) Touching the breast, say Malkuth (the Kingdom). (iii.) Touching the right shoulder, say ve-Geburah (and the Power). (iv.) Touching the left shoulder, say ve-Gedulah (and the Glory). (v.) Clasping the hands upon the breast, say le-Olahm, Amen (to the Ages, Amen). (vi.) Turning to the East, make a pentagram with the proper weapon. Say HB:Yod-Heh-Vau-Heh. (vii.) Turning to the South, the same, but say HB:Aleph-Dalet-Nun-Yod. (viii.) Turning to the West, the same, but say HB:Aleph-Heh-Yod-Heh. (ix.) Turning to the North, the same, but say HB:Aleph-Gemel-Lamed-Aleph. (x.) Extending the arms in the form of a cross, say -- (xi.) Before me Raphael, (xii.) Behind me Gabriel, (xiii.) On my right hand Michael, (xiv.) On my left hand Auriel, (xv.) for about me flames the Pentagram, (xvi.) and in the Column stands the six-rayed Star. (xvii.-xxi.) Repeat (i.) to (v.), the "Qabalistic Cross." Those who regard this ritual as a mere device to invoke or banish spirits, are unworthy to possess it. Properly understood it is the Medicine of metals and the Stone of the Wise. [Author's Note.]>> THE fragrant gateways of the dawn<<1>> Teem with the scent of flowers. The mother, Midnight, has withdrawn Her slumberous kissing hours: Day springs, with footsteps as a fawn, Into her rosy bowers. <<1. This ritual was given to Neophytes of the Order of the Golden Dawn.>> The pale and holy maiden horn<<1>> In highest heaven is set. {204A} My forehead, bathed in her forlorn Light, with her lips is met; My lips, that murmur in the morn, With lustrous dew are wet. <<1. The moon, as before, signifies Aspiration to the Highest.>> My prayer is mighty with my will; My purpose as a sword<<1>> Flames through the adamant, to fill The gardens of the Lord With music, that the air be still, Dumb to its mighty chord. <<1. For the "Flaming Sword" is the "Pentagram unwound.">> I stand above the tides of time And elemental strife; My figure stands above, sublime, Shadowing the Key of Life,<<1>> And the passion of my mighty rhyme Divides me as a knife. <<1. The arms being extended, and the magus being clad in a Tau-shaped robe and nemmes. The sacred Egyptian headdress, his figure would cast a shadow resembling the Ankh, of "Key of Life.">> For secret symbols on my brow, And secret thoughts within, Compel eternity to Now, Draw the Infinite within. Light is extended.<<1>> I and Thou Are as they had not been.<<2>> <<1. Khabs am Pekht. Konx om Pax. Light in Extension. The mystic words which seal the current of light in the sphere of the aspirant.>> <<2. "Cf." Omar Khayyam the Sufi.>> So on my head the light is one, Unity manifest; A star more splendid than the sun Burns for my crowned crest; Burns, as the murmuring orison Of waters in the west. What angel from the silver gate Flames to my fierier face? What angel, as I contemplate The unsubstantial space? Move with my lips the laws of Fate That bind earth's carapace? {204B} No angel, but the very light And fire in spirit of Her, Unmitigated, eremite, The unmanifested myrrh, Ocean, and night that is not night, The mother-mediator.<<1>> <<1. Binah, the reveler of the Triad of Light.>> O sacred spirit of the Gods!<<1>> O triple tongue!<<2>> Descend, Lapping the answering flame than nods, Kissing the brows that bend Uniting all earth's periods To one exalted end. <<1. Ruach Elohim (see Genesis 1.) adds up to 300 = HB:Shin = Fire.>> <<2. HB:Shin by shape hath a triple tongue.>> Still on the mystic Tree of Life My soul is crucified;<<1>> Still strikes the sacrificial knife Where lurks some serpent-eyed Fear, passion, or man's deadly wife Desire, the suicide! <<1. These archangels are at points on the "Tree of Life" which cause them to surround as described one who is "crucified" thereon.>> Before me dwells the Holy One Anointed Beauty's King;<<1>> Behind me, mightier than the Sun, To whom the cherubs sing, A strong archangel,<<2>> known of none, Comes crowned and conquering. <<1. Raphael dwells in Tiphereth, Beauty.>> <<2. Gabriel, dweller in Yesod, where are the Kerubim.>> An angel stands on my right hand With strength of ocean's wrath;<<1>> Upon my left the fiery brand Charioted fire smites forth:<<2>> Four great archangels to withstand The furies of the path.<<3>> {205A} <<1. Michael, lord of Hod, an Emanation of a watery nature.>> <<2. Auriel, archangel of Netzach, to which Fire is attributed.>> <<3. The path of HB:Taw, or Saturn and Earth, which leads from Malkuth to Yesod indeed, but is dark and illusory. This first step upward attracts the bitterest opposition of all the Enemies of the Human Soul.>> Flames on my front the fiery star, About me and around.<<1>> Pillared, the sacred sun, afar, Six symphonies of sound; Flames, as the Gods themselves that are; Flames, in the abyss profound.<<2>> <<1. As asserted in the ritual.>> <<2. It flames both above and beneath the magus, who is thus in a cube of 4 pentagrams and 2 hexagrams, 32 points in all. And 32 is HB:Aleph-Heh-Yod-Heh-Vau-Heh, the sacred word that expresses the Unity of the Highest and the Human.>> The spread arms drop like thunder! So Rings out the lordlier cry, Vibrating through the streams that flow In ether to the sky, The moving archipelago, Stars in their seigneury. Thine be the kingdom! Thine the power! The glory triply thine!<<1>> Thine, through Eternity's swift hour, Eternity, thy shrine -- Yea, by the holy lotus-flower, Even mine!<<2>> <<1. As in ritual.>> <<2. Supreme affirmation of Unity with the Highest in the Lotus, the universal symbol of Attainment.>> THE MOUNTAIN CHRIST.<<1>> <<1. Composed during a solitary ramble across the Col du Geant.