KING NIMAERA.

Honor from the many nations,

Honor from the scattered people,

Honor much had King Nimaera.

King Nimaera on his throne sat

In his ancient power and greatness,

In his modern pomp and splendor,

With adornments full about him,

With musicians ever by him,

With advisers sitting round him,

Till he needed of their wisdom;

They were counted by the thousands,

By the hundreds and the thousands.

Sage-like was this King Nimaera;

Furrowed was his brow with seasons;

Hoary were his locks and silvery,

Ran the sportive breezes through them,

Tossed them up in endless frolic.

Mutely sat the aged monarch

Mid the many lights and shadows,

Mid the many scenes and changes

Which for ever came around him,

Casting cursive glances on them,

Smiling now at some adroitness,

Frowning then at deeds of folly;

And a mystic manner had he,

Deep, and hidden, and mysterious,

That the people could not fathom

What he purposed for the future;

Yet he loved this people fondly,

And they fondly loved their monarch.

In their sorrow he beheld them,

And would comfort sometimes offer,

As, in joy and mirth elated,

He would sometimes bring them sadness.

These were dealings mystic to them,

Yet they were for good intended.

Springtime saw him calm and gentle,

Sweet and pleasing in his manner;

In the Summer he was joyful,

Light and gay as some fair maiden

In the time she seeks a wooer.

These were seasons of rejoicing,

And he called musicians forward,

Skilled in every art of music,

That the songs of night and morning,

And the blooming of the daytime,

Came from every hill and valley;

Every wind and zephyr laden

With melodious floods of music.

And in Autumn he came freely,

With a hand in bounty flowing,

Filling all the stores and garners

With rich heaps of fruit the choicest,

And with wine, and corn, and spices,

That the heart of every subject

Poured its thankful blessings on him.

But in Winter he was gloomy,

Dark, and dismal, and uncheerful,

And sat brooding as in anger,

Robed in garments dull and heavy;

All gay vesture now forsaken,

And all music now forbidden.

Then the Winter turned and vanished

As it came, unsought, uncherished,

Now unmourned and unregretted;

And the Spring again came dancing,

Casting charms around profusely

By the lanes, and woods, and waters,

And brought music, mirth, and gladness,

That the monarch heard the gay notes,

And removed his sombre garments,

And his frowns and dismal broodings,

Donning in their stead right gladly

His accustomed festal garments,

And his manner bright and cheerful.

Three great princes had Nimaera,

Who held each a post of honor

In the ruling of the kingdom,

In the keeping of the subjects.

Wisdom had they, and were vested

Much in favor, much in honor;

And a spirit moved within them,

Guiding and directing always.

'Twas a spirit high and sacred,

From the Maker of the kingdom,

Who in pow'r set King Nimaera,

And who watched for ever on it

With an eye of keen discerning,

To behold if Justice guarded

Every action of the rulers.

Kalim was a prince the foremost,

Who brought people to the kingdom,

Made them of a wondrous matter,

Moulded, fashioned, and designed them,

Limbs and bodies full of senses,

Some with beauties and attractions,

Comely in their forms and graces,

Others wanting and imperfect,

And repulsive in appearance.

He conveyed them unto Weemus,

Left them in his care for training,

Heeding not how that was ordered,

But returned without delaying,

Backward to his own seclusion,

Homeward to his mystic working;

For his only thoughts resided,

And his only glory rested,

In the numbers he created,

In their beauty of formation,

Which in secret depths he fashioned.

Weemus was a prince the second,

Great among the princely chieftains;

He was keeper of the subjects,

Took them from the hands of Kalim

Young and tender as a blossom,

Fed the spirit in their bosom,

Cared and kept them out of danger,

Framed them unto firmer being,

Led them unto good or evil,

Led them on to pomp and glory,

Rising out of great achievements,

By these ways to wealth and grandeur,

Scattered on their footpaths wisdom--

Wisdom, knowledge, and discretion,

Evils, vices, lust, and anger,

As a sower scatters corn-seed;

Let them gather as they listed

Of the good or of the evil.

