Sweeter than spring-time on this earth can yield.
The cloud passed just above him, and he saw
Myriads of cherub faces looking down,
Sweet as Rahula, freed from earthly stain;
Such faces mortal brush could never paint--
Enraptured Raphael ne'er such faces saw.
But still the outer darkness hovered near,
And ever and anon a bony hand
Darts out to snatch some cherub face away.
Then dreamed he saw a broad and pleasant land,
With cities, gardens, groves and fruitful fields,
Where bee-fed flowers half hide the ripening fruits.
And spicy breezes stir the trembling leaves,
And many birds make sweetest melody,
But bordered by a valley black as night,
That ever vomits from its sunless depths
Great whirling clouds of suffocating smoke,
Blacker than hide the burning Aetna's head,
Blacker than over Lake Avernus hung;
No bird could fly above its fatal fumes;
Eagles, on tireless pinions upward borne,
In widening circles rising toward the sun,
Venturing too near its exhalations, fall,
As sinks the plummet in the silent sea;
And lions, springing on their antlered prey,
Drop still and lifeless on its deadly brink;
Only the jackal's dismal howl is heard
To break its stillness and eternal sleep.
He was borne forward to the very verge
Of this dark valley, by some power unseen.