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The New Zealot To The Sun
By Herman Melville

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     Persian, you rise
     Aflame 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 abroad
     Of many a wild incursive horde
       Led by some shepherd Cain.

       Mid terrors dinned
     Gods 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 breed
     In 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 light
     In time's first dawn compelled the flight
       Of Chaos' startled clan,
     Shall never all your darted spears
     Disperse worse Anarchs, frauds and fears,
       Sprung from these weeds to man?

       But Science yet
     An 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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