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.--It may be considered presumptuous of the Author that he should have dared to venture in the paths of Allegory; but since he has been guilty of doing so, he must bear whatever chastisement may be inflicted upon him. The Poem is intended, in the first instance, to illustrate in a figurative manner the frailty of the human mind--or rather, the natural propensity of the human heart--in the pursuit of pleasure; which, if not mercifully prevented by the interposition of Divine Providence, tends to create an insatiate desire for new and unattainable delights; fosters an intemperate habit; promotes an incessant craving after carnal joys; and which inevitably involves a person in the whirlpool of vice, and ultimately leads to the destruction of the Soul. In the second instance, to depict the manner of mystic glorification--instituted by the Sovereign of the Outer World--continually going on in the dominions of his Satanic Majesty; but which, to the unredeemed souls of departed creatures, is the sad state of everlasting torment, consequent to perdition. And thirdly, the Author hopes this representation of the unblissful regions may have the effect of retarding, at least--in some degree, the appetite for the pleasures, or he would say: vanities of this life; and of eventually averting the evil and direful calamity, by--"Turning the hearts of the disobedient unto the wisdom of the just."

For it scarcely can be believed that there is such a place in reality--viz., of a tangible nature; but if so, in what direction of the boundless Profound can it be? and where are we to look for it?

The Death, Burial, and Destruction of Bacchus.

NOTE.--The Author has taken the liberty to use the celestial deities in this poem in the category of planets, and to give to each of them the imaginary character of a person.

CANTO THE FIRST.

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 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 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 in th' ascendancy. 'Twas there that Bacchus 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, 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 , 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 , 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 to hunt down a beast,-- To Comus 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, "O Brother, come to me, Bring down five thousand gods to help the glee! O mighty and most gentle Venus, 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, junior of the skies; And Mercury, with those sharp propitious eyes: Tell Saturn, 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 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, 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 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 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, 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, passing by, Caught the reflection of his glaring eye , And, like a good Samaritan, went o'er: Rememb'ring well the visage which he bore, She exclaim'd aloud to her great lord of heaven-- -- Crying, "Bassareus 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 , 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; 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 rush'd in great waves, And when they spat, a stench obnoxious 'rose-- Offensive to the most inur?d nose. Around their waists were slung huge buffalo horns , With which they went three times a day for drink, And stood around that dread Avernus' brink, 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; 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. 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 wing?d 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 : And all sent on swift-wing?d, 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!

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 manoeuvred, 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' renown?d Minos, magistrate, Androge?s, his son; then, great in name, Stood Rhadamanthus, 'nother judge of fame; AEacus, 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,-- 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; 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 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 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, now pleas'd, sent up a yellow shaft-- Which Boreas, 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 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 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.

The venerable grape-vine at Hampton Court Palace, near London.

A title of the Sun.

The zodiacal sign for July.

The god of wine and sensuality.

Represented in this poem as the great Mythological Musician; who fell violently in love with the nymph Daphne, famed for her modesty.

A mighty hunter.

The god of festivals.

The sovereign lord of the Mythological Heaven.

The goddess of Beauty .

A planet known as the "Georgium Sidus:"--no mythological title.

The god of Eloquence, &c.

The most ancient of all the Heathen Deities; the emblem of Time.

Of Bacchus.

See the two preceding pages.

The beloved nymph of Apollo.

Apollo.

One of the names of Bacchus.

The Lord and Governor of Hell.

The god of subterraneous fire.

Pluto.

A river of hell.

Avernus, a lake on the borders of hell.

The fiery elements.

Apollo--who is, in this instance, to be considered one of the earth.

A title of Vulcan.

Son of Chaos.

Pluto and Apollo.

Pluto.

The north wind.

CANTO THE SECOND.

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 AEtna's fire, Pass'd through an aperture a cubit higher ; 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 cort?ge 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 , 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 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-- "Oh, give me death, and bury me like this!" He doff'd his helmet , And as a child the hero seem?d 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 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 Melp?mene 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 vanish?d, And gods conferr'd like men astonish?d. 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, -- 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!

Great Pluto, seeing the god most sorely wroth, 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 thou shalt pass thy days, And there remain, till Jupiter shall call, Shall call thee hence unto the world of Sol!" 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; Those noted creatures of fatality: And with them, as companions, there shall be Megaera, Alecto, and Tisiphone, 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."

NOTE.--It is the author's intention to represent, in a subsequent poem, "The Resurrection of Bacchus,"--his return and glorious reception upon Earth, etc.

The ferryman of Hell.

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