Classic and Contemporary Poetry
NIMROD: 6, by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH Poet's Biography First Line: Three days, above the plain, the setting sun Last Line: The solemn beauty of that elder speech. Subject(s): Nimrod (bible) | ||||||||
Three days, above the plain, the setting sun Moved over Babel; and its thousand courts, Ruined beneath the sky, lay silently Like pools of blood. Its devastated domes Shone forth no more but blackened on the ground, Rent into shapes gigantic. Its vast walls, Spread fearfully, lay swart upon the sand, Cleft in deep chasms, gorges of dark bronze, Black, wind-swept cliff and brassy precipice. Its towers had ceased like thunder. Its temples huge, Convulsed in mammoth shapes, crouched on the plain Like anguished gods -- doomed and forever dumb. For, with its spirits gone, what tongue can tell The speechless agony of aching bronze, The groanings and convulsions of strong stone. Bed rock was heaved from earth. From dungeons deep Emerged pale waters that, in mighty halls, Spread glassy lakes beneath the shattered domes. It seemed eternal ruin. No voice broke That death-like stillness and not any man Looked forth to query where his home had been. But the gaunt wolf skulked slant-eyed from the plain, And when the sun was set the jackal whined Down empty echoing corridors of stone. Under the roofless pillars the night owl Flew among ruined arches and the wind Sighed through disconsolate forests of black bronze. But when upon the third night the full moon Shone on the plain, a dark and awful shape Loomed forth upon the rock and spread abroad Its shadow in the waste. For a long time It crouched, squat in the sand, nor moved at all, But its huge bulk was like a bowlder cast In the eternal idiocy of stone. At length that sombre entity did move, And with colossal labor without sound Heaved up its groaning ruins; and the moon Revealed the shaken semblance of a man. With vague spread feet, gnarled knees and shaggy sides, With bulging eyes and large, astonished face, With matted locks of horror-whitened hair, Gigantic in the waste he towered alone, That once in Babel was a mighty King. He stared abroad, as if a diver, lost Beneath deep waters, gazed on a sunken town. Then with a vacuous eye he seemed to search As for a thing forgotten -- that being found He would remember it. And he moved on, Desolate in the silence -- and he saw Unearthly crawling monsters of slow stone, And buried in a sea of livid light Black on the sand, unutterable shapes. Through ruined vaults and roofless corridors He moved with stealthy step. Sometimes he came To empty chambers open to the sky Whose lone inhabitant was the windy owl Wheeling his ghostly shadow to and fro With melancholy hooting. Much amazed At these unearthly ruins he moved on, Turning his steps along a corridor That promised him the end he sought and seemed As when along an insane countenance A look of recognition strangely creeps. But at the end it led him to a place Made imbecile with ruin -- where not one thing Preserved its ancient contour. Sometimes he beat Against a barricade of rock or rushed Like one gone frantic to some parapet Or from a ruined casement stared far off Upon a sea of moonlit waste. At last, Not knowing where he went, he turned his steps Among the ruins of that mighty hall Where once great Babel held her festival, And his bright warriors, shaggy as burning trees, Blazed forth like conflagration. Nimrod strode Under the sky and on that ruin gazed. For lo -- those walls, graven with mighty shapes Beautiful, old, occult, were spread abroad In gorgeous devastation. And he gazed On awful effigies of sculptured bronze. Cast from their habitations they appeared With frigid gestures to forbid or warn. Carved out of purple marble, slit-eyed, straight -- lipped, With gold set in their nostrils and their mouths, With hands upon their knees, about to speak, Yet dumb forever, stared swart images. Hewn out of uncouth rock, old sacred beasts, Elephants, lions, monsters terrible, Dragons and birds that flew before the flood With scaly wings of brass, grotesquely shaped, Stared at him from those devastated walls, Shaken with thunder each one from his niche Of lawful meaning. As if the shining beasts That rage with love and splendor about God's throne, Beneath His hand unutterably good, Being cast to earth returned to natural wrath And whined or whinnied, bellowed, roared or screamed, Each after his own kind, desiring flesh; So these immortal symbols, fallen from grace, Unspiritual, brutish, uttered death. Monsters of twisted