 | Ballads and Lyrical poems |  |
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THE VISION OF DANTON.
[_]
The Hôtel de Ville and the Place de Grève of Paris are celebrated as having been the scene of most of the late and preceding Revolutions. The pavement of the Grève has been stained with the blood of the victims of all the Revolutions, and with that of criminals executed by the hand of justice, till within the last few years. This fabulous dream of Danton, in the chambers of this historical mansion,—the very Palace of Revolution,—was written in October, 1847, in anticipation of the Revolution which broke out in February, 1848.
I
Weary of strife renew'd from day to day,Th' inveterate war of parties brought to bay,
With clash of hatreds jarring on his sense,
And poison'd darts of hostile eloquence,
With all the excitement of the brain and heart,
That forms the life of men, who play their part
In mighty dramas,—Danton lay at rest,
His face to Heaven, his hands upon his breast,
And said within himself,—“It must not be—
Surely this grief shall end, and France be free.”
II
He closed his eyes, and saw a vision passClear as a show in a magician's glass;
He saw a figure, massive like his own,
Headless and quivering, from a scaffold thrown;
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And crowds insatiate dabbling in the flood.
He saw Despair at every threshold stand
And ruffian Terror stalking o'er the land,
And sigh'd remorseful—“Mine the guilt,” said he,
“But surely it shall pass, and France be free.”
III
The vision changed: he saw the embattled world,And France defiant with her flag unfurl'd:
He heard her trumpets peal; her cannons roar;
Her captains shout and wave her tricolor.
He saw their leader fattening the sod
With bones of myriads; heard the cry to God
Raised by the ravaged lands; he heard and saw
That Might was murder, and that Force was law;
And sigh'd for pity—“Heaven is just,” said he,
“And this new plague shall pass, and France be free.”
IV
The vision darken'd: Paris the superb,The beautiful, impatient of a curb,
Received the law from strangers at her gate,
And gave for insults nothing but her hate.
She who with trumpet-voice had roused the lands,
Felt on her prostrate neck the Cossack's hands;
Heard in her panting streets the invader's drum,
And groan'd for worse indignities to come:
And e'en in slumber Danton blush'd to see—
“Surely this shame shall pass, and France be free!”
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V
It changed again: and lo! a royal drone,Untaught by suffering, dozed upon the throne;
Or waking, fancied that his hands could bind
The tide of Thought, the Reason of mankind.
Another follow'd bigoted, but strong,
Who, deeming Time had gone a century wrong,
Strove with a desperate force to turn the hand,
And bring the darkness back upon the land;
And Danton groan'd—“Oh, that these eyes might see
This folly brought to shame, and France made free.”
VI
The vision brighten'd: Paris as of oldAroused her faubourgs as the tocsin toll'd;
Placed in each hand a weapon for the Right,
And fought its battle in the world's despite;
Dragg'd the degraded purple through the town,
Roll'd in the dust the sceptre and the crown;
And read the nations listening far and near
A mighty lesson full of hope and fear;
And Danton shouted in his sleep to see—
“Now has the sorrow pass'd, and France is free.”
VII
Another change and shifting of the parts—The fool was foil'd—the knave essay'd his arts;
He hated Freedom and her priests and scribes,
And swore to crush her, not with force, but bribes.
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The halcyon days of Mammon and of guile;
The dense corruption spread from high to low,
Till virtue perish'd in its overflow;
And Danton groan'd—“Oh, worst of infamy!
When shall this sorrow pass, and France be free?”
VIII
What more he saw was dim before his eyes,Shapes undefined and huge unsymmetries—
Darkness and storm and thunder-clouds afar,
And forms gigantic panoplied for war;
But still a radiance glimmer'd through the cloud,—
And a voice seem'd to speak to him aloud:—
“Not all in vain the struggles thou hast seen,
Truth bides her time and keeps her brow serene:
Each seed she scatters bears its destined tree—
The grief shall pass, and France shall yet be free.”
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