The path of sorrow, or, the lament of youth :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE SIEGE OF VIENNA.

Woe to thy arm that drinks this costly blood!
My soul doth prophecy that thou shalt fall!
My heart has turned a seer, and o'er the ruins,
My feet shall tread!

I.

In this frail world, man must have many foes!
Long years of calumny and wrong, shall dart
Its venom in the heart of man, and woes
Overwhelm! for now, the whet-stone of the heart
Has ground Hungarian, and the Tartar's dart!
And thou, plenary power! with the Moslem
Force, shall strew Vienna's plains, and start
The embers of the freeman's soul, to whelm
Invasion; and sit empire of this mighty realm.

II

Thy captains shine in pomp—thy Turkish dart—
With thy artillery dragged along the shore—
And more than all, Mustapha's head and heart,
Shall shine in pomp—but it shall shine no more!
My God! shall this Vienna—Danubo's shore—
By thunders from his hand, be trod to death?
Shall this tide come, of human woes—though poor,
And sickness overwhelm my finite breath?
Yet, we shall stand my men—be firm of heart and faith.

III.

His heart may prophecy, but he shall die!
Shall this great city be a barren heath?
My God! shall this Vienna mourn and cry—
And gasp, and gasp, and gasp, and lose her breath?
Shall she be changed to blood, as Turkey saith?
Be thou my shield! for, unto thee I cry!
Shall this old head be bruised by angry death—
Shall this great city fall before mine eye—
Shall freedom lose her birth-right—lose her breath?
My God! forbid it—let her not be trod to death.

IV.

My God! shall Poland's plains be bruised
By hostile feet, from hell's remorseless steed!
Shall freedom shrink, and glory be abused,
And my old heart be forced to burst and bleed?
Be thou my shield—a friend in day of need!
Give me an Angel's visit—send thy word—
That we are safe; and this shall be my meed!
Be thou my shield and pilot—Lord!
And my soul's obsecration shall be my reward.

V.

Shall Turkish wrath, with hostile hoofs, tread down
The crescent of Vienna's fields?
Shall savage ire, and indignation's frown,
Usurp my crown, and cause my heart to yield?
Shall freedom's tapestry be wove to wield,
And not be a pavillion to my heart?—

My God! I do invoke thy aid and shield!
My birth-right is exposed to heathen dart—
Save thou my plain of glory from the mighty smart.

VI.

Oh! hear it heaven! earth be thou my shield!
For my weak arm shall do its greatest work—
Arise Vienna! thou shalt never yield
Thy freedom to vindiction's cursed Turk!
Shall hell's indignity forever lurk
Within thy bosom? no; arise and go—
Gird on your helmet—heaven shall surely work
Our own salvation—give the mighty blow;
And let Vienna's monument forever glow.

VII.

Forbear—oh! indignation, stop and wait!
With thy infernal force—a finite clan!
Beware of this assault—or fall, too late!
Thou rudest vassal of untutored man!
The Danube's waves shall roll—this breeze can
Cool thy red-hot tyranny—thy venom hurl—
From off the battlements—where envy ran,
Like savage Euxine, o'er the bastard world;
Till thy pernicity of ire shall be unfurled.

VIII.

Thy days are numbered, and thy youth has fled;
The starlight of thy morn awoke and gone;
And thy unkindness numbered with the dead—
Far from thy native land, and native home!
Thy name shall be forgotten, while alone—
In death—upon Vienna's peaceful plain;
And all thy Turkish Kings, shall sigh and groan!
And welter in the blood of brothers slain—
Thy sun shall set, but it shall never rise again.

IX.

Remember this, thy destiny is fixed!
Sobieski's hand shall quench the fires;
And on the Danube, shall thy crucifix
Lie mouldering, with the heap of foul desires!

For thy foul heart with envy's glowing ire,
Shall not be expurgated of its stain;
But, by thy own heart's blood; and that old sire
Shall feel its cursed, sanguinary rain,
O'erlave this callous group—a funeral pyre!
To groan, and sigh, and rot in one eternal mire.

X.

The Danube's banks shall show vindiction's guilt—
Thy vast pernicity and heart-felt ire!
And no libation on thy soul be spilt,
But thou shalt welter in this funeral fire!
Thy colloquy shall howl against thy pyre
And funeral dirge; and death shall stab thy cheek;
And that huge breast of thy remorseless sire,
Shall bear the numerous dead, and thou shall seek
A refuge—but thy arm shall tremble, and grow weak.

XI.

