The Death, Burial, and Destruction of Bacchus.

See, sweetly cluster’d, that gigantic vine,[107] Whose globes ambrosial swell with virgin wine? * * * There you behold, enthroned in majesty— With all the honors due to royalty And state—the sovereign source of harmony! * * * * * A thousand branches stretch out far and wide, And every branch adds to her queenly pride: Yet she hath many sorrows to endure; For, as the season comes from year to year, The pruner’s blade (like as the surgeon’s knife) Makes deep incisions to prolong her life. Oh! how she mourns when one by one are fled Those purple beauties which she bore and bred, And nurtur’d in the glory of her age— The admiration of her country’s sage: Contrast her fan-like leaves with her choice fruit; Trace her frail topmost tendril to its root, When Horus[108] upon high sends down his beams, And sheds his golden bounty forth in streams, Beneath and round about her dwelling-place; And say—hast thou e’er seen such ample grace, One lovelier, or goodlier in mien, Than she, the great terrestrial vineyard Queen? Turn now and view those Oriental climes— The golden fountain of the rarest wines, To-day, resembling the to-day of yore, Yielding their complements of luscious store; Observe the varied hues, and fragrancy, When fiery Leo’s[109] in th’ ascendancy. ’Twas there that Bacchus[110] strove t’obtain a glimpse Whilst the imperial company of nymphs, Assembled at the high command of Jove, Were interchanging sentiments of love!— And where Apollo,[111] with unusual strains Inspired his instrument, and thus obtains The fairest goddess of the mystic throng; Who, dumb with the enchantment of his song, Makes loving gestures that she heeds his suit; He, in return, becomes as equally mute: But his fair countenance pourtray’d his heart: Then full of joy they wing’d their golden cart, And vanish’d in th’ ethereal realms of bliss. Now, when the other nymphs Apollo miss, They veil’d their faces with their flowing hair, And smote their bosoms, sighing in despair,— Weeping lamentingly,—for each in vain Had sought the great musician’s hand to gain: Not as before—bewitchingly in gait— But lovelorn now, and openly await Each for a god or whomsoever may Possess the courage to come there to play. Bacchus, not oftentimes as then so shrewd, Saw his advantage, and his aim pursued: He, great in stature, bearded to the waist, True to his character (refresh’d with rest), Avail’d himself of Leo’s brightest hour, And deign’d to love. Nought could withstand his power. Like a fat ox, his loins were fair to view,— The pith of happiness,—he never knew What sorrow was. Ashamed, the nymphs now hide, And in their hiding-place they scan his side But not a sound escapes their lovely lips:— The while, he taps a thousand globes and sips Until he staggers, and falls prone to ground: Then haste the nymphs, the god they circle round! ’Tis vain attempting to describe the joy Each goddess felt as they tripp’d round so coy:— One, stray’ng beyond the bound’ry they had plann’d, Most inadvertently trod on his hand; Which ’lectrified the god! then he updrew, Rais’d both his arms, and, like a trumpet, blew A sound across the purple-cluster’d plain. Altho’ he lack’d Apollo’s dulcet strain, The nymphs admired him for his manly look, For when he moved the very vineprops shook; Yea—when he spake, the clouds obey’d his voice, And stood divided that he might rejoice Beneath the oriental mid-day sky, With Sol direct on his revolving eye. His golden goblet, he with outstretch’d arms (Which, with the god, possess’d peculiar charms), Held forth towards the sun!—when there advanced A hundred nymphs, on whom, like fire he glanced: Bold as a warrior he induced them all To come and drink from out his flowing bowl! The nymphs, unable to resist, attend Obediently to Bacchus’s command: The god surveys them as they raise the cup, And, as they drink in turn, he fills it up;— When all have drunk their loving draught, the god Lifts high the goblet, and vouchsafes a nod, And bids the mistress of the fairy throng Arrange the company to join in song; She, in obedience to the god’s command, Waved her white beam, and thus commenc’d the band:— The high sopranos rock the fragrant breeze, And lift their voices up by slow degrees Until they reach the pinnacle of sound; The first great stanza done, then, most profound, The sweet contraltos follow in their course— Ascending and descending with much force And regulated emphasis, and then, Uniting, send into the sunnied main One burst of harmony! the god then leapt, And—overwhelm’d with ecstasy—he wept. * * * * * O, what a sight it must have been to see Great Bacchus on his throne of ivory, Reviewing those fair daughters of the moon, When they struck off their soul-enraptured tune! For there he sat, crown’d with the purple vine, And by his side his goblet of red wine: At every strain which lifted up his soul The monarch smil’d, and bow’d, inclined the bowl: Again, again, he smote his sunburnt breast, And sent Orion[112] to hunt down a beast,— To Comus[113] also to prepare a feast,— That he might entertain the goddesses, And make them creatures of much happiness. So Bacchus, rev’ling thus in his desires, With flooded brain to heav’n at once aspires. His saffron body sweated down in rills. At length, o’erpower’d, he frenzically calls To Jupiter,[114] “O Brother, come to me, Bring down five thousand gods to help the glee! O mighty and most gentle Venus,[115] give, Give gen’rously thy aid that I may live!— Bring with thee all thy own elect of stars, Invite our friends—the brave and glorious Mars, And lordly Herschel,[116] junior of the skies; And Mercury,[117] with those sharp propitious eyes: Tell Saturn,[118] also, that I would he’d come To share with me the comforts of my home: Earth, goodly creature, is already here With bountiful provision of good cheer: I fain would Sol invite, but fear my fate, Lest the great god should think himself too great: O! what a blaze of glory there would be If he would condescend to join the glee But for an hour, or even but a half: O! would not Bacchus bid the guests to quaff, Each with a goblet bumper’d up to brim? And would not Bacchus even worship him? * * * * * ’Tis best, perhaps, that Sol should not come down, For fear my darling Venus might be stol’n: So bid my chosen-ones bring all their moons!”