>> O WORLD of moonlight! Visionary vale Of ocean-sleeping mountains! Mighty chasm Within whose wild abyss there chants the pale, The dolorous phantasm Of wrecked white womanhood! The wizard cold Grips the mute valley in his grasp of gold! {205B} Yonder the hatred of the dismal steep Sweeps up to wrathful thunders, that are curled In billowy menace, as the deadlier deep That menaces the world With breaking foam: so hangs the glacier, rent By giant sunrays, in the frost-grip pent. Yonder again rears up the craggy wall Its cleaving head to heaven: thither I Clomb the vast terrors, where the echoing fall Roars stony from the sky. Thither I pressed at midnight, and the dawn Saw my swift feet move faster than the fawn. Pale seas of blue soft azure lie beyond, Far o'er the gleaming green: the smoke is risen Out of the cloudy north; the incense-wand That binds dead souls in prison, That prison of the day, when sleepless dead Rest for awhile from agony and dread. Strange! how a certain fear possesses me Alone amid their crag-bound solitude. Even beyond the keen delight -- to Be -- Steals that diviner mood Of wonder at the miracle -- the plan Of Nature crowned by the astounding Man! The secret of the Lord is set with him That wonders at His majesty:<<1>> his praise Wells from no trembler's misery: his hymn Swells the exultant day's. His psalm wings upward, and reflected down Even in Hell makes music and renown. <<1. See the Psalms of David. "Wonders" is a correcter rendering than "fears.">> Yea! for the echo of the anthem rolls Down to the lost unfathomable deep. Down, to the darkness of all shades and souls, The founts of music sweep. Even the devils in the utter night Feel it the saving, not the avenging light. {206A} Yea! for the worship of my secret song Vibrates through every chasm of the world: Its sound is caught by angels, and made strong! By sylphs, and dewed, and pearled With fairy melodies, and borne, alone, Aloft, to the immeasurable throne. O mighty palace of immortal stone! O glamour of the fathomless gray snow! O clouds! O whirlwinds of my mountain throne! I charge your souls to go Unto the souls of men, and bid them rise Toward redemption, and the unsullied eyes. I charge you go and whisper unto men The solemn glories of your secret mind, Making them pure, and wise; return ye then Unto your proper kind, Having thus offered water, blood, and tears, For the remission of our carrion years.<<1>> <<1. See the Prayer of the Undines, given by Eliphaz Levi and some other writers on occult subjects.>> So deepen all the mountains: even so The wandering shadows close upon the day; The sunlight burns its fading ruby glow On the chaotic way. Night falls, and I must tread the dizzy steep Again, to plunge to the devouring deep. The blessing of the Highest shall be set On your white heads, O monarchs of the snow! The blessing of the Highest, lightening yet The burdens that ye know. So, as three golden arrows of the sun Strike, may the threefold sacrament be One! O visionary valley of my Soul! When shall thy beauty, even thine, be made As pure and mighty as these hills that roll In mist and sun and shade? O thou! the Highest! make my will as thine, My consciousness, the consciousness divine! {206B} TO ALLAN BENNETT MACGREGOR.<<1>> <<1. Now a Buddhist recluse in Burma. In England he was a martyr to spasmodic asthma, which, however, could not quench, could hardly dull even, the fire of his soul.>> O MAN of Sorrows: brother unto Grief! O pale with suffering, and dumb hours of pain! O worn with Thought! thy purpose springs again The Soul of Resurrection: thou art chief And lord of all thy mind: O patient thief Of God's own fire! What mysteries find fane In the white shrine of thy white spirit's reign, Thou man of Sorrows: O, beyond belief! Let perfect Peace be with thee: let thy days Prosper in spite of thine unselfish soul; And as thou lovest, so let Love increase Upon thee and about thee: till thy ways Gleam with the splendour of that secret goal Whose long war grows the great abiding peace. THE ROSICRUCIAN. A SA MAJESTE JACQUES IV D'ECOSSE.<<1>> <<1. Supposed to have escaped from Flodden, and become an Adept: to have reappeared as the "Comte de St. Germain," and later (so hinted Mr. S. L. Mathers) as Mr. S. L. Mathers.>> I SEE the centuries wax and wane. I know their mystery of pain, The secrets of the living fire, The key of life: I live: I reign: For I am master of desire. Silent, I pass amid the folk Caught in its mesh, slaves to its yoke. Silent, unknown, I work and will Redemption, godhead's master-stroke, And breaking of the wands of ill. {207A} No man hath seen beneath my brows Eternity's exultant house. No man hath noted in my brain The knowledge of my mystic spouse. I watch the centuries wax and wane. Poor, in the kingdom of strong gold, My power is swift and uncontrolled. Simple, amid the maze of lies; A child, among the cruel old, I plot their stealthy destinies. So patient, in the breathless strife; So silent, under scourge and knife; So tranquil, in the surge of things; I bring them from the well of Life, Love, from celestial water-springs! From the shrill fountain-head of God I draw out water with the rod Made luminous with light of power. I seal each aeon's period, And wait the moment and the hour. Aloof, alone, unloved, I stand With love an worship in my hand. I commune with the Gods: I wait Their summons, and I fire the brand. I speak their Word: and there is Fate. I know no happiness, no pain, No swift emotion, no disdain, No pity: but the boundless light Of the Eternal Love, unslain, Flows through me to redeem the night. Mine is a sad-slow life: but I, I would not gain release, and die A moment ere my task be done. To falter now were treachery -- I should not dare to greet the sun! Yet, in one hour I dare not hope, The mighty gate of Life may ope, And call me upwards to unite (Even my soul within