Mount Quarantania

LUCIFER.Not in the lightning's flash, nor in the thunder,Not in the tempest, nor the cloudy storm,Will I array my form;But part invisible these boughs asunder,And move and murmur as the wind upheavesAnd whispers in the leaves.

Not as a terror and a desolation,Not in my natural shape, inspiring fearAnd dread, will I appear;But in soft tones of sweetness and persuasion,A sound as of the fall of mountain streams,Or voices heard in dreams.

He sitteth there in silence, worn and wastedWith famine, and uplifts his hollow eyesTo the unpitying skies;For forty days and nights he hath not tastedOf food or drink, his parted lips are pale,Surely his strength must fail.

Wherefore dost thou in penitential fastingWaste and consume the beauty of thy youth.Ah, if thou be in truthThe Son of the Unnamed, the Everlasting,Command these stones beneath thy feet to beChanged into bread for thee!

CHRISTUS.'T is written! Man shall not live by bread alone,But by each word that from God's mouth proceedeth!

LUCIFER.Too weak, alas! too weak is the temptationFor one whose soul to nobler things aspiresThan sensual desires!Ah, could I, by some sudden aberration,Lend and delude to suicidal deathThis Christ of Nazareth!

Unto the holy Temple on Moriah,With its resplendent domes, and manifoldBright pinnacles of gold,Where they await thy coming, O Messiah!Lo, I have brought thee! Let thy glory hereBe manifest and clear.

Reveal thyself by royal act and gestureDescending with the bright triumphant hostOf all the hithermostArchangels, and about thee as a vestureThe shining clouds, and all thy splendors showUnto the world below!

Cast thyself down, it is the hour appointed;And God hath given his angels charge and careTo keep thee and upbearUpon their hands his only Son, the Anointed,Lest he should dash his foot against a stoneAnd die, and be unknown.

CHRISTUS.'T is written: Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God!

LUCIFER.I cannot thus delude him to perdition!But one temptation still remains untried,The trial of his pride,The thirst of power, the fever of ambition!Surely by these a humble peasant's sonAt last may be undone!

Above the yawning chasms and deep abysses,Across the headlong torrents, I have broughtThy footsteps, swift as thought;And from the highest of these precipices,The Kingdoms of the world thine eyes behold.Like a great map unrolled.

From far-off Lebanon, with cedars crested,To where the waters of the Asphalt LakeOn its white pebbles break,And the vast desert, silent, sand-invested,These kingdoms all are mine, and thine shall be,If thou wilt worship me!

CHRISTUS.Get thee behind me, Satan! thou shalt worshipThe Lord thy God; Him only shalt thou serve!

The sun goes down; the evening shadows lengthen,The fever and the struggle of the dayAbate and pass away;Thine Angels Miniatrant, we come to strengthenAnd comfort thee, and crown thee with the palm,The silence and the calm.