They had powers of true discernment,

To direct them as they gathered

Which were good and which were evil,

Written and engraved on records,

Words of endless power and meaning;

And a few the good selected,

Gathered from a wise discretion;

But the crowds were blind and heedless,

Minded not the laws and records,

Gathered freely of the evil,

Wandered on in lusts and vices,

Wandered on to spoil and plunder,

Wandered on to want and sorrow,

Misery, and pain, and anguish.

Strange his dealings were and hidden;

Oft would take the greatest boaster,

Mighty in his own beholding,

Who in pomp and riches loitered,

In high seats of veneration,

And would draw him downward, downward,

Rob him of his pomp and splendor,

Of his riches and his glory,

Set him by the homeless beggar,

Holden in the pangs of hunger,

Gladly feeding on the morsels

Given by the poor and humble,

Who were once by him despised.

Lone, and destitute, and humbled,

Soon he learns his frail condition,

And that he is only mortal.

Or the unpretending stranger,

From a poor and humble dwelling,

And unknown among the people,

Weemus oft would take and guide him

High unto a seat of honor,

To reside in noble mansions,

Fame and praise for ever by him.

Thuswise Weemus often acted,

Fearless of rebuke or censure,

And accounted not his reasons,

Dealing ever as he listed.

Sero was the third prince called;

He was stern, and fierce, and warlike;

Fear and terror walked before him

In the sight of all the people,

And his bearing was majestic;

Quick and keen his glances darted,

Like a strong man's arrow flying;

And the people tried to shun him,

To avoid the ways he haunted;

And they trembled sadly, sorely,

If he ever ventured near them.

Yet beneath his hardened manner

Dwelt a gentle spirit calmly;

It was only to the wicked,

To the evil and the sinful,

That his terror was revealed.

Sero from the hands of Weemus

Took the people rudely, boldly,

As directed by the spirit

Which for ever ruled his actions.

Old, and young, and middle-aged,

Heedless of their years he took them,

Heedless of their power or greatness,

Heedless of their worth or beauty,

Or of want or low attainments;

Pious-minded, vain, and sinful,

Fell alike to be removed.

There were some who longed his coming

To relieve them of their burden,

And admit them to the bright realms

Which he watched, and kept, and guarded,

There to rest in peace and tranquil,

Sheltered from the wars and tumults,

From the storms, and fears, and terrors

Which were ever raging freely

Throughout all the lands of Weemus.

They had seen in feeble vision--

Seen a ray of future glory,

Of the sweet and happy pleasures

In this kingdom Sero guarded;

Longed and panted for admission,

Toiled and labored for a passport,

Fought and battled for a title

To this realm where trouble is not,

Till they had become the victors,

And were waiting now to enter.

Throughout all Nimaera's kingdom

Warning heralds Sero sent out

To implore the heedless people,

Raising thus their warning voices:

"Turn, ye people, turn from evil,

Know ye that the day is nearing

For the long and weary journey

Through dark valleys and wild passes

To the lands of the hereafter.

Be ye ready for departure,

Robed and girded for the journey;

For our guide, the princely Sero,

Cometh; he is soon before you.

If you are not waiting ready,

He will not delay the journey,

But will in the darkness leave you,

Which ye cannot wander out of,

From its terrors or its dangers,

Till it take you to destruction,

To an everlasting torment."

Thus the warning heralds wandered,

Oft complaining, oft imploring

Unto all the erring people,

Unto all the slothful numbers;

But they were so bound in pleasures,

Were in sin and lust so tangled,

That they heeded not the warning--

The kind words of warning spoken;

Which were lost and vainly wasted,

Were as mists upon a bulwark,

Bearing with them no impression,

Save unto a sorry number--

But a few who heard and listened,

And returned from evil doing

Unto ways of truth and knowledge.