the scope) With That Unutterable Light. {207B} Steady of purpose, girt with Truth, I pass, in my eternal youth, And watch the centuries wax and wane: Untouched by Time's corroding tooth, Silent, immortal, unprofane! My empire changes not with time. Men's kingdoms cadent as a rhyme Move me as waves that rise and fall. They are the parts, that crash or climb; I only comprehend the All. I sit, as God must sit; I reign. Redemption from the threads of pain I weave, until the veil be drawn. I burn the chaff, I glean the grain; In silence I await the dawn. THE ATHANOR. LIBERTINE touches of small fingers creep Among my curls to-night: pale ghastly kisses Like mournful ghosts roused from their ruined sleep By clamorous cries of murder. Strange abysses Loom in the vista keen eyes penetrate, Vague forecasts of immeasurable fate. O thou beloved blood, that wells and weeps! O thou beloved mouth, that beats and bleeds! O mystic bosom where some serpent sleeps, Sweet mockery of a thousand saintlier creeds! Even I, that breathe your perfume, taste your breath, Know, even this hour, ye are not life, but death! No death ye bring more godlike than desire, When seas roar tempest-lashed, and foam is flung {208A} Raging on pitiless crags, and gloomy fire Lurks in the master-clooud; corpses are swung Helpless and horrible in trough and crest -- That death were music, and the lord of rest. No death ye bring as when the storm is rolled, An imminent giant on the sun-ripped snows, Where icy fingers grip the overbold Son of their secrets, and like springes close On his cloked throat and frozen body -- Nay! That death were twilight, and the gate of Day! No death ye bring as his, that grips the flag In desperate fingers, and with bloody sword Flames up the thundering breach, while bastioned crag, Glacis, and pent-hoouse belch their monstrous horde Of hideous engines shattering -- this strife Clears the straight road of Glory and of Life! Nay: but the hateful death that stings the soul Into rebellion; the insensate death That chokes its own delight with words that roll Mightier-mouthed than the archangel's breath; The death that murders courage ere it drink The soul's own life-blood on the desperate brink! So, from the languid fingers in my curls And dreamy worship of a woman's eyes, I look beyond the miserable whirls Of foolish measures woven in the skies; Beyond the thoughtless stars: beyond God's sleep: Beyond the deep: beneath the deadly deep! {208B} Infinite rings of luminous ether move At first amid the blackness that I seek: Infinite motion and amazing love Deaden the lustre of the night. I speak The cry of silence, that is heard unspoken; That, being heard, rings evermore unbroken. Silence, deep silence. Not a shudder stirs The vast demesne of unforgetful space, No comet's lunatic rush; no meteor whirs, No star dares breathe, no planet knows his place In that supreme unquiet quietude. I am the master of my own deep mood. I am the master. Yea, no doubt I rule The whole mad universe by will extended<<1>> -- Who whispers then, "O miserable fool! This night thy might and majesty are ended; Thy soul shall be required of thee"? I heard This voice, and knew it for my proper word! <<1. "Cf." Fichte.>> Yes, mine own voice: the higher spirit speaks, Stemming the hands that guide, the arms that hold, Even the infinite brain: that spirit seeks A loftier dawn of more ephemeral gold -- Ephemeral, and eternal: droop thine head, O God! for thou must suffer this: I said! Droop thy wide pinions, O thou mortal God! Sink thy vast forehead, and let Life consume The miserable life thy feet have trod Beneath them, that thine own life in its doom Fall, in its resurrection to arise; Stoop, that its holier hope may cleave the skies. Power, power, and power! O single sacrifice On thine own altar: let thy savour steam Up, through the domes of broken Paradise; Up, by Euphrates'<<1>> unimagined stream; Up, by strange river and mysterious lawn To some impossible diadem of dawn! {209A} <<1. Or Phrath, the Fourth River of the Mystic Eden, flowing from Tiphereth to Yesod.>> So the mere orderly ruling of events Shall change and blossom to a finer flower Until it serve to worlds and elements For aspiration in the nobler hour -- Not mere repression, but the hope and crown Of fallen hierarchies no more cast down. O misery of triple love and grief And hope! O joy of hatred and despair And happiness! The little hour is brief, And the lithe fingers soothe the listless hair Less, and the kisses swoon to tenderer sighs And little sobs of sleeping ecstasies. No! for the envy of the infinite Crushes the juice from out the poppy's stem, And brown-stained fingers wring the petals white. And weary lips seek lotus-life in them Vainly: the lotus burns above the tomb -- Yea, but in thought's unfathomable womb! For spiritual life and love and light Climb the swayed ladder of our various fate; The steep rude stair that mocks the hero's might, Casts off the wise, and crumbles with the great. Yet from the highest crown no blossom fell, Save one, to bring salvation unto Hell. O angel of my spiritual desire!<<1>> O luminous master of the silver feet! O passionate rose of infinite white fire! O cross of sacrifice made bitter-sweet! O wide-wing, star-brow, veritable lord! O mystic bearer of the flaming sword! <<1. The "Genius" of Socrates; the "Holy Guardian Angel" of Abramelin the Mage; or the "Higher Self" of the Theosophists.