CANTO THE FIRST.

ARGUMENT.

The Poet describes his Ascent to the First Heaven, or the Region of the Moon, under the guidance of BEATRICE.---Their first Conference.

HIS Glory, who, with solitary hand,

Launches thro’ boundless space the stellar Band,

And shines effulgent, or involve his Throne

In darkness, as he wills, in daring strains

I sing, admitted to the lofty fanes,

Fill’d with he Glory of th’ ETERNAL ONE.

II.

There saw I things beyond Creation’s bourne,

Which none who from her flaming bounds return

Can tell, when soaring Thought is launch’d so far

In Being’s vast Abyss, that Mem’ry fails,

Nor dare pursue, altho’ with crowded sails

She tries the Voyage o’er th’ eternal Bar.

III.

But some small remnant of the heav’nly Spoil,

From that strange Voyage won with arduous toil,

To her dear native soil, the Muse shall bear ;

If the bless’d Pow’r of Inspiration deign

To breathe his Spirit thro’ my latest strain,

And make it worthy of the wreath I wear

IV.

One steepy Hill of HELICON to climb,

Sufficient seem’d to me ; but circling Time

Has led my footsteps to the bolder brow,

That nearer leans upon the lofty Sky.

O ! to my panting heart that strain supply,

Which made my Rival rue his hardy vow.

V.

Would’st thou bestow an energy to last,

Till I could sketch the heav’nly scene in haste

(Tho’ but in shadows) on the dim expanse

That fleets beneath the Moon before it fade !

I see, I see the mystic tints display’d,

And Fancy eyes the scene with eager glance !

VI.

Then would’st thou see me to thy hallow’d bough

Approach, and cull a garland for my brow,

Worthy the Poet, and the Poet’s GOD ?

Seldom (O, hide your heads in endless shame,

Monarchs and Bards !) the genuine wreath of Fame

Is on a Minstrel, or a King, bestow’d !

VII.

OLYMPUS triumphs, and the tuneful lyre

Is wak’d to rapture, when the hallow’d fire

Lights on the gifted Bard, and fires his Soul

With love of genuine Fame ; a sacred thirst,

By Visions pure and Contemplation nurs’d,

Whose heav’nly Pageants thro’ his Fancy roll.

VIII.

The Wood that waves upon the Mountain’s Brow

A spark may fire ; my smother’d embers glow

With languid heat ; and yet may wake a flame,

Whose waving Spires may Earth and Heav’n adorn,

And fervours new bestow on Tribes unborn,

Lesson’d to Glory by my humbler Name.

IX.

My rustic pipe may wake a nobler sound,

Than Echo e’er return’d from CYRRHA’s bound ;

If such a theme as mine their breasts inspire,

CLIO , begin ! ---The light that seems to veer

To diff’’rent stations, with the circling year,

In ARIES flam’d with new collected fire.

X.

Where, cross the midmost Zone, the Chariot bright

Of PHOEBUS draws transverse a line of Light,

With burning wheels alike from either goal

Distant, where Ocean meets the bending Sky ;

He look’d abroad with glory in his eye,

Darting his smiles far to either Pole.

XI.

His longer journey in a gentle sign

He now began, with energy divine,

Inspiring vigour thro’ the torpid frame

Of this dull beamless Orb. His rising Light

Smil’d in that clime, while EUROPE, cloth’d in Night,

Deplor’d the absence of his genial flame.

XII.

Sudden, I saw the holy Vestal turn,

And, with a longing eye that seem’d to burn,

Fixing her keen glance on the solar Car ;

No Eagle, soaring thro’ the Concave blue,

Ere sent so steadfast and confirm’d a view

On the bright face of the diurnal Star.

XIII.

And, as the slanting beams reflected rise

From the clear Mirror to the vaulted Skies,

So caught from her the fervour glanc’d on me,

All my Fancy fir’d ; my visual ray

Now seem’d to meet the glorious source of Day,

From transient shade or human weakness free.

XIV.

Nature herself in that high-favour’d Zone

Her functions fills with vigour all her own ;

Our frailer Senses here would start to find

What miracles in that distinguish’d spot

She works, where ADAM found his favour’d lot

Happy, ’till Hell against his peace combin’d.

XV.

This tide of glory long I had not borne,

Till a new kindling Sun as second Morn

Seem’d to dispense ; whiel scintillating round

Its redd’ning splendours fir’d the Concave blue,

BEATRICE still indulg’d her steadfast view

Amid the fields of Æther kindling bright.

XVI.

