: The Original Poems of Edward Edwin Foot of Her Majesty's Customs London by Foot Edward Edwin - English poetry 19th century

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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!

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