THE SPIRITS OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

Ere the birth of Death and of Time,

Ere the birth of Hell and its torments,

Ere the orbs of heat and of rime

And the winds to the heavens were as garments,

Worm-like in the womb of Space,

Worm-like from her monster womb,

We sprung, a myriad race

Of thunder and tempest and gloom.

As from the evil good

Springs like a fire,

As bland beatitude

Wells from the dire,

So was the Chaos brood

Of us the sire.

We had lain for gaunt ages asleep

‘ Neath her breast in a bulk of torpor,

When down through the vasts of the deep

Clove a sound like the notes of a harper;

Clove a sound, and the horrors grew

Tumultuous with turbulent night,

With whirlwinds of blackness that blew,

And storm that was godly in might.

And the walls of our prison were shattered

Like the crust of a fire-wrecked world;

Like torrents of clouds that are scattered

On the face of the Night we are hurled.

Us, in unholy thought

Patiently lying,

Eons of violence wrought,

Violence defying.

When on a mighty wind,—

Born of a godly mind

Large with a motive kind,—

Girdled with wonder,

Flame and a strength of song

Rushed in a voice along,

Burst and, lo! we were strong —

Strong as the thunder.

We lurk in the upper spaces,

Where the oceans of tempest are born,

Where the scowls of our shadowy faces

Are safe from the splendors of morn.

Our homes are wrecked worlds and each planet

Whose sun is a light that is sped;

Bleak moons whose cold bodies of granite

Are hollow and flameless and dead.

We in the living sun

Live like a passion;

Ere all his stars begun

We and the sun were one,

As God did fashion.

Lo! from our burning hands,

Flung like inspired brands,

Hurled we the stars, like sands

Whirled in the ocean;

And all our breath was life,

Life to those worlds and rife

With ever-moving strife,

Passion for motion.

Our beds are the tombs of the mortals;

We feed on their crimes and the thought

That falters and halts at the portals

Of actions, intentions unwrought.

We cover the face of to-morrow;

We frown in the hours that be;

We breathe in the presence of sorrow,

And death and destruction are we.

We are the hope and ease,

Joy and the pleasure,

Authors of love and peace,

Love that shall never cease,

Free as the azure.

Birth of our eyes — the might,

Power and strength of light,

Victor o'er death and night,

Flesh and its yearnings:

And from our utt'rance streams

Beauty with burnings

After completer dreams,

Fuller discernings.

Morning and birth are ours,

Dew that is blown

From our light lips like flowers;

Clouds and the beating showers,

Stars that are sown;

Song and the bursting buds,

Life of the many floods,

Winds that are strown.

Ye in your darkness are

Dark and infernal;

Subject to death and mar!

But in the spaces far,

Like our effulgent star,

We are eternal!