Time And Temples
In the oriental Pilgrimage of the pious old Purchas, and in the fine
old folio Voyages of Hakluyt, Thevenot, Ramusio, and De Bry, we read of
many glorious old Asiatic temples, very long in erecting. And veracious
Gaudentia di Lucca hath a wondrous narration of the time consumed in
rearing that mighty three-hundred-and-seventy-five- pillared Temple of
the Year, somewhere beyond Libya; whereof, the columns did signify
days, and all round fronted upon concentric zones of palaces, cross-cut
by twelve grand avenues symbolizing the signs of the zodiac, all
radiating from the sun-dome in their midst. And in that wild eastern
tale of his, Marco Polo tells us, how the Great Mogul began him a
pleasure-palace on so imperial a scale, that his grandson had much ado
to complete it.
But no matter for marveling all this: great towers take time to
construct.
And so of all else.
And that which long endures full-fledged, must have long lain in the
germ. And duration is not of the future, but of the past; and eternity
is eternal, because it has been, and though a strong new monument be
builded to-day, it only is lasting because its blocks are old as the
sun. It is not the Pyramids that are ancient, but the eternal granite
whereof they are made; which had been equally ancient though yet in the
quarry. For to make an eternity, we must build with eternities; whence,
the vanity of the cry for any thing alike durable and new; and the
folly of the reproach—Your granite hath come from the old-fashioned
hills. For we are not gods and creators; and the controversialists have
debated, whether indeed the All-Plastic Power itself can do more than
mold. In all the universe is but one original; and the very suns must
to their source for their fire; and we Prometheuses must to them for
ours; which, when had, only perpetual Vestal tending will keep alive.
But let us back from fire to store. No fine firm fabric ever yet grew
like a gourd. Nero’s House of Gold was not raised in a day; nor the
Mexican House of the Sun; nor the Alhambra; nor the Escurial; nor
Titus’s Amphitheater; nor the Illinois Mounds; nor Diana’s great
columns at Ephesus; nor Pompey’s proud Pillar; nor the Parthenon; nor
the Altar of Belus; nor Stonehenge; nor Solomon’s Temple; nor Tadmor’s
towers; nor Susa’s bastions; nor Persepolis’ pediments. Round and
round, the Moorish turret at Seville was not wound heavenward in the
revolution of a day; and from its first founding, five hundred years
did circle, ere Strasbourg’s great spire lifted its five hundred feet
into the air. No: nor were the great grottos of Elephanta hewn out in
an hour; nor did the Troglodytes dig Kentucky’s Mammoth Cave in a sun;
nor that of Trophonius, nor Antiparos; nor the Giant’s Causeway. Nor
were the subterranean arched sewers of Etruria channeled in a trice;
nor the airy arched aqueducts of Nerva thrown over their values in the
ides of a month. Nor was Virginia’s Natural Bridge worn under in a
year; nor, in geology, were the eternal Grampians upheaved in an age.
And who shall count the cycles that revolved ere earth’s interior
sedimentary strata were crystalized into stone. Nor Peak of Piko, nor
Teneriffe, were chiseled into obelisks in a decade; nor had Mount Athos
been turned into Alexander’s statue so soon. And the bower of
Artaxerxes took a whole Persian summer to grow; and the Czar’s Ice
Palace a long Muscovite winter to congéal. No, no: nor was the Pyramid
of Cheops masoned in a month; though, once built, the sands left by the
deluge might not have submerged such a pile. Nor were the broad boughs
of Charles’ Oak grown in a spring; though they outlived the royal
dynasties of Tudor and Stuart. Nor were the parts of the great Iliad
put together in haste; though old Homer’s temple shall lift up its
dome, when St. Peter’s is a legend. Even man himself lives months ere
his Maker deems him fit to be born; and ere his proud shaft gains its
full stature, twenty-one long Julian years must elapse. And his whole
mortal life brings not his immortal soul to maturity; nor will all
eternity perfect him. Yea, with uttermost reverence, as to human
understanding, increase of dominion seems increase of power; and day by
day new planets are being added to elder-born Saturn, even as six
thousand years ago our own Earth made one more in this system; so, in
incident, not in essence, may the Infinite himself be not less than
more infinite now, than when old Aldebaran rolled forth from his hand.
And if time was, when this round Earth, which to innumerable mortals
has seemed an empire never to be wholly explored; which, in its seas,
concealed all the Indies over four thousand five hundred years; if time
was, when this great quarry of Assyrias and Romes was not extant; then,
time may have been, when the whole material universe lived its Dark
Ages; yea, when the Ineffable Silence, proceeding from its unimaginable
remoteness, espied it as an isle in the sea. And herein is no
derogation. For the Immeasurable’s altitude is not heightened by the
arches of Mahomet’s heavens; and were all space a vacuum, yet would it
be a fullness; for to Himself His own universe is He.
Thus deeper and deeper into Time’s endless tunnel, does the winged
soul, like a night-hawk, wend her wild way; and finds eternities before
and behind; and her last limit is her everlasting beginning.
But sent over the broad flooded sphere, even Noah’s dove came back, and
perched on his hand. So comes back my spirit to me, and folds up her
wings.
Thus, then, though Time be the mightiest of Alarics, yet is he the
mightiest mason of all. And a tutor, and a counselor, and a physician,
and a scribe, and a poet, and a sage, and a king.
Yea, and a gardener, as ere long will be shown.
But first must we return to the glen.