Collected Works (Vol. I)

CARMEN SAECULARE 217 Therefore reign thou, saith God, august, alone, White- winged to East and West, an albatross, ‘Abdul the throne!” 1 Allah can wed the Crescent and the Cross ! According to the wisdom thou hast shown Mete thou thy gain and loss! Damned, on infernal thy 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 bowéls yet? Let thine own King,” saith God, resume his reign | Loyal and happy seasons may foryet The ancient scars. Thy moon is on the wane? Thy sun may never set ! 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 !% 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 where thy gilded worms had stung. The politician and the millionaire Regain maternal dung. 1 A notorious phrase, from the hysterical sonnets of a poetaster of the period. 2 Don Carlos. 3 In the Civil War, 1861-1864. Then only shall thy liberty arise ; Then only shall thine eagle shake his wings, And sunward soar through the unsulled 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. Iam constrained: The Awful Word I write From the one Paraclete. The Reign of Darkness hath an_ end. Behold! Eight stars are gathered in one fery sign.? 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 ! 1 Eight planets were together in the ‘‘ fiery” sign, Sagittarius, towards the close of the year 1899.