Nay, rise! and I’ll not say, for thine own sake,
That thou dost pray in private to the Devil.
Father of lies thou liest!
I am he!
It is enough to make the Devil merry,
To think that men call on me momently,
Deeming me ever dungeoned fast in Hell;
Swearers and swaggerers jeer at my name;
And oft indeed it is a special jest
With witling gallants. Let me once appear!
Woe’s me! they faint and shudder—pale and pray;
The burning oath which quivered on the lip,
Starts back and sears and blisters up the tongue;
Confusion ransacks the abandoned heart,
Quells the bold blood, and o’er the vaulted brow
Slips the white woman-hand. To judgment, ho!
The very pivot of the earth seems snapped;
And down they drop like ruins to repent.
Such be the bravery of mighty man!
I must be mad; or mine eye cheats my brain;
And this strange phantom comes from overthought,
Like the white lightning from a day too hot.
It must be so. But I will pass it.
Stay!
Oh save me God! He is reality!
And now thou kneel’st to Heaven. Fie, graceless boy!
Mocking thy Maker with a cast-off prayer;
For had not I the first fruits of thy faith?
Tempter, away! From all the crowds of life
Why single me? Why score the young green bole
For fellage? Go! Am I the youngest, worst?
No! Light the fires of hell with other souls;
Mine shall not burn with thee.
Thou judgest harshly.
Can I not touch thee without slaying thee?
Why art thou here? What wouldst thou have with me?
’Fore all I would have gentle words and looks.
I pray thee, go!
I cannot quit thee yet.
But why so sad? Wilt kneel to me again?
This leafy closet is most apt for prayer.
Yes; I will pray for thee and for myself.
Waste not thy prayers! I scatter them: they reach
No further than thy breath—a yard or so.
And as for me, I heed them, need them not.
My nature God knows and hath fixed; and He
Recks little of the manners of the world;
Wicked He holdeth it and unrepentant.
Therefore the more some ought to pray.
To blow
A kiss, a bubble and a prayer hath like
Effect and satisfaction.
Let me hence!
Go tell thy blasphemies and lies elsewhere.
Thou scatter prayer! Make me Thy minister
One moment God! that I may rid the world
For ever of its evil. Oh! Thine arm!
Canst rid thyself?
Alas no. Get thee gone!
Can nought insult thee nor provoke thy flight?
I laugh alike at ruin and redemption.
I am the one which knows nor hope nor fear;
Which ne’er knew good nor e’er can know the worst.
What thinkest thou can anger me, or harm?
Wherefore didst thou quit Hell? To drag me there?
Thou wilt not guess mine errand. Deem’st thou aught
Which God hath made all evil? Me He made.
Oft I do good; and thee to serve I come.
Did I not hear thee boast with thy last breath
Not to have known what good was?
From myself
I know it not; yet God’s will I must work.
I come I say to serve thee.
Well! I would
Thou never hadst: but speak thy purpose straight.
I heard thy prayer at sunset. I was here.
I saw, thy secret longings, unsaid thoughts,
Which prey upon the breast like night-fires on
A heath. I know thy heart by heart. I read
The tongue when still as well as when it moves.
And thou didst pray to God. Did He attend?
Or turn His eye from the great glass of things,
Wherein He worshippeth eternally
Himself, to thee one moment? He did not.
I tell thee nought He cares for men. I came
And come to proffer thee the earth; to set
Thee on a throne—the throne of will unbound—
To crown thy life with liberty and joy,
And make thee free and mighty even as I am!
I would not be as thou art for Hell’s throne;
Add Earth’s—add Heaven’s!
I knew thy proud high heart.
To test its worth and mark I held it brave,
In shape and being thus myself I came;
Not in disguise of opportunity—
Not as some silly toy which serves for most—
Not in the mask of lucre, lust nor power—
Not in a goblin size nor cherub form—
But as the soul of Hell and evil came I
With leave to give the kingdom of the world—
Hie freedom of thyself.
Good; prove thy powers.
Do I not prove them? Who but I, that have
Immortal might o’er mine own mind, and o’er
All hearts and spirits of the living world,
Would share it with another, or forgo,
One hour, the great enjoyment of the whole?
And who but I give men what each loves best?
Open the Heavens and let me look on God!
Open my heart and let me see myself!
Then I’ll believe thee.
Thou shalt not believe
For that I give thee, hut for that I am.
Believe me first; then I will prove myself.
Though sick I know thee of the joys of sense,
Yet those thou lovest most I will make pure,
And render worthy of thy love; unfilm them,
That so thou mayst not dally with the blind.
Thou shalt possess them to their very souls.
Pleasure and love and unimagined beauty;
All, all that be delicious, brilliant, great,
Of worldly things are mine, and mine to give.
What can be counted pleasure after love?
Like the young lion which hath once lapped blood,
The heart can ne’er be coaxed back to aught else.
I will sublime it for thee all to bliss:
As yet it hath but made thee wretched.
Spirit,
It is not bliss I seek; I care not for it.
I am above the low delights of life.
The life I live is in a dark cold cavern,
Where I wander up and down, feeling for something
Which is to be—and must be—what, I know not;
But the incarnation of my destiny
Is nigh.
It is thy fate which weighs upon thee
Necessity sits on humanity,
Like to the world on Atlas neck. ’Tis this,
And the sultry sense of overdrawn life.