>> O brows half see, O visionary star Seen in the fragrant breezes of the East! O lover of my love, O avatar Of the All-One, O mystical High Priest! O thou before whose eyes my weak eyes fail, Wonderful warden of the Holy Grail! {209B} O thou, mine angel, whom these eyes have seen, These hands have handled, and this mouth has kissed! O thou, the very tongue of fire, the clean Sweet-scented presence of a holier Christ! Listen, and answer, and behold! My wings Droop, O thou stronger than the immortal kings! My flame burns dim! O bring the broken jar And alabaster casket, and dispense The oil that flows from that supernal star, And holy fountains of the Influence.<<1>> Bring peace, and strength, and quicken in my heart Mastery of night-fear and the day-flung dart. <<1. From Kether, the Vast Countenance, are said to flow "13 fountains of magnificent oil" through Mezla, the Influence, upon Tiphereth, the Lesser Countenance.>> Yea! from the limit of the fallen day, And barren ocean of ungathered Time, Bring Night, and bring Eternity, and stay With white wings pointing where tired feet may climb: Even the pathway where shed blood ran deep To build red roses in the land of Sleep. O guardian of the palled hours of night! O tireless watcher of the smitten noon! O sworded with the majesty of light, O girded with the glory of the moon! Angel of absolute splendour! Link of mine Old weary spirit with the All-Divine! Ship that shalt carry me by many winds Driven on the limitless ocean! Mighty sword, By which I force that barrier of the mind's Miscomprehension of its own true lord! Listen, and answer, and behold my brow Fiery with hope! Bend down, and touch it now! {210A} Press the twin dawn of thy desirous lips In the swart masses of my hair; bend close, And shroud all earth in masterless eclipse, While my heart's murmur through thy being flows, To carry up the prayer, as incense teems Skyward, to those immeasurable streams! Breathe the creative Sign upon my mouth That even the body may become the soul: Cry, as the chained Eagle of the South, "A house of death,"<<1>> and make my spirit whole! Touch with pure balm the five mysterious wounds! Come! come away! but not your mighty sounds!<<1>> <<1. See the "48 Calls or Keys" of Dr. Dee, from which this is quoted.>> O wind of all the world! O silent river! O sea of seas! O flower of all flowers O fire! O spirit! Beam thou on for ever Through aeons of illimitable hours! Kiss thy my forehead, let thy tender breath Woo me to life, and my desire to death! I shall be ready for it by-and-by, That sharp initiation, when the whole Body is torn with sundering pangs, and I, The very conscious essence of the soul, Am rent with agony, as when the pale Christ heard the shriek of the dividing veil. That awful mystery, its heart torn out, Palpitates on the altar-stone of life: That broken self, that hears the triumph-shout Of its own voice beneath the falling knife, When, like a bad dream changing, swiftly grows A new soul's joy, a fuller-pettaled rose. Many the spirits broken for one man; Many the men that perish to create One God the more; many the weary and wan Old Gods that die to constitute a Fate: How many Fates then, think you, must control The stainless aspiration of the soul? {210B} Not one. I tell you, destiny is sure, Yet moves no finger: though it tune my tongue, My tongue hall tune it too: my words endure As destiny decays: my hands are flung In prayer to Heaven nay, to mine own crown, To raise myself, and not to drag it down!<<1>> <<1. An allusion to the sign called "Enterer of the Threshold," in which the Egyptian Gods often stand. It is a sign of high initiation (if you know the rest!) and implies the gathering of force from the Gods and its projection as will toward any object.>> O holiest Lord of the divine white flame Of brilliance sworded in the temple sky! O thou who knowest my most secret name, Who whisperest when only thou and I Make up our universe: bestow thy kiss: Arise! Come, let us pierce the old abyss! Rise! Move! Appear! Let us go forth together, Into the solemn passionless profound, Into the darkness, and the thrilling weather, Into the silence louder than all sound, Into the vast implacable inane! Come, let us journey thither once again! THE CHANT TO BE SAID OR SUNG UNTO OUR LADY ISIS. ROLL through the caverns of matter, the world's irremovable bounds! Roll, ye wild billows of ether! the Sistron<<1>> is shaken and sounds! Wild and sonorous the clamour, vast in the region of death, Live with the fire of the Spirit, the essence and flame of the breath! Sound, O sound! {211A} <<1. A musical instrument used for religious purposes by the Egyptians. It consisted of an oval framework (with a handle) crossed by four wires loosely fixed, which on being shaken gave forth a musical sound.>> Gleam in the world of the dark, where the chained ones shall tremble and flee! Gleam in the skies of the dusk, for the Light of the Dawn is in me! Light on the forehead, and life in the nostrils, and love in the breast, Shine, O thou Star of the Dawning, thou Sun of the Radiant Crest! Shine, O shine! Flame through the sky in the strength of the chariot-wheels of the Sun! Flame, ye young fingers of light, on the West of the morning that run! Flame, O thou Meteor Car, for my fire is exalted in thee! Lighten the darkness and herald the day-light, and awaken the sea! Flame, O flame! Crown Her, O crown Her with stars as with flowers for a virginal gaud! Crown Her, O crown Her with Light and the flame of the down-rushing Sword! Crown Her, O crown Her with Love for maiden and mother and wife! Hail unto Isis! Hail! For She is the Lady of Life! Isis crowned! A LITANY. THE ghosts of abject days flit by; The bloated goblins of the past; Dim ghouls in soulless apathy; Fates imminent, and dooms aghast! O Mother Mout,<<1>> O Mother Night, Give me the Sun of Life and Light!<<2>> {211B} <<1. Mout, the Vulture Goddess of The Womb of Years.>> <<2. "Mother, give me the Sun!" This, the tragedy-word of Ibsen's"Ghosts," served as inception -- by reversal -- of this poem.