And of Sero let me tell you.

He was keeper of the passes

Leading to the land of Wisdom--

Wisdom, clothed in radiant glory;

And unto the lands of Darkness--

Darkness, clothed in every horror.

With bewailing he was girded,

To that band a key suspended;

He was girded with rejoicing,

To that band a key suspended.

These were keys wherewith he opened,

Opened he therewith the wickets,

To allow the people entrance

As the passport they presented.

Just between the wickets sat he,

Wide his dusky pinions spreading,

One upon each entrance holding;

And above him waved a banner,

In its colors dull and dismal;

Deep and solemn was the motto,

Was the warning written on it;

Thus it was in bold description--

"Woe is for the evildoer;

For the upright, joy and gladness."

And a voice beside him echoed,

In sonorous sounds and loudly,

Tones of gladness, tones of sadness,

"Hark ye, hark ye, all who wander,

Woe is for the evildoer;

For the upright, joy and gladness."

In his right hand Sero wielded,--

Brandished a terrific weapon,

And it was a sword of terror;

For the evil, but beholding,

Trembled as an aspen leaflet,

Shuddered as the ruined shudder.

Wonder moved all the people

While they listened to the sayings,

To the wonders he unfolded

Of the regions which he guarded.

Thus he made his mystic sayings:

"Through this wicket on my right hand

Is a vale of noble grandeur,

Placid and surpassing lovely,

Which the pilgrim, as he enters,

Hails with overflowing gladness.

Seraphs from the holy regions--

Oh, so sweet, and so inviting!--

Meet him as he enters therein;

Through the pleasant passes guide him,

By the banks of streamlets gliding,

With a constant music laden;

Mellow light-beams on them dancing,

Waltzing to the streamlet's music;

Music soft and so melodious

Rising from the groves around them;

Groves of myrtle and of woodbine

Full of odors rich and soothing,

Rising from the flowery vials;

Flowers which clothe the banks, adorning,

Till the breezes hail their essence;

Zephyrs soft, and fair, and gentle,

Take these balmy odors with them,

Throughout all the holy regions.

Thus he wanders onward, onward,

With his angel guides advancing,

Wrapt in wonder and adorement,

Raptured with the matchless beauty,

Till a softer music cometh,

Sweeter than the notes around him,

On the distance flowing sweetly.

Soon the strains come nearer, clearer,

And he wonders why the music.

'Whence these songs of mirth and gladness?'

Asketh thus his angel escort.

'Where and whence these sounds melodious?

Whose are all these festive voices?

What the cause of such rejoicing?'

And the spirits answer thuswise:

'These are bands of angels singing

In the happy land of Blessing,

In the lofty halls of gladness.

Seraphs from their golden harps draw

Notes to swell the songs of gladness.

These are songs of glad rejoicings

For another pilgrim nearing,--

One escaped the land of bondage.

This the source of these rejoicings.'

Ere this answer hath been spoken,

Lo! before them rise the portals

Of the holy land of Blessing.

This the city he hath heard of

In such sweet and wondrous stories,

Whence he longed in patient waiting

To arrive at, now before him.

How enraptured he beholdeth

All its dazzling brightness spreading,

As he nearer comes and nearer

To the haven of his journey,

Thousand times ten thousands grander

Than his brightest fancies thought of.

Sparkling, bounding in its brightness,

Comes the soft and cheering fair light,

Rolling o'er the diamond bulwarks,

Flowing through the golden portals,

Like ten thousand fairy sunbeams.

All the bulwarks are of diamond,

And of purest gold the portals;

Paved of brightest gems the courts are;

Blended in a noble grandeur,

Sapphire blocks and blocks of ruby,

Emerald bars and bars of opal,

Rows of amethyst and topaz,

Sparkling in their golden framework.

Lofty are the walls and mighty,

Rising unto heights unmeasured,

Mighty, strong beyond conception.