bronze, griffin or sphinx, Strange mythologic beasts no eye had seen, Beneath the moon, in effigies of hate, That once in ordered harmony had choired With golden mouths a psalmody of love, Stared at him as he moved and with mad lips Cried dissolute meanings that were not the truth. Then his flesh cowered before old hieroglyphs Of chronicles forgotten -- gods asleep -- That muttered forth sad dreams and vaguely spoke Into his soul, dark, unimagined crime And uncreated horror. Letters strange Leered at him wildly and with insane eyes Told tales abominable of an earth They saw not well. But some were chastely made, More lovely than the white and ancient moon; But like the moon they ever turned away An occult fire from the eyes of man. Others of more intelligible shape Seemed beautiful to him -- but oh, how dumb, Like mouths of speechless angels -- lost syllables, That had no meaning for him, yet did seem To have that in them which should ease his grief If his soul's eyes could read their outlawed script. Adamic spellings, palely glimmering runes, And broken shapes of ancient alphabets! He seemed like one who argued with the speech Of furious madmen -- for upon the night They worked such images as with fearful shapes Floated upon the air in horrors pale. Insanities, that in the shadowy wind Beat round his face like harpies and befouled His spirit's sustenance! Contagious fear Begot abomination where it was not, And having sickened all things, on his soul Cast off its trembling and diseased sweat. Murder sat throned on emptiness, and hate Was soured in the air's stomach till it spat A living venom around Nimrod's feet. Wrath shook his marrow. Floating idiocies, Like watery jellies in voluptuous shapes, Swam through his brain; and disembodied lust Fearfully drifted towards his dreamy flesh. Then panic seized him and on his body cast Disintegration, till what time should do By terror was accomplished. Palsy shook The virtue from his bone. His flesh distilled In unseen waters. He stretched forth withering arms. With vacuous eyes, with horror-whitened hair, He might have lived innumerable years. Awful he stood, unutterably old. But as he groped for some remembered sight, His tranced eyes grew suddenly awake. He came upon a crumbling arch, carved deep With cunning skill and devious workmanship. Beneath its shadowy arches, beating thick, Bats throbbed athwart the darkness with shrill cries Or in warm dusky garlands hung festooned. Then gazing underneath that arch, he saw A ruined marble stair, monstrous, snow white; Upon the left, over the sunken steps, A roaring torrent; shattered on the right Huge fragments of a golden balustrade, Wherefrom hung shining coils of mighty snakes; And at the top a barred and brazen door. Then Nimrod groaned. And plunging up besieged With breast and hands that portal. It was carved With haloes of bright angels and burnished red With glowing ribs of deeply crudded wings. And on the left a brazen cherub stood With wings outspread. His pinions were blood red, His breast of alabaster and his eyes Of topaz, flaming fearfully. In his hand He poised a jeweled spear before the Lord. And on the right a brazen cherub stood With wings outspread. His pinions were blood red, His breast of alabaster and his eyes Of topaz, flaming fearfully. In his hand He poised a jeweled spear before the Lord. Then Nimrod with huge clamor beat the door, With shouts and speech of anguish; old great cries He had not yet forgotten; Adamic prayers; And prehistoric signals of the flesh When it was pure in Eden; tribal calls Of spirit unto spirit; ambrosial speech; Curses that Cain once taught unto his sons In his great city; Paradisal words Ineffable to us, rich syllables That fed the soul, calm as angelic milk, With deep and immemorial tones of love. And lo, beneath his violence that door Groaned, yielded, gave, and fell, and its harsh sound Echoed through the reverberating halls. But Nimrod, gazing from a windy cliff, Beheld the floating clouds and the dark sky. Over a sunken ruin sailed the moon. Cast far below he saw Bathsheba's towers Flung forth in natural shapes, fantastic cliffs, Caverns of bronze, or promontories steep; And pale with ghostly splendor in their midst The polished silence of a smoothed lake, Until that night by no man ever seen, Paved with such bitter whiteness of the moon A brazen dragon well might dance thereon. Then Nimrod turned. But now not with huge cries He broke the stillness, but his glassy eyes Rolled forth on nothingness. Round his large face Floated vague locks of horror-whitened hair. Down that great