 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
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HANNIBAL; PASSAGE OF THE ALPS.
I.
O Faith and Will! maternal birds that lift
The wing of Genius, and make sure its gift;
How do ye strengthen for the audacious flight,
The soul whose eyes still open for the light;
How train the feeble fledgling whence to rise,
O'er rocky heights, commercing with the skies;
To brave the bolt, and with careering form,
Break through the cloud, and wrestle with the storm!
The wing of Genius, and make sure its gift;
How do ye strengthen for the audacious flight,
The soul whose eyes still open for the light;
How train the feeble fledgling whence to rise,
O'er rocky heights, commercing with the skies;
To brave the bolt, and with careering form,
Break through the cloud, and wrestle with the storm!
Ye are the wings of Purpose, the Desire
That flies to Fame, and wins its way through Fire;
Ye keep the eye still resolute in aim,
The heart still faithful to the imperial fame:
Chasten each passion which would thwart the toil,
And teach the fitting enterprise and spoil;
Prepare the soul for struggle, train the Power,
Till both mature, the Mortal and the Hour;
Then fling aside the veil that hid the goal,
And cry the spell word for the conquering soul!
That flies to Fame, and wins its way through Fire;
Ye keep the eye still resolute in aim,
The heart still faithful to the imperial fame:
Chasten each passion which would thwart the toil,
And teach the fitting enterprise and spoil;
Prepare the soul for struggle, train the Power,
Till both mature, the Mortal and the Hour;
Then fling aside the veil that hid the goal,
And cry the spell word for the conquering soul!
O mightiest birds of Genius, that in cloud,
And earth, and midnight, still your secrets shroud,
I see ye busy, in mysterious rite,
Training one bold young eaglet for its flight;
The altar smokes in sacrifice—the rock
Shakes with the lightning-bolt, and thunder-shock—
Lurid, the fires from gloomy temples rise,
And the black Doubt hangs threatening in the skies!
But your twin voices reassure, and Fate,
Submissive, seconds the great hope of Hate:
The mighty Vengeance ye would rouse to strife,
Starts up before you, armed with death and life:
Waiting the last commission, forth he stands,
The red bolt quivering in his fateful hands:
Your pliant wings beneath his arms ye bend,
And the rocks open, and the wings ascend;
From the great peaks your spectral eyes explore,
While all the Hounds of Horror hunt before!
And earth, and midnight, still your secrets shroud,
I see ye busy, in mysterious rite,
Training one bold young eaglet for its flight;
The altar smokes in sacrifice—the rock
Shakes with the lightning-bolt, and thunder-shock—
Lurid, the fires from gloomy temples rise,
And the black Doubt hangs threatening in the skies!
But your twin voices reassure, and Fate,
Submissive, seconds the great hope of Hate:
The mighty Vengeance ye would rouse to strife,
Starts up before you, armed with death and life:
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The red bolt quivering in his fateful hands:
Your pliant wings beneath his arms ye bend,
And the rocks open, and the wings ascend;
From the great peaks your spectral eyes explore,
While all the Hounds of Horror hunt before!
II.
The chosen spirit, on its forward march,Armed with just courage that makes great its cause,
Stands mightier than the force of common laws,
And grows, beneath the heaven's broad favoring arch,
Into an eminent stature, like a God,
Whose distant-piercing vision, all abroad
Sends fiery brightness, which informs the nations
With a life-giving virtue, like the sun's!
Thenceforth, rise other spirits to their stations,
And a new blood through all the people runs.
Thus animate for conquest, o'er the earth
They spread; and conquest by a generous race,
Endowed with high commission at its birth,
Is blessing, and brings messages of grace
And great encouragement to the struggling low!
They look up as they see the brightness glow,
As Shepherds at the Day-Star, and arise
With welcome; and their progress thence, though slow,
Is certain, and most worthy of the skies!
III.
Methinks, when sworn to an eternal hate,Against a reckless tyranny, the soul
Of Hannibal was robed in regal state,
And held upon his race divine control.
The Boy before the altar, with his Sire,
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Grew thenceforth into manhood, from desire
Of work in a great office; as the Priest,
Or Prophet, dedicate to Heavenly ire,
Grows lifted, while his lips, with tongue of fire,
Bid the doomed city to her fatal feast!
Thence evermore a dread Necessity
Walks by his side. Thence evermore his ears
Drink in the voices of the Awful Three,
And yet a single sound is all he hears.
Thus is it with the Dedicate! They march,
Following one blazing star, that shows the way
Over the gloomy crags, till the black arch
Grows azure, and the night melts into day!
