Scene-13 The Summit of a Burning Mountain Night.
A terrific storm. Orion (undisguised)
From fathomless depths of abysses,
Where fires unquenchable burst,
From the blackness of darkness, where hisses
The brood of the serpent accurs’d;
From shrines where the hymns are the weeping
And wailing and gnashing of teeth,
Where the palm is the pang never sleeping,
Where the worm never dying is the wreath;
Where all fruits save wickedness wither,
Whence naught save despair can be gleaned—
Come hither! come hither! come hither!
Fall’n angel, fell sprite, and foul fiend.
Come hither! the bands are all broken,
And loosed in hell’s innermost womb,
When the spell unpronounceable spoken
Divides the unspeakable gloom.
Evil Spirits approach. The storm increases.EVIL SPIRITS
We hear thee, we seek thee, on pinions
That darken the shades of the shade;
Oh! Prince of the Air, with dominions
Encompass’d, with powers array’d,
With Majesty cloth’d as a garment,
Begirt with a shadowy shine,
Whose feet scorch the hill-tops that are meant
As footstools for thee and for thine.
How it swells through each pause of the thunder,
And mounts through each lull of the gust,
Through the crashing of crags torn asunder,
And the hurtling of trees in the dust;
With a chorus of loud lamentations,
With ‘its dreary and hopeless refrain!
‘Tis the cry of all tongues and all nations,
That suffer and shudder in vain.
‘Tis the cry of all tongues and all nations;
Our song shall chime in with their strain;
Lost spirits blend their wild exultations
With the sighing of mortals in pain.
With just light enough to see sorrows
In this world, and terrors beyond,
‘Twixt the day’s bitter pangs and the morrow’s
Dread doubts, to despair and despond,
Man lingers through toils unavailing
For blessings that baffle his grasp;
To his cradle he comes with a wailing,
He goes to his grave with a gasp.
His birth is a weeping and wailing,
His death is a groan and a gasp;
O’er the seed of the woman prevailing,
Thus triumphs the seed of the asp.
Adam Lindsay Gordon