— He pauses, mutters, bows his head, and swoons; Falls (but unhurt) with force upon the ground, Which vibrates earth and air for miles around. * * * * * Thus, senseless, for three hours low laid the god, And by his side his golden-headed rod. Then, gather’d ’round him, all the fairy hosts— Pale and affrighted, like so many ghosts— Perform a solemn requiem for his soul. Still stood the sun, and dark; but in the bowl,[119] The rosy liquid flamed a cubit high, To mourn poor Bacchus’ death: those standing by Withdrew in sorrow; one by one they fled,— For all conceiv’d their benefactor dead! Then rose a cloudling, circular in shape, Of matchless beauty, tinted like the grape; Its outer edge, fring’d round with silvery foil, Bent gently downwards, archlike, to the soil; So that an hemisphere of cloud conceal’d The god’s huge body from the open field. To Bacchus’ prayers[120] the heavenly orbs attend, And with precision to the earth descend: They search the vineyard o’er from end to end; ’Round and about they trip, with angels’ speed; Alas, they falter! then they (all agreed) Cry unto Bacchus—“Bacchus! Bacchus! where— Where art thou gone? Behold thy guests are here,— All clothed in kingly garments of the best We’ve come, as bidden, down to join the feast; Each with a garland delicately bloomed, And every one his instrument well tuned: Our cloud-wrought chariots in the heavens await To take us back, each to his own retreat, And thou not here! Oh, cruel god, why this? Thou’st robbed us of anticipated bliss!— We heard your loud petition, and came down; But what is here? and where, where art thou gone? Fie on thee, god! Thou’rt treacherous indeed; For we have come to thee with utmost speed, Aroused, in joy, to expectation’s height, And hoped for day; but lo, ’tis all as night!” Then they confer, and hence resolved to fly Back to their mansions in the azure sky. * * * * * The clouds dispers’d, and Bacchus starts afresh, Drinks deep the purple, which inflames his flesh; Sends his rude orisons again on high; But they heed not his pray’rs: then, with a sigh, And almost mad, he strikes his breast, and saith: “Ye gods, be damn’d.” And now, all in a breath, He uttereth a prayer to him above, Beseeching, plaintively, the mighty Jove: “Oh, well-beloved Jove! I pray thee, hear My tale of sorrow, which to thee I bear. O Jove, acquainted with my nature best, Thou know’st, alone, the cravings of my breast; Fann’d by the nymphs’ most inspirating strain, I sought the bowl, and fired my foolish brain: I cried aloud to thee, as Jupiter, But lacked, I ween, a right interpreter: To Venus and to Mars I rais’d my voice, For they were three respectively my choice; To Georgian-Herschel, and to Mercury; To Saturn, but ’twas vain. ’Twas vanity, I’ll own; yet was it not, O Jove, most cruel— Now I am old—to treat me as a fool?” So he continued venting loud his pray’r: Deserted and distracted to despair, He tried to lift the goblet, but he fail’d; His strength had fled, he found himself assail’d And at the gate of hell!—still struggling hard, He ope’d his mouth, but uttered not a word: He mock’d the gods with his fast fleeting breath; Gave up the ghost: thus met eternal death! * * * * * Three days, or more, the god lay prostrate, bare, With naught of covering save his ruffled hair, (And not a creature chancèd to come near,) Stretched to his full across his bed of leaves; His hands were clench’d, as firm as iron greaves; And there he laid; when Daphne,[121] passing by, Caught the reflection of his glaring eye (For Bacchus died not, as most mortal men, With eyes fast shut, but open to the sun), And, like a good Samaritan, went o’er: Rememb’ring well the visage which he bore, She exclaim’d aloud to her great lord[122] of heaven— (As she, poor nymph, was most severely smitten)— Crying, “Bassareus[123] lies breathless on the field! No wounds to show he has been gored or steel’d; And now, aghast, his eyes still move around, His lips are quivering, and I hear a sound Like that of Rhadamanthus (Judge of hell), But what his converse is I cannot tell.” Her lord came down, most sorrowful in look, Conn’d the dead body, and again betook His brazen chariot in all haste, and rode Down to the regions of the infernal god: There was rejoicing to a great extent:— A thousand fires lit up the firmament; A myriad spirits danced around the flames, Each calling Bacchus by a thousand names, And each, like Argus, had a hundred eyes, Which direfully glared across the den of lies; Their heads were horn’d, and each horn bore a lamp, Mark’d with the great immortal Pluto’s stamp; (Pluto[124] himself, being ninety leagues away, Was unacquainted with this revelry— Till Vulcan[125] forged a bolt with wings, and sent It in a whirlwind unto Pluto’s tent; Therein it stood and wrote upon the wall The brief particulars of the carnival! This mighty god,[126] astounded to the heart, Made hasty preparations to depart; Sent forth his voice, then ’roused his gloomy host, And travell’d ’round by the south-western coast.) And each one held two red-hot iron beams; Their breath ascended in sulphurous streams: They foamed and snorted, like hard-ridden horse, And fled across the grim and deathy course With comets’ speed; then stamp’d with awful force Their ponderous forms upon th’ upheaving ground, Which sent afar a hideous crackling sound: The foam ran down their breasts like molten flame,— Too dreadful to describe by any name; Their mouths, when open, were like rocky caves— Down their vast throats the Styx[127] rush’d in great waves, And when they spat, a stench obnoxious ’rose— Offensive to the most inurèd nose. Around their waists were slung huge buffalo horns (And farther down hung girdles of black thorns), With which they went three times a day for drink, And stood around that dread Avernus’ brink,[128] Without attempt from the foul task to shrink; Then, at a word, into the lake they went, Whose waters were of dreadful temperament: They plunged therein as horses gored to death, And sent forth pois’nous vapours with their breath. Three times a day the ghastly livid lake Turn’d into blood, with which their thirst they’d slake: When brass-hair’d Vulcan struck his mighty gong, Erect they stood, and join’d in woful song, Another beat, they stretch’d their glaring eyes, And sent a shriek into the red-wrought skies;[129] (Conceive a thousand organs thundering forth— From every point the compass to the north— The tone of every pipe encompassèd Within their frames, then only ’t can be said What was the shout those spirits sent abroad At the command of this volcanic lord!) Once more he beat, they rais’d a dismal moan,— Sustain’d their voices till a day was gone: For whilst great Vulcan held his beam on high, They durst not breathe, nor even wink an eye. (Oh! what a shocking, melancholy fate, To be the vassals of such low estate: Dogs