Thy heart-strings shall be torn! and in the dust,
Thy steeds shall raise—shall be the lowering clouds,
In which thy burnished sword shall lie and rust;
And no fraternal hand shall ever shroud
Thy burlesque corse; and thou shall cry aloud
For help! but mortal man shall not repay
That debt of love, which nature bade, but crowds
On crowds shall lie and die, and fade away;
And heaven shall forsake them, on that natal day.

XII.

Oh, Belgrade, Belgrade! cast thine eye along
Thy bruised and battered plain, and cry to heaven—
Invoke her intercession for those wrongs
Committed unto thee—this fatal even!
Thy soil is battered and thy heart is riven!
Thy head is bruised, and o'er this ireful wound
The hail of torment shall be poured, and driven,
By the flames of kingly ire—to the ground:
And Heaven, earth, and gloomy hell, shall hear the sound.

XIII.

My God! and then, behind them—see the fire!

The conflagration from vindiction's blast!
Oh! could the Danube's wave, by my desire,
Be swollen to this height, I'd humbly cast
Its billows o'er the flame, and quench the last
Expiring gasp, from that unconscious fool!
Who now intrudes upon Vienna's coast,
And castigate him in a freeman's school;
And grasp his mighty arm, when it presumed to rule.

XIV.

Oh! soundless ear, now deaf to all—but death!
Shall hear the winter winds, in growling mood,
Expose thee to her nostrils; and its breath
Shall chill thy cheeks with heart-cold blood!
Thy pearly rheum shall roll as sorrow's flood;
And earth shall listen to thy dying word!
But my strong arm shall interdict such good,
When thou shalt cry aloud, my God! my God!
But thou shall have no help, but feel vindication's rod.

XV.

Oh! Danube, Danube! could thy waters part,
Like that great sea, through which the Hebrews went—
When the Almighty hardened Egypt's heart,
To drink infantile flood; with hell intent!
Then would I glory in my soul's content;
When thy Egyptian ire shall find a grave,
Amidst the cursed ire which thou would'st vent,
And sink beneath the billows of this mighty wave;
Because they hated, and they did my hearts blood crave.

XVI.

Vienna! thou Vienna! brave this mountain shock;
And it shall be as thunder pealing in the cloud,
The echo shall not last! but as a rock,
Which can't be split—both long and broad,
So shall thy basis be—though long and loud,
The cannon's peal shall shatter freedom's ear,
Yet thou shalt stand as firm, and be as proud,
As thou hast ever been; and not a pearly tear
But shall be dried—because I love thee—thou art dear.

XVII.

They shall attack us, but a flindered rock
Their host shall be; and every bone shall sink
Beneath the Danube's wave; for, as an exiled flock,
Which lost its shepherd, on the fatal brink
Of death, so shall they be; but they shall think
Of Freedom, and with hearts full bent, shall say,
We fear them not;—and they shall downward sink,
By means sufficient—Oh! that fatal day!
When they shall wish to conquor, but they shall decay.

XVIII.

And, lo! the northern side the Danube rolls.
In her vast bosom and her dimpless cheek,
Shall they be hurled;—then brave and valiant Poles,
Be free;—a refuge by thy sword must seek.
Thy widow's howl, thy orphan's bursting shriek,
When lo! their host shall die! my God! my heart
Make strong—the humble proud;—the brave and meek
Shall tremble at the shadow of this dart;
But they shall fall by Sobieski's arm and dart.

XIX.

This city shall be fortified with strength,
By faithful few, and not by many strong;
Their blood shall sanguinize the Danube's length,
In midst of perfidy, remorse, and wrong!
And death shall sing the obloquy and song
Of that hard heart; and hell, and terrene shame,
Shall gnaw their bones: and it shall last as long
As human hearts shall feel the mighty flame,
Suggest the soul—brave men, revere Vienna's name!

XX.

'Tis I,—my aged arm—this John of fire
Shall rescue injured probity and love!
When that revengeful crew would seek my ire,
And I will beg a truce from God above—
The messenger shall come—as Hope's sweet dove!
And build her nest within brave Poland's heart—
It shall conjure the soul, where'er it roves,

To fight for freedom—snatch away the dart
That lies within the scabbard; for this grove
Shall soon reverberate and say how Poland strove.

XXI.

Behold the plain! the Vizier pitched his tent
Against the faithful few, who never trod
The martialled field; but soon, the dire lament
Was heard;—it woke the heavens—the throne of God.
For they were brought to welter on the fatal clod!—
The beauteous landscape of a brother's Isle—
Where hatred, blasphemy, must feel the rod,
With all vindiction's hate, who deign to smile;
And death shall bleach the twisted lip of heart-wrought guile.

