 | The Vision of Prophecy and Other Poems |  |
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ATTILA AT AQUILEIA.
Oft, Aquileia! from thy towers
Hast thou beheld the foe
Around thy ramparts close his powers,
And bid his clarions blow;
But ne'er did fiercer foes advance
Against thee, nor a direr chance
Thy chequered fortunes e'er befall,
Than when the swarming Orient hordes
Of Attila unsheathed their swords
Around thy leagured wall.
Hast thou beheld the foe
Around thy ramparts close his powers,
And bid his clarions blow;
But ne'er did fiercer foes advance
Against thee, nor a direr chance
Thy chequered fortunes e'er befall,
Than when the swarming Orient hordes
Of Attila unsheathed their swords
Around thy leagured wall.
Yet high thine ancient courage swelled
In danger's evil day,
Long thine undaunted burghers quelled
The pride of that array;
And oft in battle's stormy shock,
Like waves recoiling from the rock,
Their legions from thy gates were driven;
For still when freedom sounds alarm,
The strength that nerves the patriot's arm
Is strength supplied by Heaven.
In danger's evil day,
Long thine undaunted burghers quelled
The pride of that array;
And oft in battle's stormy shock,
Like waves recoiling from the rock,
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For still when freedom sounds alarm,
The strength that nerves the patriot's arm
Is strength supplied by Heaven.
But Famine came and Plague behind,
Two old and sworn allies,
And many a child and mother pined
Before the father's eyes;
Still, starting at the trumpet's call,
The ready burghers thronged the wall,
In their heroic manhood mailed;
Along the battlements they stand,
With hollow eye and shrunken hand,
But heart that never quailed.
Two old and sworn allies,
And many a child and mother pined
Before the father's eyes;
Still, starting at the trumpet's call,
The ready burghers thronged the wall,
In their heroic manhood mailed;
Along the battlements they stand,
With hollow eye and shrunken hand,
But heart that never quailed.
And now the third autumnal moon
Shone sickly in its wane,
Since first his tents the haughty Hun
Had pitched upon the plain:
His soaring hopes are sunken low,
And quenched his valour's earlier glow,
Which kindled at the clash of lance;
And many a voice is quick to blame
The leader who has staked his fame
Upon a desperate chance.
Shone sickly in its wane,
Since first his tents the haughty Hun
Had pitched upon the plain:
His soaring hopes are sunken low,
And quenched his valour's earlier glow,
Which kindled at the clash of lance;
And many a voice is quick to blame
The leader who has staked his fame
Upon a desperate chance.
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What fierce tumultuous struggle now
Convulsed that chieftain's soul,—
The shame upon his swarthy brow
Glowed crimson as a coal;
And sleep forsook his eyes until
He bent to fate his iron will,
And bade his soldiers, when the sound
Of trump was heard at break of day,
Strike tents and march in war-array
From that ill-omened ground.
Convulsed that chieftain's soul,—
The shame upon his swarthy brow
Glowed crimson as a coal;
And sleep forsook his eyes until
He bent to fate his iron will,
And bade his soldiers, when the sound
Of trump was heard at break of day,
Strike tents and march in war-array
From that ill-omened ground.
The westering sun more softly glowed
Through skies of tender blue,
When forth the gloomy chieftain rode,
To take a farewell view
Of walls so long assailed in vain;
His bravest captains in his train
Rode sharing in their prince's grief,
The camp was silent as they passed,
And from their tents the warriors cast
Sad glances on their chief.
Through skies of tender blue,
When forth the gloomy chieftain rode,
To take a farewell view
Of walls so long assailed in vain;
His bravest captains in his train
Rode sharing in their prince's grief,
The camp was silent as they passed,
And from their tents the warriors cast
Sad glances on their chief.
The mournful company rode on,
Struck dumb by adverse fate,
Until they reached a bastion
That flanked a postern-gate.
Here, on a mossy ledge that round
The buttress ran, a stork had found
Fit station for her yearly nest,—
Secure in the old faith that stirred
All hearts to love the trustful bird
As man's peculiar guest.
