University of Virginia Library

NEMESIS.

What is it that mine Eyes look on?
A bodyless Hand that bears
A Dagger, and upon
Its Blade are Bloodgouts! is't a Dream
That with its fearful Semblance sears
My strainëd Eyeballs, or does that bright Gleam
Flash from a Weapon palpable to Touch?
Dread Nemesis! I know thee: such
The Shape in which from oldest Time
Unseen thou stand'st by thronëd Crime,
And with upraisëd Hand,
Awaiting Fate's Command,
Thy aweful and invisible Stroke
Smites him, e'en then when he has broke
Intwain all Bonds that Fear,
And Policy, and Guile, and Hate,
Had bade him wear;
E'en then, when in his Pomp and State,
A Criminal too vast for Law's weak Grasp,
He treads down Truth and Virtue in the Dust,
And feasts his Ears with their Deathgasp;
As tho' oblivious Rust
Could blunt the Edge of thy dread Steel,
Or thine allviewless Arm could feel
The Palsy of Decay!
Vain Fool! amid the glittering Spears
That compass him around thy Way
Is airfree, no Footfall he hears,
Yet, like his guilty Conscience, thou
Art with him everywhere:
And when he least expects the Blow,
Thine errless Arm is there,
To lay the Tyrant low,
And bid fair Liberty
Lift up once more her Banner to the Sky.
'Twas thou didst place in Brutus' Hand
Thy crimeavenging Steel,
And bad'st him save his Fatherland
From Slavery,
He made the haughty Cæsar feel
That Kings like common Men can die.
The first Step o'er the Rubicon,
And by his Side from that day on
Thy aweful Form', veiled from his Sight,
Stood by him in its viewless Might,
In its Shadow aye he stood,
Yet dreamt not of the coming Blood,
'Till the Hourssands had run,
And Cæsar's Life with them was done!
But thou hast other Weapons, nobler far
Than these frail, palpable Tools,
With which to war
Against the Tyrant, who to his vain Car
Would chain Mankind — Pride that befools
And maketh dizzy on the Pinnacle,
Where Fortune leaves her Votary
To look aghast into the yawning Hell
Whence rise the Ghosts of former Crimes,
Dread Shadows of past Times,
To smite his Soul with Agony!
What are the palpable Throes
Of bodily Wounds compared with those
Which Conscience, to thy Service sworn,
Inflicts on Guilt, of every Solace shorn:
What tho' the Tyrant triomph o'er his Foes,
And make the Block holy wiih Martyrsblood,
The one Voice he has quenched shall spread abroad
On the four Winds of Heaven,
And unto every Tongue be given
Some Echo of those Accents high,
And from the Martyrsashes, ere they die,
Shall Nemesis her Torch relight!
Thus Death, who lays waste all Things, caunot blight
The Cause of Truth and Liberty;
The Form decays, the Spirit still remains:
The Hope of Oldentimes still passes on,
Flamelike, from Heart to Heart — the Earth retains
Its Lifepower still; so long as sun
Shines on it, and the Rain doth wet,
It will unweariedly beget
All that Industry can ask:
Tho', in Desolation's Mask,
A wide Waste its Bosom secm,
Yet beneath all good Things teem!
Thus in the Human Heart as well,
As long as Faith and Hope do dwell
Within it, good Seeds ever lie,
That soon or late must fructify.
Spite of Cloud and Storm they'll spring,
In their due Season blossoming.
Then let us suffer, for to bear
Nobly is a Triomph fair,
God himself doth calmly wait,
Then let Mortals imitate!
Do their Duty, let it cost
What it will, tho' all be lost,
And setting selfish Fears aside,
By Wisdom's self be justified.
Mankind, like Shadows, pass away,
Yet still the mighty Heart for aye
Beats on, and every fleeting Year
Brings us to the Goal more near,
Still it glows with holier Fire,
And the pure Ether doth respire,
Of Love and wise Humanity,
Embracing in its Sympathy
Every Form of Being here,
Least and greatest, in its Sphere.
Thus Truth wins her Victories bright,
Not by brute, material Might,
But by opening up, more wise,
Men's Hearts to all high Sympathies!