XXII.

Lift up thy head—the arm of God is here!
Weep not, Vienna! for this outstretched arm,
Shall save a remnant—now wipe off the tear!
And this bright sword shall hush them like a charm;
Though perils inundate us with alarm,
Be strong of heart—they shall not strongly stand,
But thou shalt be delivered free of every harm;
By this good sword, and this strong hand,
And thou shall glory, my Vienna, in this land.

XXIII

Beat on my wall, thou unfraternal guest—
The rampart which fair freedom built—in days
Now passed and gone, shall firmly stand the test!
Midst all thy tyranny and wretched ways—
My God! shall I be buckled down by stays
Of cowardice, and to the hostile hoof of foes,
Be made a dog?—Send me freedom's rays
From heaven! absolve me of my woes!
While death's foul deluge o'er Mustapha flows.

XXIV.

My bulwark shall return thy hail and rain,
And thou mayest boast, but my strong arm shall save
A remnant of this people—they may feel pain,
But they shall be delivered from the grave!

They shall bow down! the valiant and the brave
Shall stand the contest—they shall fall and die!
While cautiousness shall flee poor Turkey's knave,
For many a wound shall bleed, and many a sigh
Shall wander through this plain—upon my word rely.

XXV.

The cannons of their death, with open mouth,
Shall howl the watchword in the dead of night;
While this strong arm shall mete the fartherest south,
And crush contention with a matchless might;
They shall not stand! before this monstrous blight,
Shall fall the ramping steed—the fatal stroke
Shall mar, and set at naught their tutored might,
And from their vitals shall arise a smoke,
And those who do not fall, it shall in life provoke.

XXVI.

Come on, my Sobeiski—come again!
Oh! come my champion, with thy mighty arm!
Behold! Vienna reeks in wretched pain!
She bleeds, she dies—is lost in vast alarm!
Though much awaits, of winds, and rain, and storm,
Be thou my shield and succor; do come forth!
Shall I thus bleed? shall Turkey's feudal worm
Begnaw my rose, and thus abuse my worth?
Reach forth thy hand—sustain us—do come forth!

XXVII.

My orphans weep—my aged fathers mourn!
Shall she be made a wilderness of death?
Emancipate us—make freedoms bourne;
And breathe into her nostrils the pure breath
Of life and love—shall they thus sigh and mourn?
By indignation and by wrath—they groan!
From out the womb which brought them forth,
Their freedom came; they are as nature made
Them, free—their spirit breathes a worth, that n'er shall fade.

XXVIII.

The free man that is from his country torn,
Can realize this trying day of earth;

The soldier who awoke, as freedom's born,
Can realize its magnitude and worth.
When all his sympathies bid him go forth,
To rescue dying freedom—bleeding, lost!
Which animated e'en the frozen north,
And urged them, in their spirit, ever boast
Of glory, honor, liberty—while earth,
In all her borders shall proclaim her mighty worth.

XXIX.

Though old and beaten by the rain of years—
Yet my strong arm shall mete the direful plain;
And on my soul's own tablet, shall the tears
Of fair Vienna be inscribed; for such a pain
Shall be consoled with freedom's glorious gain;
While the bright glary of her deeds shall shine
Beyond the portals of eternal shame;
Bereft of impudence, or obliquy, or crime,
And never shall such vassalage return in time.

XXX.

And thou, Lorain, on Leopolstat's Isle,
Shall pay the duty which thou owest here;
Though few, they shall be faithful, nor beguile
The trust reposed in thee—a freeman's tear
Shall trickle down the sullied cheek, the fear
Of death shall give a conscious flow, to soul
Of human sympathy—be thou sincere!
My vows are graven on my heart—enroll
This tide of human love—now written on this Pole.

XXXI.

Oh, Leopolstat! such a site as thine,
Must overflow the soul with tides of thought;
For thou art beautiful—and thou, my shrine—
The only guredon that my soul has sought—
With gorgeous dyes, from nature's fount, so fraught,
Transports me with a lore of heart-felt love—
My God! behold what my old soul has caught
From thy own pencil—thy heavenly court above,
Shall bear me record—on the pinions of a dove.

XXXII.

My own soul's world! the apex of thy hill,
Will give me light—not many days to come,
The prophecy which I have spoken—to fulfill—
Is stamped with nature's blood upon my throne—
The mountain of my heart—the vast Olympic dome.
Oh! mortal thought—the day shall come, when I
Shall see the spire of freedom on thy top—
It is the truth—upon my word rely.
Thy growth, vindiction's frost shall surely lop—
But freedom's spring shall bring an everlasting crop.

