University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

The Palace.
DAVID.
Not yet return'd! 'tis strange! they could not miss
The track, nor would they linger in the chace!—
—The morning dawns, but all is dark within.
Ye solemn glooms! and thou still midnight hour
Whence were your secret hoards of vengeance drawn
That thus could fire my brain, and people night
With forms, that made me wish for whisper'd tales
Of ambuscades, of massacres, and blood
To slake the kindling plague that burns within!
—Perhaps they have deserted me, and join'd
The foe! O coward reason! how you reel!—
They have discover'd all, and he returns
Returns, full fraught with vengeance, like a plague
To breathe his venom round in every breast
Till royalty expires, and David's name
That us'd to fill the plausive shouts of thousands
Is breath'd in execration, stamp'd with shame!
I now repent the step, and wish recall'd
The messengers of mercy—never more
Will he consent to pass those guilty gates
Again! perhaps, his rash, mistaken valour
May deem them blood-hounds, meant to lure him back
To certain fate, and stand on his defence!
But they were far too numerous to be foil'd!—
Or force or supplication must prevail—
I should have kept him here! my good resolves
Are now the sport of chance! for, if he 'scapes
Not all the world can save him! But, alas!
Should he return, can I endure his look?
Can I endure to see his lovely spouse
Thro' gazing multitudes led to her fate?
Ah no—tho' shame and ruin should ensue
I would defy the law, profane the court
And boldly rescue her, or lose myself!—
He then must fall—for, should he now return
What plea could I invent to screen my plot
Of death against him? He would still suspect
The man, who once could give him up to fate!—
I know his noble nature, he would scorn
To hold his life on such precarious terms!
Revenge and fear at once would urge him on
To join the faction, and embroil the state!—
Had I upon his loyalty rely'd!—
I knew his nature noble and forgiving—
But now, it is too late!—and, could I bear
To lose her?—never—never—tho' the voice
Of thunder, call'd her from me! then farewell
Remorse! farewell compunction—she is mine!
—But now my palpitating heart informs me
The crisis is at hand—my valiant friend. Enter BENAIAH.

Say, are the messengers return'd?

Ben.
Not yet
At least, not all.

David.
Some dreadful chance, I fear
Has interven'd. What mean your dubious words
At least not all?

Ben
A direful chance indeed!
The messenger that came, has scarce escap'd
With half a life!

David.
What sad reverse is this!
How could he cope with odds! or what bold arm
Was join'd with his?

Ben.
A numerous band of friends
Rous'd by some rumour of an ambuscade,
By Joab prepar'd against his threaten'd life
Triumphant led him thro' the opening gate
And tend him to the camp!—your messengers
Arriving at this moment, when surmise
Teem'd with intended murders, perfidy
And midnight plots—were deem'd the ruffian train
Combin'd to lay the noble warriour low;
Then all was clamour and misgovern'd rage
In vain Uriah strove to lay the storm—
Twice fifty level'd swords at once surround
Your friends, who plead their innocence in vain
One dar'd to menace vengeance, but the threat
Was fatal to the wretch that gave it breath,
His hapless fellows shar'd his bloody doom
Save one, whom favouring night, (tho' wounded sore)
Befriended in his flight, from him was learn'd
The dreadful chance!

David.
Then to his doom he goes!—
Fate has him in the snare, and baffles all
Our vain attempts to save him!
O for a winged messenger of Heaven
To reach the camp at Rabbah, and instill
Unusual pity in the General's mind!—
But they, whose ready ministry of old
Turn'd from my hunted steps the deadly foe
And render'd me as viewless as themselves
Have all forsaken me—nor am I left
Alone. Remorse and guilt, and death, and shame
With dragon wing o'ershade me in their turns
Their harpy clang severe, and funeral yell
Proclaim perdition to my trembling soul! [OMITTED]
Amazement! Nathan here! I thought him fled
For ever from his country, to avoid
The killing sight of an ungrateful child!—
Him, last of all mankind, I wish'd to meet!
What terrible tranquility pervades
His reverend mien and seems to threat a storm—
Would that were all! this deadly calm is worse
Where nought but sense of Heaven's desertion lives!

To him NATHAN.
David.
Prophet, why didst thou thus forsake thy post
Still deem'd the guardian of thy country's weal?