Round the outer palisading

Of the diamond walls are watching

Many hosts from the Sabaoth

Of the King of all these bright realms.

Sleepless are their eyes and piercing,

Terrible they are in battle;

Nothing can uphold against them.

They are clad in mail of pure white,

Brilliant and of dazzling splendor;

Helmets have they, white and burnished,

Feathery white plumes in them waving;

Brilliant also are their breastplates,

And their shields, with 'Love' engraven

On the front in golden letters,

Are most gorgeous in beholding

When the light streams full upon them;

And destruction is the weapon

They employ to guard the city;

Awful is the havoc thereby

To the foe who dares approach them.

Now before the golden gateway,

Which with massive bars is builded,

Stands the pilgrim with his escort;

And they sound a mighty trumpet,

That the strains in thrilling grandeur

Flow sonorous through the kingdom.

Then behold the keeper cometh,

Who the gateway ever keepeth,

To unfold the golden barrings;

And he throws the gate wide open,

And the pilgrim enters therein

Now into the holy regions.

There a band of seraphs meet him,

Chosen from the ranks around them,

Guide him to the shining white throne,

Where the King in glory sitteth.

And the holy King says, 'Welcome,

Welcome to you, pilgrim, brother!'

And he bids an angel bring him--

Bring him royal robes and robe him,

Garments rich, and white, and lovely,

And a golden crown to crown him.

While the empyrean minstrels rising,

All in flowing garments vested,

Some with harps and some with timbrels,

Some with lutes and some with trumpets,

All in goodly order mingled,

In the skill of gay perfection;

Far the minstrel band extendeth

Like a wilderness of grandeur.

As a sea of flowing white waves

Mingled up with diamond ripples;

As the moon on sparkling waters,

Comes the light from glowing beacons,

Dancing on their crowns of glory,

Far and near redounding, flowing

In a thousand dazzling colors,

Like unto a flood of crystal.

Silent are they all and heedful

While the leader on his tower stands,

High amid the radiant brightness,

Till his silver wand is raised;

Then for music every trumpet,

Every lute, and every timbrel,

Every harp is strung and ready,

And for songs wait all the voices.

Lo! it falls, and floods melodious

Flow from every voice united,

Rise from every lute and timbrel,

Stream from every harp and trumpet.

Noble and majestic cadence,

Full of might and full of sweetness;

Like tremendous thunders rolling,

Rumbling in their strength and grandeur;

Sweet as nectar, which is poured

From the cup which Juno holdeth.

Far and near the echoes answer,

From the vaults and arches flying,

In the distant spaces rising

Over thrones, and crowns, and mansions,

Breaking o'er the vitreous white throne;

Like a music-meteor falling,

Casting down its charms around it,

Ever softest, sweetest, fairest;

Softly as the summer showereth,

From its fragrant bosom, largely,

Dews upon the sleeping meadow.

This is honor to the pilgrim,

Welcome to his seat of glory;

Songs of joy that he is landed

From the perils of the journey

To be one for ever with them.

Now beside the throne he standeth,

In his bosom gladness flowing.

He hath now been crowned and vested;

And the King, arising, speaketh:

'Guide him to his seat of glory,

To the mansion he hath gained.'

Then, as magic fell amid them,

Every voice is mute and silent,

Every sound subdued resideth,

Every strain on faltering pinion

From its gaysome course alighteth;

Still and peaceful is the white throng,

Calmness, as in death, prevaileth.

Now he sits enthroned amid them,

And again the strains are wakened,

Mighty as to storms of thunder

Born as from the womb of calmness,

Rising as from death released.

Now his voice is with them mingled

In the songs, and hymns, and anthems,

Which shall evermore continue

Throughout all this land of Blisses,

Where is love the only bondage,

Love the mighty power which holds them."

Thuswise speaketh Sero, telling

Of the land whereto the wicket

On his right hand gives admission.

But far different is the story

Which he giveth of the regions,

Whence the wicket on his left hand

To the wanderer gives admission.

