It little now avails them to have raised Beyond the Syrian regions, and beyond Phoenicia, trophies, tributes, colonies: Follow thou me—mark what it all avails.” Him Gebir followed, and a roar confused Rose from a river rolling in its bed, Not rapid, that would rouse the wretched souls, Nor calmly, that might lull then to repose; But with dull weary lapses it upheaved Billows of bale, heard low, yet heard afar. For when hell’s iron portals let out night, Often men start and shiver at the sound, And lie so silent on the restless couch They hear their own hearts beat. Now Gebir breathed Another air, another sky beheld. Twilight broods here, lulled by no nightingale Nor wakened by the shrill lark dewy-winged, But glowing with one sullen sunless heat. Beneath his foot nor sprouted flower nor herb Nor chirped a grasshopper. Above his head Phlegethon formed a fiery firmament: Part were sulphurous clouds involving, part Shining like solid ribs of molten brass; For the fierce element which else aspires Higher and higher and lessens to the sky, Below, earth’s adamantine arch rebuffed. Gebir, though now such languor held his limbs, Scarce aught admired he, yet he this admired; And thus addressed him then the conscious guide. “Beyond that river lie the happy fields; From them fly gentle breezes, which when drawn Against yon crescent convex, but unite Stronger with what they could not overcome. Thus they that scatter freshness through the groves And meadows of the fortunate, and fill With liquid light the marble bowl of earth, And give her blooming health and spritely force, Their fire no more diluted, nor its darts Blunted by passing through thick myrtle bowers, Neither from odours rising half dissolved, Point forward Phlegethon’s eternal flame; And this horizon is the spacious bow Whence each ray reaches to the world above.” The hero pausing, Gebir then besought What region held his ancestors, what clouds, What waters, or what gods, from his embrace. Aroar then sudden, as though roused, renewed. “Come thou, if ardour urges thee and force Suffices—mark me, Gebir, I unfold No fable to allure thee—on! behold Thy ancestors!” and lo! with horrid gasp The panting flame above his head recoiled, And thunder through his heart and life blood throbbed. Such sound could human organs once conceive, Cold, speechless, palsied, not the soothing voice Of friendship or almost of Deity Could raise the wretched mortal from the dust; Beyond man’s home condition they! with eyes Intent, and voice desponding, and unheard By Aroar, though he tarried at his side. “They know me not,” cried Gebir, “O my sires, Ye know me not! they answer not, nor hear. How distant are they still! what sad extent Of desolation must we overcome! Aroar, what wretch that nearest us? what wretch