Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, REBELLION, by GEORGE CROLY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

REBELLION, by                     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





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