>> The shadows of my hopes devoured, The crown of my intent cast down, The hate that shone, the love that lowered, Make up God's universal frown. O Lord, O Hormakhou,<<1>> display The rosy earnest of the day! <<1. The Dawn-God.>> The mighty pomp of desolate Dead kings, a pageant, moves along; Dead queens unite in desperate, Unsatisfied, unholy song. O Khephra,<<1>> manifest in flesh, Arise, create the world afresh! <<1. The Beetle-Headed God, who brings light out of darkness, for He is the Sun at Midnight.>> The silence of my heart is one With memory's insatiate night; I hardly dare to hope the sun. I seek the darkness, not the light. O Lord Harpocrates,<<1>> be still The moveless centre of my will! <<1. God of Silence. Usually shown as a child.>> My sorrows are more manifold Than His that bore the sins of man. My sins are like the starry fold, My hopes their desolation wan. O Nuit,<<1>> the starry one, arise, And set thy starlight in my skies! <<1. The bowed Goddess of the Stars. Shown as a naked woman, her hands and feet on the earth, the arms and legs much elongated, so that her body arches the firmament.>> In darkness, in the void abyss, I grope with vain despairing arms. The silence as a serpent is, The rustle of the world alarms. O Horus,<<1>> Light in Darkness, bless My failure with thine own success! <<1. The Hawk-headed Lord of Strength, the Avenger of Osiris' death.>> My suffering is keen as theirs That in Amenti taste of death; {212A} Not mine own pains create these prayers: For them I claim the living Breath. O Lord Osiris,<<1>> bend and bring All winters to thy sign of Spring! <<1. The Redeemer by His suffering.>> Poor folly mine: I cannot see Save from one corner of one star! So many millions over me; So many, and the next, how far! O Wisdom-crowned Ta-hu-ti,<<1>> lend Thy magic: let my light extend!<<2>> <<1. Thoth, the Ibis God. Equivalent to the higher Hermes.>> <<2. Khabs am Pekht again.>> I cannot comprehend one truth. My sight is biassed, and my mind -- One snake-skin though is of its youth; Grows old, and casts the slough behind. O Themis,<<1>> Lady of the plume, Shed thy twin godhead in the gloom! <<1. Goddess of Justice.>> How ugly is this life of mine! How slimes it in the terrene mud! Clouds hide the beauty all-divine, The moonlight has a mist of blood. O Hathoor,<<1>> Lady of the West, Take thy sad lover to thy breast! <<1. Goddess of Beauty and Love.>> Even the perfumes of the dawn Intoxicate, deceive the soul. Let every shadow be withdrawn! Let there be Light, supreme and whole! O Ra,<<1>> thou golden Lord of Day, The Sun of Righteousness display! <<1. The Hawk-headed God, the Sun in his strength.>> The burden is so hard to bear. It took too adamant a cross; This sackcloth rends my soul to wear; My self-denial is as dross! O Shu,<<1>> that holdest up the sky, Hold thou thy servant, lest he die! {212B} <<1. The Egyptian Atlas -- a rebours.>> Nature is one with my distress. The flowers are dull, the stars are pale. I am the Soul of Nothingness. I cannot lift the golden veil. O Mother Isis,<<1>> let thine eyes Behold my grief, and sympathise! <<1. Nature: the beginning.>> I cannot round the perfect wheel, Attain not to the fuller end. In part I love, in part I feel, Know, worship, will, and comprehend. O mother Nephthys,<<1>> fill me up Thine own perfection's deadly cup! <<1. Perfection: the end.>> My aspiration quails within me; "My heart is fixed," in vain I cry; The little loves and whispers win me: -- "Eli, lama sabacthani!" {213A} O Chomse,<<1>> moon-god, grant thy boon, The silver pathway of the moon! <<1. See previous explanation of moon-symbolism.>> Beyond the Glory of the Dawn, Beyond the Splendour of the Sun, Thy secret Spirit is withdrawn, The plumes of the Concealed One. Amoun!<<1>> upon the Cross I cry, "I am Osiris, even I!" <<1. The Supreme and Concealed One. Osiris, justified by trial, purified through suffering, can at the moment of his crucifixion -- which is also his equilibration -- attain to him.>> O Thou! the All, the many-named, The One in many manifest: Let not my spirit be ashamed, But win to its eternal rest! Thou Self from Nothing! bring Thou me Unto that Self which is in Thee! AMEN. {213B} {full page below} THE EPILOGUE IS SILENCE {213} CARMEN SAECULARE<<1>> 1900 {col. resumes} <<1. Crowley, and Irishman, was passionately attached to the Celtic movement, and only abandoned it when he found that it was a mere mask for the hideous features of Roman Catholicism. WEH NOTE: Contrary to this note in the text, Crowley was English. He represented himself as Irish or Scottish in part through rejection of English manner and national characteristics. At some point after writing "Carmen Saeculare" he (1) discovered that the overwhelming majority of anti-British Irish are Roman Catholic and (2) broke up with a Roman Catholic paramour.>> PROLOGUE. THE EXILE. "The Sun, surmounted by a red rose, shining on a mossy bank."<<1>> <<1. This is the heraldic description of Crowley's crest.