marble stair he swept as if A temple fell and in the ruined hall, Gorgeous in devastation, groped among His monstrous images. Then suddenly, Shaken with palsy, with a staring eye, He pointed down among the shattered wings Of crumbled brazen angels, and plucked forth A slab of polished stone on which was writ A name of might. This, seizing in both hands, He raised high in the air, and on it shone In letters bright, a disobedient word -- "Great Nimrod." Then he cast it in the dust And raised to Heaven a primeval cry. And at that cry dark shadows dimly stirred From obscure places, and as snuffing hounds Seek to the prey, vague human beings moved Among the shaken ruins and appeared From secret haunts where they in anguish hid. Slowly from vaults and echoing corridors They dolorously crept and were aghast Seeing him white with age; and still they came And huddled round him. But speechless through the night Loomed the great King. Repulsed upon his lips His words did sit like dark-browed effigies In sculptured silence and he did not speak. About their sombre chief they studded the dark As when God's whisper spake into the sky A thousand planets. So there appeared in sight, In fearful resurrection, hosts of men. And Nimrod lifted up his voice and spoke. And from his lips his mighty arguments Did lock their shoulders like great struggling gods In the clear fierce arena of mid air. For he alone of all that lived in Babel Remembered the old God-like words nor yet Had lost from off his tongue that ancient speech. "Oh! Oh! Ye men of Babel! Wherefore then Do ye stare round about with dog-like eyes That beg the sop of charity from me? There was a man that once on Shinar's plain Built such a lordly city as not yet Had Heaven looked upon;. I am not He;. Oh! Oh! Ye men of Babel! Get ye hence, Out of this ruined city to a strange land, And build new towns upon a distant plain. They said that Nimrod was a mighty man. His garments were like thunder. His head shone With fleeces of the sun, and his bright lips Flashed javelins of persuasion; Where is He?; Oh! Oh! Ye men of Babel! I say that God Is terrible on earth, and if our speech Shall make a stench in Heaven, we are cut off. Obey the Lord; I would ye had a king!; But if ye love me, if ye have no fear Of mine affliction, lest I bring a curse Upon your tents and lest your women's milk Be dried from out their breasts because of me, Then place chains on my wrists; and on my brow Write 'slave,' and drive me with an iron scourge, Bearing your burdens like the patient beast, While ye shall wax like cedars in green plains. If ye would have me with you, cry to me! But if ye fear me, silently depart." But they, with looks askance, heard Nimrod's speech, Not understanding his great ancient words. And, being full of wrath, thinking he said Unnatural, grievous things -- with angry eyes And sullen aspect they silently moved away. That night they traveled forth upon the plain, Nor unto Nimrod did his sons return. But venerable Assher stayed with him, The ancient, the white-haired, and his true friend, That once had loved him for his bounteous youth. And when he saw how health had left the King And he had grown unutterably old, The tears fell from his eyes; and Nimrod said, Lo now, thou art my only and true friend." But when he heard that speech, old Assher thought The King was mad and answered unto him, "How can I serve thee?" Then was Nimrod's mind Bewildered utterly and he conceived That Assher hated him and with a cry Of wrath and anguish, lifted up his sword And smote him in the breast. And Assher fell, And the blood flowed. And Nimrod stared at him, Fearing lest curses crouched in hostile eyes Spring from their lair and slay him who had slain. But Assher, raising vaguely on his arm And breathing heavily, gazed up once more In Nimrod's angry eyes, and ere he died With a loud voice he cried an unknown word. Then was great Nimrod shaken grievously. And from the shadows moved a dreary shape And settled mournfully at Nimrod's feet, Unnoticed. For from Nimrod's anguished lips Swept words like planets. Golden and full orbed They rode the silence as the throbbing stars Rehearse the centuries or foretell new days Or move through Heaven prophesying woe. "Spirit of truth! Oh, how shall I make peace With thy enraged great nature? I am one Who having bid his tribe unto the feast Pollutes the bread. Have mercy upon me. For lamentation seizes on my flesh And in my soul there is a deep disease. Ye purities that in the wind and rain Shall dredge the air of foulness -- find out a way To cleanse me! Never! Never shall