upon earth are angels in a heaven, Compared to those poor wretches who are driven From south to north, from east to west, with wings Like flaming firebrands, and whose mouths have stings As deadly in their touch as adders are: Their peace is worse than earth’s most direful war!) The wretches would have slept, but lo! a glare Of yellow lurid light shot through the air; And with it came a blast of mingled sounds, Like as the yellings of as many hounds: This shook the spirits’ nerves; they trembled, for They saw and knew the cloud advancing bore Great Pluto back to his imperial throne. In but a twinkling of an eye were flown A swarm of wingèd fiends with gold engraven plates, To summon forth th’ infernal potentates To meet their lord and emperor of hell. Then they return’d, their messages to tell. * * * * * Forth came the mighty host, great in their speed (Their fiery horses panting for the deed): And all sent on swift-wingèd, prong-like darts, Which bore the numbers of their brazen carts: ’Twould take a day to count the numbers o’er: At length they advance with a continuous roar, Dividing as they sped the sulph’ral air, Midst fetid vapours like the fumes of war. Now as they approach with a most deaf’ning noise— Sixteen abreast arranged, to counterpoise The basement of the cloud on which they rode— The mighty host beheld, beheld their god! * * * * * Meanwhile—the mighty Vulcan (at his works), And all his host were welding monster dirks Of brass and steel; and in each point, an eye Was fixèd to conduct it through the sky, Where it was plann’d that at a given word Each instrument of death should fly abroad At equal distances, directed straight To meet the foe who dare oppose the fête. In warlike attitude th’ inferior fiends Stood all abreast, and facing the west winds, (Each held a dirk four cubits in the air, And on their breast were brazen shields of war,)— Full fifteen rows, each row a yard advanc’d: And in the rear ten thousand horses pranc’d, All cap’rison’d with choicest workmanship: Each rider held a silver-threaded whip, Of ponderous weight, which rested on his hip On his right side; whilst on the left were hung A massive sabre and a silver gong. Behind them were arranged each curricle, To form a background to the spectacle: According to their numbers in rotation, And to the high or low degree of station Of those great potentates, so did they stand— Prim in their aspect and exceeding’ grand. The chariots’ sides, inlaid with burnish’d gold, Reflected all surrounding them two-fold; On every roof there ’rose a tow’ring rod, Which bore the banner of each minor god; The charioteers wore helmets, wrought of brass; And all their faces shone like silver’d glass. From north to south three leagues of ground were dark, Through this great cloud incumbent o’er the park; And not a voice was heard, not e’en a breath, So strict was the command. (A second death Was the sad fate for those who disobey’d Th’ injunctions and the laws therein decreed.) All, conscious that their lord was on his way Back to his seat of fame and royalty, Now look’d direct towards the bloodshot heav’n, Through which the god of misery was driv’n; The lurid light increased its sickly tint, And shed its glare about the continent: Near to the zenith of the mystic main Appear’d the shadow of th’ advancing train,— Small as a hand, but rapid in its growth,— As on they came upon the yellow path: Great as a mountain the dire shade had grown, When suddenly a dreadful blast was blown By fifty heralds in the foremost cloud; They blew again, but fifty times more loud, So that the atmosphere of hell did quake, And caus’d a hissing like a python snake. Then came the thunder of the chariot wheels, Like cannons roaring on a thousand hills. A thousand chariots did the train compose: And then the tramping of the horse arose, Fell on the ears with dire and dreadful woe Of those who listen’d with dismay: when lo! The heavens open’d! * * * Vulcan struck his gong, And all the multitude burst forth in song: Which song appall’d th’ ambassador of earth,[130]— The great musician, minstrel, bard of mirth,— Who now was there with his attendant gods Array’d in splendour, holding silver rods, To greet the Emperor, as the monarch came Down from the clouds in crimson-colour’d flame. * * * * * Apollo, garmented in robes of gold,— His stature like a giant to behold,— With voice unmatch’d in compass and in tone, Pour’d forth his song, which vibrated the zone: Its text was this—“Hail, Pluto, mighty king;”— Then all Apollo’s minstrels ’round him sing “Hail, Pluto, mighty King!” re-echoing The song of triumph to the utmost bounds Of the dread region, in concordant sounds. The multitude manœuvred, gather’d in, And form’d an ambient circle; where, within, His Majesty appointed his descent. The vassals, marshall’d, to the rearward went. So that the inner ring contain’d the great,— Such as th’ renownèd Minos, magistrate, Androgeüs, his son; then, great in name, Stood Rhadamanthus, ’nother judge of fame; Æacus, Acheron; and poor Protheus, who, Vex’d with his form, into great Etna flew; And by his side Prometheus, martyr’d god, Who form’d and fired with life a moulded clod: There, terrible in mien, stood Mulciber,[131]— He, on his breast, a group of medals bore— Marks of distinction for those mighty things Which he had wrought through ages past for kings; Then his son Cacus, junior god of fire; And next, perfidious Sisyphus, the liar; Then Erebus, son of the Invisible;[132] And grim old Charon, ferryman of hell. At equal distances those magnates stood About this circle of great magnitude Much in themselves, but all subordinate To Pluto; who, now in great pomp and state, Was in their midst: there He (awaiting him The harbinger of joy—Earth’s seraphim) With pow’rful speech and accent, call’d aloud— “Come hither, O Apollo!” Forth went the god, When there uprose a nevious curling cloud, Great in circumference, and six fathoms up, Bulg’d at its sides, in form like as a cup, Less at its base; and round about the same There spread an horizontal ardent flame, So great the heat, that not a soul could dare Approach within ten fathoms of the flare: And on the rim of this most mystic vase— One fathom high—a bluish flame arose, Which shed an incense o’er the inner part; And warders stood thereon, each with a dart, Fierce in their look and ghastly in their mien: And farther down a girdle, red and green, Of furious fire, revolved around the shroud Which hid the gods[133] from the obsequious crowd: And where, within, the arbitrators stay’d For one whole hour, intent upon the dead— As to the burial of the god, and how He should be welcom’d in the realms below;— For ’twas Apollo’s wish that he should be Receiv’d with pomp into eternity, And urged the matter to the full extent, Till Pluto graciously gave his consent. * * * * * The god,[134] now pleas’d, sent up a yellow shaft— Which Boreas,[135] mighty wind, away did waft Across th’ unfathomable red abyss,— And which in transit caused a fearful hiss. When Vulcan, seeing, alone, the signal bound, Re-beat his gong,—the vassal host around, Quick as a flash of lightning, then upheld Their polish’d dirks on high, and then re-yell’d! The mighty magistrates, obeying the sound, Inclined their heads, and knelt upon the ground: The while, Apollo (and his mirthful throng) Came forth, repeating the triumphant song— “Hail, Pluto, mighty King!”