Nath.
The times are not the same! those cares are o'er
Domestic woes have quench'd the patriot's flame!
No more my bosom kindles at the touch
Of Heaven's descending fire! the port is clos'd
That show'd my ravish'd eyes the splendid view
Of ages yet to come! How soon the veil
May rise, I know not! what the sun beholds
Those aged eyes can see, but boast no more
The power to pierce the midnight-woven gloom
In which the cause and consequence are hid!—

David.
This studied ambiguity implies
A meaning, which thy humble words disclaim!

Nath.
When such unerring wisdom guides the helm
Form'd like the diamond in the pregnant mine
With that deep lustre fraught, those mingling beams
Which angels love to gaze on! when the soul
Reflects Heaven's image like the limpid lake
Smooth, and unruffled, by fell passion's gale;
A private man it much would misbecome
To play the pilot, and usurp the helm
From such consummate guidance.—But for me
No such ambitious folly taints my views
Judge by my errand! on a private cause
I come, a suppliant only—With the state
And all its cares, I long have shaken hands,
Content to introduce a poor man's plea
To your indulgent ears—for well I know
Tho' to the dangerous claim of passion deaf
Tho' to the domineering proud appeal
Of appetite, thou turn'st a heedless ear
And look'st on sensual spells with cool regard
Yet wilt thou not contemn the suppliant's prayer!

David.
With the known rigour of thy stern rebuke
Such lavish adulation ill accords—
The humble topic of a poor man's plea
Needs no such pompous prelude.—I suppos'd
My known contempt of flattery might suggest
(To thee at least) a manlier mode of speech
Unless thy words and meaning are at strife.

Nath.
I stand corrected, and shall err no more,
Nor mingle with my rough uneven woof
The tissue of the courtier's silken strain!
It suits not with a plain, pathetic tale
Of rural violence and village wrongs
Which thy paternal care shall soon redress
When known.
When from the bounds of Salem late I past
Self-exil'd, to avoid domestic woe
I thought in some sequester'd vale to find
That peace and innocence devoid of guile
Which (tho' thy bright example beams around)
Even in those sacred bounds are sought in vain,
A peasant's lodge I sought, whom long I knew
Of Heaven so favour'd in his mean retreat
So sanctify'd, that his æthereal guard
Kept from his lonely cot, at distance due
All the vain Images, the gaudy train
Of Syren forms (this world's peculiar boast)
That lures the heedless votary from Heaven.

David.
Could they not guard him from oppressive wrong?

Nath.
They saw him wrong'd, and yet th'oppressor lives.
This hermit for my host I rather chose
Than the proud owner of a neighb'ring pile
Who kept his hospitable gate unclosed
With oftentatious welcome to allure
The way-worn pilgrim's foot—But here instead
Of the long retinue, that fills the haunts
Of luxury, and the unmeaning phrase
Of hollow friendship, warm in words alone,
One gentle lamb, his single inmate play'd
About his joyous hearth and told a tale
Of warm attachment in its honest looks
And gentle bleatings, far beyond the phrase
Of courtly adulation. This remain'd
The solitary orphan of a flock
Which fell contagion, or the fellor gripe
Of lawless usury had reft away
The rest, or fill'd the concert of the vales
Which own'd his wealthier neighbour for their Lord
Or bled, by turns, the victims of his board.

David.
That wealthy neighbour shall refund his store
If aught of inhumanity appears
Before the Judges tribunal—for soon
It shall be closely sifted,—but proceed!—

Nath.
A stranger, to the camp of Israel bound
Of seeming rank, tho' hid in close disguise
The proud man's hospitality had claim'd,
He spar'd his numerous flocks, and sent his hinds
To robb the hermit of his bleating friend
The sole associate of his lonely hours.—
I saw it borne away—I mark'd the tears
Of its sad owner, all in vain they fell
In vain, with supplications he pursued
Even to the proud man's door his innocent charge
His whole redress was insult, scorn, and blows.—

David.
Now Heaven so deal with me, as he shall reap
The bitter fruit of an unfeeling heart
And with his forfeit life redeem the land
From such a foul contagion! soon the world
Shall know, I do not bear the sword in vain!

