The End Of The Century

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There are moments when, as missions,
  God reveals to us strange visions;
  When, within their separate stations,
  We may see the Centuries,
  Like revolving constellations
  Shaping out Earth's destinies.

  I have gazed in Time's abysses,
  Where no smallest thing Earth misses
  That was hers once. 'Mid her chattels,
  There the Past's gigantic ghost
  Sits and dreams of thrones and battles
  In the night of ages lost.

  Far before her eyes, unholy
  Mist was spread; that darkly, slowly
  Rolled aside,--like some huge curtain
  Hung above the land and sea;--
  And beneath it, wild, uncertain,
  Rose the wraiths of memory.

  First I saw colossal spectres
  Of dead cities: Troy--once Hector's
  Pride; then Babylon and Tyre;
  Karnac, Carthage, and the gray
  Walls of Thebes,--Apollo's lyre
  Built;--and Rome and Nineveh.

  Empires followed: first, in seeming,
  Old Chaldea lost in dreaming;
  Egypt next, a bulk Memnonian
  Staring from her pyramids;
  Then Assyria, Babylonian
  Night beneath her hell-lit lids.

  Greece, in classic white, sidereal
  Armored; Rome, in dark, imperial
  Purple, crowned with blood and fire,
  Down the deeps barbaric strode;
  Gaul and Britain stalking by her,
  Skin-clad and tattooed with woad.

  All around them, rent and scattered,
  Lay their gods with features battered,
  Brute and human, stone and iron,
  Caked with gems and gnarled with gold;
  Temples, that did once environ
  These, in wreck around them rolled.

  While I stood and gazed and waited,
  Slowly night obliterated
  All; and other phantoms drifted
  Out of darkness pale as stars;
  Shapes that tyrant faces lifted,
  Sultans, kings, and emperors.

  Man and steed in ponderous metal
  Panoplied, they seemed to settle,
  Condors gaunt of devastation,
  On the world: behind their march--
  Desolation; conflagration
  Loomed before them with her torch.

  Helmets flamed like fearful flowers;
  Chariots rose and moving towers;
  Captains passed; each fierce commander
  With his gauntlet on his sword:
  Agamemnon, Alexander,
  Cæsar, each led on his horde.

  Huns and Vandals; wild invaders:
  Goths and Arabs; stern Crusaders:
  Each, like some terrific torrent,
  Rolled above a ruined world;
  Till a cataract abhorrent
  Seemed the swarming spears uphurled.

  Banners and escutcheons, kindled
  By the light of slaughter, dwindled--
  in darkness;--the chimera
  Of the Past was laid at last.
  But, behold, another era
  From her corpse rose, vague and vast.

  Demogorgon of the Present!
  Who in one hand raised a Crescent,
  In the other, with submissive
  Fingers, lifted up a Cross;
  Reverent and yet derisive
  Seemed she, robed in gold and dross.

  In her skeptic eyes professions
  Of great faith I saw; expressions,
  Christian and humanitarian,
  Played around her cynic lip;
  Still I knew her a barbarian
  By the sword upon her hip.

  And she cherished strange eidolons,
  Pagan shadows--Platos, Solons--
  From whose teachings she indentured
  Forms of law and sophistry;
  Seeking still for truth she ventured
  Just so far as these could see.

  When she vanished, I--uplifting
  Eyes to where the dawn was rifting
  Darkness,--lo! beheld a shadow
  Towering on Earth's utmost peaks;
  'Round whom morning's eldorado
  Rivered gold in blinding streaks.

  On her brow I saw the stigma
  Still of death; and life's enigma
  Filled her eyes: around her shimmered
  Folds of silence; and afar,
  Faint above her forehead, glimmered
  Lone the light of one pale star.

  Then a voice,--above or under
  Earth,--against her seemed to thunder
  Questions, wherein was repeated,
  "Christ or Cain?" and "God or beast?"
  And the Future, shadowy-sheeted,
  Turning, pointed towards the East.

© Madison Julius Cawein