 | The siege of Constantinople. A Poem |  |
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CANTO III.
I.
Within a dome, whose moss-grown towers above,Whose dark'ning lattices, and secret cells,
Joined with the silence of the shady grove,
Show where retirement with devotion dwells,
The lovely vestal drank the sacred wells
Of pure delight, and high enraptured dreams;
O'er the still scene slow peal the matin bells,
The pendent taper through the chapel gleams,
And glorious from on high far glow the heav'nly beams.
II.
Remote from uproar and the woes of earth,On future joys was fixed the glowing mind;
Here holy visions, o'er the soul of worth,
Poured soft composure with delight combined,
Pure as the odour on Arabia's wind,
Soft as the breeze before a vernal dawn;
To one high point all ardour was confined,
From one rich source all sacred comfort drawn,
A fountain of delight, whence cooling streams have flown.
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III.
In truth within the pure and snowy breast,Earth's scenes that glitter, only to delude,
Passed, like the vapours o'er the beaming west,
And on the mind no senseless thoughts intrude;
Here was the rapture of lone solitude.
Before the altar, 'mid the warbling choir,
The empyrean, in wild fancy stood,
While beaming glories raise the keen desire,
Celestial ardour, and immortal faith inspire.
IV.
Deep in a cell beyond the roar of arms,Versed in the records of the love divine,
Two lovely sisters, heedless of alarms,
In heav'nly concert their sweet voices join,
And how at once before the sacred shrine;
Rapt with delights all bursting on the view,
Their arms inlocked, their bodies they recline
Before the cross, and there again renew
Their sacred vows sublime, and render praises due.
V.
But oft, amid the fervour of the soul,Strange pangs of woe would glance across the brain;
Devotion's ecstacy could not controul
The fev'rish anguish, and mysterious pain;
A wondrous sound, like owlet's shrieking strain,
Rung mournful o'er the nodding towers of age,
Then came a groan, as if from thousands slain,
And mingling screams of horror and of rage,
As if the fiends of wrath with mortals did engage.
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VI.
But all is still, save ever and anonA low faint murmur sighs along the walls;
And fervent prayers surround the heav'nly throne,
To save from wrath and hear the votive calls
Which now ring loudly through the cloister's halls;
Alas! mild mercy, with her olive wand,
Had ceased to rule where ev'ry vice enthralls,
And justice stern had bared his bloody hand,
Where flamed the dreadful sword the ensign of command.
VII.
Silence, suspense, confusion, and despairOn ev'ry visage paint their rending woe,
When crowds of vestals meet the ghastly glare
Of fires that o'er their sacred mansion glow;
A thousand Moslems raise to strike the blow,
A thousand Christians fall their captors' prey,
Around the Abbey crimson riv'lets flow,
Which show the Othmans' desolating way,
And serve full well to mark their prophet's natal day.
VIII.
The father, hoary by the roll of years,Bestows his blessing, and then meets his fate;
The mother fondly, 'mid her rolling tears,
Clasps the dear offspring of a happy state,
More dear than that which makes her heart dilate;
The wife and husband give a last farewell,
And daughters shrieking at their dire estate
E'en while they speak, attend their warlike knell,
Rung on the shield of war with rage too great to tell.
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IX.
The knee, that bowed not, but to God in prayer,Now bends before the conqu'ring Turk with dread,
The heart, which swelled with ardour, or despair,
Now bending yields to fear; base flight, instead
Of death, degrades the race, whose fathers bled
The last dear life-drop from their val'rous veins,
Or, rose triumphant o'er the mountain dead.
Affright, with hair dishevelled, wildly reigns,
And cowardice runs crouching o'er the frowning plains.
X.
Swift false-confiding, trembling thousands flyTo temples, sacred to the king of love,
But yet, on which they fixed the scornful eye,
When zeal mistaken into phrenzy drove
The fellow-worshippers of God above;
But mortal hatred can give place to fear,
And wo will oft bewildered zeal disprove;
That fane polluted is a covert dear,
When horrors reign around and many a foe is near.
XI.
From th' altar, aisles, choir, gall'ry, nave, the strainOf mournful pray'r resounds with deep-felt grief,
Vestals, monks, priests, implore the Saviour slain,
But more the Virgin to bestow relief.
Their orizon was loud, imploring, brief—
Th' effulgent heavens ope—on high supreme
In love the Virgin comes
When virtue, patriotism, and sincere piety begin to decay, and the inhabitants of a country, or a kingdom repose in supine indolence, upon the approach of danger they will listen with delight to pretended revelations, and predictions of supernatural interposition.
The human mind, in such situations, will dethrone sound reason, and, believe what it fancies.
A traditionary tale, founded on the pretended prediction of an obscure mendicant, was eagerly embraced by the degenerate successors of apostles, and the stigmatized descendants of Romans.
