Part 2 — WHERE ABID’ST THOU, PROPHET MIGHTY?

Where abid’st thou, prophet mighty? Whom the fiery horses drew Skyward from the Jordan’s rivage, Till they faded from the view,— Past the sceptre of Uriel, Regent of the solar fire, Past the starry Lion couchant, And the planet-chorded Lyre; Till the citadels of Heaven O’er the Sea of Jasper flamed, And thy wingëd yoke in triumph At its golden gates was reined; Thou hast clomb the grades of splendor, As the ages rolled away, Till at length cherubic legions Thee as hierarch obey. But thy fatherland has fallen From the might of other days; The anathemas of Ebal Blight and wither all its race. Gone the ivory house of pleasure, Where the Syrian cedars grew, Where the minions of Astarte Could a monarch’s heart subdue; Gone the carven lion-warders From that monarch’s jewelled throne— But the genii malignant Still his mighty signet own; Still his song instinct with passion, Like a string of rubies glows; Than the vaunted lays of Teïos With a sweeter cadence flows.