Introduction:
Lord Byron’s “Darkness” blends fear and reality as an unnamed speaker recalls
a horrific dream, premonition, or vision he has supposedly experienced. The exact
inspiration of the story the speaker tells is ambiguous, as he claims, “I had a
dream, which was not all a dream” (1). Whether or not this dream is real, the
speaker proceeds to describe a frightening vision in which he has observed the
world’s demise by a force known only as “darkness”— beginning with the
obliteration of light, followed by the death of trees, then the murder of small
creatures like snakes and birds, and finishing with the ruin of mankind and the
destruction of the very universe itself. In this way, the apocalypse portrayed in
“Darkness” becomes a sort of reversal of the Biblical creation story as the speaker
moves through the ruin of various aspects of life, beginning with light and
concluding with an ultimate undoing of the entire world.
The first thing to face destruction in “Darkness” is light — much like light is
the first thing created after the earth in Genesis. Eighty-two lines of unbroken
blank verse gives the poem a relentless, rolling feeling that stresses the horror
and ceaselessness of the speaker’s fear as he describes this impending darkness.
The opening imagery is powerful and pessimistic as the speaker recalls what he
has either seen or imagined: “The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars/ Did
wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless . . .” (2-4). This dark
diction reinforces both the title and the literal dark atmosphere Byron wishes to
portray, and the consonance of the repeated
s
creates a soft and eerie,
whispering sound. How the speaker manages to continue his observations once
light is removed is a mystery, but the overall surreal feeling of the poem does not
lend itself to reality. The speaker explains how the “icy earth” moves blindly
through the “moonless air,” as morning comes and goes without bringing day (4-
6). He watches as “All men forgot their passions in the dread / of this their
desolations; and all hearts/ Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light” (7-9). The
desire for light is an important theme throughout the poem, as Byron seems to
suggest that light not only keeps humanity alive, but also keeps mankind
compassionate.
This need for light is what first drives men to destroy. Now that the people
are in darkness, the speaker explains how they “live by watchfires,” burning
everything possible, including palaces, cities, and homes, in order to create fire
(10-13). The only happy men are those who can look into “each other’s face”
because they are near enough a volcano or “mountain-Torch” to see through the
darkness (16-17). Desperate, the people turn from burning inanimate objects to
burning living things: “Forests were set on fire, — but hour by hour/ They fell and
faded — and the crackling trunks / Extinguish’d with a crash, — and all was black
(19-21). These violent actions not only reinforce the futility of the men’s’ effort to
reproduce light, but also demonstrates their barbarism as they destroy other life
in order to comfort themselves. Even this light is not enough, however, and many
of the men give up and “[lie] down” (24). Others hide, some rest, some go mad
and smile, and still others desperately continue to feed their “funeral piles with
fuel” (25-28). The fact that Byron chooses to have the men destroy vegetation
before animal life both follows and simultaneously undoes the creation in
Genesis.
The poem shifts here as the men’s desperation to find light becomes anger
and madness that will cause them to murder animals:
[they] look’d up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust, /
And gnash’d their teeth, and howl’d . . . (29-32).
These enraged men turn from burning the homes and trees to destroying
something even bigger — “wild birds,” “wildest brutes,” and “vipers,” which are
“slain for food” (32-37). The speaker personifies “War” as a beast that “gluts
himself” on the blood of living creatures (38-39). This personification creates a
frightening, monstrous image that humanizes war and also likens it with the men
the speaker describes. The speaker watches as all men sit alone, “gorging
[themselves] in gloom” along with War (40-41). As the speaker’s voice becomes
more hopeless, he seems to moan as he says, “No love was left; / All earth was
but one thought, — and that was death” (41-42). While this statement seems
hyperbolic in that there is no possible way the speaker can know what all of earth
is thinking, his exaggeration emphasizes the overall desolate tone of the poem.
Now that both plant and animal life have been destroyed, the next expected step
in this apocalypse is the death of mankind.
Unsurprisingly, the speaker begins to describe the deaths of the men
themselves as “famine fed upon all entrails” (44). This line is ironic in that famine,
the very thing causing the men’s starvation, has the ability to “feed” off their
withering bodies. Even dogs betray their masters, “devouring” their corpses (47).
The speaker witnesses only one dog who stays loyal to his master’s corpse,
keeping “The birds, and beasts, and famish’d men at bay” (48). The dog’s loyalty is
ultimately futile, however, as he is unable to find food himself and, “licking the
hand / Which answered not with a caress — he died” (53-54). If analyzed from a
religious perspective, this story embedded within the poem suggests that even
devotion to one’s master, or God, is ultimately useless in the face of death. The
only two men who manage to survive this terrible war are two enemies who meet
by “The dying embers of an altar-place, / Where had been heap’d a mass of holy
things / For an unholy usage . . .” (57-60). This “unholy usage” is, like earlier,
burning all that can be burned in an effort to make fire, and the two enemies
“scraped with their cold skeleton hands / The feeble ashes, and their feeble
breath/ Blew for a little life, and made a flame” (61-63). Through this small flame,
they are able to see each other’s faces and shriek and die from “their mutual
hideousness” (66-67). This is a sharp contrast to earlier in the poem when seeing
another human face brought men solace.
In the poem’s final movement, the speaker turns from the destruction of
light, beasts, and men to the end of the very world itself:
Famine had written fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, treeless, herbless, manless, lifeless —
A lump of death —a chaos of hard clay (69-72).
The consonance of the repeated
s
sound not only parallels the beginning of
the poem, but also supports the quiet, almost spitting voice of the speaker as he
recalls this gruesome scene. He observes as all the water on the planet stands
still, revealing the sailors who lie dead and “rotting” on the sea floor (73-75).
Ships fall apart and sleep “on the abyss without a surge” as the water ceases
around them (76-78). The speaker personifies all as something living, including
the waves and tides that sleep in their graves (78). By giving these nonliving things
mortality, the destruction becomes more poignant and frightening. Already the
moon is dead, and the winds fall “stagnant” in the air (80). In the final lines, the
speaker says, “And the clouds perish’d; darkness had no need / Of aid from them
— she was the universe.” The use of the word “she” parallels the “he” used
earlier to describe war, uniting the two in a sort of disastrous relationship.
Despite the poem’s length, this ending feels abrupt since the speaker never
returns to the present time in which he is remembering this vision. Instead Byron
chooses to end the poem with the speaker’s recollection of darkness consuming
the world — a far more dramatic conclusion that does not allow for a moment’s
break from this disturbing apocalypse. Again, this all-consuming darkness evokes
Biblical images of the world before light and supports the idea that all that God
has created has been destroyed.
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