Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Deluge
The Deluge.
The judgment was at hand. Before the sunGathered tempestuous clouds, which, blackening, spreadUntil their blended masses overwhelmedThe hemisphere of day: and, adding gloomTo night's dark empire, swift from zone to zoneSwept the vast shadow, swallowing up all lightAnd covering the encircling firmamentAs with a mighty pall! Low in the dustBowed the affrighted nations, worshipping.Anon the o'ercharged garners of the stormBurst with their growing burden; fierce and fastShot down the ponderous rain, a sheeted floodThat slanted not before the baffled winds,But, with an arrowy and unwavering rush,Dashed hissing earthward. Soon the rivers rose,And roaring fled their channels; and calm lakesAwoke exulting from their lethargy,And poured destruction on their peaceful shores.
The lightning flickered in the deluged air,And feebly through the shout of gathering wavesMuttered the stifled thunder. Day nor nightCeased the descending streams; and if the gloomA little brightened, when the lurid mornRose on the starless midnight, 'twas to showThe lifting up of waters. Bird and beastForsook the flooded plains, and wearilyThe shivering multitudes of human doomedToiled up before the insatiate element.
Oceans were blent, and the leviathanWas borne aloft on the ascending seasTo where the eagle nestled. Mountains nowWere the sole land-marks, and their sides were clothedWith clustering myriads, from the weltering wasteWhose surges clasped them, to their topmost peaks,Swathed in the stooping cloud. The hand of deathSmote millions as they climbed; yet denser grewThe crowded nations, as the encroaching wavesNarrowed their little world.
And in that hour Did no man aid his fellow. Love of lifeWas the sole instinct; and the strong-limbed son,With imprecations, smote the palsied sireThat clung to him for succour. Woman trod With wavering steps the precipice's brow,And found no arm to grasp on the dread vergeO'er which she leaned and trembled. SelfishnessSat like an incubus on every heart,Smothering the voice of love. The giant's footWas on the stripling's neck; and oft despairGrappled the ready steel, and kindred bloodPolluted the last remnant of that earth'Which God was deluging to purify.Huge monsters from the plains, whose skeletonsThe mildew of succeeding centuriesHas failed to crumble, with unwieldy strengthCrushed through the solid crowds; and fiercest birdsBeat downwards by the ever-rushing rain,With blinded eyes, drenched plumes, and trailing wings,Staggered unconscious o'er the trampled prey.
The mountains were submerged; the barrier chainsThat mapped out nations sank; until at lengthOne Titan peak alone o'ertopped the waves,Beaconing a sunken world. And of the tribesThat blackened every alp, one man survived:And he stood shuddering, helpless, shelterless,Upon that fragment of the universe.The surges of the universal seaBroke on his naked feet. On his grey head,Which fear, not time, had silvered, the black cloudPoured its unpitying torrents; while around,In the green twilight dimly visible,Rolled the grim legions of the ghastly drowned,And seemed to beckon with their tossing armsTheir brother to his doom.He smote his brow, And, maddened, would have leapt to their embrace;When, lo! before him, riding on the deep,Loomed a vast fabric, and familiar soundsProclaimed that it was peopled. Hope once moreCheered the wan outcast, and imploringlyHe stretched his arms forth toward the floating walls,And cried aloud for mercy. But his prayerMan might not answer, whom his God condemned.The ark swept onward, and the billows roseAnd buried their last victim!Then the gloom Broke from the face of heaven, and sunlight streamedUpon the shoreless sea, and on the roofThat rose for shelter o'er the living germWhose increase should repopulate a world.