I be clean. Then cast me in the purging fires of Hell And in eternal flames let me be burned. Let me be damned. But oh, from out my soul Let this ripe sickness somehow be consumed. For if it were a horror of the flesh That had unseasoned me -- how quickly then Might Nature work in me her ancient cure. Then she might rend my body off from me And cast its fevers in the air, and turn Its leprosies into the earth, and fling My spirit forth, a creature clean and bold. But this strikes deeper. When I die, my soul Shall howl outside the citadel of God, And with rent garments cry 'Unclean! Unclean!' Thou happy flesh, that when distressed too far Melts off in vaporish airs and is no more! Oh, for some power that swiftly should unlock The atoms of my spirit, that they might fly Asunder once for all, and all my thoughts Be cast abroad under the windy stars, Blown off in gulfs of nothingness. Then no more, Fixed in immortal entity of woe, Should I ejaculate to mine own grief That syllable of god-like torture -- 'I.' What doom has come on me that I must go Seeking mine own soul's death, yet find it not? But still my spirit, breathed of God, must bear Its ancient and intolerable shape. Thou gaze of Truth, that, sphering forth my soul, Still keeps me focusedfor one moment lift That splendor from me! Then I'll plunge out in dark And be no more a self; Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Who am I? What?; Once did I have a name? -- Ye blocks of nothingness that, hewn by me, Built up in dungeons dreadful and unseen, Immure my soul in darkness! I, no more, Shall feel upon my spirit that sweet breath Of ancient freedom. I, no more, shall plunge Like droves of horses up my thoughts' steep plains Nor in deep coverts hunt out mighty prey Of fearful knowledge -- Huntsman before the Lord. Nor perched upon some mighty spiritual cliff Shall I snatch down the lightning out of Heaven To be unto my sons a flaming sword. When I was young and in my spirit's health, I dreamed such deeds as great archangels dream, Such that astonished cherubs plumed in flame Bent down to listen to my murmuring sleep. I plotted triumphs beautiful and great, With battle calls and singing clamor sweet! Then, like mellifluous pipes with silver sound, By mine own soul my flesh was blown upon! Where is my clarion? On what inner hills Blows my shrill trumpet? When shall my host return? And oh, ye sweet and many-voiced pipes, To what harsh discord has your music gone! I have so frightened nature that her milk Has lost its sustenance, and when I turn To her rich bosom she yields unto my soul A food that palsies and a drink that kills. Where shall I go? What shall I do? What hearth Shall warm me now with flames? Is there a roof To shield me from the tempest? No! No -- I say! For I am not as one that being thrust Out of an alien door goes forth alone Cursing his hostile tribe, but in the plains Habits in some dark cave with lynx or owl, Befriended by nutritious earth! I am A wandering vacuum by space cast out, Abhorred by nature and by God accursed. Oh thou appalling universe! Thou hast No darkened cranny wherein I can hide From mine affliction. What will ye do to me? Ye crouching, hostile, savage entities Of earth, air, water, wood, flesh, spirit, stone! There's not one grain of sand upon the plain But from its breast such furies are unleashed As hound my spirit forth -- it knows not where. Oh, while I live on earth, each thing that is Shall scourge my soul with its identity, Accusing, awful, unutterably real. Ye fierce existing things, how shall I make Peace with you ever! Brand upon my lips, Thou Spirit of Truth, some burning word, so deep Pain cannot shake it thence. Then I will go Shouting it forth. But let my people turn On me in wrath and scourge me for my speech! Yes, stone me to the dust! Yes -- strip from me My clamorous flesh and send mine outraged ghost Breathing forth vengeance and a shout of truth! So might ye be appeased, ye things that bear A shape upon you and mine own soul might feel A solace to its grief. It cannot be! But when I die and leave this earth I'll go An ancient wanderer through the universe, Hounded by meteors, cast off by the stars, Plunged into chaos. Oh ye musics huge That deepen into splendors with rich suns Or wane with dying moons -- never by you Shall I be comforted but yet more damned Because ye are so real. For I am one With such deep contradiction in my soul That when God to the void cried -- 'Let there be' -- I, unto groaning chaos, shouted, 'No.' Ye giant harmonies that in deep space Build up proud architectures -- not