—around him slung His instrument of joy,—his eye relit With his accustom’d dignity and wit. Immediately, the cloud collaps’d and fled, And he, the lord of death, appeared glad: He stood erect, and, in the act of pray’r, Pour’d forth his orisons into the air: His pow’rful speech made all the host afraid, And instantly his mandates were obey’d: He spoke but once—his chariots were at hand, And round about him his attendants stand,— Each in apparel dazzling to the sight,— Their wings outspread in readiness for flight. Then Pluto look’d about the torrid space, Stepp’d in his chariot with a kingly grace, And rais’d his beam, full half a ton in weight: When (pointing to his own imperial seat, Which stood upon a mount encompass’d round By awful chasms and unstable ground,) He gave the word—the trumpets shook the vast With the outpourings of their mighty blast! * * * * * The clouds divided, and the train pass’d through; And now the multitude shout out anew— “Hail, Pluto, mighty King!” great was the noise. The quivering earth dissolved into the skies. Above, below, around, was void and dark For one whole day, until a vivid spark Of crimson flame—in form a serpent’s sting— Shot forth towards the mountain of the king, And struck the base of the imperial throne, Which shook with awe; and all the earth did groan; A flash of light lit up the horrid zone; The atmosphere ’came full of monster frogs, Of winged porcupines, and howling dogs.

Now when Apollo from the cloud came forth He took his chariot, drove towards the north, From whence he came; while Boreas stretched a limb, And sent a whirlwind to accompany him Back to the regions of the world above: But on his way he stay’d beneath a grove, Of moderate magnificence, and where, With solemn grandeur, dwelt—in midway air— The Empress of the palls,[136] despair, and woe, Who greeted him with a most graceful bow. She saw the god was mournful in his look, Surmised his errand, and, in haste, betook Her folio, and, with her refulgent shaft, Made (as he spake) a brief but careful draft Of his demand. Apollo (whose delight Defied conception), seeing the marv’lous flight With which her shaft had plann’d the burial-rite, Declared his acquiescence; and with voice— Conceived by him most suited to her choice— Which made the solemn goddess’ heart rejoice, Demanded when and what the hour would be That Bacchus should go down t’eternity. She straightway answered him, and meetly named— “Within an hour the god shall be embalmed; And on the morrow, as the sun goes down, The car of death shall through the gulf be drawn. Five hundred horse,” she said, “of equal size, Shall form the vanguard to the realm of sighs; From every horse a rein shall concentrate, And mighty Hercules[137] shall drive in state; For he, alone, hath strength at his command To grasp the giant bridle in one hand; Whilst with the other he upholds his beam, And sends the silver lash forth with a scream: The goddess Mors[138] shall join the funeral train, Close followed by the nymphs, arranged in twain; Whose sun-brown’d faces shall be draped with care, Their bodies plaited immortelles shall wear; At each one’s side a tabour shall be slung, Which, beaten, will enhance the mournful song.” This said, Apollo wing’d his car again, And drove direct to where the god was lain; There he beheld his Daphne standing by, Still venting forth her grief with moistened eye (The faithful goddess, charitable queen, Beside poor Bacchus’ form a day had been): Her soul was sad, her lips refusèd food, Yet, like a guardian-angel, there she stood Contemplating what ought or might be done With the cold corpse; whilst her fair lord had gone Down to the chambers of the mighty god. He now saluted her with courtly word— “O Daphne! thou art dear t’Apollo’s heart; Look up, O nymph! and list whilst I impart Pluto’s commands with reference to the dead!” She heard his voice, and rais’d her heavy head; So pleased to see her gentle lord return She ceas’d her tears, but did not cease to mourn: Her auburn tresses answered to the breeze Which goodly Zephyrus[139] sent by slow degrees,— Presuming that her nearly-fainting form Might be sustain’d and succourèd from harm: But ere she’d time to utter forth a sound, A mighty rumbling shook the very ground! They turn’d and saw advancing on the plain Meek Libitina, and her sombre train; Then in an instant they were mute and calm, Whilst the black host proceeded to embalm The still fresh-coloured, robust shape of him Who now had ceased to be—like as a dream. (The fragrant perfume of the embalming-herbs, The death-impregnant atmosphere absorbs: Round and about, the vines were still in bloom; But all a mournful posture did assume: The glassy-bumpers ev’n appearèd dull, And for awhile their liquors turn’d to gall: The azure sky was totally obscur’d; But Sol himself was not to be immured,— He stay’d, as ’twere within two leagues of Earth, And penetrated through the halo-girth Intensely red and hot, to mark his love For the fall’n god, the earthly friend of Jove!) This[140] done, the gloomy host returned below Unto the palace of the queen of woe; Where preparations were going briskly on, To bury Bacchus at to-morrow’s sun,— The going-down thereof, she thought the proper course For the interment of his giant corpse. ’Twas coming night,—the eve of that sad day When all the starry gods would come to pay Their last respects unto the lifeless clod, In form of man, now lying upon the sod,— “And Daphne!” said the nymph, “to watch alone (Save the companionship of the pale moon), Throughout those dreary hours without a soul? * * * Oh, stay, my love, and o’er me have control.” This, said to Apollo, fired his sapient brain: His love for Daphne nought could now restrain! (So “in the midst of life we are in death;” And “all is vanity” the preacher saith.)