But when a million years were done And a million million years beside, He broke his harp-strings one by one; He sighed, aweary of rich things, He spread his pallid, heavy wings And flew to find the deathless stains, The wounds that come with wanderings. [Sidenote: _He will never dream again, but the demons dream of wandering and singing, and doing all things just as he did in his day._] He chose the solemn paths of Hell, He sang for that dumb land too well, Defying their disdain Till he was cursed and slain. Ah--he shall never dream again-- Mourn, for he shall not dream again-- But the demons dream in pain, Of wandering in the night And singing in the night, Singing till they reign. [Sidenote: _Music is holy, even in the infernal world._] [Sidenote: _If Lucifer’s song could be completely remembered, one would be willing to pay the great price._] Oh hallowed are the demons, A-dreaming songs again, And holy to my heart! the ancient music-art, That echo of a memory in demon-haunted men, That hope of music, sweet hope, vain, That sets the world a-seeking-- A passion pure, a subtle pain Too dear for song or speaking. Oh, who would not with the demons be, For the fullness of their memory Of that dayspring song, Of that holy thing That Lucifer alone could sing, That Hell and Earth so hopelessly And gloriously are seeking! [Sidenote: NOW FOLLOWS WHAT EVERY DEMON SAYS IN HIS HEART, REMEMBERING THAT TIME] * * * * * * * * * * [Sidenote: _How the singer made his lyre._] Oh, Lucifer, great Lucifer, Oh, fallen, ancient Lucifer, Master, lost, of the angel choir-- Silent, suffering Lucifer: Once your alchemies of Hell Wrought your chains to a magic lyre All strung with threads of purple fire, Till the hell-hounds moaned from your bitter spell-- The sweetest song since the demons fell-- Haunting song of the heart’s desire. [Sidenote: _How the song began._] Oh, Lucifer, great Lucifer, You who have sung in vain, Ecstasy of sweet regret, Ecstasy of pain, Strain that the angels can never forget, Haunting the children of punishment yet, Bowing them, bringing their tears in the darkness; Oh, the night-caves of Chaos are breathing it yet! The last that your bosom may ever deliver, Oh, musical master of æons and æons.... Nor devils nor dragons may ever forget, Though the walls of our prison should crumble and shiver, And the death-dews of Chaos our armor should wet, For the song of the infamous Lucifer Was an anthem of glorious scorning And courage, and horrible pain-- Was the song of a Son of the Morning, A song that was sung in vain.