Adrogare

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

and things are not what they seem,
dust thou art, to dust returnest,

was not spoken of the soul,
our hearts, though stout and brave,

still, like war-drums, are beating.

In the bivouac of life,
trust no future, howe’er pleasant,

and let the dead past bury its dead,
leaving footprints on the sands of time.

I will speak of the dream of divine nectar,

what came to me in the dead of the night,

when daydreams slept in their rest.

It seemed that I saw
a most wondrous tree raised on high,
circled round with light,
with the brightest of beams.
All that beacon was covered in gold,
branches hanging fair at the earth’s corners,
all creation eternally fair.

And yet beneath that shine
I began to see an ancient wretched struggle,
that it began to bleed
behind darkened nights.
Stained with blood,

and yet, lying there a long while,

I beheld in sorrow the tree of life

until I heard it utter a sound,

that best of woods began to whisper melodies.

I saw mankind hasten eagerly,
when they wanted to ascend onto it.

There I dared not bow down or break,
I stood fast,
where the ends of the world tremble.

I saw shadows spread
,
grey crawl under the clouds,
mourned the fall of kings,
Christ on the cross,
all creation beginning and ending.

Once I was made into the worst of torments,
most hateful to all people,
before I turned to the true way of the flesh,
I have suffered for mankind’s many sins,

and Adam’s ancient deeds,
I was honored over all the trees of the forest.

I have traveled throughout the world,
to the Indian Ocean,
the East Cosseans, to the realms of Persia and Palestine.
I went to the citadel of Nineveh, the Northern Parthians, the treasure-halls of the Medes,
the yard of Marcolf, the realm of Saul, as he lay to the south
about Gilboa, and about Geador to the north.

I have seen the fortress of the Greeks,
the forest of Egypt, the waters of Midian,
the rock of Mount Horeb, the kindred of Arabia,
the lands of Syria, the boundaries of Porus,
Macedonia, Mesopotamia, Cappadocia,
and Lamb's homeland,
Jericho, Galilee and Jerusalem.

My hope of existence is fixed beyond the cross,
he who here on earth has suffered
on the hanging-tree for human sin,
in torment must never hope for any better home,
because of insolent pride.

I was once a holy angel, dear unto God in heaven,
rethink ye of the token and the curse,
that I was banished, deep below the earth,
in the bottomless abyss.

I have led you all from out your native home
unto a house of bondage,

here is no glory of the blessed,
neither wine for the proud,
nor may ye have possession of high heaven.

This loathsome dwelling burns with fire,

where the dragons dwell ever at the gates of Babylon,
inflamed and furious,
in front of the woeful house of torment.
Here is the adder’s hiss,
here serpents dwell,
once I had power and glory,
downcast and wretched,
I must wander far, an exile's journey,
stripped of pride, shorn of virtue,
bereft of joy in heaven among the angels.

I am rejected from the heavenly host,
cast out from light into this loathsome home,
I have tasted of all the books from every land,
thus I never could discover it in all those olden writings,
nevertheless I sought which of the mindful and the majestic.
I shall be a wretch on earth,
unavailing of life, wasted of wisdom,
the slither, the hiss, the eternal kiss,
wandering as a beast,
I will be abominable and estranged,
much unlike to the angels,
it will be set in stone,
turning away alone.