IV.
Alps fling themselves before him—giant alps,With their dread gorges—with their savage shade,
Mocking the sun, and sending their white scalps
Into the very heavens, that shrink afraid,
And crouch into their bluest caves afar;
Pursued by other pinnacles, that dart,
As with the ambition of a human heart,
Sending their snowy shafts higher and higher,
Till the bridged void, accessible to the sight,
Persuades to travel where the sovereign star,
The central eye of the Universe, with fire
Due to her wants, rests on his noonday height,
And looks encouragement to the eager aim,
That soars, on wings of Will and Faith, to Fame!
V.
Yet there had grown a weariness in the breastOf the young chief; the mortal man, o'ercome
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And with a craving appetite for home,
Lay prostrate for a season—saw no sun
Making a passage o'er the mighty piles—
No wingéd eye of wooing that beguiles
To conquest, through new promise. Toil had done
Her work in deep exhaustion; and his thought
Challenged the truth in that same faith it taught:
The merits of that mission which, unsought,
Had sworn his young soul to the work of Hate!
The weakness tutored him the work to shun;
Counselled the ingenious fear, the shrewd device,
The false Philosophy, that knows to prate,
By calculation close, and caution nice,
In fashion fatal to the great design;
Making depend on square and measure fine,
The grand achievement, and the purpose great,
By which the mighty Genius conquers Fate.
VI.
“If Rome must perish, as the Gods decree,
Let the Gods work her overthrow!” quoth he;
If Carthage be the care of Heaven, let Heaven
See to her safety! Wherefore is it given
That I, to sacrifice of my young delights,
Home, love, and safety, should ascend these heights,
That grow before me ever as I rise,
Until the mountain crags shut out the skies,
Or show the sun at rest upon their peaks?
'Tis not for such as this my spirit seeks,
And wherefore am I chosen for the toil?
My soul delights not in the strife and spoil:
Would cherish peaceful sports—would lie at ease,
Where idle sails disport on summer seas,
And flowers of pleasant odor court the breeze;
And Love and Beauty, to the mock of care,
Join evermore in pleasures, sweet as rare,
And Hope itself folds up the satisfied wing,
While Fancy, witless, with no farther guest,
Lapsing in dream, beside the wizard-spring,
Needs never farther seeking to be bless'd!
Let the Gods work her overthrow!” quoth he;
If Carthage be the care of Heaven, let Heaven
See to her safety! Wherefore is it given
That I, to sacrifice of my young delights,
Home, love, and safety, should ascend these heights,
That grow before me ever as I rise,
Until the mountain crags shut out the skies,
Or show the sun at rest upon their peaks?
'Tis not for such as this my spirit seeks,
And wherefore am I chosen for the toil?
My soul delights not in the strife and spoil:
Would cherish peaceful sports—would lie at ease,
Where idle sails disport on summer seas,
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And Love and Beauty, to the mock of care,
Join evermore in pleasures, sweet as rare,
And Hope itself folds up the satisfied wing,
While Fancy, witless, with no farther guest,
Lapsing in dream, beside the wizard-spring,
Needs never farther seeking to be bless'd!
Ah! the dear glimpses now that memory bears
Of the well-satisfied heart in boyhood's years—
Its smiles, and songs, and sports—its very tears—
That woo me back to wildering stream and grove,
Where Rapture, panting, sits with flowing locks,
While, eager, with delight, the impetuous Love
Bounds in pursuit adown the headlong rocks,
Sings bounding, and with purple, flowery twines,
Makes fast the glowing captive 'mongst the vines.
Of the well-satisfied heart in boyhood's years—
Its smiles, and songs, and sports—its very tears—
That woo me back to wildering stream and grove,
Where Rapture, panting, sits with flowing locks,
While, eager, with delight, the impetuous Love
Bounds in pursuit adown the headlong rocks,
Sings bounding, and with purple, flowery twines,
Makes fast the glowing captive 'mongst the vines.
Ah! wherefore to the loss of these delights,
Pursue this toil, along these perilous heights,
While Bliss entreats me to the shade, and Life,
Assured of every rapture, free from strife,
Makes pictures from possessions, and so moves
Hope with enjoyment, that no more he roves,
But in the lap of Rapture feels content,
In very slumber finding ravishment?
Pursue this toil, along these perilous heights,
While Bliss entreats me to the shade, and Life,
Assured of every rapture, free from strife,
Makes pictures from possessions, and so moves
Hope with enjoyment, that no more he roves,
But in the lap of Rapture feels content,
In very slumber finding ravishment?
VII.