>> OVER the western water lies a solar fire, Rapt lives and drunken ecstasies of sad desire; Poppies and lonely flag-flowers haunt the desolate Marsh-strand: the herons gaunt still contemplate What was delight, is ruin, may breed love again, Even as darkness breeds the day: when life is slain. . . . . . O who will hear my chant, my cry; my voice who hear, Even in this weary misery, this danker mere, Me, in mine exile, who am driven from yonder mountains Blue-gray, and highland airs of heaven, and moving fountains? Me, who shall hear me? Am I lost, a broken vessel, Caught in the storm of lies and tossed, forbid to wrestle? Shall not the sun rise lively yet, the rose yet bloom, The crown yet lift me, life beget flowers on the tomb? I was born fighter. Think you then my task is done, My work, my Father's work for men, the rising sun? {214A} Who calls me coward? Let them wait awhile! Shall I Bow down a loyal head to fate: despair and die? I hear the sea roll strong and pure that bore me far From Mealfourvonie's<<1>> scalp, gray moor and lonely scaur; I hear the waves together mutter in counsel deep; I hear the thunder the winds utter in broken sleep; I hear the voices of four rivers crying aloud; Four angels trumpet, and earth shivers: the heavens shroud Their faces in blank terror for the sound of them: The mountains are disturbed and roar: the azure hem That laps all lands is broken, lashed in fiery foam, And all God's thunderbolts are crashed -- against my home. Written in heaven, written on earth, written in the deep, Written by God's own finger-birth; the stars may weep, The sun rejoice, that see at last His vengeance strike; The fury of destruction's blast; the fiery spike As of an arrow of adamant, comet or meteor: "The dog returneth to his vomit: the ancient whore<<2>> {214B} That sitteth upon many waters, even she That called together all her daughters upon the sea; That clad herself in crimson silk and robes of black And gave men blood instead of milk; and made a track Of lives and gold and dust and death on land and sea, She is fallen, is fallen! Her breath I take to me. That which I gave I take, and that she thought to build, I, even I, will break it flat: my curse fulfilled. No stone of London soon shall stand upon another, No son of her throughout the land shall know his brother. I will destroy her who is rotten: from the face Of earth shall fail the misbegotten, root and race; And the fair country unto them again I give, Whom in long exile men contemn: for they shall live." Yea, they shall live! The Celtic race! Amen! And I Give praise, and close mine eyes, cover my face, and laugh -- and die. <<1. A mountain on Loch Ness, opposite the poet's home.>> <<2. England.>> "CARMEN SAECULARE." "I prophesy, with feet upon a grave, Of death cast out, and life devouring death. . . . . . Of freedom, though all manhood were one slave; Of truth, though all the world were liar; slave; Of truth, though all the world were liar; of love, That time nor hate can raze the witness of." SWINBURNE, "Tiresias." NINE voices that raise high the eternal hymn! Nine faces that ring round the rainbow sky! Hear me! The century's lamp is growing dim; Saturnian gloom descends and it must die. Fill, fill my spirit to the utter brim With fire and melody! {215A} O nine sweet sisters! I have heard your song In blue soft waters and in stern grey seas; I listen for your voices in the throng; I languish for your deadly melodies! Yet, when I hear the sound for which I long, My soul is not at ease. There rings an iron music in my ears; A Martial cadence, chorus of the Hours: The years of plenty, the abundant years Flee, as the halcyon from the dying flowers. The chariot of Miseries and Fears Marshals its sombre powers. Take up thy pen and write! I must obey. No shrinking at that terrible command! Their voices mingle in the feeble lay, Their fire impulses the reluctant hand. My words must prophesy the avenging day And curse my native land. How have I love thee in thy faithlessness Beneath the rule of those unspeakable!<<1>> How would I shield thee from this sorceress That holds my words imprisoned in her spell! I would be silent. And the words obsess My spirit. It is well. <<1. The House of Hanover.>> O England! England, mighty England, falls! None shall lament her lamentable end! The Voice of Justice thunders at her walls. She would not hear. She shall not comprehend! The nations keep their mocking carnivals: She hath not left a friend! The harlot that men called great Babylon, In crimson raiment and in sooth attire, The scarlet leprosy that shamed the sun, The gilded goat that plied the world for hire; -- Her days of wealth and majesty are done: Men trample her for mire! {215B} The temple of their God is broken down; Yea, Mammon's shrine is cleansed! The house of her That cowed the world with her malignant frown, And drove the Celt to exile and despair, Is battered now -- God's fire destroys the town; London admits God's air. They scorned the god that made them; yea, they said: "Lords of this globe, the Saxon race, are we. "Europe before us lies, as men lie dead; "Britannia -- ho! Britannia rules the sea!" This night thy kingdom shall be finished, Thy soul required of thee. Hail! France! because thy freedom hath rebelled Against the alien, and the golden yoke;<<1>> Because thy justice lives and reigns, unquelled, Unbribed;<<2>> because thy head above the smoke Soars, eagle! Tribulation hath not felled Thy freedom's ancient oak! <<1. The Jews. WEH NOTE: Crowley later came to like the Jews for a time, while he had a Jewish paramour.>> <<2. The verdict of Rennes.>> Therefore, this message of the Gods to thee! What banner floats above thy bastions? The oriflamme, the golden fleur-de-lys? The eagle, or the tricolour? Thy sons Choose their own flag, contented to be free, With freemen's orisons. The mist is gathering on the seer's sight -- I cannot see the future of thy state. Or, am I dazzled by resounding light? I know this thing -- thy future shall be great! Come war, come revolution! In their spite Thou mayst compel thy Fate. {216A} O German Empire! Let thy sons beware, Not crowding sordid towns for lust of gold, Not all forgetful of the herdsman's care, Not arming all men in an iron mould. Peaceful be thou: and watching and with prayer. But be not overbold. Fall, Austria! In the very day and hour That reverend head that holds thee in its awe Shall sink in peace, I see thy rotten power Break as the crumbling