Spoken thus his vivid brief is:

"He, who by this wicket enters,

Loseth hope and loseth courage,

Meeteth gloomy fears and terrors,

Misery and anguish rising

In their wildest forms about him;

And upon the distance looming

Awful terrors, monsters hideous,

Scenes and shadows dark and dreary.

Now the stifled groan of murder,--

Now the seething moan of anguish,--

Now bewailings in bereavement,

And lamentings of the ruined,

Loud, and painful, and laborious,

In an awful concert mingled,

Flow upon his ear bewildered,

As in toil he wanders weary

In the crowd, yet lost and lonely,

To the dreaded pit of terrors,

And its dismal dens and dungeons,

Damp, and stifled, and obnoxious,

Burning with eternal anger

And with lurid flames of vengeance.

Lo! aghast, he starts in terror,

And anon doth sink in anguish,

Weeping for the talents wasted,

And the warnings he despised;

And for hope he looks and longeth

In a deep and fervent longing,

But it is a vain desire;

Nothing but an awful doom sits

Frowning on his pains and terrors.

Onward, on he fast is driven,

Through a rugged path and perilous;

Rising on the hills above him,

Roaring thunders roll and rumble,

With a mighty noise and terror;

All things at their greatness tremble.

Sheets of flame, in livid fierceness,

Sweep and fly in wildest swiftness;

O'er the rugged heights ascending,

Cast their lurid glares upon them,

In their course revealing further

Of the dangers hid in darkness.

And beneath him gulphs are yawning,

Greedy to devour, are gaping;

Torrents deep within them roaring,

Lashing up their foamy billows;

With the laving of their forces

All the pathway shakes and trembles.

Brutes, in hungry anger raving,

Prowl from dens, and caves, and caverns,

Mingle with the ghosts and spectres,

Lusting for a bloody surfeit.

Reptiles, subtle and obnoxious,

Crawl, and welter, and recoil them

On the path in slimy matters,

Reeking with a poisoned odor,

Darting poisons to molest him.

Arrows from the towers are flying,

Shafts of flame and showers of fire,

Sweeping on through clouds and vapors,

Like unto a storm of hailstones

Driven by a mighty tempest.

Sadder and more bitter feelings,

Deeper, darker fears betake him,

As, above the groans around him,

Coming from the pit of terrors,

Bitter wailings, mournful cryings,

Rise and fill the air with anguish.

Now in view the dingy walls stand,

In their black and dismal bearing,

Of the gloomy pit of terrors;

Gloomy, like a loathsome dungeon.

Now before the gate he standeth,

Worn, and weary, and dejected;

And the lurid glares break through it

Of the flames for ever burning;

And he sees the shames, the tortures,

And the writhing objects in them,

Suffering and enduring anguish.

They who once on bounty feasted,

Now enclosed in pangs of hunger;

They who were the poor's oppressors,

Now oppressed and trodden under.

Now destroyers are destroyed,

Scoffers are with scoff betaken,

And the lofty are made humble;

And he shudders to behold them.

Then an awful oath is spoken,

Bidding to unbar the passage;

And the burdened words are answered

With another oath as fearful

From the fierce and sullen keeper;

And the creaking bars fly backward

With a mighty clash of vengeance.

Then the brazen gate is opened,

And the poor deluded victim

Thrust into the pit of horrors,

All amid the foulsome vapors.

Flies the postern close behind him,

Back the bolts and bars are driven,

Creaking with their heavy burden;

And a motley throng surround him,

Railing, scoffing, and abusing;

Each devising of some evil

To annoy, or taunt, or torture.

Vengeance burneth black within him,

And infernal wars are raging

In him and in all the dwellers,

One and one against another,

Who are doomed through time eternal

To this awful pit of terrors;

Where the evil spirits harbour,

Keep, and count their spoil and plunder,

Gathered from among the people,

Brought from many ruined cities,

Gained in many depredations,

By the hand of havoc aided."

