The New Zealot To The Sun

by Herman Melville

　　

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Persian, you riseAflame from climes of sacrifice Where adulators sue,And prostrate man, with brow abased,Adheres to rites whose tenor traced All worship hitherto. Arch type of sway,Meetly your over-ruling ray You fling from Asia's plain,Whence flashed the javelins abroadOf many a wild incursive horde Led by some shepherd Cain. Mid terrors dinnedGods too came conquerors from your Ind, The book of Brahma throve;They came like to the scythed car,Westward they rolled their empire far, Of night their purple wove. Chemist, you breedIn orient climes each sorcerous weed That energizes dream—Transmitted, spread in myths and creeds,Houris and hells, delirious screeds And Calvin's last extreme. What though your lightIn time's first dawn compelled the flight Of Chaos' startled clan,Shall never all your darted spearsDisperse worse Anarchs, frauds and fears, Sprung from these weeds to man? But Science yetAn effluence ampler shall beget, And power beyond your play—Shall quell the shades you fail to rout,Yea, searching every secret out Elucidate your ray.

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