The prediction, considered as the truth of God, was; “when the Othmans should enter a certain gate of the city, if all the people fled to the sacred churches, at their supplications, the holy Virgin would descend, and manifesting her love for her own votaries, utterly exterminate the enemies of God and man.”
The reader will be the best judge of the manner, in which the subject has been treated, and the use which has been made of this most puerile and inefficient tradition.
Is wrought to ecstacy of seraphim;
For lo! descending bright her radiant vestures gleam.
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XII.
Ten thousand shouts ascend the glowing skies,As, armed with weapons of immortal might,
She nearer meets her vot'ries' waiting eyes,
Who thrill with rapture at the noble sight;
No cloud obscures the radiance of the night,
For fires unknown the firmament illume,
And fill each bosom with that high delight
Which glows more ardent from preceding gloom,
As when mild morn o'er night her empire doth resume.
XIII.
On friends she smiles exulting—Moslems feelThat awful power exalts her threat'ning sword,
Which cuts through ranks encased in shining steel,
And sweeps them with an omnipotent word;
In vain the Seignior cried, or cannon poured,
Or lance was couched, or rushed the charger on;
The invisible Virgin swept her chord
Of victory, sublime, and grand. 'Tis done—
Byzantium rise again—thy noble cause is won.
XIV.
Sweet idle visions of romantic youth,Ye oft can dazzle e'en in manhood's prime,
And sway o'er wisdom and the charms of truth;
Ye rule unbounded by a single clime,
Ye please alike in ev'ry age of time;
But ye will vanish, like the cloud of morn,
Nor leave a wreck on which to mount sublime.
Such the vain dreams of roving fancy born,
They gild a moment's scene, away the vision's torn.
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XV.
Alas! so proved the vain delight and joy,Of those who trusted in a broken reed,
For dæmons; present only to destroy,
Rush fiercely onward to obtain the meed
Their bloody leader offers to his seed—
All wordly honours, and eternal bliss;
For these they war, for these rejoice to bleed,
That they might gain that sacred happiness,
In other worlds profuse, but all denied in this.
XVI.
The crash of doors, and bursting of the bars,The clash of armour, and blasphemous cries,
The shrieks of virgins, and the din of wars,
The roar around, which rends along the skies,
Convey a horror which no one denies;
The heart too full now sinks to deep despair,
Or, yet prolongs before the downcast eyes,
One lingering ray of hope, like passing air,
To wing its rapid way, without a trace what were.
XVII.
Dragged from the dome by murd'rous ruffian hands,Chained rank by rank to wait the dread decree,
Destruction round them in his triumph stands,
And waves his besom o'er the fair once free;—
In vain was bowed the supplicating knee,
Or lovely woman raised her thrilling shriek,
Amid the fray no chance was left to flee,
For each dire band obeyed its savage shiek,
Whom rapine hurries on dread vengeance round to wreak.
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XVIII.
Some dragged away prolong the ling'ring view,When fades the scene, they sink; but then blood gush'd
From vestals pure who round the altar flew,
Breathed forth their pray'rs to heav'n—and all was hush'd;
Bursting, the captives to the bodies rush'd,
And dyed their kerchiefs in their gentle blood,
To hold remembrance how these saints were crush'd,
And God profaned by this ferocious brood,
By dire ambition led in most malignant mood.
XIX.
There virgins, faithful to their matron's will;Choose death in tortures, rather than a court
Which ever-changing wanton pleasures fill;
And dread Mahomed, in exulting port,
Stands fiend-like smiling at the fiend-like sport;
High rolls the rack—connected joints are torn,
Yet not a groan is heard to send report
Of mild submission—but they show forlorn,
That smiles can light the eve, tho' sorrows cloud the morn.
XX.
But love of life will bow the patriot's knee,Cast honour down and nobleness to dust,
Blast the first dawn of holy liberty,
Shroud virtue's gem with foul corruption's rust,
Cause the chaste maiden to become accursed,
And spread a gloom o'er all that we revere.
Let Dian's temple, be the last and first
Resort, by all who hold a pleasure dear,
For fraud is forceful when it virtue's vestures wear.
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XXI.
Lo! the foul harem of an Othman lordBecomes the mansion of a Christian name
For ever blasted by that fatal word,
Which stamped reproach and everlasting shame
On those, the subjects of a boundless fame,
Raised on dishonour, infamy and death.
Where then was virtue? Where that Roman dame,
Whose hand refused the high imperial wreath,
And bared her breast to steel drawn glitt'ring from the sheath?
XXII.
Submissive now to yield the golden zone,The wretched crowds their deadly proffers make,
To kneel, base slaves, before a tyrant's throne,
With joys unholy the rank thirst to slake,
Of him they serve; O better far the stake
Had piled their ashes on the cursed ground,
Or gale had strewed them on a putrid lake;
Then fair composure might in death be found—
And sacred odours had been wafted all around.