— Apollo stay’d, and slept upon the field, And nursed his love as mothers nurse a child. Now, Leo’s nights were short, so day came on; Aurora[141] blush’d to see the beauteous moon: But she[142]—the virtuous angel of the night, Succumb’d; and thus withdrew her silvery light. Prodigious Sol then soared into the main; And with him soared Apollo’s tuneful strain,— His prayer in song—so pithy and so sweet, Ne’er fail’d t’imprint its influence on the great Celestial magnates, nobles of the air. But Bacchus’ death nigh drove them to despair! They knew not that the god was lying dead, Until Apollo (not in vain) had pray’d For them to come and join the ritual: Nor for a moment did they deign t’recall The disappointment when they all went down, To Bacchus’ cry, and found the god was gone: They sought for no excuse, but came at once— Garb’d in their glory—through the vast expanse Of heav’n, and ’lighted on the plain, whereat The great musician and fair Daphne sat. First, Jupiter (Jehovah of the skies, Whose silver hair, in ringlets, reach’d his thighs; And round his waist, most splendid to behold, Were jointed girdles wrought of solid gold, And golden shoes, protectors of his feet, Enhanced the splendour of his manly gait: He grasp’d a sceptre sixteen feet in length; Himself next to great Hercules in strength: Superb in mien, and venerably grand, Whose eye no mortal goddess could withstand.) Arrived; as he advanced, six feet of ground Escaped his tread at each successive bound: Twelve feet he stood; his hair fell o’er his brow, And from his chin a nevious beard did flow: Towards the soil his feather’d limbs inclined: His countenance bespoke a gentle mind: (Once the poor god, now dead, implored his aid; Who smote the fount and Bacchus’ thirst was stay’d.) Seen in the distance, thundering as he came, He look’d a god of most uncommon frame! Poor Daphne shook to see his wondrous form: Her noble blood began to mingle warm; But pale and circumspect she did remain, Impress’d with awe, her eyes straight to the plain Upon th’ incumbent god,—whose time was come To be removed into the dismal tomb. Next to great Jupiter, came Mercury,— His flesh as smooth and white as ivory,— Though not so tall, as handsome as the one Already there, and sadly looking on; Yet Mercury is both great in stature, and Appear’d a lord possessed of much command In the ethereal mansions; nay—in speech So eloquent—no other gods could match. Then came his majesty the monarch Mars, In crimson robes inwoved with diamond stars; Robust and hale the god of war appear’d, With azure eyes; with saffron colour’d beard: In fight, no other god could dare offend; And seldom did the monarch condescend To make acquaintanceship with others, for He proudly thought himself superior; Yet he, in token of his great regard For him who lay upon the bruised sward, Threw off his mask of pride, and came below: With him he brought his unstrung golden bow, To mark his rank and office in the skies; But here he stoop’d, and stooping yielded sighs,— Griev’d to the heart to see poor Bacchus so:— Him once so warm, but now as cold as snow. That other belted god, mysterious being, Saturnus came, and stood fourth in the ring Which now began to encompass Bacchus round; His hair jet-black, his aspect most profound: A purple garb hung loose around his loins, To which his badge of honour meetly joins; His eagle eyes were now bedimm’d with tears,— He mourn’d for him he’d known a thousand years; And more than once his sighs were loud indeed: In his sad countenance the heart could read Th’ amount of sorrow his grave breast contained; His strength of mind increasing tears restrained; And to denote his senatorial rights, Brought down with him his seven satellites: He, punctual as to time, was at his post,— There murm’ring forth “O Bacchus, Bacchus, lost” The Georgian Planet, stripling[143] of the air, In grand habiliments forth did repair Unto the scene of grief; not over tall, Yet bore the image of his master, Sol; He saw the corpse, and plainly did foreshow (Though stratagem allowed no tears to flow) His feelings at the sight of death; but he— Child of the skies—bore up courageously: He (with his satellites—six beauteous lads, Esteemèd much among the greatest gods— Attending in their robes of lightish-blue, ’Terwoven with fine gimp of golden hue), Attract’d the grave attention of old Mars; Who hail’d him as the “Herschel of the Stars,”— And beckon’d him t’advance, and kiss’d his hand: The stripling blushed; he could not understand Why, or wherefore, such favour should be shown To one so young by one so olden grown; Yet felt much pleasure on being recognis’d, Whilst more superior gods (as though despis’d) Array’d in gorgeous dress, of greater growth, And, in his estimation, greater worth,— Stood silently and mournfully around, Intent upon the death-inclosure mound. Earth,[144] most profound, in her unfeigned grief— Smote her bare breast; her speech was very brief; She felt a pressure on her noble heart, But in the rite she took an ample part,— Survey’d the gulf down which the corpse would pass, And lined its edges with resplendent moss: Most modest, and most generous soul, She’d oft contributed to Bacchus’ bowl,— Prolong’d his life in most abundant ease, Until decrepitude besought release; And still regarded him as one of those Whom she, herself, could least afford to lose: “But he is gone! and with his corpse a tear Shall stray,” said she, “upon the sinking bier; And when regenerated he shall rise, Earth shall be first, for joy, to dim her eyes.” Revolving Venus, Empress of the globes, Extremely beautiful, in purple robes, Came now majestically o’er the sward; In rev’rence to the dead, spoke not a word: Though, in her joy, her voice was like a lute, She wept in silence, and remainèd mute: Her rosy crown with jew’ls shone like the Sun, And tipp’d her tear-drops as they trickled down: On either side a Cupid, doubly fair, Bore up the tresses of her golden hair; The Graces guarded her upon the plain; And fair Adonis held her diamond train: Her shell-shaped chariot (rearward on the field) Of ivory wrought, no eye had e’er beheld More beautiful or more enchanting beams, Carved in one solid mass—devoid of seams. Behold Diana, goddess of the chase; Mark well her features, and her lovely face! She, with dear Venus, set the world on fire With love and beauty, which induced satire: Fair daughter of great Jupiter, she stood— Eyes fix’d upon the ground—in pensive mood; Her bow, her quiver, deer-skin on her breast, Distinctly pointed her from out the rest. Poor Actæon (youth, most skilful