with you, Shall I in sounding chambers of delight Seek shelter from the intolerable waste. Not in your shining palace may I dwell, Who raised myself amid the howling waste A small and evil tent of the unreal. Ye powers that drive upon that failing roof Your blazing weapons -- be merciless to me. With your strong, glittering spears stab me clean through. Let not my dangerous spirit rove at large. Fix me forever on some shuddering orb, Sad and for ages doomed. For if I go, Sweeping through space my pale terrific ghost, Against mine own deep will I shall afflict The duteous orbits of the stars; shall drive My hounds of fierce negation forth with howls, Devouring living entities, until The world shall reek with carcasses of thought. Or I might snatch from Heaven its accuracies That twist and wreathe and wonderfully bind His seasons and His planets! Whirl them forth -- Shuddering, beautiful, voluminous, bright, Then cast them hissing underneath my feet With all their cunning gone! Then, then indeed, God's whole creation fearfully shall rock! Or if with spells of hate and mutterings deep I snare his numbers forth from midmost air So that his strong foundations crumble quite! Think, think, ye angels! with what eyes of grief Ye would survey your aching atmosphere, If I should snatch their poles from the swift orbs Or casting grief upon the air whirl forth Great shrieking circles that my thought had flayed Of their circumference -- or if my hand Stripped time from off the stars -- then -- Send me peace! Thou blasting light, shine not upon me so That I should see the face of mine offense. Thou burning Truth! How fearfully lit up Is my own thought before me, as when dark crags Jutting from off a mountain's thundering peak, With blazing lightning sheeted in living flame, Glow terribly apparent. Oh, -- if from out my spirit there had sprung Some great new virtue -- some unimagined good -- Such as the angels of the choiring spheres Might gaze upon with love and breed it forth For their delight -- like great melodious doves! Then should this cruel splendor show me plain, Set on time's promontory where men's eyes Gazing upon me ever should behold Eternal beauty on my breast. But now, With haggard front and a bewildered eye, With barren countenance and shaking bone, They see me lifting in accursed hands A fearful offering of archetypal woe, Deep in my breast an everlasting shame, And on my lips an immemorial lie. Yet shine, shine on, thou awful Truth, and make My deep affliction deeper. Let me know Full well what I have done. Yes, let me sit For centuries staring at this deed of mine, So I may see on it thy fearful light Nor wholly lose thee from mine eyes gone blind. Increase my woe. Let me behold thee more. Oh, not with slow recessional of light Subdue my anguish in me. Ease me not With lesser wisdom. But upon my soul Beat down thy full and devastating light. So I shall mourn for aeons, eternal, sad, Original, disastrous, inventive, stretched Upon the starry wheels of cosmic pain, Tremendous and afflicted, huge, chastised, Greatest among the anguished gods of wrong -- I will preserve my planetary throes -- Nor yield my nature unto smaller pains." But lo, ere he was done, upon the peaks Of his soul's mountains, thunder roared and shook The hidden regions of his mind. The spears Of multitudes of angels flashed and plunged In his deep substance, as the fiery bolt Buries itself in stone. Then from God's eyes Swept forth a cloud of darkness, such as cast His consciousness in foggy night. Bright thoughts, Like stars in the deep heaven of his mind, Tore their fixed bodies, screaming, from that sky, And flashed away to emptiness. Oh, then Was Nimrod seized with violent grief that shook His giant limbs. He reared, he plunged, he bent. He filled the air with such harsh cries as when Wild horses deep in forest fires, raise Upon the shuddering night, unearthly screams. He swerved this way and that, and falling prone Like a huge herd of cattle, beat the dust. Then, raised aloft, he flung his groaning bulk Into the air and dizzily swept through space Circles of anguish as if a falling orb Wheeled through the heavens on vast curves of pain. Then, drawing back his thousand agonies, His shakings, sweatings, terrors, dreads, despairs, His furies, retributions, rages, griefs, He bound them as the fearful hand of God Locks fiery whirlwind into speechless stone. Silent he spread, to helpless earth appalled, And Babel's curse fell on great Nimrod's tongue. Then, then, his spirit's golden bastions shook! His starry dome of high philosophy Flung down its