Nath.
In thee, my Lord, whose pure, unsullied life
Reflects a glowing transcript of Heaven's laws
Such rigour is becoming, but to us
Whose feeble optics boast no angel's ken
The sword of justice dazzles as it strikes—
There needs not such gigantic force to venge
Such petty wrongs.
You know, my Lord! how long the penal sword
Has slumber'd in the sheath, and it might seem
The rigour of severity, at once
To wake its terrours now, for fame would tell
That for a petty wrong, which might be paid
Four fold, a soul was forfeit!

David.
Strange to me
It seems, that thou, whose eagle-sight could pry
Beyond the journies of the sun, to view
The late effect that slumber'd in its cause,
Should be dim-sighted here! but time and grief
Have shed a frost upon your faculties
Else you would see, that famine, sword and fire
With all the woes that on those furies wait
Are not so pestilent as that still plague
That cold, narcotic vapour, worst of ills
With which hell teems, that last result of vice,
When all the virtues, poison'd in their source,
Stagnate at once, and petrify the heart.—
Heaven's! what a journey with his fellow fiends
Thro' every devious tract of every crime
This man must first have run, who thus could tear
The fellow-feelings from his savage heart!
His soul is gangren'd, and the sword alone
Can ward the vengeance stor'd above the sky
Which else, perhaps, would burst upon our heads
In flaming ruin; or the plague might catch
From bosom on to bosom.—He, who dar'd
To seize the lamb, would he have spar'd the child
To join his servile train, or change for gold,
As pride or caprice, or the thirst of gain
Had chanc'd to domineer?

Nath.
Yes—or his spouse!

David.
Ha!

Nath.
Thou art the man! why does thy cheek turn pale
At thy own semblance? was the mask so foul
As even to wake thy rage: and art thou dumb
When thou behold'st the phantom's genuine face?
Thine own most righteous doom has past thy lips
Without recall, and heaven has seal'd the word!
To punish other crimes, were but to prune
The wild luxuriance of a poisonous growth,
While the pernicious root behind remains,
Royal example!

David.
after a long pause.
Then thy flight was feign'd
And thou who seem'd degraded from thy post
As Heaven's own delegate, by Heaven's own hand.
With all thine honours blasted on thy brow,
Return'st with tenfold power, and seem'st to wield
The bolt of vengeance, but thy forward zeal
May be th'effect of petulance; the lamp
Of Heav'n no more may show its light by thee;
Perhaps, 'tis merely to indulge thy spleen,
That thus you dare to thwart me.

Nath.
Judge yourself,
When that fell adder, which you foster now,
Such gratitude will show, as you have shown
To Heaven! My son's rebellion, and my flight,
Were mystic warnings to the mental eye
Of tragic scenes to come! Of wild misrule,
And nameless horrours, even within those walls
To be committed. These will clear my faith,
And vindicate my name. But who, alas!
Who shall exculpate thee? Thou who wast call'd
From a rude scene of turbulence and blood,
Like yon emerging sun from chaos old,
Th'interpreter of Heaven's benignant will
From thy bright station to revive the world
With intellectual light! What demon's hand
Has chang'd thee to a comet, worse than they
Who wave their blazing tresses o'er the globe,
Shedding diseases and sidereal blast?
Thou hast, as far as thou hast power, derang'd
The blest designs of Heaven, eclips'd her light
With deep Egyptian darkness, and reduc'd
Her order to confusion! Thou hast given
A louder note to Passion's loudest storm,
And strengthen'd all her pleas! For who that feels
Her mutinous demands, but well may plead
David's example for his worst offence;
David, selected by applauding Heaven
Her delegate, her prophet, and her priest?—
The faithful husband, of his spouse bereft,
Heart-wounded sires, who mourn the cruel hand
That robb'd his family of all its grace
And comfort, lost at once, shall join to curse
Thy mournful triumphs o'er connubial bliss,
Shall curse thy name, whose magic syllables
Breath'd, as a vile apology for crimes,
Could, like a deep and powerful charm, compose
The loud complaints of conscience!

David.
Oh, no more!
Thou rendst my very heartstrings! I have sinn'd,
Beyond redemption sinn'd. O send in haste
To save Uriah.

Nath.
It is now too late.—
Even should thy messenger in time arrive,
Should the swift mandate reach the general's hand
It would but hasten brave Uriah's doom,
Such is his deadly jealousy of all
That share thy favour, thy solicitude
To save him, would be thought a close design
To hurl him from his post, by murther bought,
And fix the hated rival in his room.—
Even Providence ordains that he shall fall.
Guilt must have all its dreadful consequence,
No single plague of all its ghastly train
Shall lagg behind. The whole Tartarean pomp
Shall march in horrour o'er the frighted world,
To shew the perils of beginning vice:
The dreadful admonition else were vain.—
Think not to save him! Thou hast doom'd him dead,
And even Omnipotence has seal'd his fate.