“Oh! by the banks of Mœtis, ere I came
To this dread service, which hath nought to woo,
Stood one that, weeping, waved me to return:
A palm branch in her hand; her eye of blue,
With smile to make the gazer's bosom flame,
And beauty, of such mingling smiles and tears,
That but one single lesson might he learn,
How Love hath promise that much more endears,
Than any in the glozing speech of Fame!
To this dread service, which hath nought to woo,
Stood one that, weeping, waved me to return:
A palm branch in her hand; her eye of blue,
With smile to make the gazer's bosom flame,
And beauty, of such mingling smiles and tears,
That but one single lesson might he learn,
How Love hath promise that much more endears,
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Yet did I fly the seeker—oh, the shame!—
Making Love the price of Glory! Yet what claim?
Hath it a higher altar? Doth it burn
With lights more precious? Wherefore, for its powers,
Crush the dear life-blood from one innocent heart,
Tread with the hoof of war on holiest flowers,
And with the despot's malice, say ‘we part,’
When in the very utterance lies a death!—
And she to whom our love hath been the breath
Of being, and the odor of its bloom,
Beside the very altar droops to doom!
Making Love the price of Glory! Yet what claim?
Hath it a higher altar? Doth it burn
With lights more precious? Wherefore, for its powers,
Crush the dear life-blood from one innocent heart,
Tread with the hoof of war on holiest flowers,
And with the despot's malice, say ‘we part,’
When in the very utterance lies a death!—
And she to whom our love hath been the breath
Of being, and the odor of its bloom,
Beside the very altar droops to doom!
VIII.
“Thus have I done beneath this destiny,Pitiless in power! and must I still deny
The sweet seduction, and go forth for Hate,
Renouncing Love, and raptures that so late
Were mine—with promise to be ever mine?
Where is my hope of youth—the life—the Bride?
Methinks the voice still murmurs at my side,
A murmur born of music!—and I see
The grove beside the brooklet; and the flowers
Breathe blushingly, nor tell of fleeting hours,
How joyful!—and the sweet repose of bowers,
Where sits and smiles the innocent Deity,
That sways without a consciousness, and deems
Herself the subject!
“These are not the dreams
Of truant fancies. Love is yet a thing
Of truth and bliss, that never spreads a wing,
Till we forswear his worship in desires
That cloud with smoke, and taint his altar fires!
Have I thus wander'd?
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Am I not also sworn to Love, as well?—
My sovereign still, that never yet has freed,
And now invokes me with imperious spell!
The fascination of his eye still warms;
Still doth he woo me with a world of charms;
How glorious is the vision of delight
He paints for Fancy, on the memory's sight;
How sweet the forest shade, how cool the air,
What songs delicious rise and murmur there;
How peaceful all the pleasures, and what balm,
The breathing zephyr in that world of calm—
No strife, no doubt—the valley's wealth of shade,
Cool brooklet, and calm sunset!—unafraid,
Peace sits within her bowers, and all the grove
Murmurs experience of devoted Love!”
IX.
He rises slowly, and with weary gaze
Looks forth, and upward, on the perilous ways
That challenge manhood, yet defying, grow
To bulwarks that but mock th' audacious foe!
Alps gather still before him; alps arise,
Above him piled, stupendous, to the skies;
Eternal summits, each with snowy crest,
Bar the steep passage, and the march arrest!
They wear no more the mantle of the sun,
But each, with aspect fierce and garment dun,
Stands forth, a terrible champion in the path,
With giant bosom, mocking mortal wrath,
As mortal purpose? Whither shall he shape
His progress, and the perilous strife escape?
Looks forth, and upward, on the perilous ways
That challenge manhood, yet defying, grow
To bulwarks that but mock th' audacious foe!
Alps gather still before him; alps arise,
Above him piled, stupendous, to the skies;
Eternal summits, each with snowy crest,
Bar the steep passage, and the march arrest!
They wear no more the mantle of the sun,
But each, with aspect fierce and garment dun,
Stands forth, a terrible champion in the path,
With giant bosom, mocking mortal wrath,
As mortal purpose? Whither shall he shape
His progress, and the perilous strife escape?
Even while he muses, the great mountain flings
Its toppling masses thundering down the steep;
From the great gorges rise a cloud of wings,
That darken daylight as they upward sweep:
Thunders the rolling avalanche, that tears
New pathways, down to gulphs that mock the gaze:
And the new pinnacle its tower uprears,
And wingéd shafts of ice the vision daze;
While shrieks from unknown birds of fearful might,
Tell of abysses where they lurk in night,
Waiting their victims!