XXIII.
Bishops to muftis yield the sacred seat,Temples to mosques are changed, and all anon
The pseudo-prophet's lofty praises meet
The aching ear, from Islam's ebon throne;
The muttered namaz now is heard alone
Where once, apostles raised the holy strain,
And breathed a heavenly solemn orizon.
Hope lingers not o'er such a scene of pain,
A scene where terrors rule, and high-wrought passions reign.
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XXIV.
Thus fell Byzantium; and thus empires fall;At morn, as gay and soaring as the lark,
The voice of gladness echoes through the hall
Where noon-day revels kindle up the spark
Of civil discord; through rough seas the bark
Is tossed, till riven by the hidden rock,
The billows mounting, 'neath their waters dark
Embosom all by one terrific shock,
Whose rapid thunders rise, and earthly vigour mock.
XXV.
As through the vista of revolving time,Earth's various scenes and empires we survey,
May patriotism pure, and truth sublime
Attract our view, and tune the hero's lay;
Some noble minds prolong the setting day,
Of thousand kingdoms, and support their state;
Oft a Camillus doth the fall delay
Of supine climes, regardless of their fate;
Can patriots view such deeds, nor feel their hearts dilate?
XXVI.
To found an empire, and a nation rearTo deeds of virtue, and the height of fame,
The various int'rests to combine, and steer
With point unerring 'mid the loud acclaim,
Scarce thousand years suffice; but ah! the name,
The scite, the pride, the glory, of a clime
Once rich in glorious spoils, and whose claim
Was immortality, unsparing time
In one short hour can blast, or waning, or in prime.
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XXVII.
Et contra when fierce savages in bloodTrack their dire course to murder and to heav'n,
When naught, but ruin, can suffice the brood
By sacred visions of their prophet driv'n
To spoil, 'till earth is all asunder riv'n,
And rear his palace with men's skulls and bones;
When states, a prey, to such fell hordes are giv'n,
Nought but wild horror, and heart-rending groans
Is seen or heard around, save deep and hollow moans.
XXVIII.
Alas! that pure religion, heav'nly maid!Should thus be mocked—polluted—made the path
To woe—to death—to hell; but man has weighed
Eternal mercies by terrestrial wrath;
Pleasures endearing and the joys he hath
Can ne'er content him; with a view afar
O'er sorrow and despair, and the wide scathe
Of battle's rage he leaps, and feasts in war,
Which crowds the charnel-house and dies the victor's car.
XXIX.
O holy Peace, composer of the breast!Where dost thou hide thy placid, heav'nly mien,
Where is thy place of tranquilizing rest,
When Mars spreads havoc o'er the lovely scene?
Unawed by wrath, undazzled by the sheen
Of direful armour, o'er the field of wo
Thy gentle visage, piteous looks between
The hostile hosts, from amber clouds below,
Scans ruthless warfare's scenes, and weeps at ev'ry blow.
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XXX.
Not the dark flow of fabled AcheronTo Pluto's black, pestiferous abode,
Is half so gloomy in its progress down,
As man's fell passions which will rack, corrode
The breast, and blast all peace and joy. The road
To death resounds with cries and yells; is strewed
With human bones, and nerves, and skulls; the toad,
The bat, the serpent, and the jackal, brood,
Where cities towered on high, where haughty emp'rors stood.
XXXI.
And is there then no end to human woe?Must war's fell blood hounds ever burst their chains?
Will strife ne'er cease to reign and rage below,
Wide spreading mis'ry, pestilential pains?
Yes—these will cease, when o'er the des'late plains,
Beams heaven's own fire to raise the grov'ling mind,
Then shrieks, and cries, will sound in Zion's strains,
Then incense glow in ev'ry passing wind,
And man his race will spare—breathe love to human kind.
XXXII.
O when will time awake that radiant morn,And that bright sun arise to set no more!
When man shall honour what was once his scorn,
And prostrate worlds a God of peace adore!
Then will devotion on the seas and shore
Raise high its notes of everlasting love,
Where deadly cannon did their thunders pour;
Then distant nations on their way above,
Will meet in friendship's bands, and truly brothers prove.
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XXXIII.
Heave we the sigh o'er all the various woesWhich lust of conquest, and ambition give;
But rolling time o'er piercing horrors throws
Oblivion's veil, lest man should ever grieve;
So time will pass, each age its woes receive,
And roll away, 'till o'er the eastern sky
Glows the pure light, whose flame will ever live,
To meet and gladden every mortal eye,
Through death's drear vale will guide, and waft the soul on high.
END OF CANTO III.
| The siege of Constantinople. A Poem | |