David.
Is there no means to save him?

Nath.
Do you doubt
My mission still? This moment gives a proof
That makes me shudder, while a stronger power
Compells my trembling hand to rend the veil.
See there! [Vision of a Man in a mask appears.

A youth without a name! He boasts thy blood.
Wrapt in unholy musings how he walks!
His eyeballs seek the dust, as if he fear'd
Each glance should tell the fires that burn within,
And soon the dust shall drink his boiling blood,
And vengeance quench the flame!—Stand close, and mark
His dire soliloquy! Nor shalt thou learn
The object of his flame! for Heaven's behest
Must not be stop'd or thwarted, else the close
Of vice, would want its horrours!—Here he comes. The PHANTOM Speaks.

Why was I form'd with such impetuous passions
Oh ill star'd lot of royalty, indulg'd
In every wish! the fuel feeds the flame
Till raging past all bounds, it finds its way
Even to the sanctuary! Ye chaste stars!
I must not name her to you! Even my heart
Treacherous, and inconsistent, with itself
At that lov'd name recoils!—yet urges on
My feet to find my doom!—yet, why recoil?
No husband's forfeit blood I mean to shed,
To meet him with a smile and, with a smile
Dismiss him, with the mandate of his fate—
I dare not reach the mark of Heaven's-belov'd
My crime is short of murther, tho' beyond
Common adultery! and if Heaven connives
At David's crimes, his complicated guilt,
Why should I doubt of pardon, while my sin
Is secret, nor involves the guilt of blood?
(If pardon be required, and right and wrong
Perhaps, whatever priestcraft may devise—
Be not the coinage of a statesman's dream)
I'll think no more!—the genial feast invites
I go to drown reflection in the bowl.

David.
Who is this monster? oh disclose his name
By swift prevention to arrest the course
Of such consummate crimes!

Nath.
It cannot be—
He boasts thy blood, and, as thou seest pursues
Thy steps—you err'd from appetite alone,
While he, improving on the royal crimes
Turns passion into principle, but soon
Vengeance shall cut him short, and lop away
One deadly limb of that malignant plant
Thy crimes have sown in Israel.

David.
I adore
Heaven's ways, nor dare to deprecate her wrath!

Nath.
But other scenes await thee.—Spectacles
Of wider horrour, and more general plagues
When for one lawless deed, a nation mourns;
And slaughter, fire, and devastation strides
From province into province, led to spoil
By vengeance, vengeance for a monarch's crimes,
Where pure religion and her votaries
Are banish'd from the clime by vice disgrac'd.
Arise ye tribes unborn! ye future scenes
Distant, and indistinct in time and place
Behind the convex of the world conceal'd
And on the buoyant bosom of the air
Expand your figur'd pomp, and meet the eye!—
Far distant from those shores, a warlike race
That mark the wheels of the descending sun
Shall see another luminary rise
On their benighted souls, from Salem sent,
From Hermon to Pyrenes distant bourne
Wide flushing o'er the sky. The savage tribe
Shall doff the bloody mail, and bathe their limbs
In pure baptismal waters, where the stream
Of Guadiana laves the fertile fields.—
Long shall their tribes enjoy the deep serene
Of rural bless, beneath their Lords renown'd
Of Alemannia's old heroic race,
Till peace induces luxury and vice,
The court begins the example, taught by thee,
(When thy prophetic eye, that us'd to pierce
Thro' the long vistas of futurity,
Forgot its visions, for th'unholy glance
That led to deeds of darkness and of blood)
The monarch lets his eye at random rove
After forbidden charms, forgets the tye
Of hospitality, and leaves the sire
To weep at home his violated child;
His tears are treasured up above; they fill
The vial of Heaven's vengeance, and come down
In showers of wrath. The raging sire, misled
By the vindictive fiends, ascends the deck,
And to his country's foes a suppliant bends!
See where the reverend senior kneels before
The misbeliever's throne, but not for peace,
For mercy he implores not, but demands
The congregated furies of the south,
Fire, sword, and famine, to revenge his wrongs.
See! where they scowl across the midland main,
And meditate their prey, and mount the wind!
A living cloud of mischiefs, worse than those
“Which Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day,
“Brought up, and darken'd all the land of Nile.”