ice-floe in the thaw. Destruction shatters thy blood-builded tower. Death has thee in his maw. Stand, Russia! Let thy freedom grow in peace, Beneath the constant rule, the changing Czar. Thy many, thine inhospitable seas Shall ring thee round, a zodiac to thy star, And Frost, the rampart of thine iron ease, Laugh at the shock of war. Turn, Italy! The Voice is unto Thee! Return, poor wounded maiden, to thy home! Thou hast well tried a spurious liberty: Thou art made captive; let thy fancy roam To the great Mother, deeper than the sea, And fairer than the foam. O Gateway of the admirable East! Hold fast thy Faith! Let no man take thy Crown! The Birds of Evil, that were keen to feast, (Fools cried) but herald thy renewed renown. Mad Christians see in thee the Second Beast, But shall not shake thee down. {216B} Therefore reign thou, saith God, august, alone, White-winged to East and West, and albatross, "Abdul the Damned, on thy infernal throne!"<<1>> Allah can wed the Crescent and the Cross! According to the wisdom thou hast shown Mete thou thy gain and loss! <<1. A notorious phrase, from the hysterical sonnets of a poetaster of the period.>> O melancholy ruin, that wert Greece! What little comfort canst thou take from time? Years pass, in shameful war or sordid peace -- What god can recreate thee, the sublime? Alas! let Lethe roll her sleepy seas Over thy ruined clime. O piteous fallen tyranny of Spain! What dogs are tearing at thy bowels yet? Let thine own King,<<2>> saith God, resume his reign! Loyal and happy seasons may forget The ancient scars. Thy moon is on the wane? Thy sun may never set! <<1. Don Carlos.>> And thou, foul oligarchy of the West, Thou, soiled with bribes and stained with treason's stain, Thou, heart of coin beneath a brazen breast, Rotten republic, prostitute of gain! Thou, murderer of the bravest and the best That fringed thy southern main!<<1>> <<1. In the Civil War, 1861-1864. WEH NOTE: This is the American Civil War.>> The doom is spoken. Thine own children tear Thy cruel heart and thy corrupted tongue; Thy toilers snare thee in thine own foul snare, And sting thee were thy gilded worms had stung. The politician and the millionaire Regain maternal dung. {217A} They only shall thy liberty arise; Then only shall thine eagle shake his wings, And sunward soar through the unsullied skies, And careless watch the destiny of kings. Then only shall truth's angel in thine eyes Perceive eternal things. The oracle is suddenly grown still. Only, mine eyes, unweary of the sight, Pierce through the dawn-mist of the sacred hill And yearn toward the rose of love and light. My lips, that drank the Heliconian rill, Murmur with slow delight. I see the faces of the lyric Nine! The Rose of God its petals will unfold! I madden with the ecstasy divine! My soul leaps sunwards, shrieking -- and behold! Out of the ocean and the kindling brine Apollo's face of gold! What music, what delirium, what delight! What dancing madness catches at my feet! A tongue of fresh, impossible, keen light Burns on my brow -- a silver stream of heat. I am constrained: The Awful Word I write From the one Paraclete. The Reign of Darkness hath an end. Behold! Eight stars are gathered in one fiery sign.<<1>> This is the birth-hour of the Age of Gold; The false gold pales before the Gold divine. The Christ is calling to the starry fold Of Souls -- Arise and shine! {217B} <<1. Eight planets were together in the "fiery" sign, Sagittarius, towards the close of the year 1899.>> The Isis of the World hath raised her veil One moment, that fresh glory of the stars May glow through winter, where the sun is pale; Melt snow-bound lilies; bid the prison bars, Wherein men bow their heads and women wail, Blossom to nenuphars. The sacred lotus of the universe Blossoms this century -- a million tears Melted the ice of Eve's accursed curse: A million more have watered it -- it peers, A resurrection fragrance, to disperse Men's folly and their fears. The contemplation of those awful eyes, The flaming void, the godhead of the light, The abyss of these unfathomable skies, Exhaust my being; I desire the night. Lo! I have written all the destinies Thy spirit bade me write. The noise of rushing water! And the sound Of tenfold thunder! Mighty a flame of fire Roars downward: as a maiden from a swound My spirit answers to its own desire. My feet are firm again upon the ground -- Yea! but my head is higher. My face is shining with the fire of heaven. I move among my fellows as a ghost. With thought for bread and memory for leaven My life is nourished, yet my life is lost. I live and move among the starry seven, Nor count the deadly cost. Only I see the century as a child Call Truth and Justice, Light and Peace, to guide; Wisdom and Joy, and Love the undefiled, Lead up true worship, its eternal bride. Stormy its birth; its youth, now fierce and wild! Its end, how glorified! {218A} O Spirit of Illimitable Light! O Thou with style and tablet!<<1>> Answer me In that dread pomp of Triumph and of Right, The awful day: my witnesses are Ye That I have said in all men's sound and sight The things that are to be. <<1. Thoth, the Scribe of the Gods.>> IN THE HOUR BEFORE REVOLT. ". . . the green paradise which western waves Embosom in their ever-wailing sweep, Talking of freedom to their tongueless caves, Or to the spirits which within them keep A record of the wrongs which, though they sleep, Die not, but dream of retribution." "Adonais [cancelled passage]." WILD pennons of sunrise the splendid, And scarlet of clustering flowers Cry aloud that the Winter is ended, Claim pace for the re-risen hours. The Ram in the Heavens exalted<<1>> Calls War to uncover her wing; Through skies that be hollow and vaulted Exulting the shouts of him ring: The Sign of the Spring. <<1. Aries, the sign which the Sun enters at the Vernal Equinox, is"ruled" by Mars, the planet of War.