Struck dumb by adverse fate,
Until they reached a bastion
That flanked a postern-gate.
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The buttress ran, a stork had found
Fit station for her yearly nest,—
Secure in the old faith that stirred
All hearts to love the trustful bird
As man's peculiar guest.
It seemed as if some sudden thought,
On that fair eve, had come
Into her heart to leave the spot
Long chosen for her home,
Through those calm skies to steer in quest
Of some untroubled place of rest;
Aloft she soared with plaintive cry,—
Her nestlings followed at her scream,
And soon all faded like a dream
Far up the sunbright sky.
On that fair eve, had come
Into her heart to leave the spot
Long chosen for her home,
Through those calm skies to steer in quest
Of some untroubled place of rest;
Aloft she soared with plaintive cry,—
Her nestlings followed at her scream,
And soon all faded like a dream
Far up the sunbright sky.
The chieftain, pausing, watched their flight,
“Behold, ye Huns!” he cried,
His dark eye flashing with the light
Of its imperious pride;
“Behold the omen Heaven hath sent
To shame our cowardly intent:
The stork, so faithful to her home,
At last forsakes it, for some power
Divine hath warned her that the hour
Of overthrow hath come!”
“Behold, ye Huns!” he cried,
His dark eye flashing with the light
Of its imperious pride;
“Behold the omen Heaven hath sent
To shame our cowardly intent:
The stork, so faithful to her home,
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Divine hath warned her that the hour
Of overthrow hath come!”
The captains caught their leader's fire,
As they had shared his shame,
From heart to heart leaps ever higher
The quick contagious flame;
From tent to tent the tidings glance,
And every warrior grasps his lance,
And shouts, “Unto the walls again!
Our ancient honour, tarnished long,
Appeals for vengeance of the wrong,
And cleansing from the stain!”
As they had shared his shame,
From heart to heart leaps ever higher
The quick contagious flame;
From tent to tent the tidings glance,
And every warrior grasps his lance,
And shouts, “Unto the walls again!
Our ancient honour, tarnished long,
Appeals for vengeance of the wrong,
And cleansing from the stain!”
At early dawn, when o'er the hill
The first light faintly blushed,
The clarion shrieked alarum shrill,
And forth their squadrons rushed
Toward that fated bastion,
From which the boding bird had flown.
That parting scream still seems to sound,—
The voice of doom, from Heaven it falls:
“The way through these devoted walls
Must here, ye Huns! be found.”
The first light faintly blushed,
The clarion shrieked alarum shrill,
And forth their squadrons rushed
Toward that fated bastion,
From which the boding bird had flown.
That parting scream still seems to sound,—
The voice of doom, from Heaven it falls:
“The way through these devoted walls
Must here, ye Huns! be found.”
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Nor flinched the burghers, tried so long,
In that disastrous hour,—
Through blank and grassy streets they throng
To man the leaguered tower,
For altar and for hearth they stood,
Pledged each to shed his patriot blood;
And well did each redeem the pledge,
Till, in the furious surge that breaks
Upon its base, the bastion shakes
Beneath the ominous ledge.
In that disastrous hour,—
Through blank and grassy streets they throng
To man the leaguered tower,
For altar and for hearth they stood,
Pledged each to shed his patriot blood;
And well did each redeem the pledge,
Till, in the furious surge that breaks
Upon its base, the bastion shakes
Beneath the ominous ledge.
The stones are loosened in its side,
The smoke obscures the sun,
And ragged portals open wide,—
The breach is stormed and won.
Down from the steep the foemen poured,
And each barbarian's bloody sword
Took vengeance fearfully and well,
Until the last of that brave band
Died, wound in front, and sword in hand;—
Thus Aquileia fell!
The smoke obscures the sun,
And ragged portals open wide,—
The breach is stormed and won.
Down from the steep the foemen poured,
And each barbarian's bloody sword
Took vengeance fearfully and well,
Until the last of that brave band
Died, wound in front, and sword in hand;—
Thus Aquileia fell!
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