The Vision of a Royal Court appears.
The King on his throne, and his Nobles attending.
Enter a SUPPLIANT, and kneels.
[SUPPLIANT]
To thee, dread sovereign of an hundred thrones,
Who sees the swarthy sons of Lybia bend
Before thee, and canst bid their headlong zeal
Sweep o'er the subject nations, or subside,
Like the wild hurricanes that rage or sleep
At the great bidding of the power who rules
The kingdom of the winds: if ever zeal
In thy great prophet's cause thy sabre drew,
If ere the wrongs of yon proud Nazarenes
Enflam'd your rage, oh! seize the golden hour,
That zeal and vengeance sanctify at once,
Or sleep for ever! Now the martial sife
No more accords the measur'd march; no more
The trumpet's clang awakes the levied horde,
But o'er the blasted laurels of their groves
Vice curls her reptile tendrils, and consumes
The vital sap, that nurs'd the vig'rous stem!—
The king repays the hospitable rite
With violence and wrong! His nobles view
His mad career in heartless apathy,
Or join his deadly orgies! What remains,
But up—and give the victim to the sword.—
Nature is burden'd with the hated race,
And Heaven's own ministers, that ride the clouds,
To all the winds proclaim the harvest ripe.
Go borrow Time's keen scythe, and lend its edge
To Devastation's hand; the reverend sire
Will shake his hoary locks with joy to see
His task of ages, in one glorious day
Perform'd, then everlasting Righteousness
Will look from Heav'n, and bless the rising flame
That lays the temples of Gomorrah low!—
Seek ye an hostage? take my life in pledge,
If I should fail on yonder hated coast
To give you ample means to plant your power
And bid the Mauritarian stem extend
Its boughs luxuriant o'er the conquer'd land!

King.
Fathers! attend the summons! Heaven itself
Calls us to conquest, and o'er haughty Spain
Our prophet's name to raise, our hallow'd arms
Are cover'd o'er with dust, and want a cause
To furbish them anew. Shall narrow seas
Oppose their march, whom Barca's burning sand
Withheld not, burning fiercer in pursuit
Of glory? think, for every added realm
A double weight of glory waits above
To every one, whose arms have lent their aid
To this victorious cause . Begin the vote.

The Prospect changes to an invaded Country—Cities in Flames— Peasants Massacred, &c. &c.
Nath.
Behold the fruit of thy luxurious hours,
The sequel of thy fond Elysian dreams!
That King who dar'd to violate the laws
Of sacred hospitality and friendship
Bred in religion's pure and sacred rites
Had never dar'd to brave the flaming bolt,
Nor cope with Heaven's dread edict, hadst not thou
Marshall'd the way before! contemplate now
The dreadful harvest which thy hand has sown
How far beyond thy hopes, and let thy heart
Weep blood, if yet the fount of tears be dry,
Uriah too might have embroil'd the state
And with rebellion's shrill sonorous trump
Publish'd his wrongs, and call'd the tribes to arms
But nobly he refus'd—thou little knowest
What a defender you have flung away,
If e'er sedition's flag shall crown thy towers,
If e'er the desart, thro' its lonely bounds
Shall joy to see its exiles steps return!
I see thine agony, and for relief
Of thy soul's torture, to another scene
Direct thy charmed eyes, thou hast beheld
The dark complexion of thy deeds outdone
By Heaven's profest disciple, blest with rays
Of Heaven's peculiar brightness:—how he curst
The beam, and like an adder slunk away
To mingle with his kindred glooms, incenst
To feel the sacred light pervade his soul!
Now view a warriour, whose benighted eyes
Roll'd round in vain to find that heavenly ray
Vouchsafed to that Iberian King,—whose lips
The living waters from the hallow'd fount
Never bedew'd, yet, (dubious as he stands
Upon the trembling verge of life and death
Whether the yawning grave shall close for ever
His prospect, or the conscious mind survive
To endless raptures, or incessant woes,)
He minds not passion's call, he spurns away
The snares of appetite that cross his path
And court him to relax the stubborn nerve
Of steel'd exertion, the seraphic forms
Of good and fair, altho by glimpses caught
Hurry him thro' the phalanx of his foes
And bid him scatter all their adverse bands
Like fire, ascending thro' th'incumbent mass
Of some embowel'd hill. It bursts abroad
All glorious, and the cloudy face of night
Paints with aspiring flame, and vollied hail
Of mimic stars!

