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181
PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION.
(10 Thermidor, 1794.)
“When the wicked perish, there is shouting.”
Here let us stand—windows, and roofs, and leads,
Alive with clinging thousands—what a scene!
And in the midst, above that sea of heads,
Glooms the black Guillotine.
Alive with clinging thousands—what a scene!
And in the midst, above that sea of heads,
Glooms the black Guillotine.
A scene like that in the Eternal City,
When on men's hearts the Arena feasted high—
While myriads of dark faces, void of pity,
Looked on to see them die.
When on men's hearts the Arena feasted high—
While myriads of dark faces, void of pity,
Looked on to see them die.
How the keen Gallic eyes dilate and glare!
The flexile brows and lips grimace and frown—
How the walls tremble to their shout, whene'er
That heavy steel comes down!
The flexile brows and lips grimace and frown—
How the walls tremble to their shout, whene'er
That heavy steel comes down!
'Tis nearly over—twenty heads have rolled,
One after one, upon the block—while cheers,
And yells, and curses howled by hate untold,
Rang in their dying ears.
One after one, upon the block—while cheers,
And yells, and curses howled by hate untold,
Rang in their dying ears.
182
One more is left—and now, amid a storm
Of angry sound from that great human Hive,
They rear upright a dizened ghastly form,
Mangled, yet still alive.
Of angry sound from that great human Hive,
They rear upright a dizened ghastly form,
Mangled, yet still alive.
Like one emerging from a deadly swoon,
His eyes unclose upon that living plain—
Those livid, snaky eyes!—he shuts them soon,
Never to ope again.
His eyes unclose upon that living plain—
Those livid, snaky eyes!—he shuts them soon,
Never to ope again.
As that forlorn, last, wandering gaze they took,
Perhaps those cruel eyes, in hopeless mood,
Sought, in their agony, one pitying look
'Mid that vast multitude.
Perhaps those cruel eyes, in hopeless mood,
Sought, in their agony, one pitying look
'Mid that vast multitude.
Sought, but in vain—inextricably mixed
On square and street and house-top—he surveys
A hundred thousand human eyes, all fixed
In one fierce, pitiless gaze.
On square and street and house-top—he surveys
A hundred thousand human eyes, all fixed
In one fierce, pitiless gaze.
Down to the plank! the brutal headsmen tear
Those blood-glued rags—nay, spare him needless pain!
One cry! God grant that we may never hear
A cry like that again!
Those blood-glued rags—nay, spare him needless pain!
One cry! God grant that we may never hear
A cry like that again!
A pause—and the axe falls on Robespierre.
That trenchant blade hath done its office well—
Hark to the mighty roar! down, Murderer—
Down to thy native Hell!
That trenchant blade hath done its office well—
Hark to the mighty roar! down, Murderer—
Down to thy native Hell!
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Again, that terrible Shout! till suburb far
And crowded dungeon marvel what it mean—
Hurrah! and louder, louder, yet, hurrah
For the good Guillotine!
And crowded dungeon marvel what it mean—
Hurrah! and louder, louder, yet, hurrah
For the good Guillotine!
And breasts unladen heave a longer breath—
And parting footsteps echo fast and light—
Our Foe is lodged in the strong Prison of Death!
Paris shall sleep to-night.
And parting footsteps echo fast and light—
Our Foe is lodged in the strong Prison of Death!
Paris shall sleep to-night.
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