THE FALL OF LUCIFER.
Rev. xii., 3, 7, 8, 9, 12.
LOST in the past;—though vague tradition's tongue
In broken numbers hath its record sung—
A sacred story, faint and dread it seems
Like the dim shadow'd outline seen in dreams—
Faint as the distant and half-blended form
Of the surf beaten cliff in wint'ry storm,
That melts in softn'd shadows mid the rime
And cold,—so thro' the iron hand of time
Comes back that wild and airy dream of yore!
A mystic history, that evermore
Must linger but half solved;—and to human brain
Still must that feeble light unread remain;
There was a time when highest heaven did swear
Their Mighty Ruler should no longer bear
The sway unrivall'd o'er the new made earth,—
In broken numbers hath its record sung—
A sacred story, faint and dread it seems
Like the dim shadow'd outline seen in dreams—
Faint as the distant and half-blended form
Of the surf beaten cliff in wint'ry storm,
That melts in softn'd shadows mid the rime
And cold,—so thro' the iron hand of time
Comes back that wild and airy dream of yore!
A mystic history, that evermore
Must linger but half solved;—and to human brain
Still must that feeble light unread remain;
There was a time when highest heaven did swear
Their Mighty Ruler should no longer bear
The sway unrivall'd o'er the new made earth,—