>> How hollows the heart of the heaven! How light swells his voice for a cry! The winter is shaken and riven, And death and the fruits of him die. The billow roars back to its tyrant, The wind; the red thunderbolts roar; The flame and the earthquake aspirant Leap forth as an herald before The trumpet of war. In crimson he robes him for raiment, In armour all rusted and red: Spear shakes and sword flashes, exclaimant To share in the spoil of the dead. {218B} A helmet flames forth on his forehead, Gold sparks from the forge of the stars, His shield with the Gorgon made horrid Hath blood on its bull-battled bars -- Thou God of me, Mars! He strides through the vibrating aether; Spurns earth from His warrior feet; Shakes fire from the forges beneath her; His glances are fervid and fleet. With a cry that makes tremble the thunder, Light-speared, with a sword that is flame, He bursts the vast spaces asunder. His angels arise and proclaim: The Lord is His Name! O Lord! Thou didst march out of Edom! Thou leapedst from the Mountains of Seir! The breath of Thy voice was as Freedom! The nations did tremble with fear. The heathen, their fury forsook them; The Moabites trembled and fled. O Lord, when Thy countenance shook them. Thy voice in the House of the Dead. O Lord! Thou has said! The lightnings were kindled and lightened, Thy thunder was heard on the deep; The stars with Thy Fear shook and whitened, The sun and the moon in the steep. The sea rose in tumult and clamour, The Earth also shook with Thee then, As Thor had uplifted his hammer, And smitten the mutinous men. O! rise Thou again! The voice of the Lord is uplifted; The wilderness also obeys; The flames of the fire they are rifted; The waves of the sea know His ways. The cedars of Lebanon hear Thee, The desert of Kadesh hath known; The Sons of Men know Thee and fear Thee, Flee far from the Light of Thy Throne. For Thou art alone. {219A} O Lord! Is Thy path in the Water, The marvellous ways of the Deep? Not there, O not there! Wilt Thou slaughter Oblivion's sons in their sleep? Hath the deep disobeyed Thee or risen In wrath and revolt to Thy sky, Broken loose from the bands of her prison? Held counsel against the Most High? Yea, even as I! But I, O most Mighty, invoke Thee, Whose footsteps are in the Unknown. My cries were the cries that awoke Thee, Upstarting in arms from Thy Throne! I call Thee, I pray Thee, I chide Thee, Whose glory my foes have abhorred. My spirit is fixed, may abide Thee, Awake the Invisible Sword. For Thou art the Lord! Look down upon earth and behold us Few folk who have sworn to be free. Past days, when the traitors had sold us, We trample; we call upon Thee! Look Thou on the armed ones, the furious, The Saxons! they brandish the steel; Heaven rings with their insults injurious; Earth moans for their harrow and wheel. To Thee we appeal. They boast, though their triumph Hell's gift is, On Africa's desperate sons: "Our thousands have conquered their fifties; Our twenties have murdered their ones." That glory -- that shame -- let them trumpet To Europe's unquickening ear. List Thou to the boast of the strumpet! Lend Thou, Thou indignant, an ear! Then -- shall they not fear? O Lord, to Thy strength in the thunder, Thy chariot-wheels in the war, We, Ireland, look upward and wonder, The Sword of Thee smiting before. {219B} In the hour of Revolt that burns nigher Each hour as it leaps to the sky, We look to Thee, Lord for Thy Fire; We look -- shall Thy Justice deny? Well, can we not die? But Thou, Thou shalt fall from the heaven As hail on the furious host. I see them: their legions are driven; Their cohorts are broken and lost. Thy fire hath dispersed them and shattered! They hesitate, waver, and flee! Thy tyrant is shaken and scattered, And Ireland is clear to the Sea! Green Erin is free! Hail! Hail to Thee, Lord of us, Horus!<<1>> All hail to the warrior name! Thy chariots shall drive them before us, Thy sword sweep them forth as a flame. Rise! Move! and descend! I behold Thee, Heaven cloven of fieriest bars, Armed Light; and they follow and fold Thee, Thine armies of terrible stars. The Powers of Mars! <<1. Egyptian God of the Sun, and of War. Cf. p. 212, note 5. {incit.: "The Hawk-headed..}>> At the brightness that leapeth before Thee, The heavens bow down at Thine ire; Thick clouds pass to death and adore Thee, Wild hailstones and flashings of fire. The mountains of Ages are shattered; Perpetual hills are bowed down; The Winds of the Heaven are scattered, Borne back from Thy furious frown, O Lord of Renown! In terror and tumult and battle Thy breath smiteth forth as a sword; The Saxons are driven as cattle; We know Thee, that Thou art the Lord! Forth Freedom flings skyward, a maiden Rejoicing, upsprung from the sea, And the wild lyre of Erin is laden At last with the songs of the free! Hail! Hail unto Thee! {220A} EPILOGUE. TO THE AMERICAN PEOPLE ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THEIR INDEPENDENCE. THE ship to the breezes is bended; The wind whistles off to the lee; The sun is arisen, the splendid! The sun on the marvellous sea! And the feast of your freedom is ended, O sons of the free! Your shouts have gone up to remember The day of your oath to the world. Is its flame dwindled down to an ember? The flag of your liberty furled? Your limbs are too strong to dismember -- In sloth are they curled? The price of your freedom -- I claim it! Your aid to make other men free! Your strength -- I defy you to shame it! Your peace -- I defy it to be Dishonoured! Arise and proclaim it From sea unto sea! From Ireland the voice of the dying,