AS if she meant to watch in museful mood

The mighty mundane wheel, absorpt she stood ;

I watch’d her looks with unaverted eye,

Still wond’ring, and still changing as I gaz’d ;

Like GLAUCUS, by the magic herb amaz’d,

When first he long’d new elements to try.

XVII.

Immortal change, on EUNÖE’s happy shore,

To tell thy wond’rous nature, words are poor ;

They only know, who wing the fiery Zone

To Glory’s op’ning arms. Immortal Love,

That lead’st the triumphs of the Blest above,

Say, was I thine entire, or still mine own ?

XVIII.

Thou know’st ; for now, possessing all my pow’rs,

My Voyage to the Stars with steady course

Thou steer’dst ; nor did I know th’ astounding flight

I took, ’till, echoing from the blue profound,

That deep Song, which the Orbs revolving round

Obey, my Senses steep’d in strange delight.

XIX.

Not long I listen’d to the viewless Choir,

When o’er Heav’n’s cope a lake of ambient fire

Instant diffus’d its undulating flow ;

Meanwhile th’ ÆOLIAN descant, loud and long,

Hymning the glorious sawn, my bosom stung,

With painful eagerness the cause to know.

XX.

My holy Guide, who what I felt beheld,

Clear in the Mirror of the Mind reveal’d,

To ’swage my Soul’s emotion as it grew,

Open’d her rosy lips, and thus began :

“ False Forms deceive thy optics, Son of Man !

With shadowy objects which eclipse the TRUE :

XXI.

“ You think yourself on Earth, a moving clod !

Ah ! ---not the red bolt from the arm of GOD,

That fires the forest, and to Heav’n returns ;

Tho’ quick as thought it seems to pierce the gloom,

Thro’ Æther wing’d its way with swifter plume !

See ! what a glorious prospect round you burns.”

XXII.

What joys were mine ! my former doubts had pass’d

Like Morning clouds ; but others quickly cast

Their shadows o’er my Soul : “ O Virgin say,”

I cry’d, “ how could this cumbrous Body skim

Thro’ air, and on the fiery deluge swim,

That seems below thro’ shoreless space to play ?”

XXIII.

Instant, with placid look and pitying sigh,

On me the Vestal turn’d her angel eye,

As Mother on her Son, with looks benign,

And gently thus began : “ All things that float

In Being’s womb, by Order’s heav’nly note,

Their motions tune, and range by Art divine.

XXIV.

“ Conform’d to Order’s ever-holy source,

By his firm mandate, an unswerving course

They keep, but reach the goal with various speed,

Front hat prime habitude that erst impress’d,

With diff’rent modes of slowness and of haste,

Their first career, and each his place decreed.

XXV.

“ By instinct thus yon’ restless flames aspire,

Even earthly Forms are warm’d with hallow’d fire ;

Earth feeds its millions, and attracts its pow’r

To fructify her mould. The heav’nly boon

To all beneath, and all above the Moon,

Is giv’n, tho’ join’d in some with Reason’s lore.

XXVI.

“ AS boundless glory and transcendent joy

Flow o’er the vast empyreal World on high ;

Thus the wide circulation rolls below,

On whose revolving wheel all Creatures move,

Borne to their final goal by fatal Love,

True as the winged arrow from the bow.

XXVII.

“ But as the rude materials oft withstand

The fine impression of the Master’s hand ;

So, by the fatal bent of Passion led,

The wicked Will a wayward motion takes ;

Its heav’nly model and its type forsakes,

Whose plastic pow’r its bias first obey’d.

XXVIII.

“ Nor wonder thou at thine aerial spring,

So many leagues aloft ; the rapid wing

Of Light’ning , feather’d with instinctive fire,

To mount the welkin, with reverted stroke

Darts from the zenith thro’ the blasted Oak :

Wonder not, then, if Earth to Heav’n aspire.

XXIX.

“ Say, would you wonder at a torrent’s fall

From some steep rock ? At Heav’n’s immediate call,

When pure Lustration’s breeze has blown away

The deep LETHEAN fume that wrapt your Soul ;

Why should you linger thus beneath the Pole,

Heav’n-born, heav’n-doom’d, and Heir of endless Day ?

XXX.

“ How would you wonder, if yon’ rapid fire

Would ink and roll along their lambent spires,

Or, like a limpid Lake, their Mirror spread ?

Such are the Souls that fix their hopes below,

When meant to mount.” Then, with an angel’s glow,

She rais’d her eye where Heav’n its pomp display’d.

END OF THE FIRST CANTO.