meteors, and the columns huge Of stately logic crumbled. In his soul The shining architectures of sweet tone Were spread in ruin. Down the corridors Of his dark brain plunged wild and gusty shapes Of syllables affrighted. Routed forth, Flared great white faces of astonished words. From chambers of music and deep vaults of sound Where they had hidden, wild and lovely dreams, Clothed in a virginal vesture of sweet song, Went mad with discord. Then forgetfulness Swept its slow fogs on mighty Nimrod's brain. Awful aphasias, with their bleeding whips, Scourged from its palace sweetly singing speech, Beautiful symbols out of music made, Syllables lovely, metaphors sweet shaped That, floating brightly, danced before the Lord; And from their altars many a priest-like word They drove from ceremonials of high thought. Then guiles and crafts, wreathing like thick black snakes, Choked meaning like snared birds and creeping lies Soft, thick and shining, monstrous and snow white, Coiled palely round the struggling limbs of speech. Then forth upon the air, not to return, There leaped from Nimrod's lips terrific sounds Driven by God's anger. Verbs like men at arms Charged battling forth; and bold and blazing nouns Like chariots, fury ridden; adjectives That spread their fiery bellies in the sun Till all their quivering wings as copper shone; Ejaculations huge, deep tones of woe, Thundering gutturals, hissing sibilants Of fire-breathing serpents -- every sound That once had ministered to dream or thought, Plunged from his shouting lips and shook the air, Blazed brightly on the shadowy gale and then Swept up to Heaven. When Nimrod saw them go He stood confounded, and upon him fell Vacuity, that numbed with aching sleep All he had ever known. Then did he seem Like one whose will, in bitter conflict plunged, Grapples with thought, but with a flaming shield That Heavenly warrior to the Lord returns. Then from those lips that once had moved the earth And swayed God's ramparts with their prayers, there came First accents of a speech before unheard; Faint murmurings, and sighs and querulous breaths, Mutterings, peevish whispers, babble wild, Bewildered utterances and whimpering cries Like those of bleeding curs. And fiercer notes Of astonishment and wrath shook from his lips, New fearful curses, shoutings of dismay, Alarums, prophecies of dire events, And wild deliriums of mongrel tones. But when he strove to lift his voice to Heaven And cast with splendor before the Golden Throne His great and ancient prayers -- then his vague lips Loose, stammering, uttered speech against his will, Terrible laughter, crazy emptiness -- And a thick mumbling blurred great Nimrod's lips. Then did he speak no more. But knowing now What he had done before God's face, he stood Refusing from his voice those lesser tones That like the Titans had pursued the Gods From his Olympian lips. Silent he grew, Choosing instead to be forever dumb. Thus Nimrod stood and the slow night wore on, And her dark patience wasted into dawn. But when that august silence on his lips, Unbearable, unending, seemed to draw Her soul up to him, as the old dead moon Bids up the sombre tide, the huddled shape, That had so long been crouched at Nimrod's feet, Heaved heavily and underneath his eyes Spoke syllables he did not understand. But when upon his glassy eye there shone The pale and awful beauty of her face, Once more the tranced waters of his mind Shone with the glimmering radiance of words, Reflections of such thoughts as in the sky Of his soul's Heaven hung like spiritual stars. And a vast cry issued from Nimrod's lips, A primal utterance and an ancient word. Then did eternal silence seize his tongue And there was heard no more upon the earth The solemn beauty of that elder speech. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NIMROD: 1 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH NIMROD: 2 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH NIMROD: 3 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH NIMROD: 4 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH NIMROD: 5 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH NIMROD: 7 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE PRIDE OF NIMROD by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES SONGS FOR MY MOTHER: 2. HER HANDS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH SONGS FOR MY MOTHER: 3. HER WORDS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE MONK IN THE KITCHEN by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |
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