with the bow— Whose eyes betray’d him, and led on to woe) Beheld, by chance, the goddess in the lake; Dreamt not his own existence was at stake; But in an instant Fate, with double wrath, Transform’d into a stag th’ incautious youth; And there, upon the bank, before her face— His end was wrought by his own dogs of chase. (To contemplate his end we stand aghast; For dire indeed was the poor stripling’s last!) Among the other goddesses and nymphs, We scan the circle, and at once we glimpse Good Agenora, most industrious child, Laborious maiden on the barren wild; Who toil’d for ages, and (’twas not in vain) Made a vast wilderness bear lovely grain: She by Diana stood, meek, yet sedate, And trespass’d not beyond her own estate. Aurora, lovely nymph with wings outspread, Having heard with sorrow that the god was dead, Came like a cloud across the purple field; And, as she swept along the air, did gild With the reflection of her crimson folds Hills, valleys, mountains, plains, and gorsèd wolds. (O lovely nymph! more lovely in the morn, When o’er the heav’ns thy radiancy is borne; When thou, with magic touch, the gates unbar, And bid to rest that struggling little star— Last in the field of night, which fain would stay To see the beauties of th’ advancing day But weak in its endeavours to withstand The saffron firmament, holds forth its hand To shield its face from the bedimming flood; And in its turn forsakes the neighbourhood Of heaven.) And now she ’lights among the gods: To every one she, sweet enchantress, nods; And, calmly drawing her gorgeous mantle round, Pores o’er the lifeless body on the ground. Four other goddesses, for virtue famed, Who, for their sweet demeanour, should be named: Minerva, Astrea, and Concordia, three; First, for her wisdom and sagacity; The second, for her justice much renown’d; And next, the third, for peace and concord found; The fourth, for loveliness, Hygeia stands,— Health in her face, and garlands in her hands. Omphale, nymph beloved by Hercules; And Hero, “beauteous woman,” came from Thrace. Besides all these, there came Historia forth: Fair Ceres,[145] benefactress of the Earth: Lubentia, cheerful goddess, draped her face, And came with all her charms veil’d o’er with lace: Fair Flora, graceful child, herself a flower, Brought all the beauties from her fairy bower: Pure Febrüa, who never once did feign Her love to any, joined the mournful train. Now came high Juno, lovely queen of heaven, August in form; by whom were peacocks driven Through the blue path which led unto the scene; Her crown and sceptre graced her noble mien; She, mother of great Mars, and Vulcan, too, Bedoff’d her smiles, as solemnly she drew Unto the place where stood the sorrowing nymphs, And sigh’d whilst on the corpse she cast a glimpse. In the first rank the famed Cybele was; (The spouse of Saturn, who gain’d such applause For all his exploits in the heavenly space,— Described before with those of equal race;)— She, as fair Vesta, is the bounteous globe;[146] And came arrayed in spring’s delightful robe: Her crown of towers pointed to the skies, Which proved a landmark for a thousand eyes: Of many flow’rs her vestment bore the print, And charmed the eye with their impressive tint; With her great key spring’s treasures she lets loose, And with a generous hand deals them profuse’. These[147] formed the host of mourners that were bidden, Beneath the cloudless concave of great heaven, To bear their witness to the last remains Of him, who now was past all mortal pains. (Though not a cloud that day[148] was ever seen, Sol wore a halo, and look’d very dim,— The only way the god could mark his love, As through the heavens he slowly seem’d to move, Towards the one who’d revelled in his ray, And welcomed him at each successive day.) But now the hour was fast approaching when They expected forth the sad and sombre train: There stood Apollo, foremost on the plain, To watch with his bewitching eyes, the vast Terrestrial space. At length he heard a blast, Which Boreas bore towards th’ assembled throng; And furthermore, he heard the mournful song, As they advanc’d upon the wings of woe: (’Round and about the corpse tears freely flow, For gods and goddesses, resplendent clad, Turn’d deathly pale, and certainly look’d sad:) Swift as the winds would bear them, on they came; In front a herald to proclaim the name Of the deceasèd god. “Behold,” he said, “This body here upon the field now laid, Is that of Bacchus, the great god of wine, Who till’d the ground, and rear’d the lovely vine; The great dictator of the heathen laws: His numerous talents gain’d him much applause: Wise, though lascivious, he to powèr grew; Was surnam’d Bassareus, and Iacchus, too: Built many cities, and won victories: The benefactor of societies: Son of great Jupiter,—Semele’s child,— On whom, in early life, Silenus smil’d; And whom the nymphs embraced with filial love, Through which they gain’d their access unto Jove: Phœnicia’s King,—his wisdom he unfurl’d; His subjects taught to navigate the world, For which—and other exploits—thus shall he Be grandly welcom’d to Eternity:”— And then he blew his trumpet, call’d aloud— “Bear witness to the deed, ye assembled crowd, Whilst I the fallen god’s remains enshroud.” Then, as they alight upon th’ adjacent ground, Five hundred horse sent forth a trampling sound; And mighty Hercules was in the rear (For not another god could bear the gear)— High in the air, upon the funeral car, His helmet shining like a glorious star: From his great beam a scream resound the skies As they progress—swift as an eagle flies. With him came Mors, who gave two heavy sighs; A hundred deaths she had attended to, But never one like this—so fraught with woe! Her vesture hanging in loose folds of black, Her hair all straighten’d o’er her graceful back, Betokened grief; she ne’er conceived to crave Poor Bacchus for the dread and dismal grave: No, no, ’twas he himself,—his great excess, That brought upon the earth such dire distress: Yea, had he been a little circumspect, Another thousand years his brow may’ve deck’d; But his lascivious habits, silly god, Brought him thus soon to grace the viny sod. * * * * * Now to the grave!