These are stories Sero telleth

Of the happy land of Blisses,

Of the dreaded pit of terrors,

To the people of the kingdom,

If perchance he may allure them

By the wonders he revealeth

Of the blisses of the former,

Of the terrors of the latter.

But through all Nimaera's kingdom

Went a band of evil spirits,

Tribunes of the Prince of Darkness,

Went to aid his evil purpose;

Pried and scouted every corner,

Entered into all the dwellings,

Came to tempt and to misguide them,

Came to tempt Nimaera's people,

Lead them on to lust and evil,

Taught them how to rob and plunder,

Taught them how to kill and murder,

Put corruption in their wishes,

Poisoned all their thoughts and reasons,

Mingled madness in their pleasures,

Blinded them with show and grandeur,

Gave them longings and ambitions,

That they lost their true discernment,

As a man with wines confused

Loses proper sense and caution.

And they gave such sumptuous meetings,

And they said such wondrous fair things--

Things that ne'er before were heard of,

That the dazzled people followed;

And they reaped a mighty harvest,

Leading, drawing as they listed;

For this was a simple people,

Credulous, and blind, and simple.

Now the Maker of the kingdom,

From his pure and dazzling white throne,

Looked and saw the dreadful havoc

Raging mid Nimaera's people,

And it vexed him very sorely;

For he loved the people fondly

Who were wisely formed by Kalim:

Bones, with matter moulded on them,

Fraught with channels, watercourses,

And red rivers running through them,

From a mystic fountain rising,

Flowing ever fast and constant,

Giving and diffusing vigor

Through the many wondrous members.

Counsel took He to restore them

From destruction's ruthless havoc,

In an earnest consultation

Saying ever and repeating,

"We must save this ruined people;

We must give them light and caution:

Light, to shew their wayward goings;

Caution, to direct them rightly."

So a band of spirits went out,

Builded with a holy ardour,

Sped athrough the heights and spaces

To Nimaera's kingdom, saying:

"We will reason with this people;

Reason boldly, turn and change them,

Warn them of the evil spirits,

Shew them thrones, and crowns, and mansions,

As a trophy of repentance,

Till they cannot fail but hear us,

Till they turn in great rejoicing."

Thus the spirits went and wandered,

Talked and reasoned with the people,

Shewing thrones, and crowns, and mansions,

Using every power and effort

To persuade them of the folly,

Of the dangers they were choosing.

They who heard the deep entreaties

For a minute turned to listen;

Felt the powers within them moving

Striving to believe and follow.

But, a little season longer,

When the spirits passed from them,

They returned unto the rapids,

To the mighty stream of ruin

Rolling onward to destruction;

For they were so much enamoured

By the cunning fascinations

Which the evil spirits gave them

That they lacked strength and courage,

And they failed to turn and follow,

Save a very little number,

Who restrained their lusts and wishes,

And gave heed unto the sayings

Which the kindly spirits bore them,

Gaining power, the more they harken'd,

To withstand the evil spirits,

And to baffle their endeavours.

These went to the land of Blisses;

But for one who Sero passed

Through the wicket on his right hand,

Going to the holy regions,

Seven passed on his left hand,

Going to the pit of terrors.

Now that I have told you fairly,

Shewing as is due to render

Of the powers of King Nimaera

And his three most favored princes,

Giving Sero's own description

Of the wonders of the regions

Which lie hid within the wickets

Which he ever proudly guardeth,

Will you listen when I tell you,--

Will you hearken to the stories

I can give you of Nimaera,

And his three most powerful princes,

And their dealings with the people?

I shall do my best to render

Stories such as will entice you;

Though my voice is low and feeble,

Though my pen is slow and wayward,

Never moving fair and fluent,

As the spirit which directs it

Would that it should move and tell you.

They shall but be little stories,

Gathered from the many records

Which the people kept and courted

In their halls, and towns, and cities.