The Prospect changes to a Camp, Military Trophies, &c. The General seated as if to receive an Embassy.—A Train of Suppliants approaching at a distance.
David.
Oh Heaven's! all other mortal forms, to this
Are fleeting vapours, unsubstantial air—
Or beauty ne'er was seen by me before
Or she surpasses all the beauteous kind—
His virtue, if he can resign such charms
Exceeds the human pitch.

Nath.
[Goes into a Pavilion and returns with a young Princess.

[Prospect closes.
Nath.
Ponder this scene! then weigh with equal hand
The Gentile, and Believer, then reflect
Whence flow'd the continence of one, and whence
That wild misrule that madden'd in the mind
Of that misguided King, and woke the storm
That wreck'd his country's peace, then ask yourself
If meddling zeal inspir'd my just reproof.

[Exit Nathan.
David.
Was there not shame enough to sink my soul
In the dark gulph of absolute despair?
But horror too and grief must add their weight?—
Yet they are welcome!—cover me, deep night!
Ten thousand fathoms down, where never more
The blessed beam of Heaven shall visit me
Where never winged minister of her's
Thorough the dismal gloom shall wing his flight
To look on my sad fall, and turn away
With deep abhorrence!—but what midnight shade
Can hide me from myself! What curtain fall
Between the piercing beam of torturing thought
And its sad object? Yet, how gentle that
To what this instant I perceive within
This sense of desolation—Heavenly hate,
This dead vacuity, this gloom of being!
This settled sorrow of the swelling heart
By which alone I feel that I exist!—
Where shall I find him, where, the friendly power
Tho' arm'd with vengeance? yet I wish to feel him
And own the father in his dread correction.
Father of mercy! let me own once more
Thy presence, tho' it blast me! turn again
Thy aspect, tho' incenst, on thy fallen son,
And let me feel thy pity in the scourge
That wounds to heal!—far, far around I look
Amid the tossing of this mental storm
Yet see no dawning of that welcome light
Sign of returning peace! it is but just
That I should wander in eternal gloom
For wilfully on heaven's benignant beam
I shut my eyes, and chose to grope my way
To swift perdition with a demon guide. To him, ZADOK.

From him, whom never yet desponding soul
Address'd in vain, I come, but not with peace
Nor soothing promise, long the storm must rage
The dashing rain descend, and deluge spread
Ere with the olive branch the dove returns
Thy soul has lost its vigour—all its powers
Are run to waste, its energy is gone—
Extinct, by foul voluptuous charms exhal'd
This to recover, needs strong discipline
Effective, lasting, till its energy
Recovers in the conflict, like the spark
From stricken steel, or winter's fire, compress'd
To tenfold ardour by the rigorous grasp
Of winter's frory hand—This is Heaven's will
Her primal law, by most effectual means
To keep that sacred, active power awake
In which th'excellency of mind consists
If this be dissipated in the calm
Of sensual life, or if, in sloth relaxt
The faculties lye slumb'ring—then he calls
His ministers—fierce pain, the alarm of war
Domestic grief, adversity's stern march
And quiver'd woes. They rouse the torpid mind
Hunt her thro' all her feelings, till she rise
From her terrene and most inglorious laire
And Heaven-ward looks again, asserts her birth,
Puts forth her pinions, vindicates the skies
And leaves the worldly dim eclipse behind,
But, if those fail, the gangrene is begun
That leads to swift perdition.

David.
Heaven forbid
Such means should fail! Oh let the discipline
Be sharp enough! I shrink not, tho' it leave
My trembling nerves all bare! welcome! affliction
I bless your friendly frowns, to my sick soul
More chearing than the Syren smiles that led
My wand'ring feet astray. Your awful march
And funeral ensigns, seen afar, I hail!
Print not your footsteps lightly in the dust
For every vagrant gale to waft away
The traces of your visitation dread!
But leave a deep, indelible path behind
As when the avenger of his people's sins
Treads the red wine-press in his jealous rage
And stamps his vengeance deep—but me alone
Visit, nor let my people share my woes!