Still, beyond his eye,
On every side, where'er he bends his sight,
All is a dread and terror—all a doubt—
And the dark fear arrests activity,
Lest he shall pass where bird may never fly,
Or, flying, never gather his way out!
Its toppling masses thundering down the steep;
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That darken daylight as they upward sweep:
Thunders the rolling avalanche, that tears
New pathways, down to gulphs that mock the gaze:
And the new pinnacle its tower uprears,
And wingéd shafts of ice the vision daze;
While shrieks from unknown birds of fearful might,
Tell of abysses where they lurk in night,
Waiting their victims!
Still, beyond his eye,
On every side, where'er he bends his sight,
All is a dread and terror—all a doubt—
And the dark fear arrests activity,
Lest he shall pass where bird may never fly,
Or, flying, never gather his way out!
X.
He saddens—we have seen him—o'er the joy,
So well remembered, which had blest the boy;
Feels all the terrors which still rise before,
And mock the curious thought which would explore.
But doth he shrink or tremble? Doth he stay,
With more than moment pause, his venturous way,
Though the dark piles inclose him from the day—
Yield to the weakness of his dreaming mood—
Shrink from the peril that still warms his blood—
The hope forego, forgetful of his aim,
And all the fervid courage caught from Fame?
So well remembered, which had blest the boy;
Feels all the terrors which still rise before,
And mock the curious thought which would explore.
But doth he shrink or tremble? Doth he stay,
With more than moment pause, his venturous way,
Though the dark piles inclose him from the day—
Yield to the weakness of his dreaming mood—
Shrink from the peril that still warms his blood—
The hope forego, forgetful of his aim,
And all the fervid courage caught from Fame?
When did Ambition pause upon his march—
Generous Ambition, whose wide-seeing eye,
Following the sun's proud passage through the arch—
Forget the resolute will, the purpose high,
That teaches still the single course to run?
So the brave eagle in his native skies,
Steering with giant pinion to the sun,
Bathes in the blaze that blinds all humbler eyes!
Generous Ambition, whose wide-seeing eye,
Following the sun's proud passage through the arch—
Forget the resolute will, the purpose high,
That teaches still the single course to run?
So the brave eagle in his native skies,
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Bathes in the blaze that blinds all humbler eyes!
XI.
The gloom and doubt are gone! The drooping hourDeparts, and leaves him to a nobler power;
The very terrors which would fright his soul,
But teach him of the greatness of the goal.
No more the enslaving passion now persuades,
To dreaming raptures in remembered glades,
Of blossoms opening in the smiles of even,
And songs that woo'd, like music caught from Heaven;
Till all his soul, in the delicious dream,
Lapsed in diffusing weakness, straight forgot
The flight, the conquest, glory, and the gleam,
Which make ambition loathe the inferior lot.
The soft, beguiling reverie, which had made
Each form of Beauty start from out the shade,
Triumphant over Terror as o'er Fame,
Dissolved, departs as swiftly as it came!
And the delirious rapture of great deeds,
Kindling up images of triumphant strife,
Wings him anew for the great path of life,
While all the spirit of his father leads;
Sudden, he sees a mighty phantom rise,
Towering in evening sunlight, from the brow
Of an imperial alp, and stretching now
His shadowy arm beyond him, to the skies!
XII.
“Thou droop'st, my son!” the royal spectre cries;“These seem dread barriers to thy feeble eyes;
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And the Impossible succumbs to Will!
And Love is but a faint and perishing flame,
Scarce worthy the girl's worship, and her shame,
While that burns ever which belongs to Fame!
Rocks rise, and dread abysses cross thy path;
But did'st thou dream that roses strew'd the way
To glory? Would'st thou feed eternal wrath,
And great revenges, by a shepherd's lay,
Piped dreamingly at eventide, when gleams
The softening light of sunset on the streams,
That dance to flitting star-light? Weaving flowers,
One scales no heights, o'erthrows no enemy's towers,
Plucks never the rose from Danger's rocky heights,
And wins no conquest save o'er base delights.
Who yields himself to the enslaving moods
Of the boy-passion, and with Fancy broods
O'er the supposed perfections of a life
Pass'd in delicious luxuries of repose,
Barters his birth-right for a world of woes!
The best security for Peace is strife;
At least, the prompt and resolute will to brave—
Nay, seek the danger, ere we fall, its slave!
He only merits love who joys in war;
Love follows on the conquest—is its close,
Not its condition—must be kept afar
From any estimate of the absolute need;
To be enjoy'd in peace, securely nigh,
The enemy conquer'd and the duty freed!