—a gulf six fathoms wide, Six in its length, and straight on every side; Down which no eye doth dare to penetrate; For to the realm of sighs this was the gate: Four cedar beams, exactly wrought to shape, Lie, near each brink, across the dreadful gap; Four other beams of equal size extend Towards the heav’ns, and centre in one end; To which a chain, wrought out of Ætna’s fire, Pass’d through an aperture a cubit higher (Its length ten leagues, and polish’d every link); One end in hell, and one upon the brink, Upon the side whereat the funeral train Would yield the corpse; there, on the sacred plain, To be uplifted, and then gently swung O’er the abyss! Hark to the obit’s song! As on the sad procession wend their way, In funeral paces, at the wane of day: The sound increases as they, slower still— Far on the plain, come o’er a gradual hill, On which an arch built up with lovely pines— Entwined with olives and selected vines— Bore on its top a crimson flame, which ’rose To light the cortége as it onward goes; For now the sun was sinking fast below The dark horizon of the western brow. ’Tis now indeed a melancholy hour; For, as they line the brink, they hear the roar— The thunder of great Vulcan’s mighty gong: Besides, they hear, though faint, th’ Infernals’ song Of joy; and there, as round the vault they stand, Is heard the clamour of th’ uproarious band Let loose below, to revel at their will, Till Mulciber shall bid them to be still. Then suddenly up shot into the air From out the gulf a stream of yellow flare; And then a sulph’rous cloud involved the pit, In which a thousand infant demons flit, Most wretched to behold; but joy for them, And all the spirits who were waiting him— The dead! Now griev’d Apollo, standing near, Waved his white rod (but waved it with a tear), The signal to uplift the ponderous bier Above the gulf. Below, a sound arose, As round the giant-axle slowly moves; Contracting, every turn, the clinking chain, Which lifted Bacchus from the purple plain. * * * * * When (as the body swung into the cloud) Apollo struck his harp, the noble crowd Of gods and goddesses their tabours rung, And peal’d the requiem in most glorious song! Said Hercules, who almost long’d to die— When first the anthem broke into the sky— (The corpse was then descending the abyss,) “Oh, give me death, and bury me like this!” He doff’d his helmet (noble was his brow), And as a child the hero seemèd now; For while he listen’d to th’ harmonious flow Of sound, unmatch’d on earth, his heart did leap. And Pan was there with his melodious pipe; Who—god of woods, of shepherds, most divine— On this occasion made his genius shine,— His reed he blew with such delightful force, That Hercules rejoic’d, so did his horse. Apollo’s nine companions[149] there with him, Enhanced the grandeur of the mournful hymn: Fair Terpsichore look’d sad, but sang most sweet, And timed most gracefully the poet’s feet: Euterpe, too, th’ inventor of the flute, Was only rivall’d by fair Clio’s lute: And Calliope’s sweet enchanting voice, Made heart and soul and flesh rejoice: The songs of Polyhymnia were so dealt, Gods, great and small, turn’d gravely as they knelt To see from whence the melody arose: She heeded not,—and on her singing goes Till e’en the ground beneath them, where they stood, Seem’d to give ear: and Mars was much subdued. Erato, Thalia, blest Urania, and Melpŏmene the grave, complete the band, Who came from far their tuneful aid to lend; And with their songs their prayers for Bacchus send To Him, the Sovereign of continual death, Of woe, of mis’ry, and eternal wrath! * * * * * For one whole hour the requiem did not cease; Its words, interpreted, were writ as these— “O mighty king! O Pluto, lord of hell! Extend thy grace to his departed soul: Receive his corpse, and furnish it with breath, That he may revel in the realms of death:— So that our loss may be thy kingdom’s gain.” A pause ensued: and then a dreadful cry Came up the grave, which rent the gloomy sky. With it arose a wave of crimson flame Up straight towards a cloud that cover’d them; Which shaped itself into a feather’d beam, And wrote upon the cloud, thus: “Bassareus lives!” To their wits’ end the gods and goddesses Were driv’n: they scan the cloud and there behold The marv’lous scrip in letters of bright gold: Anon they gazed, until it vanishèd, And gods conferr’d like men astonishèd. They now resolved to wend their way from earth; Some East, some West, some South, and others North: Their minds, indeed, impressed with mighty things; Such as did baffle all their reasonings. As Hercules flew swiftly to the East, Apollo and fair Daphne to the West, Straight from the North great Boreas swept the plain, And bore a portion of the mystic train To the south region of the mournful height, (For not a star had deign’d to shine that night,)— Yea, all was dark. Earth, Air, and Ocean, now Were void. Not so in the dread realms below:— Where there were spirits—tens of thousands, fiends, Whose shrieks were borne upon the various winds Of hell; and who with awful vengeance swore That such should be for ever, evermore! Where mountains labour in the trough of woe, And topple over on the host below: Where valleys lift themselves, and roll in waves: Where grim idolaters rise from their graves And walk the plains like skeletons of death, Imparting oaths at each receding breath; Whose tongues hang down upon their fleshless breasts, And waste their foam like over-burthen’d beasts. But there were, also, those grandees of state; And in their midst that mighty Autocrat, The Governor of all therein; and he Unbarr’d the gate of immortality: While Vulcan, in attendance on the god, Had watch’d his master, and observed his nod: Towards the corpse he went, and breathed one breath,— When Bacchus ’rose, and doff’d his robe of death! * * * * * This was the moment when upwent that cry Which, as ’twas said, had rent the gloomy sky: This was the moment that the fiery waves Wrote on the cloud above them—“Bassareus lives!” And this the hour that Earth, and Air, and Sea, Was one vast waste of transient misery! When all the gods and goddesses were thrown Into a state of tremulous concern, And took themselves to flight, each one their way, To write their records of the dismal day. Now, Proserpine,[150] she, Pluto’s august queen, Was present to augment the novel scene: (No goddess, Pluto—though his power was great— Could e’er induce to share his vast estate; He, vex’d, enraged, deformed, despised, went forth, Stole Proserpine, and sunk into the earth; Which deed, great consternation then provoked Among the Virgins, where he ’rose: they look’d, But ’twas in vain, for suddenly they’d gone Down to the caverns of the mighty one.) She saw poor Bassareus lift his ruffled head,— Observ’d his deathied checks flush to a red: And saw his eyes revolve, as ’round he gazed Upon the crowd, and stood—as though amazed— Contemplating with evident deep thought The strange transfiguration which was wrought. Forth Pluto