XXXIII.

My passport shall be free—and now, I go!
The Tulnic bridge shall bear my army o'er;
Arise my freemen! reap thy joys or wo—
For thou shalt meet the Turks on Danube's shore—
Arise! my God! see thou, my army o'er—
To waft the billow of contention's sea!
Make strong my heart, imprint it to the core!
The day has come—my enemies shall see—
That this is something like a vast eternity.

XXXIV.

Behold—I hear the roar—the cannon's peal—
But we shall conquer—stand aloof my men!
Vienna shall be thine! and thou shalt feel
The sympathies of glory on this plain—
Oh! abdicate his throne—seek soul, and rise
Superior to his might—root out his deeds
Of villany—and soar beyond the skies!
With freedom's chaplet scatter deadly weeds
Amidst the wheat of all his life—his heart shall bleed.

XXXV.

Though earth's vicisitudes shall here annoy!
And heart-felt sickness wear my army down;
Yet, strike thy bosom—recollect, my boys,
That glory is the chaplet—life's the crown—
It waves on high—it shall in truth come down,
And close the mouth of death's unfeeling grave;

For on thy borders stands the soul's renown,
Which thou shalt reap; and thou shalt save
A remnant—as a prototype of Poland's brave.

XXXVI.

Hail, Callemburg! thou supernatural mount,
The last, sole ridge which intercepts my view—
'Tis now I see my object—the great fount—
Be brave my freemen—to your trust be true—
It is for freedom—'tis for peace I sue.
Behold the army!—everlasting sight!
They are pervading every hill and crew—
With steeds and armory divinely bright—
Beholding victory in the mirror of their might.

XXXVII.

Boundlessly dreadful! unexampled sight!
What vast, magnificent, and stirring crowds!
Their view resembling scenes of sweet delight;
And from their rampant hoofs behold the clouds!
Behold the flag!—but it shall surely shroud
Them—death's loud thunders peal and roar
Around their savage hearts—this mighty sword
Shall scar them, while the rains of heaven pour
Upon their guilty heads—when they shall rise no more

XXXVIII.

Behold this ghastly sight! shall we arise?
A multitude like to Hammanah's vale!
Where kings and riders fell with cursed eyes!
With death's light glaring, trembling, wan and pale
When thrones and mighty men did fail
To conquer; and the mighty steeds fell down
In one convulsive struggle, tail to tail—
Fell lifeless—blood turned purple every crown,—
And all created things retorted with a frown.

XXXIX.

Oh, proud Mustapha!—fly—beware of death!
Or by this manly arm, thy heart shall break!
Arise and go—escape—my sword I sheath
Once more—behold it!—thy own life's at stake

I give thee warning—'tis for freedom's sake
I stand—I firmly stand for thee, thou shalt
Be cast down; and thou shalt be awake,
When this good sword shall hew thee small;
And, now the hilt I hold,—when thou shalt surely fall!

XL.

Confusion, death and terror, hail and rain!
Now inundates Vienna's fruitful plain,—
Mark my soul's words! for they now give me pain—
I vent them—but they ne'er shall speak again.
We meet—and Moslem's angry sword now rain
His terrors on my head—I firmly led—
My midday sun arose—their force was vain!
While heaven vouchsafed strength—they bled!
And all their host lies numbered with the cursed dead.

XLI.

The archway swam in smoke and gloom!
The clouds were clouds of ghastly hue; this charm
I breathed—a freedom which shall ne'er consume—
My arm protected them from every harm.
Hear me, heaven! Sobieski's outstretched arm
Was faithful to his trust—my name was call'd—
I answer'd in a freeman's tone; and in a calm
And cunning spell, I did this host enthrall
And saved my honest people from a mighty fall.

XLII.

Hail, brave Vienna! that foul gap was made,
But freedom shall return within the same;
My sword shall shine, and on the burnish'd blade,
In golden characters, I'll grave thy name—
Thy strength shall stand—thou art the same,
Now glory in the triumph, void of guile;
While this old heart, shall light the youthful flame,
And raise the glow of freedom to a smile;
And every freeman's heart shall beat, devoid of guile.

XLIII.

Hail, strong Vienna!—boast of freedom's sire,
Beneath the blessings of the living God!

Kindle the flame—thy heart and soul's desire;
For thou shalt fall no more—by Moslem's rod.
Farewell, Mustapha! groan beneath the clod,
While this Vienna shall ascend the throne—
We claim our glory—hear the truth—my God!
Nor shall her heart repine, or sigh, or groan,
But she shall be brave Poland's monumental stone.