 | The White Pilgrim and Other Poems |  |
112
THE TWENTY-FOURTH OF MAY.
In blood and fire and vapour of smoke
Hidden his face, the sun sinks down—
Sun, that the bright May morning woke
Over a glorious godless town.
Hidden his face, the sun sinks down—
Sun, that the bright May morning woke
Over a glorious godless town.
The work of the centuries, warp and woof,
Shrivels to dust in the breath of Hell;
As winged with ruin, from roof to roof,
Flashes the angel Azraël.
Shrivels to dust in the breath of Hell;
As winged with ruin, from roof to roof,
Flashes the angel Azraël.
Craven hands find the courage to slay,
And starvèd bodies the life to bleed:
Justice stands in her hall at bay,
Hall of the “footsteps lost” indeed.
And starvèd bodies the life to bleed:
Justice stands in her hall at bay,
Hall of the “footsteps lost” indeed.
Memories olden are thrown broadcast
Here and there on the burning breeze;
Line upon line of the storied past
Falls with the falling Tuileries.
Here and there on the burning breeze;
Line upon line of the storied past
Falls with the falling Tuileries.
113
Treasures of old-world art unpriced,
Circled and hemmed in a flaming ring;
Temples of kings and shrines of Christ:
What are they that have done this thing?
Circled and hemmed in a flaming ring;
Temples of kings and shrines of Christ:
What are they that have done this thing?
France! that but one brief year ago
Stood as Napoleon's column stood,
Towering over the world below,
Mighty in boastful hardihood,—
Stood as Napoleon's column stood,
Towering over the world below,
Mighty in boastful hardihood,—
France! that riven and rent in twain,
Prostrate under the pitiless skies,
Fallen as ne'er to rise again,
Lies as Napoleon's column lies,—
Prostrate under the pitiless skies,
Fallen as ne'er to rise again,
Lies as Napoleon's column lies,—
Live we? breathe we? hear we aright?
Is it a nightmare all men see?
Is there a sun? a world? a light?
God in Heaven! can these things be?
Is it a nightmare all men see?
Is there a sun? a world? a light?
God in Heaven! can these things be?
What are they who have brought to birth
Sights that their father-fiends appal,
Till even the uttermost ends of earth
Echo their ghastly carnival?
Sights that their father-fiends appal,
Till even the uttermost ends of earth
Echo their ghastly carnival?
Was it for this that ye called and cried
For vengeance meet on the foreign foe?
Was it for this that ye starved and died,
Women and children, high and low?
For vengeance meet on the foreign foe?
Was it for this that ye starved and died,
Women and children, high and low?
114
Was it for this, that men might tell,
How, in the face of the Uhlan lance,
Paris, unscathed by the stranger's shell,
Armed her own sons to murder France?
How, in the face of the Uhlan lance,
Paris, unscathed by the stranger's shell,
Armed her own sons to murder France?
Sleeps or dreams He, the Lord of Lords?
Or stands he aloof as the German stands,
Watching the clash of kindred swords,
With eyes unshrinking, and folded hands?
Or stands he aloof as the German stands,
Watching the clash of kindred swords,
With eyes unshrinking, and folded hands?
Goth and Visigoth, Vandal and Hun,
History's bywords, proverbs of shame,
Never yet did what these have done,
The People's sons, in the People's name!
History's bywords, proverbs of shame,
Never yet did what these have done,
The People's sons, in the People's name!
1871.
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