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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
REBELLION, by GEORGE CROLY Poet's Biography First Line: I had a vision: evening sat in gold Last Line: To exile or the tomb. Their country's life was done | |||
I HAD a vision: evening sat in gold Upon the bosom of a boundless plain, Cover'd with beauty; -- garden, field, and fold, Studding the billowy sweep of ripening grain, Like islands in the purple summer main. And temples of pure marble met the sun, That tinged their white shafts with a golden stain; And sounds of rustic joy, and labour done, Hallow'd the lovely hour, until her pomp was gone. The plain was hush'd in twilight, as a child Slumbers beneath its slow drawn canopy; But sudden tramplings came, and voices wild, And tossings of rude weapons caught the eye; And on the hills, like meteors in the sky, Burst sanguine fires, and ever and anon To the clash'd spears the horn gave fierce reply; And round their beacons trooping thousands shone, Then sank, like evil things, and all was dark and lone. 'Twas midnight; there was wrath in that wild heaven: Earth was sepulchral dark. At once a roar Peal'd round the mountain tops, like ocean driven Before the thunders on the eternal shore: Down rush'd, as if a sudden earthquake tore The bowels of the hills -- a flood of fire: Like lava, mingled spears and torches pour, The plain is deluged, higher still and higher Swell blood and flame, till all is like one mighty pyre. 'Twas dawn, and still the black and bloody smoke Roll'd o'er the champaign like a vault of stone: But as the sun's slow wheels the barrier broke, He lit the image of a fearful one, Throned in the central massacre, alone -- An iron diadem upon his brow, A naked lance beside him, that yet shone Purple and warm with gore, and crouching low, All men in one huge chain, alike the friend and foe. The land around him, in that sickly light, Show'd like the upturning of a mighty grave; Strewn with crush'd monuments, and remnants white Of man; all loneliness, but when some slave With faint, fond hand the hurried burial gave, Then died. The despot sat upon his throne, Scoffing to see the stubborn traitors wave At his least breath. The good and brave were gone To exile or the tomb. Their country's life was done | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LOVER'S OATH by GEORGE CROLY A MEETING OF MAGICIANS by GEORGE CROLY A PARISIAN FAUXBOURG by GEORGE CROLY AN AURORA BOREALIS by GEORGE CROLY DEATH AND RESURRECTION by GEORGE CROLY EFFECT OF ORATORY UPON A MULTITUDE by GEORGE CROLY JACOB'S DREAM; FROM A PICTURE BY WASHINGTON ALLSTON by GEORGE CROLY |
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