stepp’d, and, holding out his hand, Embraced the god. * * * The then surrounding band Of wondering magnates, vie[151] and send abroad— “Long live great Bassareus!” “Hail our new-born god!” Then all the multitude join’d in the song, And ceasèd not, till Vulcan beat his gong; When to the palace the great concourse went; And on the mount, where dwelt th’ omnipotent Unmerciful, great god, to light the way Ten thousand torches flamed towards the sky; And all within, and out, was revelry. Uninterruptedly, for nine whole days The carnival endured: a fervent blaze— Meanwhile continuing—cast a melting heat Upon the host assembled round the seat Of Pluto. But poor Bacchus grew afraid,[152]— He being an alien in the land of dread: When first he saw the gloomy element, His heart forsook him, and much tears he spent; When first he heard the thunderings of hell, He beat his breast, and cursed his living soul; When he beheld the fiends fly ’cross the course, He stamp’d the ground, and grumbled with remorse; When at a furnace-heat the winds did blow, More sad, dejected, did poor Bassareus grow;— His anguish now became so great, he foamed, Inclined his head towards the ground, and moaned: Now raved aloud for that he loved on Earth, To cool his tongue and wash his frothy mouth: Then shook his head, and swung it like a plumb, Reviling bitterly his mother’s womb: Discomfited, he sent a piteous cry * * * (Which all the host interpreted for joy.) And roar’d aloud—“Ye gods of hell, be damn’d” (The more he cried less did they understand.) Upon his ears their hideous chorus dwelt; And as the direful strain of discords swell’d He roll’d himself upon the heated earth, (They misconstrued it into signs of mirth;) Then bit his flesh, and pluck’d his bearded chin; Besought the gods to disembowel him! (But more and more the tumult did increase: Awhile he swore—they sent into the space Their boisterous shouts in honour of their king, And unto Bacchus tuned their welcoming.) Yes—he, poor god, grew more and more depress’d; His temples swoll’n, and every joint oppress’d With pain intense, he cried—“None so distress’d As I, * * * none half so wretched, * * * none so lorn, * * * Not one so miserable was ever born!” Great Pluto, seeing the god most sorely wroth, (For on his bearded chin there lurk’d the froth,) Said unto him—“O Bassareus! why so sad? Pray doff thy sorrow, and uplift thine head,— Behold the grandeur of my Palestine: On yonder mountain, next in rank to mine, And in the clouds, a castle I will raise,— In which (my will is) thou shalt pass thy days, And there remain, till Jupiter shall call, Shall call thee hence unto the world of Sol!” (These words electrified the mournful god, Who rubbed his eyes, and scann’d the multitude.) Continued Pluto: “Thine the fault shall be, If thou dost not enjoy felicity:— For in thy mansion vassals thou shalt have; A guard of honour, powerful and brave, Shall be, Friend Bassareus, at thy own command; And in my senate thou, at my right hand, Shall hold the sceptre of unrighteousness; Thy chief attendants shall be Lachesis, And Clotho, and their sister Atropos;[153] Those noted creatures of fatality: And with them, as companions, there shall be Megæra, Alecto, and Tisiphone,[154] Endowed with gifts most suitable to thee: And, furthermore, to enhance thy glory here, My orders shall go forth to Mulciber, To forge a chariot of Corinthian brass, Of great dimensions, that thou mightest pass About the regions of thy residence With solemn grandeur, and magnificence.” * * * * * As now when Bassareus, with derision, smiled, And grew, dissemblingly, more reconciled, He clench’d his hands and ’rose a cubit higher (Red as the elements that raged with fire), And turned his sweating face towards the sky: Unheeding the vast crowd’s tumultuous cry, His lips, with much emotion, seemed to move: At last he thunder’d out this prayer to Jove,— “O Sovereign Jove! lord, god of air and earth,— Thou benefactor, guardian of my youth,— Behold my sorrow, and mine agony! * * * Sustain me, Jove, in my adversity! * * * My flesh is melting with the dreadful blaze Revolving round the vast infernal space: My hunger and my thirst’s unbearable; The noise of hell—most incomparable!— From which, O Jove! with Pluto intercede, That of these torments Bacchus may be freed: And if ’tis possible, O Jupiter! With all thy majesty in Earth and Air, Thy wit, thy wisdom, and unrivalled power; Whose eloquence of speech, whose well-earn’d store Of heav’nly honours, none can e’er surpass,— Speak thou to Pluto, that I may repass Through that great gulf, back to those orient plains, There bask again among those teeming vines;— There——” but as he spake this word[155] (and ’twas his last!) Loud thunders clapp’d, and lightnings rent the Vast Tornadoes, furiously the plains career’d; And all the host of hell aghast appear’d! Now Bassareus cried; tears mingled with his sweat: He lash’d his body, and defined a threat, And coupled with it a most horrid oath; Which Pluto could not bear. So, in his wroth, He turn’d an Enemy; and, with disdain, Commanded all the Elements to rain A torrent of red flame!—Down came the flood! The merc’less fluid, mingled with the blood Of tens of thousands (in an instant slain), Rush’d like an ocean o’er the smoking plain. * * * * * From his high towers—the deluge, Pluto saw. The dissolution of the host below Chang’d not his countenance. A thousand times This haughty monarch (and for lesser crimes Than those of Bassareus’) scourged the land with fire, Durst any magnate to provoke his ire. Said he to Proserpine—“Lift I my hand, Ten thousand demons are at my command: Burn I as many every day, nay hour, Lift it again, and lo! ten thousand more Are at my feet. * * * Weep not, O Proserpine! No such destruction shall be ever thine; Nor Vulcan’s fate: he, Pluto’s chief, shall dwell For ever in those glorious realms of hell. Nox,[156] ancient creature, shall for ever find My heart in favour, and my edicts kind: Though dark her ways, her manners I approve,— She makes no prayers to Jupiter or Jove,— And next to Proserpine doth share my love; Contented, amiable, and circumspect, The good old goddess, Pluto shall protect. Nor giant Charon,[157] constant at his post, Conductor of the dead from coast to coast; Though rude his mien, him will I not despise; Him will I shelter from the flaming skies. My Judges, also, for their integrity, Shall know no sorrow, nor adversity. Nor Cerberus,[158] my faithful, at the gate (For ever ready to defend my state), Shall never die, shall never lack my care Whilst hell is hell, and Pluto master there!”