Thy heart is in thy home; thy love is there;
She, whose bright visage, ever in thine eye,
Gleams with persuasion, making all thy care
Lie in the very comforter! What is here,
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But home thou hast not: Carthage has no home—
Love no security or life—while Rome
Endures upon her hills, and sends abroad
Her ravening legions—conquers like a God,
To torture like a fiend! If she survives,
Thy country falls! A hundred thousand lives
Share in the deep perdition of her fall,
And all her cup of blessing turns to gall!
Thou art her life! In thee her hope revives;
And if thou fail her!—But look back and see
What sort of home and life hath Italy
Decreed to Carthage!”
XIII.
Ceased the awful shade,In the prophetic speech. The chief obey'd,
Look'd back, and trembled in his great surprise.
No alps behind him rose!—yet had he striven,
Toiling upward, till the heights grew into heaven,
And the great marches backward had become
Themselves a terror, making manhood dumb,
As did the heights beyond.
His eager eyes
Beheld the happy and sweet vale, that late
He left in bless'd security. What Fate
Had now usurp'd its beauties? Dread the shape,
Coated with serpents, that made fiery rape
Of all its dear possessions! Cottage and grove,
Fair hamlets, orchards ruddy in the sun,
And Youth and Rapture dreaming in the shade,
Forgetting danger in the joys of love—
All by this terrible enemy overrun;
Suddenly crushed and perishing; suddenly made
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The crash of falling cities, mixed with shrieks
Of women, heard a moment and no more,
Drove the warm blood in whiteness from his cheeks!
XIV.
“Thou see'st!” resumed the phantom of the sire,
“That terrible shape is War! And such the doom
Of Italy or Carthage! Do thou choose
Whether such fortune fall upon thy home,
Where all that is most dear to thy desire
Harbors, or on the country of thy foes!
Such is the fate of Carthage or of Rome!
They are two rival destinies, that strive
In conflict, and one only may survive!
Look not again behind thee, but before!
There speed that terror! Let the ravaging form
Spread forth on every side, in fire and storm!
Be pitiless, that ye may better prove
Tender and merciful where most you love.
There rend the city; bid the temple flame;
Man yield to hate, and woman sink in shame;
While Rome succumbs to Carthage and to thee,
Even as thy will and courage shall decree!
“That terrible shape is War! And such the doom
Of Italy or Carthage! Do thou choose
Whether such fortune fall upon thy home,
Where all that is most dear to thy desire
Harbors, or on the country of thy foes!
Such is the fate of Carthage or of Rome!
They are two rival destinies, that strive
In conflict, and one only may survive!
Look not again behind thee, but before!
There speed that terror! Let the ravaging form
Spread forth on every side, in fire and storm!
Be pitiless, that ye may better prove
Tender and merciful where most you love.
There rend the city; bid the temple flame;
Man yield to hate, and woman sink in shame;
While Rome succumbs to Carthage and to thee,
Even as thy will and courage shall decree!
But look not back—and dream no more! The hour
That finds thee thus unfaithful to thy fame,
Finds thee and Carthage lost to pride and power
Fate on her roof, disgrace upon thy name.
That finds thee thus unfaithful to thy fame,
Finds thee and Carthage lost to pride and power
Fate on her roof, disgrace upon thy name.
On, though alps tower on alps; though perils crowd
Thy legions, through the tempest and the cloud;
Though thousands perish in the pitiless strife!—
Even in their fate shall Carthage gain new life!
Heed not the rocks that ever round thee rise,
These bring thee hourly nearer to thy prize;
They are thy steps to triumph—steeps that bring
The conqueror to new uses of his wing;
Thence, down upon the valleys shalt thou spring,
With tenfold power to crush; thence shalt thou grow
Resistless, in the struggle with thy foe;
And when thy soul is saddest, and thy form
Grows weariest, let one thought thy courage warm—
Rome is beyond! That empire of thy Hate,
Thy foe and victim She, and Thou, her Fate!”
Thy legions, through the tempest and the cloud;
Though thousands perish in the pitiless strife!—
Even in their fate shall Carthage gain new life!
Heed not the rocks that ever round thee rise,
These bring thee hourly nearer to thy prize;
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The conqueror to new uses of his wing;
Thence, down upon the valleys shalt thou spring,
With tenfold power to crush; thence shalt thou grow
Resistless, in the struggle with thy foe;
And when thy soul is saddest, and thy form
Grows weariest, let one thought thy courage warm—
Rome is beyond! That empire of thy Hate,
Thy foe and victim She, and Thou, her Fate!”
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |