The Maiden of Moscow A Poem, in Twenty-One Cantos. By the Lady Emmeline Stuart Wortley |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. | CANTO XXI. |
 | The Maiden of Moscow |  |
736
CANTO XXI.
I.
It is the Morning's wakening time,The bounding, breathing hour of prime;
It is the Morning's wakening hour,
The old Hettman seeks that stern rude bower,
Where folded, lies Earth's loveliest flower;
Fit lodging this, for warrior bold,
Scarce meet for one, so soft of mould;—
Yet recked she nought of that! Ah!—No!—
Worse lodging is the Heart of Woe!—
There is the rude and rigorous home,
Which girds her round, with fatal gloom!
To this,—fair lodging were The Tomb!
II.
Consigned to the old brave warrior's care,Doth she for lengthened course prepare;
737
Great Platoff—pitiful and kind,—
Give countless charges to his friend,—
To aid—cheer—guard her—and defend!—
III.
Away they dashed—on, on, they passed—In fearless fleet career, and fast;—
Each savage, rugged, shaggy steed,
Doth well the thong's least movement heed;
The rein-tied thong,—that stings to speed!
Swift—swift, each panting courser flies—
While Xenia strains her eager eyes;—
Yet slow the pace, and dull the race,
To her winged thought, that shot o'er space;
Seemed weak the horse,—seemed tame the course,
To her on-rushing heart's wild force!
Oh!—cold and creeping was their flight,
To that far-rushing heart's quick might!
IV.
Each courser darts and dashes free;On—on, they gallop gloriously,
Each well puts forth his gallant strength—
And scorns the journey's wearying length!
Their paces scarce are smoothed to bear,
Such burthen delicate and fair;—
The untrained,—the untutored paces wild,
Of the great Forest's fiery child,—
738
The embodied wind of flying war,—
Scarce well may suit such lovely freight,
So fragile, faint, and delicate;
But heeds she nought, the rough, rude steed,
Oh!—for the Tempest's wilder speed;
Oh!—for the Cataract's rushing force,
Though she were shivered in its course!
V.
Those Centaurs, that the ancients dreamed,The masters and their coursers seemed!
They well, to mind, such fiction bring,
One monstrous, self-same, savage thing;
For rugged as their steeds are they,
Who urge and guide them, on their way;—
Their fierce hourrahs, the horses join,
With shrilling neigh, or whinnying whine,
Obstreperous still, as on they fare,—
All seemed one restless mood to share;—
But soon command was given to cease,
They check their shouts—their Chief cried, “Peace!”—
Then pointing, shewed, where far were seen—
Some scattered groupes, with space between;—
More cautiously, they onwards moved,
While Xenia sought the Form, beloved;
As if at such wide distance, yet,—
Their eyes—hearts—feelings—must have met!—
739
VI.
More stealthfully, they moved along—Hope in her heart was swelling strong!—
But Lo!—what dreadful sights appear,
To blight her very soul with fear?
On either side, their snowy way,
Stern sights to sadden and dismay,—
Lay Russian prisoners bathed in gore,
Fresh slaughtered,—some brief hours before;
Their shattered skulls—their brains blown out—
Loose scattered, hideously about,—
Revealed the murderer's desperate deed,—
Their guards had thus,—dismissed and freed!
Furious—the indignant Cossacks saw,
This sight of horror and of awe;
And scarce their Leader could restrain,
The rage that stormed through each hot vein!
They flung their arms abroad, and loud,
Fierce vengeance on the murderers vowed!
Hark!—wild their stern “Hourrahs!” rang out—
A thrilling and a deafening shout!
VII.
'Twas heard from far, by those who fled—Away!—away!—they wildly sped!
Then straight, the signal swift was made,
Which well, those warriors rude obeyed!
740
A whistle—mark!—each courser heeds!
Like statues there, at once they stand,
Obedient to their lords' command!
These, on their shining stirrups rise,
And glare, far round with piercing eyes;
Directions then, their Leader gives,
Which each, with earnest heed, receives!
'Twould seem, he thinks it well to press,
Their course, through that white wilderness;
Sharp speed, with sudden rush to make,
And those who fly at once o'ertake!
For mark!—at hurried word they go,
Like arrow launched from sounding bow!
VIII.
Loud bursting in one wild Hourrah,They plunged away more fiercely far;—
They waved their dreadful hands on high—
They gain on those that breathless fly!
Down shoot their hands,—up start their spears;—
Their foaming coursers prick their ears;—
Remembering then, their mission mild,
Straight checked themselves, those Warriors wild!
They checked themselves—but muttering low,
Showered deadlier curses on their foe!
IX.
But now with desperate force amain,Their strength, the flying Foemen strain!
741
Cried Xenia, in despairing tone;
The while her eyes—that seemed to start,
From out their sockets,—forced apart,
Seemed dazzlingly, to flash and dart;
Their keen looks, following her fast heart!—
“He flies!—he flies!—Great Heaven!—he flies!—
Outbreathed—o'ertasked—o'erworn—he dies!”
Yes!—yes!—most surely will he fall—
And perish if ye press!—Stand all!
Stop!—stand!—Oh!—turn your steeds!—cease!—cease!—
This race shall but his ills increase!”
X.
And still she deems she sees him there—Deems she can recognise his air,—
His form—his step—though wildly far,
From those they chase, the chasers are!
For now, they stop at her command,
And all irresolutely stand;
She sees the French still forward rush—
Still onward, wildly press and push;
They mark not that their Foes remain,
Breathing their steeds, with tightened rein!
They heed not, that the hostile Band,
Of their abhorred Pursuers stand!
XI.
Even thus, will he o'erstrain his strength,Or thus may he escape at length!
742
When sought—blessed—cherished—loved the most;
“On!—On!”—with frantic tone she cried—
“On!—On!—Oh! like the storm-fiend ride!
And end at once this dread suspense—
For anguish grows too fierce—intense!”
XII.
And on they ride at rapid rate—While fly those hunted men—Oh! Fate!
From her he flies, whose outstretched arms,
Dishevelled and disordered charms,
And eyes, that madly strained appear,
Like lightnings of some wilder sphere—
Lit with a fatal light, and drear,—
Now make her seem some bright, dread thing,
That bears Destruction on her wing!
XIII.
From her he flies,—who prays,—implores,—And even to agony, adores!
Now loosens she her long, long hair,
And flings it, fluttering, on the air,—
In hopes, perchance, 'twill catch his eyes,
Who thus, in dark misdoubting flies!
Driven—driven—before her,—Saints of Heaven!—
Even to the Death,—it may be,—driven!
XIV.
Those locks, a golden banner shine,May he but mark their streaming sign!
743
He darts not one brief glance behind!
Fast clattering on, their coursers go—
Free to the winds, those tresses flow,—
In straightened streamers,—brightening there,
Back floating from her forehead bare;—
Which like the snow-drift that they meet,
Gleams white, though thousand fevers beat,
In those swollen veins, that throb with heat;—
With heat—even painful and intense,
The burning of the fierce suspense,
'Midst all that deadly, mortal cold,
Which shroudlike, doth her form enfold!—
Wild fluttering from her pallid brow,
Back stream those wreaths of beauty now;
And now, by some wild gust fierce blown,
Upwards they scattered point,—or strown,
O'er her veiled shoulders, sweep adown!
XV.
Hark!—Hark!—what sound now strikes the ear?The cannon's mighty voice of fear;
Loud thundering—thundering—thundering,—roared
That voice, which thousand echoes poured,—
Dread sounds!—by warlike ears adored—
Hear them!—ye Children of the Sword!
Still thundering—thundering—thundering,—rolled
That voice,—which cheered the Brave and Bold!
744
XVI.
Those wild-eyed Rovers heard that sound—Beat their strong hearts with rapturous bound!—
How often have their thoughts of flame,
Leaped at its deafening call—to Fame!
They dashed the rowels in their steeds,
Now honour light, on him who leads!
Glows in each vein redoubled life—
They pant and hunger for the strife!
But soon in distance died away
Those sounds, that breathed of discord's sway;
'Twas some chance conflict—sharp, though slight,
That checked the Foes upon their flight!
XVII.
Still on they press,—dim Evening comes,With all her shadows deep, and glooms!
They paused awhile—their gray-haired Chief,
Quick issued forth, his mandates, brief;
Hard by, a lodging rough and rude,
Was glimpsed, 'midst that bleak solitude;
And there, was Xenia, straight conveyed,
And bade to rest her in its shade;
While gently did that ancient Chief,
Essay to soothe her phrenzied grief;—
“Rest!—rest!—of rest hast thou sore need,—
To-morrow we shall yet succeed!
To-morrow, doubt not, to thy Lord,
Thou yet shalt safely be restored!”
745
XVIII.
Morn shines upon the World of Snow,Once more in rushing haste they go;
And long and hard, they ride in vain,
Seemed Madness seizing Xenia's brain;
She marked, with anguish and affright,
Thousands of snow-piled hillocks slight,—
Whence gleamed, at times, half-buried arms,
There lay the stiffening Dead in swarms!
Specked with those undulations sad,
Was all that ground, in whiteness clad;
And still on those drear heaps she gazed,
At her own horrid thoughts amazed;—
“Ah!—should De Courcy lie beneath,
Yon dazzling shroud,—yon funeral wreath,—
But snatch me to him,—sweet,—sweet Death!”
XIX.
And still they onwards—onwards—passed,Swift as the winged and whirling blast;
Once more pale Evening's shades descend,
Will this long anguish find no end?
Athwart the gloom was flung strong light,—
'Tis Conflagration, wild and bright!
Where Doukhowt-chtchina's turrets rise,—
It flares and streams against the skies;
A wild and awful scene they mark—
That dazzles back the evening dark!
746
A shower of sparks and splendours falls;
The trees, enrobed in ice and snow,
Like prisms, ten thousand colours shew—
The wavering flames, bend to and fro;
Seems it from her lit brows, Earth shakes,
The lustres of those lightning flakes;—
Those living, leaping flakes of fire,
A splendour proud—but dread and dire!
XX.
The wind rose strong—all stirred,—all shook,—The eye might scarce the brightness brook!—
It rose, these billowy flames to spread,
In boundless, bannered Triumph dread!
Even that chill climate to supply,
With splendours of a Tropic Sky,—
And match its meteored canopy!
The sparks still thick, and thickening there,
Fall fast,—in wild profusion fair;
Still fall these sparks—still, showers on showers,
Like leaves, from Flame's loose, o'erblown flowers!—
But 'tis by myriads that they fall,—
Covering the ground—trees—pathways—all!—
A wond'rous—wizard—wildering sight,—
That made a Fairy Land of Night!—
And thus, girt round with proud array,
Fair Doukhowt-chtchina shrank away;
Revealed by that far-spreading blaze,
A groupe attracts pale Xenia's gaze!
747
XXI.
Sweet Saints!—she surely marks from far,De Courcy's gallant garb of war?
A steel-clad Cuirassier she views,
Quick hope, her fluttering light renews,
She dreams that worshipped form she sees,
Her heart flies winged with agonies!—
With agonies—and loves—and fears,—
For half her thoughts, seemed turned to tears!
'Tis him!—'tis him!—his stature—mould,—
His garb—'tis him her eyes, behold!
She urged—all wild with hurrying hope—
The Cossacks, towards the hostile groupe;
Already they are near—are close;—
Great Powers!—how endless are her woes!—
When breathless-faint—she reached the place,
She looked not on De Courcy's face!
A comrade,—garbed like him, indeed,—
She saw,—afresh her heart must bleed!—
XXII.
And horrors round, are gathering fast,—Each hour seems heavier than the last;
That groupe, close huddled round the fire,—
Those men, no hopes may more inspire,—
Were slumbering through their hardships dire!—
Roused from their statued sleep, they start,
The life-blood thaws in every heart!
748
They front their fiercest enemy!
And deem these warriors can but come,
To end their lives, and seal their doom!
XXIII.
Their Leader,—strong and stout of frame,—Plucked fiercely from the neighbouring flame,
A huge, black, knotted, half-burned brand,
Dire weapon in that powerful hand!—
And with a savage strength he dealt,
A blow, that well his Victim felt!
That Victim—hurried to the grave,—
Was Xenia's gray-haired guardian brave!
XXIV.
He had dismounted there, with speed,And lifted Xenia from her steed,
When suddenly, this furious blow,
Came down from the mistaken Foe;
The outbursting blood—the spattering brain—
Hissed on the hot wood's edge amain;
And with foul sprinkling of their rain—
Then hideously did quench and stain!
The fluttering lids,—the white drawn lips,—
Announced the coming deep eclipse;
The quivering limbs—the rattling breath—
Declared the near approach of death!
749
Sense—breath—had passed,—and thought—and will!
XXV.
The infuriate Cossacks—mad to find,Thus ill-repaid, their purpose kind—
With Evil met, their Good designed,—
Yelled forth their battle-cry, and beat,
The ground, with thickly-trampling feet!
“Revenge!—Revenge!”—they howled—“Strike!—Slay!”—
While fast they hacked their hideous way!
They rushed on the unarmed foemen straight,
With deadly savageness of hate,—
They stab—they slay—they strike—they pierce—
'Tis all confusion, strange and fierce!
While Xenia, driven to maniac mood,
Flies from this scene of wrath and blood!
Her voice, through all that tumult rose,
That din of groans, and shrieks, and blows!
Rose clear and sweet, as Seraph's song—
Wild screams, of tortured souls, among!
XXVI.
“Eugene!—Eugene!—Where art thou,—Where?—Though dead—yet hear my soul's despair!
How dared I think that thou would'st flee?—
Thou!—in thy dauntless bravery!”
But other Cossacks swarmed up fast,
They scent the fray's hot, hateful blast!
750
His hurrying troop, doth, shouting, lead!
Hah!—lovely Xenia's flying form,
Was glimpsed,—through that thick-gathering storm!
He marked that fair, slight form of grace,
The death-touched beauty of that face:
He scorned the unweaponed foes who shrank,
Beneath his followers' hatred rank;
Sharp round, he wheeled his steed of pride,
And darted swift, to Xenia's side;
Like flash of sudden lightning seen,
He dashed him 'cross the space between,
Then seized her, as the ruthless kite,
Might seize the dove, with fierce delight!
He snatched her from the ground, and placed
Beside him,—and away they raced!—
Fast—fast—he grasped his helpless prey—
And swift they rushed,—away—away!
XXVII.
But deadly-aching agonies,Make all her soul, to courage rise;
The maddening anguish seemed at length,
To lend her, supernatural strength!
She swooned not—sank not—in despair,—
But shrieked her agonizing prayer!
Still strenuously and long implored,
A world of soul in every word!
751
XXVIII.
Such supplications, wild and deep,Might make stern rocks, with pity weep;
But human hearts, are harder far,
Than steel, and flints, and ice-rocks are!—
When strange caprice, or passion rude,
Hath warped them to a ruthless mood!
Still on he sped, with desperate haste,
Across that white, bewildering waste;
His pathway well he chose, where round,
Loose fragments cumbered all the ground;
Well steering still, his skilful course,
Through these, he urged his docile horse!
XXIX.
Huge powder-waggons, here were given,To dark destruction—rent and riven;
Their reliques, heaped the barriered pass,
Where frowned, full many a shattered mass;
With the outworn, wretched horses, too,
That dragged them slow—sore labouring drew;—
Blown up, their wrecks the causeway strew!
(Together these, blown up had been,
When threatening doom obscured the scene!)
While cannons spiked,—forsaken there,
Their powder scattered in despair,
By those who found 'twas worse than vain
To seek, to urge them, and retain,—
Choked up the drear and gloomy path,
With threatening shows, and signs of wrath;
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The artillerymen left these behind;—
Through harsh necessity constrained,
To plant them, where they thus remained!
XXX.
All hopeless grown, and wild with woe,Did Xenia brave her barbarous foe;
She snatched the poignard, from his vest,
And turned it, 'gainst her own soft breast!
Uttering one wild heart-rending cry,
“Eugene!—Eugene!—for thee I die!”
Roused—scared—and startled at the word,
Thrilled the rough wielder of the sword,
Shocked—shocked—seemed then, that youthful Chief,
Surprised at her o'erpowering grief!
The dagger, strained within her clasp,
Scarce wrenched he, from that desperate grasp!
So firm 'twas held—so true 'twas aimed,—
'Gainst that wrung heart, so nobly framed!
He wrenched it, from her small white hand,
Tossed it o'er half a league of land,
Then spoke with voice of proud command,—
“Be happy!—Beauteous Maid!”—he cried—
“Worthy to be a Warrior's bride!
Be happy!—Bright and gallant maid!
I hail the courage thou hast displayed,
Aye!—formed to be a Warrior's bride
Art thou!—that bravely wouldst have died!—
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Inspired by thee, with treble might!”
XXXI.
Remembered she, in her despair,Great Platoff's father-seeming care,
New hope hath made her heart rejoice,
She cried in firm, unquailing voice,
“Beware thy Sovereign's vengeance—know
Who wrongeth me, is Platoff's Foe!”—
“What mean'st? wild maid!”—exclaimed the youth,
“How shew'st thou, these strange words for truth?”
“Fair truth it is!” she answered straight—
“His word is pledged to guard my fate!
On thy life's peril it shall be,
If chance injurious, light on me!
XXXII.
“With me, he sent his dearest friend,To succour, shield me, and defend,
With me, despatched his followers true—
To guard me well, my journeyings through;
And on their lives he bade them swear,
To watch me, with unceasing care;
Still charged them,—still, to fence me round,
With jealous heed,—and zeal profound.
Who braves his word,—who injureth me,—
Is princely Platoff's enemy!
Do thou obey that honoured word,
And bear me to my Gallic Lord!
754
To Gallic Lord, my faith was given!”—
Half dubious—yet half trusting too—
Her accents spoke a heart so true;
And touched at last, with pity's thrill—
Vanquished the Chief his stubborn will!—
XXXIII.
“In vain shalt thou no longer pray,I will that honoured word obey!
Thou shalt rejoin thy Lord Beloved!
A Warrior's worthy bride thou'st proved!”
He dashed the rowels in his steed,
Away they dart at headlong speed;
Ha!—near at hand a groupe she sees—
Beneath yon clump of giant trees,—
Stretched round a fire, which to and fro,
The unsteady gusty wind doth blow;
What Form conspicuously is laid
Beneath that mightiest fir-tree's shade?
'Tis his!—Her Soul hath forward flown—
She sees,—knows,—feels,—'tis him—her Own!
XXXIV.
Oh!—but Love's presence hath a power,That cannot be of Time's dull hour!
Since then,—'tis the profoundest heart,
That proves the most uncovered part!
755
Answering, too deeply, and too much;
Then,—then,—'tis all the life of thought,
That seems, as to the surface brought!
The intensest soul, seems then made bare—
Even to each breath of common air;—
XXXV.
At once that trembling, death-pale bride,Is kneeling by De Courcy's side;
Great Powers of Heaven!—how altered now,
That chiselled face—that glorious brow;—
Fatigue—Grief—Watching—Famine—Cold,—
Have griped him, with a fatal hold;—
Outstretched, in sad and piteous state,
He seemed Death's kind release, to wait;
Beside him lies his faithful horse,
Montjoye!—thou'st run thy latest course!
XXXVI.
Montjoye had Xenia's shelter been,Through many a wild, bleak, bitter scene;
When placed, the docile steed beside,
His warmth for her, slight cheer supplied;—
Where now his beaming front and eye,
That seemed ablaze with victory?—
Where,—where, his buoyancy, and might,
Scarce shines that eye's large globe of light!
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Where is the strength that could not tire?
The generous heart—the tameless pride?—
With such submissiveness allied!
Though rising high and higher!
Where is the storm-life in his veins?—
The rage, that swallowed all the plains?
With fevering, fierce desire;
Where are his limbs of light and wind,
His heart,—that left the World behind,
His thunder,—and his fire?—
XXXVII.
Look up!—De Courcy!—look, and see!The star of thine idolatry;—
Thy Love—thy Xenia! at thy side;—
A Life in Death!—thine own sweet bride!—
His dying eyes, he faintly raised,
And on his Loved One's face he gazed!
Such rapture to his soul was given,
He deemed he woke—he woke in Heaven!—
The blood thawed sweetly round his heart—
He whispered—“No!—we could not part!”
And yet he struggled sore—the smile
Died on his dying lips, the while!—
Then wandering seemed his thoughts to be,
Amidst the maze of memory?
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XXXVIII.
“My pleasant France!—Celeste!—and Thou!—Poor Mother!—worse than widowed now!—
My Home,—my Heart's Beloved!”—he sighed,—
“Soul of my Soul!”—then faintlier cried,—
“Xenia!—my Life of Life!”—and died!—
Heavily on his eyes were pressed
The death-weights of the Eternal rest;
XXXIX.
Fair Rose of Russia!—thou shalt fade,And perish in that grave's cold shade.
She looked her maddening heart away,
On that so pale and worshipped clay;
Breathed deep, one long,—long,—throbbing sigh,
While still gazed there her changing eye;
Then sank on his dead heart, and died—
In that dear death Beatified!—
XL.
The shaft hath struck—the dart hath sped,—Their two fair souls together fled!
Their two?—Oh!—never be it thought,
The Love, with such hearts were fraught,—
Could fail—when Earth's brief race was done—
To bind and breathe them into one!—
Those souls together soared, unriven,
One beautiful, bright soul, to Heaven;
758
XLI.
So strange the end—so dire the doom—Of Moscow's Maid—and Russia's Rome!—
Despoiled of pride, and disarrayed,
Thy City bowed,—in ashes laid,
Great Empire! noble and august—
That crushed her to such royal dust!
But Oh!—the Ruins of the Heart,
That cursed the cold Destroyer's part—
But Oh!—the hearts in ashes laid,
That bade His impious triumphs fade!
And ne'er did one more meekly great,
Than thy pale Daughter!—bend to Fate!
XLII.
Fair Rose of Russia!—faded now,No flower was e'er so sweet as thou;
But there is yet a lovelier Land,
Where flowers, like thee, shall best expand;
Fair Rose of Russia!—Rest in peace—
Thy lengthened griefs,—shall pause,—shall cease!
Fair Rose of Russia!—such as thou—
Were worthiest, even to wreathe Her brow!
759
XLIII.
That dire Retreat is now begun,Which few shall live to look on, done.
Shift we the scene—Behold!—Behold!
A human ocean onward rolled;—
Far round them, clap their funeral wings,
As prescient of terrific things,
Despair, and Death, and vain Remorse,
And Famine,—with Her fatal force;
And iron Hate,—and all the Powers
Of Evil,—that o'erswayed those hours;
But be the doomed ones, deaf and blind,
Spared from the sense of ills refined,
That still shall torture, blast,—and grind!
XLIV.
On,—On,—they march! with something yet,Of Hope, to light a Vast Regret;
Oh! Mercy!—hide the coming days,
From their despairing, vain amaze;
And even their actual fortune hide
From those poor wrecks of power and pride.
Before them, all the abhorring Land,
Commingled to one hostile Band,—
Is wrath, and silence, and revenge,
That cannot melt—that cannot change!
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And terrors drear without a name,
In wild and various horror crowd,
And track the footsteps of the proud;
And round them,—boundless Night, and Frost—
Where every hope is whelmed and lost,
Appeared in cold, sepulchral gloom,
To proffer even—a hostile Tomb!
As though beyond the grave should go,
The hate that haunts so loathed a Foe;
And they should find no peace nor rest—
Intombed in Russia's angry breast;
XLV.
Spreads round One shoreless Sea of Snow,Whose dangers dire, no chart may show;
They staggering thread it—chilled and blind,—
Beneath the driving, bellowing wind!
Its feathery surges toss and swell,
A pale and cold, but dreadful Hell!
Ere long to mountains round shall grow,
That heaving and sepulchral snow;
Where countless corses mouldering lie,
On Earth—that is their enemy!
Even the elements, rejoined in death,
By theirs,—shall greet them as in wrath!
The while with lengthening, lingering tone,
Like Agony's and Suffering's own,—
A mighty Army's dying roar,
Shall shake that sea without a shore!
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With howl of winds o'er deserts bare!
XLVI.
There,—there, shall many a thousand fall,In torture's grasping, grinding thrall!
And horrid sights, shall there be seen,
To pierce with pity quick and keen,—
Glazed eyes, that see the world grow dark,
Turned round in aching sockets, mark!
Too dreadful is their cold white stare,
That chills the soul, with withering glare;
While many a face of aspect ghast,
Cadaverously changing fast,
Takes shapes that smite with strange distress,
Too harrowing in their hideousness!
XLVII.
Yet scarce their famished steeds can bear,The emaciated riders there;
These worn, gaunt skeletons appear,
Like spectacles of woe and fear;
They scarce their leaden limbs can trail,
And staggering, front the sweeping gale;
Are these the chargers, proud and high,
That drank up space, with far-flashed eye;—
That snuffed the war-storm with their breath,
And shot them o'er its sounding path!
Still tossing high, their foam on air,
As their wild hearts would chase it there,—
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In wantonness of chainless will!
Far-bounding, follow, and o'ertake,
And make the world around them quake;
Their battle-harness, loudly there,
Still rattleth 'gainst their ribs so bare;—
But not to gladden, or inspire,—
Lost is their strength,—and flown their fire!
Nor, through their nostrils, stretched and wide,
Rolls now, the flame-breath of their pride!
XLVIII.
Creator of this wild Despair!—Chaos-Compeller!—art thou there?
What fearful thoughts, must now be thine,
Thus watching, piecemeal,—thy decline!
Napoleon!—thy proud soaring mind,
In truth, left lower Earth behind;
That mind was like Volcano wild,
Up to the skies, in triumph piled;
And chief, in fierce eruption's hour,
Of dire and devastating power!—
In fierce Eruptions, heaving still,
To scatter round unbounded ill;
To leave but ruin,—dearth, and waste,
When pales the crown of fire, there placed!
Even placed upon its front of doom,
Where brightness seemed, yet worse than gloom!
This leaves but ruin, black and bare,
That kills the earth, and chokes the air;
763
XLIX.
Aye!—Ruin!—blasted, like the wrecks,Whose waste, its triumph crests and decks,
Itself, doth darkling, frowning seem,
When fades away its lava-dream;
So trenched its sides, with scars profound,
So bowed,—seems even its Height discrowned!
True!—to the skies 'tis proudly piled,
And chiefly in those hours so wild!
But yet,—doth this on high aspire,—
Alone to pour, gross earthly fire!
Dark flames sulphureous, to disgorge,
And be the trembling Earth's dire scourge!
L.
Ah!—not with yonder stars sublime,To commune well, such mount may climb;
This loves to cloud their purest rays,
With its unblessed, and scorching blaze;
Best loves to veil their loving light,
With threatening flash, and terrors bright;
And such thy likeness—Mighty Mind!—
That leaves a shuddering world behind!
Thine,—that volcanic, treacherous flame,
The Eruptive burst of martial fame!
The glory of the battle-hour,
The dreams of wild, ungoverned Power!
The changing and portentous light,—
The splendour, that must scathe and blight!
764
The triumph thine,—the terror too!
LI.
But like some star-y-pointing steep,That leans 'gainst Heaven's own azure deep;
With lovely, lonely lustre bright,
Clear Immortality of Light,
Where Alps or Andes rear on high,
Their forms, like Sisters of the Sky,—
High Virtue stands, in gracious state,
Divinely calm, and meekly great;
The stars themselves, seem pointing there,
To that bright spectacle, and fair;
While gleams afar the snow-white crest,
With radiance, beautiful and blest;
Aye!—pointing down, and leaning even,
As though 'twere but, from Heaven to Heaven!
And mingling with the beauty pure,
That shall, for evermore endure;
Even mingling all to one bright crown,
That Earth-one, lovely as their own!
For both unstained, are pure, and fair,
'Tis Heaven with Heaven, embracing there!
LII.
Proud Tyrant!—say—did saddening thought,Now—mourn the wrecks thy harshness wrought?
Oh!—for a bridle—bitted strong,
With sharp remorse, to 'venge the wrong!
765
Thy thoughts, to chase some nobler end!
Oh!—for a scourge that might but smite,
To part thy darkness, from thy light!
LIII.
Tremendous Battle was begun,When War seemed o'er,—and Conflict done!
O'er Earth's pale face strange shadows dashed,
Where Nature and Napoleon clashed!
Like giant thunder-clouds of doom,
They clashed,—in dazzlery and gloom!
Those Titan-Twins,—that ruled and reigned,
As neither would be schooled or chained!
LIV.
Then burst the flames of Genius bright,From his stupendous Mind of Might;
From his unvanquishable thought,
The electric fires were forced and brought;
For charged with fires electric, still,
Was his indomitable will;
Come!—towering Champions,—to the field!—
To arms!—Be one, first taught—to yield!
Twin Titans!—did ye meet in power,
With shock sublime, on that dread hour?
Yea!—lengthening down eternal years,
The answer of despair appears!
Since what could follow but despair,
When Nature checked Napoleon there?
766
When Nature,—and Napoleon clashed!
His soul,—in even despair, elate,
Hurled on its hurricane of hate;
While round him stood in godlike guise,
Conceptions, of colossal size!
LV.
But,—awful Nature!—Thou shalt yet,With iron terrors, well beset;—
And Thou shalt reign with fearful sway,
And spread destruction and dismay!
Not thus, dost thou with triumph high,
Swell in thy mountains to the sky!
Where Chimborazo's glittering snows,
Hang o'er a Heaven-linked world's repose!
Heaven-linked by mountains, such as these,
Towering in crowned sublimities!
While seem their lifted crests, to climb,
To look into the stars sublime;
To pierce the darkness as with light,
Ruffling thy Royal Purple,—Night!
LVI.
Not thus dost thou in Victory sweep,Where sea-like rivers hail the deep,—
Where all is madness even of motion,
'Twixt Orinico and his Ocean!
Not thus dost thou, all glorious roll,
Where tempests shake the affrighted Pole!
767
LVII.
Nor thus, in more than triumph shine,Amongst those burning stars divine,
That speak the Eternal's dread controul,
Ablaze with Godhead, as they roll!
Thy mightiest power, and proudest sway,
Is even on this,—thy battle-day!
Like mailed Arch-angel, thou wert bade,
To strive, in strength and glory clad,
And on, Thou camest, in all thy might,
To search—to ruin—and to blight,
Fierce grasping thy ten thousand storms,—
Thy furious march the space deforms!
LVIII.
Earth with the shock seemed dead to lie,As at His fall the World must—die!
A World must perish—bowed and low—
To compass His destruction so;
Such terror and such funeral gloom,
Made all, frown,—blackening to a tomb;
While thus her boundless triumphs grew,
Seemed Nature even as something new,—
She wore a Form she ne'er had worn,—
She bore a Fame she ne'er had borne;
And, while her banners broad, she reared,
Heaven's angel militant appeared!
768
LIX.
The World he claimed,—once more her own,Resounded with her new renown!
As though a fresh Creation, she
Exulted in her Empiry!
Her Battle-Field,—and His, who bade,
Her Form spring forth, in might arrayed,
Was all an Empire, in its Pride,
And such an Empire!—vast and wide;—
Made all Her Battle-Field,—and even,
The Battle-Field of Conquering Heaven!
LX.
What burned with pomp of blazing shows,When Promise first, and Hope arose?
When Promise and Expectance fair,
First dawned along the dazzling air!
What deluged Earth with floods of Light,
When Enterprise sprang forth in might!
While tints of gold, and hues of flame,
As though from Earth's struck bosom came;
While thousands rushed to rampant War,
Bewildered by a dangerous Star;
What burned upon the wondering gaze,
What set the quivering air ablaze?
LXI.
It is a dread and awful Power,That brightens all the conquering hour!
769
Oh!—what its centre—and its source?
What scatters far the dazzling boon?—
It is Napoleon!—or the noon!
A noon of more than sun, sublime,
That fires the furrowing front of Time!
And radiates boundlessly away,
Into the endless realms of day!
LXII.
What frowns along an outraged land,With gloom, too deep to understand?
What darkened with such shadows drear,
That Land so vast, afar, and near,
What lies like mountains on her might?
Reply!—Napoleon!—or the Night!
A Night of more than darkness,—worse,
In the wild chaos of its curse!
LXIII.
Yet all was done at bidding high,Of Heaven's omniscient Majesty!
Whose dread design shall yet appear,
Through all, made excellently clear,
And doubt, and sorrow, and dismay,
Shall vanish like a dream, away;
In all thy works, the dark or bright,
How shineth forth at last—Thy Light!
Oh!—Thou, who rul'st with vast controul,
Creation's structure,—and her Soul;
770
As even in those of giant frame;—
In thy most shadowy—as in those
Where every glory, kindling glows;
There, soon or late, thy sign hath shone—
Bright as the Archangel in the Sun!—
LXIV.
Napoleon!—didst thou rule and reign,So much to boast—so much to gain,—
To sink to such a depth at last,
Unbuilding all the soaring past?
Defeat for thee, becomes a thing
Of wilder doom, and keener sting;
Such marvellous success hath blest—
Each mighty movement of thy breast!
And were these crowned successes bright,
But given, to make more deep the blight?
LXV.
Thy glories learned, to sink and fail—Magnificently prone and pale:
Seemed Rome's three hundred triumphs all,
There, blent to one—to fade and fall!
The Chaos-maker gazeth round,
'Tis his own Ruin, without bound!
He glared upon the appalling scene—
His thoughts grew arrows, barbed and keen;
For every thought had tales to tell,
Of how a throne—or triumph fell!
771
LXVI.
And could'st thou build a dream so vain,O'er Feeling's empires free, to reign?
To crush down aspirations high,
That could not fall,—save with the sky!
To freeze the living blood of love,
That keeps time, to the stars above;
LXVII.
Yes!—Thou hast conquered!—thou hast gained;—Hast hosts o'erthrown—and realms enchained;—
But Human Nature, roused at last,
Shall vindicate her patience past;
Ere this,—the struggle seemed of Earth,
And bore the token of its birth,
'Twas Earth to Earth,—that long dark strife,—
With few sublimer touches rife!
LXVIII.
But deeper hewed, thy desperate hand,Through noblest thoughts, to drive the brand;
To slaughter spirits, in the shape
Of their best hopes, that yet must 'scape!—
Then all was doomed!—thy course of pride
Was stayed at once—and thou, defied!—
LXIX.
The World, thou mad'st thy World, might quail,Her influence shrink, her interests fail;
772
But Virtue is not of the World!
Above it, she hath fixed her throne,
And She, shall never be undone;
Above it,—and above thee!—vain,
Thy hope o'er Her, to rule and reign;—
LXX.
Frowned thy pale forehead, full of fate,But not to make Her desolate!
Thine eye of fire, scorched up the lands,
But not to shake Her, where she stands!—
A deep and heavy change is seen
O'er all the proud Destroyer's mien—
A pale dejection, dimly weighs,
Where all was once, with hope ablaze!
He doubts, and pauses, and he stands,
And mutters low his half-commands!
LXXI.
And is this He—so proud and high—So fixed, in mountain majesty?
And is this He, by whose quick thought,
Were mysteries pierced—more mysteries wrought?—
Warm, from his working mind, he threw,
Each winged conception, fresh and new,
They shot—they lightened, from his soul—
Like stars, in orbits fair, to roll!
773
To spread to one clear, settled day;
Those flames of boundless genius free—
In strength of endless Victory,
They lived from the inmost life to blaze,
Through all the vast Creation's maze!
Lived from his inmost life, to light
All round them—with their kindling might;
LXXII.
How different, sounds the Warrior's tone,From when the World, seemed all his own!
When loud he cried exultingly,
“Reign!—Havoc!—Slaughter!—revel free!
And Carnage!—clap thy red foul hands,
And haste, with all thy howling bands;
Come!—my Familiars!—dog my way;—
And fawn upon my feet to-day!
For I will give you harvest high,
And mine is all the mastery!”
LXXIII.
They come—they dog his path—they throng,As fast and free, he speeds along;
But followers false, and treacherous slaves,
Each now, its outraged master braves.
With mockery wild and dark, they come,—
And threaten him, with scathe and doom!
774
And bid the Mighty One obey;—
LXXIV.
From Earth to Heaven,—from Heaven to Earth,—In Hope's despondency and death,—
He glares with anguish, and with ire,
And struggles, with his soul of fire;
Where is his glory?—where his boast?—
Where bideth now, his boundless Host?
Warriors in nations!—where are they?
Tread lightly—Proud One!—on their clay!—
LXXV.
Thought'st thou to soar and reign o'er all?The farthest flight—the lowliest fall!
Learn thy new lesson—doubt and droop;—
Act thy new attitude—and—stoop!
Success and Victory, were thine own,
Thou'st thundered them, from thy red throne!
LXXVI.
Even Hope put on, pale Terror's guise,At thine adventure and emprize;
Fear, at thy fatal rashness grew,
A shadow of yet gloomier hue.
And chill Amazement fled away,
Nor dared to cope with such dismay;
775
Unfolded to the eyes of man,
Yet heavier, fell the shadows all—
Far heavier yet, to sweep and fall!
LXXVII.
Now battle rages in His might,Thy Thousands, madden to the fight;
And thousands of those thousands feel,
The crimson chastening of the steel;—
Now all the North, is burning far,
With yon dread sun of doom and war!
'Tis burning with that Sun of Fire,—
New kindled by imperial ire!
Septentrion Eagle!—said I right,
There thou should'st mount, to bless that light;
Aye!—there may'st thou triumphant soar,
And bask in Victory,—more and more,
The Other Eagle, too, shall know,
The strength and splendour of the glow!
But this shall waste his withering wings,
And blast, and blight him, as he springs;
Till all his spoil—till all his prey,
From his scorched talons, drops away;
Drops—scathed and shattered, from his grasp,
For Fate was in that deadly clasp!
The Rival Eagle, greets those rays
To perish, in their boundless blaze!
776
LXXVIII.
Lo!—all the North is burning now,And lifting high a dazzling brow;
'Tis burning with that Sun of Fire,—
Yet farther—deeper—stronger—higher;—
That Sun—which gilds these glorious hours—
Risen from the Immortal Moscow's Towers!
Faint falls thy word of Victory,—
“My Frenchmen!—Forward!—win or die!”
Subdued by force of France no more—
Earth!—be the Earth thou wert before!
See Russia's sky, grows black with clouds,
That yet shall seem the Foeman's shrouds;—
Pale winding-sheets of snow they weave,
Where yet the strong, their strength shall leave;
Cold mausoleums of the ice,
Now build they,—let the worms rejoice!
LXXIX.
Brave Russians!—did ye frowning hear,Their giant scheme of fate and fear?
Even when at first, its darkness threw
O'er your loved land, a doubtful hue?—
Ye did!—but now, with joyous scorn,
Ye see your Foemen, downward borne,
Dragged down, to the opened jaws of fate,
As 'twere by their own force and weight;
777
LXXX.
The Russians, marked their Foemen fast,Fall off, like leaves before the blast,—
And they no more shall darkling frown,
For Fame and Freedom, are their own;
Aloud they shout, with gladsome voice,
“France yieldeth!”—Let their worms rejoice!—
Now they may “Havoc!” cry with joy,—
And finish, what the Fates destroy!
Roll in the grave's dull, blackening dust,
That cold, lone castle of their trust,—
And say, amidst those clayey towers,
“Yes!—ye have conquered to be ours!
LXXXI.
“Now We,—a creeping army come,To fix your low and hapless doom;
Nor other army's proud array,
Was needed on your destined day;—
As ye were scarce of human birth,
Ye mouldered drearily, from Earth!”
Let Russia's revelling worms rejoice,
With such a mocking triumph-voice;
LXXXII.
Plumed Dominations of the war,The Chiefs who governed, wide and far,
Own them, even for their captains now,
And bend to them, their haughty brow;
778
From out their thought, all fresh and new:
The battle flew, from out their thought,—
Well planned and shaped—and formed and wrought;
LXXXIII.
But now, at once they faint and yield,Nor stand, nor struggle, on the field!
A dreadful judgment, deep and dark,
Soon made their pride and might, its mark;—
And Heaven took visibly the side,
Of those they challenged, in that pride;—
LXXXIV.
Heaven took the outraged country's part—And strengthened her indignant heart;
Heaven's anger froze in all her snows;
With all her bellowing winds arose!
Still took her War's ten thousand forms,
And threatened loud, through all her storms,
Still frowned in every passing cloud,
And burst,—in her Defiance loud!—
Heaven blazed in her Stupendous Fire,
And thundered in her shock of ire;
Resisted in her rock-like mood,
And rushed in her revenging flood!
And hoped they, Victory could be given,
'Gainst Nature, Freedom,—and 'gainst Heaven?
779
LXXXV.
Vain—vainest hope!—this must not be,While Nature, moves in Harmony!
While Freedom may be dear to man,
And portion of the hallowed plan;
While Heaven adjusts—and weighs—and gives,—
The life, in which Creation lives!
LXXXVI.
When Darkness doth rebuke the Light,Usurping, yet once more, its might;
When Chaos chides Creation back,
Upon her high and 'stablished track;
When nothing nobler breathes, than Thee,
Chaos-Compeller!—this may be!
LXXXVII.
Napoleon!—To the combat now!—Brace the dread war-helm on thy brow,—
For thou art summoned now to yield,
And challenged,—challenged,—to the Field!—
Now stand your dreadful Battle's brunt,
Fight face to face,—fight front to front,—
Ye awful Powers! sublimely met—
To shake and rouse Creation yet!
Try out your kingly strength and worth—
Napoleon!—and the iron North!—
Like warring worlds,—now join!—now meet!—
In strife,—terrifically great;
780
Shall seem to doom and to decide;
March!—Strike!—with shock of deadly might,
And Heaven shall guard and bless the Right!
Charge!—Charge!—Oh!—Charge!—host-mocking Powers!
Charge!—thundering through these Earthquake hours,
With your dread Grandeurs all stand forth!
Napoleon!—Nature!—and the North!
LXXXVIII.
Nay!—Monarch of the Mighty!—Pause!Confess the weakness of thy cause!
Learn now a loftier, nobler, mood,
Arise!—to own thyself subdued!
Thou never yet tried'st flight so high,
As flight of that—Humility!—
Which yet should raise thee, from the dust,
Of Earthly Thrones—and earthly Trust!
And lift thee from the world,—half won,
To bend at its Creator's throne!
And in thy fall—and in thy fate—
Yet seem high honours to await!
LXXXIX.
To swell the pomp of thy defeat,Lo!—Elements and Mysteries meet;
To marshall forth thy destinies,
What terrors and what wonders rise!
Vain seemed all common might and force,
Nature drew strength from Her dread source,—
781
To smite the Miracle of Men!
XC.
Ne'er yet, was such terrific war,Since, far beyond the farthest star,
Mailed angels met, with angels high,
In Battle-order's marshalry;
Ne'er since, were called to fence and aid,
Such hosts, in such stern might arrayed,
As those unseen, resistless powers,
That stamped thy fortune's funeral hours;
And crushed thee down—and hurled thee forth—
Thou stormy Lucifer of Earth!
XCI.
Now what remains for thee?—Be still;And curb, at last, thy tyrant will;—
Remain unto thyself, at least,
'Midst hopes denied, and ills increased;
And yet, perchance, at length forgiven—
May'st thou be dear, to Earth and Heaven!—
XCII.
Dismiss Ambition's last and worst,Her petty, worldly aims accursed;
A higher, brighter Feeling learn,
And with yet nobler impulse burn.
That mighty Warrior, who of old,
Wept for new worlds, to grasp and hold,
782
For souls redeemed, to grasp and gain!
XCIII.
These may be thine!—Ambition there,May never slacken on Despair:
To that divine Ambition rise,
Set that vast Hope before thine eyes,
And strive, as thou for Earth hast striven,—
To gain, and grasp, and hold,—in Heaven!
XCIV.
In that Ambition be the same,The soul of wind, the thought of flame;
And still be he, who warred and won,
Napoleon—still Napoleon!—
Nay!—be, thus wisely taught to bow—
Napoleon—more than ever now!
XCV.
But if,—yet wedded to the dust,Thy Pride disdains that holiest trust,
Shalt thou not shew the World, what Fate,
Must yet, on her stern Anarchs, wait?
And first in Failure, and Defeat,
Scowl round thee—ruinously great?—
'Midst powers destroyed, and schemes undone,
Napoleon!—fallen Napoleon!
783
XCVI.
Great Heaven!—how wond'rously sublime,Thy mysteries, pierce the clouds of Time,
While all goes gathering evermore,
To full perfection, as before;
Still first, the gloom, the storm, we find,
Then Order, Hope, and Rest,—behind;
First,—Darkness brooded o'er the space,
Then sprang the Sun, to run his race!
XCVII.
'Twas Chaos first,—and Death, and Night,Till these, all trembled into light;
And breathing into beauty, shewed
How great the source, from whence they flowed;
Thus all goes harmonizing on,
Till full Perfection's heights are won;
And who shall limit—who shall bind—
Perfection's march—her course assigned?
XCVIII.
This bright Creation, glorying now,With such uplifted, Heavenward brow,
This ordered Nature, fresh and fair,
Contrived with such consummate care,
This work of Thy constructing,—Lord,
With boundlessness of beauties, stored,
May be,—yet waiting on thy will,—
Chaos of new Creations, still!
784
That yet Thy word doth watch and wait!)
Of new Creations, brighter far,
To which but seeds, are Sun and Star;—
But scattered seeds, that yet shall burst,
Sublime,—their mighty part rehearsed!
Wide blazing into being—more
Than aught, They shadowed forth, before!
XCIX.
Thus, too, for human nature, wait,Revealments high, of loftier fate;
Deep ripenings onwards,—upwards, still,
Deliverings from all Wrong and Ill!
And rash Pretenders, unto Power,
Like thee, Napoleon!—bring The Hour;
Strong Agitators such as thee,
But serve the pregnant Mystery!
Speed Preparation's business well,
And urge the secret-working Spell!
C.
'Tis thy fixed task, with troublous toil,To drive the Ploughshare, through the soil;
To loosen all the stubborn mould,
That treasures new, may this, unfold;
Thy Wars, and Feuds, and Triumphs wild,
But serve, a holy purpose mild!
Man's moving Mind, and shaken Soul,
Must now, confess the dread controul;
785
CI.
But, from these shocks and strifes shall rise,A thousand living harmonies;
Light things shall pass,—the void—the vain,—
The Mightiest and the Best remain!
And strengthened still, by Shock and Strife,
Shall tower, the loftiest truths of Life;
The noblest thoughts shall plume their wings,
To pierce the atmosphere of things;
Constrained—when Storm reigns deep and vast,—
To try their fullest strength at last!
CII.
And in the Deluge of Dismay—That swept on wild disaster's day,—
The soul bade all Her Dreams to soar,
And mount, and triumph, more and more!
When Happiness, from Earth, seemed driven,
Where could she seek it,—but in Heaven?
She spurned all lodgements, dull and poor,
Where, cabinned, dwelt her thoughts before!
Low Earth, her least emotions shun,
And house in eyries, next the Sun!
CIII.
Ruffling the Waters of the World,Thou'st shewn its depths, are gemmed and pearled!
Dark Diver!—who, thyself, a storm,—
These, still disparted, to deform!
786
And bared full many a jewel hoard:
What treasures, of high trust sublime,
Didst thou lay panting-bare in Time!
Developing Man's Spirit, more,
Than e'er 'twas shewn, on Earth before!
More spreading forth, His World of Mind,
(Doomed Husbandman of Human-Kind!—)
Than ever yet, 'twas shewn, or spread,
Since sprang it from the Fountainhead,
For thou didst culture,—thou didst plough—
The Nature thou could'st hope to bow!
CIV.
Discoverer of new Worlds august,Of Spirit, spurning clay and dust;
For still, to mock Oppression's thrall,
They woke—to work at last, thy fall!
The holiest energies of men,
Developed, grew apparent then,
And still that Spirit and the Thought,
Were more, to life and action wrought;
Thy searching, and thy striving, broke,
Full many a dark and stubborn yoke;—
Shewed many a systemed splendour fair,
Man dreamed not,—never guessed was there!
Wert thou designed, even thus, to be
A labourer in Immensity?
The Immensities of will and thought,
To glorious revelations brought;
787
A Newton of the Space of Mind!
Against thy Knowledge, plan, or will,
But studious of self-greatness still!
No Power could make, save one alone,
Such Newton of Napoleon!
CV.
He—who snatched Space into his soul,And there, bade all its mysteries roll,
Displaying unto wondering eyes,
The boundless beauty of the skies,
The while, in his Large Thought contained,
No vastness shrank,—no splendour waned;
But seemed the Universe to sway,
More glorious, there, to burst away;
Even he, scarce filled a charge so high,
So fashioned for Eternity!
Scarce,—scarce, such mighty works atchieved,
As Thou,—who from the deep mind, heaved,
New worlds unthought of,—unbelieved!—
Their wonders and their truths displayed,
And drew them from the deepest shade!
CVI.
This didst thou!—forced by dread controul,That, step by step, still urged thy soul;
This didst thou!—'gainst thy wish or will,
Heaven's instrument and agent still;
788
Than his, who rent Creation's shroud;
As Souls, than Suns, more glorious shine,
In their dread Maker's sight divine!
These brightlier shone, whilst Thou assailed,
Still crushing down those clouds that veiled;
And ever Human Nature grew,
Assailed!—displayed!—to something new!
Thus pierced—thus opened—thus disclosed—
Its panting depths and springs exposed!
CVII.
In perfect order fair, did rise,Crowned Harmonies, and Sympathies;
Attraction of sublimest force,
Even to the Centre,—to the Source,
Then ruled, in ever-glorying course!
While high endeavours,—hopes supreme,—
And many a Heaven-aspiring Dream;
And proud resolves, and feelings deep,
On their broad paths did visioned sweep!
CVIII.
Say!—Was't for Angels was revealed,Thus, Mind's great Firmamental Field?
Say!—Was't for them, to see how fair,
Omnipotency's works, are there?
And was't for this, were bade to start,
Harmonious pulses of the Heart?
789
In marshalry of Living Light?
Not yet, to even angelic eye,
Displayed in triumph full and high!
CIX.
No!—Not that Sage, whose thought could be,The Home of all Infinity,—
Did e'er atchieve such glorious task,
Far more, than thou would'st aim, or ask;
And all the madness of thy Mind,
Was but for purpose good, designed!
CX.
Chains!—why!—thou brokest ten thousand ties,That barred Man's heart, from yon bright skies?
Ten thousand, thousand chains that bound,
To worms,—and ashes,—and the ground!
And this,—unrecking of thy deed,
'Twas this thou didst,—and raised, and freed!
Thoughts, long that leaned to clay and dust,
Felt these things, crumbling from their trust;
Once loosened from those links of Earth,
They shot into a nobler Birth!
CXI.
And thou didst desolate the world,—Till all was in one darkness furled!
790
Blazed up, and lit that dark profound!)
Crushed Hearts,—from Earth's best blessings riven,
Could then, but turn them, unto Heaven!
CXII.
Pale Death and Sorrow with thee went,On their most ghastly message sent;
Say!—are not these, but Heralds free,
Of Hope and Immortality?
From their cold wintery breasts, they fling,
The cloudless, and eternal Spring!
CXIII.
Oh!—ne'er did yet the saddening Earth,—In doubt, and dreariment, and dearth,
So gird her loins—and tread her round—
Even like a Pilgrim, Heavenwards bound!
As through those hours, when Suffering drove,
Each winged and yearning thought, above;
While all her soul went rushing there,
From Doubt and Dread—and from Despair!
CXIV.
Chains?—Lo!—who talks of chains?—Be Free!—Free in thyself,—Humanity!
How frail,—how weak—are bonds, when wrought,
To bind the mighty Giant,—Thought!
791
For stings like spur of fire, the chain;
When once the wakening Powers of Mind,
Have felt the thrall that shall not grind!
CXV.
Then, then like spurs of living fire,Sharp sting those chains, to wake desire,
Bright, high Desire, for noblest things,
Till seem they most like goads,—and wings!
And would they bind down Man to Earth,
And all its spirit-drought and dearth?
CXVI.
Nay!—these,—though with such aim, scarce given,Have linked that lightened Earth, to Heaven!
Well lightened of the load she bore,
Of treasures, trusts, and ties of yore,
Lo!—she hath found a thousand wings,
And high exultant, upwards springs
CXVII.
Chains?—Yes!—to yon great Heaven above,They chained the heart of man, in Love!
In faith and love, that cast out fear,
And bound to every brighter sphere;
Chains!—Chains!—they grow Conductors bright,
Of all the Immortal Lightning's light!
792
Then, shattered,—they shall be no more!
CXVIII.
Napoleon marcheth on his way,From thrones to thrones—from sway to sway!
Through walks of Kings—and wastes of Realms,—
Which his tremendous shadow whelms!
He marcheth on,—while fame and power,
O'er-stretch the horizon, and the hour;
CXIX.
Still deemed he for himself, he wrought,Still judged he, 'twas his aim he sought!
While following fast, each thought that rose,
Within the mind, that scorned repose;
And little did he guess or dream,—
He toiled, to serve, Heaven's Mercy-Scheme!
CXX.
He laboured—but to make more clear,Earth's Elements, and Atmosphere!
To purge her of her worthless dross,
To make her gain, through grief and loss!
To lift her, to a loftier state,—
To find her weak, and leave her great;
793
CXXI.
To teach the universal heart,How poor is false Ambition's part;
To rouse the never-ending hopes,—
Even most, when most the spirit droops!
To be a Warning, and a Word,
To times, whose springs not yet are stirred!
CXXII.
For thou shalt heave thy World-wide Name,To every height of starry Fame,
The Mountain of thy mention even,
Shall scale—shall shake—the listening Heaven!
Yet only to proclaim and shew,
How, wild Ambition, turns to woe!
CXXIII.
And now what anguish seized thy mind,When Disappointment came to grind;
Thou gazest round thee,—black Despair,
To iron turns the very air!
And all against thee seems to lower,
And all hurls back thy boasted Power!
CXXIV.
Aye!—words which thrilled upon thine ear,Dark words of Prophecy and Fear!
When first thy Giant Enterprise,
Even storm by storm, did seem to rise,—
794
That yet, thy mighty feet must lave!
Now swift, returned on thee again,
And armed with piercing Powers of Pain;
While all appeared to cry aloud,
From Earth's dull, angry, threatening cloud!
CXXV.
“In every shape—at every stride,—With scorn—with hate—with wrath and pride,—
Thou art despised!—thou art defied!
Through every scene—through every stage,—
Thou yet, shalt find, but rage on rage;
Through every sense, thrills every sign,
Of anger—human and divine!
CXXVI.
But On!—yet march from space to space,Since bournless is thy bitter race!
The while with scorn, and strength, and pride,
Thou'rt thus detested,—and defied!”
But yet wild hopes inspired him still,
Through many a form of threatening ill;—
CXXVII.
Hopes!—traitors oft, yet ever dear,Still lit his paths with fitful cheer,—
Those Phœnix-phrenzies of the heart,
That live, and die, and burn apart!
795
With ecstacy of joy and pain;
They yet endured within that soul,
And strung it to its old controul;
CXXVIII.
'Twas such an agony,—to stoop,From even Despair would'st thou carve Hope;
Or call it, by her treacherous name,
And fan it, with her added flame!
Thus thy Despair was more, far more,
Than aught Earth ever knew before!
CXXIX.
Wild agonies of ampler scope,Start, gendered, 'twixt such fear and hope,
Aye!—agonies more awful far,
In their so deep and racking war,
Than ever sprang from still dismay,
When foiled Expectance fleets away!
CXXX.
'Tis that the soul, bursts wildly there,Her giant stature, fain to rear,—
To greet, what doth opposing rise,
With all her mustered energies!
Yes!—all her energies awake,—
'Gainst Pain's hard, stubborn rock to break;
And all are in their might arrayed,
To feel the torture—not to aid!
796
CXXXI.
When all is lost, and all resigned,Sinks back upon itself, the mind!
All lost!—she bowed and hushed, remains,
In prostrate guise, and wears her chains!
She withereth from herself away,
Nor more resists the crushing sway!
CXXXII.
Not so, the torrent of thy thought,Could be to still subjection wrought;
Thy spirit writhed against the doom,
Which fenced thee round, with treble gloom;
And blazed into defiance still,
Of every obstacle and ill!
CXXXIII.
Unhappiest!—could'st thou—could'st thou then,—(So far above the herd of men,—)
Not turn to good account those powers,
Heaven gave thee, for thy spirit-dowers!
What might'st thou not,—dread Mind!—be made,
If but with righteous thoughts arrayed?
A glory to irradiate Earth,—
Almost of superhuman birth!
CXXXIV.
But now Ambition's selfishnessStints all thy soul—and makes it less;—
797
Thou seem'st, full proudly, to advance;
And with a high and noble aim,
And urging still a lofty claim,
CXXXV.
Thine Alp-like Aim ascends on high,And towers in fair ascendancy!
In sovereign singleness it stands,
To glance o'er thousand subject lands;
Alone as is the sovereign sun,
A mighty and a matchless one;
CXXXVI.
But naked 'tis, and barren all,Since, there, no gracious dews shall fall;
Dark clouds and storms, hang round it chill,
Even like its own drear fruits of ill;
As though from this, they sprang and grew,—
Can such aim be the right and true?
CXXXVII.
With what a voice, did Russia speak,To teach thee, this was vain and weak;
With true nobility of thought,
Her part she chose—her deed she wrought;—
No forward-hurrying hope and will,
Might match Her calm resistance still;
But foolishness—vain Glory's dream,
Near her brave fixedness should seem!
798
With Her magnificent despair,
When she at length, with wrath and wrong,
Was threatened by the Proud and Strong?
CXXXVIII.
It grew a Glory!—lived in Light,And rushed to rapture, in its might;
Forswearing its sad nature even,
It raised its beamy front to Heaven;—
CXXXIX.
Yea!—gloriously did Russia wearHer crowned, magnificent despair!
Seemed all the beauty of all hope,
To gird it round—she could not droop!
CXL.
She made Her grief, in its proud guise,A miracle to charm all eyes!
And Sorrow seemed as something new—
So dazzling shewed, its mighty hue;
Her woes were wonders!—and her wrongs,
Spoke forth with trumpet-piercing tongues;—
What seemed as Fate, turned all to Fame,
She made herself a living name!
CXLI.
She made Herself for evermore,A Name, that Nations shall adore;—
799
Shall humbled Empires, trembling, pray,
When threateningly, o'er them may come,
The eclipse of foul Oppression's gloom;
That Sun she kindled in her ire—
Of fair, and earth-o'erblazing Fire,
Shall lend a ray of living light,
To Empires—girded round with Night!
The Night of Slavery, or of Shame,
Pierced by that beam of deathless Flame!
Right proudly 'twas her glorious sons,
Waved Galaxies for Gonfalons!
CXLII.
Yes!—Russians!—yet your deed sublime,Shall blaze along the march of Time;
That farthest march, shall proudly light,
Unfading in its hallowed might;
'Twill yet to the unborn nations reach,
The glory of your strength to teach!
CXLIII.
And more!—through all Earth's destined days,(Resounding with its endless praise;)
Shall this, make Slavery's hateful ill,
Impossible to nations still!
Make harsh Subjection's brand and ban,
Impossible to Mortal Man!
CXLIV.
Defeat and shame by this shall be,Effaced from Human Destiny!
800
Be fear and fate, unrecked of things;
To all the hidden future years,
(Yet lingering 'mid the distant spheres;)
Submission foul, and Slavery fell,
Your Deed hath made impossible!
CXLV.
So glorious was the part ye played,Your high Resistance so hath laid,
Sublime Necessity on all,
Not to submit, and not to fall;
Lo!—after your high Deed sublime,
To yield—were doubly shame and crime,
To yield—to fall,—were doubly shame,—
While shines that Deed to deathless fame!
Thus made it,—Slavery's brand and ban,
Impossible!—to Living Man!
CXLVI.
Now first, take Failure to thy soul,Great Conqueror!—own her dread controul;—
For gathering round thee, day by day,
Shall creep the encroachments of Dismay;
Thou hast unsaid Thyself!—and made,
A Falsehood, all thy Fame betrayed;
Rein back thy thoughts, and let them know,
The presence of subduing woe!
Would'st make—while nought thy pride may check
A stepping-stone of every wreck?
CXLVII.
Let Ruin teach thee, truths and things,More worthy of a Spirit's wings;
801
Vast, strong, and durable, and bright;—
Thus learn a lesson deep, at last,
From thy dark Present, and thy Past!—
CXLVIII.
Controul and check thy thoughts of flame,Think what a glory 'twere,—to tame!
Think,—think, what Victory vast and new,
Yet thus is left thee, to pursue;—
Go!—strike but there!—but strive for this!—
Thou canst not fail,—and canst not miss;
CXLIX.
And did that Conqueror weep of yore,For victories fresh—and triumphs more,—
That Conqueror who, since thou wert not,
Atchieved a high and glorious lot?
Did Alexander weep in vain,
For other worlds, to own his reign?
Yet never glanced within, to see,
Worlds lengthening to Infinity!—
CL.
And thou, too!—shalt thou,—canst thou, thus,Be blind to truth so luminous?
Like Flying Suns, thy thoughts rushed on,
As more than space were to be won!
802
To seek abroad, those triumphs new;—
Nor ever turned again, to come,
And look for these—and find—at home!
CLI.
Oh!—what a Conqueror might'st thou be,What Empires might be bowed by thee,
Such Empires dread, of thought and mind,—
As leave Earth's pettier realms, behind,
If thou would'st but sublimely learn,
The Nothing thou hast lost,—to spurn!
CLII.
Fight that Great Field!—and nobly strive,Fresh wreaths hath Glory yet to give,
Far brighter wreaths than ever yet,
Around thy haughty brow were set,
Haste!—arm ye for that mightiest Field,
And heavenly-tempered weapons wield;
CLIII.
Thy powers, lead forth, to win,—to gain,—And range them, on that boundless plain;
Thou hast taught many a Host to bow—
Subdue the Great Napoleon now!
Let this, be still reserved for thee—
And then thy name is—Victory!—
803
CLIV.
Astonish Earth, indeed, with this,And let thy prize at last be—bliss!
For never hath the purple sway,
On thee, bestowed a cloudless day!
Thy mind still preyed on farther hope—
And asked yet ampler range and scope;—
CLV.
That ampler scope and range be thine!And triumphs, endless and divine;
Be all thy widest wish fulfilled,
Till thy great heart is soothed and stilled!
CLVI.
Thy widest, farthest wish shall be,Fulfilled—if Virtue teach it thee!
If she may prompt it, and suggest,
To thy schooled thought, and chastened breast
Then,—thou shalt wonder at thy past,
And learn what Greatness is,—at last;
CLVII.
And wilt thou shrink, from such a field?Leave that unfoughten still—and yield?
Then other Powers, shall come and gain
That Victory, thou could'st so disdain;
Tremendous Powers of Wrath and Pain!
804
But teach thee, all the Worst of Woe;
CLVIII.
The Earth-bound and the stubborn mind,They yet shall wound—and yet shall grind;—
They come, in many a dreadful shape,
Their victim ne'er must hope escape!
They come, together leagued,—and Lo!
With these, thy writhing soul must go!
Their wrenching grasp,—their crushing hold,
Hath pierced thy heart's most hidden fold.
CLIX.
Then pause!—Then change!—yet act the part,—Heaven's self is whispering to thy heart;
Conqueror!—thou never yet hast known,
What Conquest is!—Now learn thine own!
CLX.
So far were this, beyond all pride,Of past atchievements, dread and wide;
That these should seem to melt away,
Like Dawn's young tints, in full-blown Day;
Till thou should'st doubt, what thou hadst done,
And scorn all victories—save that one;
Aye, doubt what thou hadst deigned to do,
And ask if aught but that were true;
805
CLXI.
Begin!—and breathe not,—pause not, now,Till these fresh laurels shade thy brow;
Till this high conquest is complete,
And Past and Future at thy feet;
CLXII.
None other now, is worthy thee,So flushed with many a Victory!
To such a Conqueror,—crowned,—Heaven-taught!—
Should seem the past Napoleon,—nought!
And what should in the Future dare,
With thee,—self-vanquished,—to compare?
CLXIII.
And hast thou, felt not this, at length,Through such fierce trial of thy strength?
Hast thou not deeply felt and known,
What all hath taught thee—all hath shewn?
CLXIV.
Stern thoughts in dark processions led,Have much thy mind admonished;
And even those thoughts of thine, shall cry,
“Fulfil a nobler Destiny!”
Napoleon!—Past Renown shall bow;—
Surpass,—Surpass,—Napoleon, now!—
806
The loftiest Victory, man e'er won!
CLXV.
True!—thou could'st pause not on thy path,Of ravage, fury, and of wrath,
Till worlds were won or lost—Away!—
A nobler triumph tempts to-day;—
A boundless World, indeed, awaits
To finish,—and fulfil thy fates!
CLXVI.
Let but that world be now,—even now,Thyself—Tremendous Spirit! Thou!—
Who still must teach, to bend and bow;
Win, win, thyself at last—then know
What Triumph's truth, may be below!
Even teach thyself to droop and bend,
That thou may'st o'er thyself ascend,
Through noblest hopes—and dreams sublime,
That mock at earth, and fate and time;
CLXVII.
Or thou, remaining in thy wrong,Shalt learn a dreadful lore, ere long;
Learn Thou may'st bowed and blasted be,
By the cold crush of Destiny!
And feel thou'rt shadowed, and o'erborne,
By thine own deep and dread, self-scorn;
807
CLXVIII.
Yes!—while pride still shall tower the same,Though near her, frown the withering shame,
Ambition, too, though reft of aim,
Shall urge thee still to hurry on,
(Though Fame,—though Hope herself be gone;
And that Ambition seems to be,
In thy changed eyes, couched, cleared, and free,
Even like a wandering, pallid light—
Deprived of all her noblest might!)
Thou thus shalt learn the deadly lore,
That wrings the bosom's quivering core;
Learn Thought by Thought,—dethroned,—uncrowned—
That—wanting to Thyself thou'rt found!
That wanting to thyself, of yore,
Thou wert,—and shalt be evermore;
CLXIX.
For still thy deep and solemn trust,Was placed on things of earth and dust;
On all, that was Without, was placed
That Hope,—which nought within, embraced,
No self-reliance,—proud and fair,
No native confidence was there,
No calm of an assured controul,
No independence of the soul;
808
CLXX.
'Tis this, thou yet, shalt feel and find,And curse thine own Unequal Mind;
For thou believed'st thyself to be,
A Monarch over Destiny!
This Soul-dethronement—dread and deep,—
Shall every known despair, o'ersweep;
CLXXI.
This Spirit-wreck—this inner fall,Shall prove the bitterest doom of all!
This slow Uncrowning of the Mind,
Far most shall grieve, and most shall grind,
And leave all other pangs behind;
CLXXII.
For Thought by Thought, uncrowned shall be,That revelled once in Sovereignty;
Or seemed at least, in dauntless pride,
To monarchize, afar and wide;
Those Thoughts must be deposed, at last,
From Thrones,—as shadowy, even, as vast!
CLXXIII.
Thy Soul, still leaned her whole dread weight,On outward Circumstance, and Fate!
She built no towering trust apart,
Enslaved by thy ambitious heart;
809
In drear subjection, she remained;
Weak, wanting there, that soul was found,
That fain would seize on all around!
CLXXIV.
Still wanting, to Thyself, wert Thou,Who raged for Empire, then and now!
Who maddening after conquest, flew,
From triumphs real, and glories true!
Who made thy purpose, aim, and end,
On outward things, alone depend;
And bade Earth's fleeting splendours be,
Thy Nature's great necessity;
CLXXV.
Aye!—wanting to thyself, indeed,Since Earth's poor nothings were—Thy need!
Since these frail vanities were still,
The despots of thy daring will!
CLXXVI.
The Outward was thine Element!—Thy Fate hung on each light event,
Which 'chance, might cross, thy foiled intent;
The Actual, marred thee still, or made,
Thy substance, was Opinion's shade;
The breath of Others, all thy life,
This fanned thy living Soul to strife!
Mind's fixed sufficiencies, supreme,
Ne'er entered on thy narrowed dream!
810
CLXXVII.
These things, thou yet, shalt feel, shalt know,Shalt learn this First, and Last, of Woe,
Yes!—learn too bitterly, to be,
While all shall mock, and madden thee,
While doubts grow more—and powers are less—
Napoleon still,—and Nothingness!
Thou,—that with fire of rage exclaimed,
Of dark defeat's least thought ashamed;—
“Let me be yet the Same—the One!
Napoleon still!—or Nought,—and,—None!”—
Napoleon still, or Nothing?—think!
Lest Both thou thus, should'st prove,—and shrink!
CLXXVIII.
Lest thou should'st yet, though fierce—though proud—As ere the storm had touched, or bowed,
Know this harsh truth too well, at last,
That all was Falsehood in thy Past;
That all thy Greatness was alone,
The Sway—the Purple—and the Throne,
Yet would'st thou to thyself confess,
This thought of wormwood-bitterness?
Confess that these so much could be,
Thy Life and Soul—thy Trust,—and Thee!
CLXXIX.
Were these things then, Napoleon?—Say:The Throne—The Sceptre—and the Sway?
811
That fade like fleeting meteors' beams?
The least, last part,—that still must be,
Of all true deathless majesty!
CLXXX.
Thy greatness, was indeed the power,The vain, brief empire, of an hour;
The strength—the state—the flushed success,
The acquired Dominion's lordliness,
The heart of ice,—the iron hand,
The myriads, trained to thy command;
With high and soaring Genius true!—
That lent its mighty magic, too;
CLXXXI.
The pride of Genius, true!—but still,Wronged Genius!—wrenched and warped to Ill,
Forgetful of its mission high,
Its duties, and its dignity;
Its Charge!—Earth's good, and happiness,—
Its grand prerogative,—to Bless!
CLXXXII.
The strength of Intellect, indeed,That sprang to triumph, and exceed!
But Intellect—most like a Sun,
(A lone, and vain, and useless one!)
Created, ere an Earth was made,
To bloom, with its proud light arrayed!
812
CLXXXIII.
Ere worlds were sphered, to roll around,And share its splendours,—without bound;
And bless its warmth—and drink its beams,
And glass it, in their thousand streams;
CLXXXIV.
'Twas thus, thine Intellect of might,Poured,—vainly poured, its awful Light;
Its glorious brightness, threw away,
And flashed around, a fruitless Day!
CLXXXV.
Its splendours wasting,—and in vain,Exulting in its dazzling reign,
It shone,—unwelcomed and unblessed,
Nor brightened even, thine own dark breast!
No influences of hallowed kind
It lavished,—in the Void enshrined;
CLXXXVI.
And yet, the worlds were made—were formed,Which this, should still have lit and warmed!
Those circling, living worlds, were made,
Which this, should have with Light arrayed;
Have cloathed with splendour—dowered with strength—
And blessed with happier life at length,
With brightness filled,—and flushed with bliss,
And could it shrink from task like this?
813
CLXXXVII.
But all its rays were self-ward turned,For self, its fires all flashed and burned;
Denying its vocation high,
It wronged its glorious ministery;
CLXXXVIII.
Alas!—if thus it failed to light,'Twas prompt, to ruin and to blight;
Those fires still scathed, and scorched, and seared,
By all around, abhorred and feared;
CLXXXIX.
And ashes, these shall leave alone,Poor trophies of a Pride undone!
Itself,—its triumphs scarce enjoyed,
And all around it,—but destroyed!
CXC.
And then, at last it shrank—it waned,Till scarce one glimmering spark remained,
And few recalled—how it had reigned!
And thus, whate'er thou wert and art,
Must prove a shadowy thing apart;
CXCI.
And thou may'st still thy pride retain,—Still burn to conquer, and to reign!
Still keep thy dark, imperious mood,
Withstanding,—as thou hast withstood!
814
And thunder down, thine endless fall;
As fiery, and as reckless e'en,
As when thou ruled the boundless scene,
As haughty and as restless still,
As when thou wrought'st thy tyrannous will;
CXCII.
Still keep the same imperial air,And dash thee 'gainst the strong despair,—
And yet, in sooth, but lay slight claim,
To true Renown, and virtuous Fame!
CXCIII.
And thus,—yet, higher things untaught,Shew Earth and Heaven,—thou'rt very nought;
Since vain was evermore thine aim,—
A dream thy power—a breath thy fame!
Wild Passions governed thee, and swayed,
And blindly thou, their voice obeyed;
Thou still might'st seem the monarch then!—
Yet be the very mock of men;—
And still thyself—still thus, may'st be,
The shadow but of Vanity;
Alas!—still,—still, the One!—the Same!
Prove but the sounding of a name;
CXCIV.
And this thy fate!—and this thy doom!—Of awful and mysterious gloom,—
815
With blood, and wrong, and shame defiled;
To be—'mid boundless grief's excess—
Napoleon still—and Nothingness!
CXCV.
But yet reserved for thee, appearsThe task, to light all future years;
If thou wilt learn not Wisdom's part,
Her teacher 'gainst thy will thou art;
And others win from thee, her lore,
That costly and unfading store;
From thee, her loftiest truths they learn,
Still uttered—from thy funeral urn!
From thy despair—and from thy dust,
They glean these treasures of their trust!
CXCVI.
And those, whom thy imperious hate,Would leave, o'erthrown and desolate;
Those patriots—that with hands of fire,
Wrung the bold heart, that braved their ire,
They, guarding well their rugged Land,
More with their bosom, than the brand,
But reaped from the outrage, planned and schemed,
A Good, thy mind, full little dreamed,
Those noble and exalted foes,
Thou gav'st them more, than thou could'st lose!
816
That might have slept,—till touched and tried;
A knowledge calm, and strong, and bright,
That Heavenly power shall guard the right;
All trust in Him, who reigns above,
On Earth all zeal, and truth, and love;
And Russia rose, a nobler Land,
At touch of thy transforming brand!
Her sons looked down on thee, and shook,
Thy soul with that stern, scornful look;
They well may pity one, so bowed—
Pity!—last insult to the Proud!
Thy dream was hopeless all, and vain,
To bend them to thy will, and chain!
CXCVII.
They could not fall!—for Faith must stand—Heaven's blessing, cheered that noblest band!
They could not fail!—for Zeal must win—,
And doubt were fate—and fear were sin!
They strove, as Truth and Virtue strive,
They could not die!—for Love must live!
And this, the generous Patriots found—
Who saved their Land's own hallowed ground!
CXCVIII.
Still with them—and for ever fight,All feelings of the loftiest might;
817
Till they surpass themselves at length,
And new, bright glorious Wonders seem,
Which Fancy scarce, ere this might dream;
CXCIX.
All lofty feelings with them fought,And miracles of conquest wrought;
All powers of Heart, and Soul, and Mind,
That left mere earthly strength behind!
That brought to that imposing strife,
Their deep o'erflowing flood of Life;—
An Armament of Gods, that seemed,
While Victory round them, flashed and streamed,
Immortal and supreme allies,
That seemed descended from the skies;
Battalia of the Holiest sent
To work on Earth his dread intent!
So glorified, they shone!—such light,
They shed around, so strong, so bright;
Who marvels they, the Victory gained,
And triumphed, and rejoiced, and reigned!
CC.
And thou the while, in thy despite,Wert made a teacher of the right!
And thou that shunn'st fair Wisdom's way,
Lead'st others, to adore her sway;
No, never was such teacher yet—
Since first her lights in Heaven were set!
818
CCI.
Thou preachest,—with thy thunder tone,Her precepts,—made more clearly known,
Thy hurricanes grow tongues to tell—
True life but dwells, in her calm well;
That but in her sweet paths may be,
The fulness of Felicity!
CCII.
Thy soul's dark fire,—(thy pain and curse!—)Burnt this into the Universe!—
And thou hast written with the sword,
Her warnings, and her deathless word!
CCIII.
And Human Nature even shall be,A new and nobler thing, through thee,
A nobler thing It yet shall prove,
And upwards mount, and onwards move;
Those lessons, Wisdom preached in vain,
Have branded been, on heart and brain;
CCIV.
Earth would not listen, would not look,She turned from voice, and sign, and book;
The starred Philosophy might plead,
She would not hearken,—would not heed;
819
Died on the marble of her breast!
CCV.
And yet, that lesson must be learned,Which long she mocked,—and late she spurned,
That which was told, and taught,—in vain,
The world's crushed heart, shall long retain!
In vain 'twas preached and proved,—but now,
'Tis graved and ground, through breast and brow;
Ploughed—scored—and stamped, into her core,
It there shall live for evermore;
Earth never shall forget, what so,
She learns in sore dismay and woe!
On thy bowed, blasted Soul, too!—there,
She read dark warnings of despair!
CCVI.
The world's great heart, was crushed and jarred,With death-wounds deep, of sufferance scarred!
But many a noble fountain gushed,
From that strong heart, so bruised and crushed;
CCVII.
That, first was pierced,—'twas tortured first,Then Thine, with awful anguish, burst;
Even Thine,—who wert the Author still,
Of her worst grief, and deadliest Ill!
820
CCVIII.
She looked at her own heart,—and thine,And marked stern trace, and ghastly sign;
From thine,—to her own heart she turned,
And straight, her whole dread lesson learned!
CCIX.
If Earth was deaf and dull before,She now shall hear and heed, the more;
If she, seemed slumbering through the Past,
She shall but wake the more, at last;
CCX.
She feels such crimson Fame as thine,Must darkening droop, with swift decline;
She owns those things, are void and vain,
Which most could charm her,—most could chain;
She feels that she, too much and long,
Hath praised and hailed, Her Proud and Strong;
And blushes at the memories stern,
Which fast upon her Thought return;
CCXI.
She feels she loved to laud and bless,The murderers of Her Happiness;
Loved still, all honours to accord,
All homage,—to the Conqueror's sword;
And shall she not, with contrite tears,
Raze the red records of those years?
821
And expiate, centuries of Mistake!
CCXII.
Let Genius,—Virtue,—Truth,—arise,For Earth shall learn at length, to prize!
Let these, their mighty fronts uprear,
No blood-stained laurels, there, appear;
Now let them take their own high place,
All earth to gladden, and to grace;
Successors to that Phantom pale,
Driven down, her own fierce, sulphurous gale!
False Glory!—that could breathe and bring,
Such wrong—such wreck,—foul, fatal thing;
Deposed,—dishonoured,—and disgraced,
She flies a world, her touch defaced;
CCXIII.
The Desert, she hath left behind,Shall brightening, blush, with flowers of mind;
And blossom, like the Rose, with hope,
That never more shall fade and droop:
Arise!—thou Soul of Truth and Love,—
'Tis thou, should'st rear thy front above!
While gory Conquest shrinks away,
And deigns to leave the sons of clay,
The light of Heaven,—a cloudless Day!
822
CCXIV.
Arise, then!—Justice,—Virtue,—Peace,—May your pure reign, ne'er change or cease;
The immortal lesson hath been taught,
To heart and soul, and sense and thought;
CCXV.
Shall ever Man, be found so mad,As in thy paths of flame to tread?
Thou Evil Genius of our world,
That withered,—in Thy Shadow furled;
Shall ever Earth endure again,
The forging of such fatal chain?
CCXVI.
Thanksgivings be to him who sent,This message so magnificent;—
“Pride heaves Her mountains, to the skies,
That Good, by giant steps, may rise!
Hate, points her threatening towers above,
And there alights, the Watcher,—Love;
Still Evil laboureth, day and night,
To sow but seeds of Life and Light!”
CCXVII.
The man of evil ways and mood,Shall stand not—and hath never stood;—
823
In wild audacity of wrath!
Then, yet with rage of rapture flushed,
Falls—falls—beneath their ruins crushed;—
While they, shall yet from ruins rise,
But linked, with nobler harmonies!
CCXVIII.
Even from Thy Thunders, to rejoice,All Earth,—came forth, that still, small voice,—
The Voice of Wisdom, Truth, and Love,
That Voice, which calls the soul above:
Those roaring thunders died away,
But Lo!—the still, small voice shall stay;
CCXIX.
The whirlwinds cease, the blessed word,The whisper,—is distinctly heard;
And that shall stay—and that shall last—
While sinks and droops, the deafening blast!
When all the fearful sounds are hushed—
That still survives—nor can be crushed!
CCXX.
Earth!—Learn thine awful lesson well,And this to all thine Ages tell,
To all thy generations new,
Tell out this lesson, deep and true,
824
CCXXI.
'Twas traced with gall,—'twas graved with steel,'Twas roared through storm, and thunder-peal,
'Twas scored in blood—and stamped in flame—
And deeper ploughed, in dearth and shame;
'Twas blasted through an Earthquake-breath,—
'Twas scrolled on doom,—and sealed with death:
But yet, shall this shine forth sublime,—
And bless thee to remotest time!
Remotest Time?—its treasures be,
Designed for all Eternity;
CCXXII.
Pale Victory, hides her haughty head,Where twine her bloody garlands red,
She cowers, 'midst mountains of the slain,
Ashamed of Slaughter's ghastly stain;
She names herself in this distress—
A Monster and a Murderess!
CCXXIII.
The first time this, she e'er perceived,How foul a web, her labour weaved,—
The first time this, herself hath seen,
The darkness of her funeral mien;—
And Eagle Fame hath stooped to-day,
Forgetful of the flashing ray;—
Stooped down, from haughty place on high,
Pierced,—at the threshold of the sky!
825
CCXXIV.
Aye!—like a thunder-stricken thing,It plumes no more, its rushing wing!
Ambition gazeth on her gain,
'Tis ashes—ashes,—void and vain!
And Pride,—o'ertaken with dismay,
Hath owned itself, but dust and clay!
CCXXV.
A mighty change hath sternly come,To reign with strong, and fatal gloom;
For thee hath come,—fierce child of wrath!
To darken all thy dreadful path;
That Change, which like a boundless Cloud,
Doth all embrace—doth all enshroud,
Shall shadow every thought of thine,
Nor bid one star of promise shine;
Thus all, shall be the gloom of night,
Without one star, to touch with light!
CCXXVI.
A murderous change!—and thou must bear,This tyranny of fresh Despair;
Feel melting from thy grasping hold,
That Earth,—thy plaything even, of old!
And see a Universe around,
Not to thy mortal footstool bound;
826
CCXXVII.
Go!—seek thy narrow Dungeon-Isle,And learn thine own dark heart the while!
Go!—climb its rocks—and tread its sands,
Stretch forth thy sceptre-emptied hands,
And feel how well, the free, fresh air,
Can mock thy monarchizing there!
Can foil their grasp of power and pride,
And be, as ever,—free and wide!
CCXXVIII.
Still thankful feel, those hands no more,Can bear fresh stains of steaming gore;
Mankind may pause, from strife and pain,
To 'plenish Nature's withering vein,
Which thou, in sooth, didst all but drain!
And brace with strength,—which hope supplies,
Their long-exhausted energies;
CCXXIX.
Gaze well, on proud Creation,—free,From aught of thine,—from all of thee!
Sphere round thine angry eyes, and own,
'Tis fairer than thy thundering throne;
'Twere sad to mar (at last confess!)
Such harmony and happiness;
Cry loud, “The Man, no more enchains!—
The Maker-Monarch, smiles and reigns.”
827
CCXXX.
And Lo!—Behold!—what trace is left,Of all, that thou hast seized and reft?
What sign of that dominion dread,
Which seemed so boundlessly to spread?
Whate'er on Man's scarred heart may be,
Nor Earth,—nor Heaven,—keep trace of thee!
CCXXXI.
And yet what shadows, vast and deep,Far round thy steps, were wont to sweep,
What gloom, what dreariment, and wrath,
Frowned, lowering o'er thine earthquake path;
Gaze round thee!—gaze with long deep look,
On this broad page of Nature's book;
From Shore to Sea!—from Sea to Sky,
Now turn thy charmed and wondering eye;
CCXXXII.
Thou never dreamed'st how bright a world,Thy phrenzy once, in darkness furled!
Thou knew'st not—till imprisoned there,
Even in that Isle,—so bleak and bare—
Thy grasp, was on a globe so fair!
(For Beauty dwells in every form,
Which Nature wears,—in calm or storm;)
Thou never dreamed'st, that grasp of thine,
Was laid on treasures so divine;
Nor guessed Creation had a charm,
Which might that iron grasp disarm!
828
CCXXXIII.
So loud, War thundered in thine ear,Her melodies thou scarce might hear!
So flashed its dazzling pomps round thee,
Her loveliness thou scarce could'st see;
Nor hadst thou time, nor wish to view,
Her wonders—that are witcheries too!
NOW gaze on Heaven and Earth, and own,
They far surpass, thy costliest crown!
CCXXXIV.
Gaze round on Heaven, and Earth, and Sea,Magnificently strong, and free!
And hail thy loss—and bless thy fall—
That spared Man, too, from yoke and thrall!
CCXXXV.
Admire Eternal Nature's mien,Though wild and savage, be the scene,
For glory still—and deathless grace,
Must light all features of her face;
The glory of that breath divine—
Which bade her be—and blush, and shine!
CCXXXVI.
The sea around thee seems to rave,As this, too, feared to be thy slave!
829
Against thy tempest-battled soul!
There sweeps the sea, that girds thee round,
With restlessness, that hath no bound!
CCXXXVII.
The sea of soul rolls dark and wild,—For all her waters are defiled;
Still darker, wilder, seems to roll
The self-distracting Sea of Soul!
Her world of waves, no rest may know—
'Tis storm above—and storm below,—
By fierce Ambition, lashed to strife,—
Leviathan of all thy life!
Since that, seems maddened by Remorse,
And Failure—but to deadlier force;
CCXXXVIII.
That Soul is more, than thou canst bear,—So heavy grown, with new Despair!
And what shall teach thy sovereign will,
To pause,—to suffer,—and be still?
And how canst thou, endure the weight,
Of such a Mind—and such a Fate?
CCXXXIX.
How brook that crushing load,—'twere vain,To seek to heave from breast and brain?
How brave the strange and mingling gloom,
Of thy dark thoughts—and darkest doom?
830
Of such a Soul—and such Despair?
CCXL.
What giant wrecks, around thee frown,Of schemes and hopes—once all thine own;
Like Skeletons of Worlds—that lie,
Exposed in crushed enormity;
Still in their ashes warm!—as they,
Might never wholly pass away;—
Thy children!—can they turn to clay?
Impregnated with thy grand thought,
And half by thee, to Being wrought?
CCXLI.
No!—No!—they cannot wholly die—Yet this, were happier destiny;
Those Dreams,—like wrecked Creations, changed,
From light,—from harmony estranged,—
Must they on thine own soul fall back,
And leave all Ruin in their track?
Must they, even there, sink back, and lo!
Scorch, scathe, and crush it as they go?
CCXLII.
That Soul is more, than thou canst bear,Weighed down with her Colossal Care,
Each memory, is a mountain laid,
Upon her struggling strength, o'erweighed;
Each feeling, hath the force of fate
To grasp and grind thee, long and late;
831
CCXLIII.
That soul so vast, thou canst not bear,So vast!—with as immense Despair!
'Tis more than thou canst brook or brave,
Yet mocking Fate, denies a grave!
CXLIV.
No gleam of haughty hope shall stay,The Illusion fast, shall fade away;
The Illusion, thou would'st worship still,
To mould the world unto thy will;
Like Lion roused, it spurns thy chain,
And shakes thy hand from off its mane;
CCXLV.
And thou, the First, the Last, shall seem,Divorced from that Ambition's dream!
For thou,—the branded and accursed,
Still deemed'st thyself the Chief—the First;
Yea!—First thou might'st thyself believe,
And thus but bitterly deceive;
Thou little dreamed'st how low can be,
The heart,—a Slave to Destiny!
Thou little knew'st the ignoble state,
Of minds,—that are the sport of Fate;
CCXLVI.
Thou little know'st how weak thou art,That bearest that bound,—that fettered heart!
832
Are they, whom the inner chains can bind,
Chains of that thralled, dependent Mind!
Thou dreamed'st not all the ruin wrought,
By rebel wish,—yet abject thought!
When those who fain would rule o'er all,
Yet fear a breath, may work their fall;
A change,—a chance,—may yet o'ercome,
And give them to a hopeless doom;
While smiles within, no refuge fair,
Nor hold,—nor shelter,—from Despair;
CCXLVII.
Is Power then thine?—No!—Thou art Power's!—She ruffles all thy restless hours!
And Hers thou must be,—Hers thou art,
Her sceptered hand is on thy heart;
Dost Thou claim Empire's sway?—Ah! no!—
'Tis Empire thralls, and rules thee so;
No choice of thine is free,—no will,
Thou'rt Fortune's veriest minion still;
'Tis Hers to sentence, and to sway,
'Tis thine to tremble,—and obey!
CCXLVIII.
But yet thy proud and daring mind,These harsh and heavy truths shall find;
Thy ruined soul, shall surely feel
That dread conviction,—sharp as steel;
When Empire ebbs, and Fortune fails,
And Vengeance, triumphing, assails;
833
With proud Success, and purple Sway;
And Glory's thunders, cease to roll,
And thou hast left thee, but—that Soul!
CCXLIX.
And what a Desert!—what a Waste!—Where all seems darkened,—all displaced!—
Where aims confused, and wills perplexed,
Are mixed with passions, torn and vexed;
And every element is tossed,
Into a chaos—worse than lost!
While there, dread thoughts, stretched wide and far,
Like half-creations,—chafe and jar;
Thoughts,—that if wisely ruled, should be,
The seeds of Worlds,—all harmony;
The seeds and springs, of worlds supreme,
The Real, deepening from each dream;
Still growing more and more sublime,
Beyond the petty reign of time;
CCL.
Sink back into thy Soul, and know,How little all is there,—and low!
Since what may wear so mean a guise,
As that which can,—but will not rise!
What bear so foul and dire a stain
As that, which might—and dare not reign!
Or what so abject, shall be found
As that Immense,—which seeks a bound?
834
It seems the lowest, least, and last!
CCLI.
'Twere shame, the Boundlessness of Space,Should clasp but motes in its embrace!
No mighty Worlds—no Globes immense,
To crown it with magnificence;
No Systems proud—no glorious Spheres,
To light it through eternal years;—
But all that seems most vain, most vile,
To mock, and wrong it, and defile;
'Twere shame, indeed, if thus could be,
Made void, its dread Immensity!
Its wond'rous, and o'erwhelming scene,
Thus fraught, but with the base and mean!
CCLII.
An Universe,—with nought of grand,Within its large circumference planned!
With nought of excellent and great,
To swell its pride of fruitless state;
An Infinite,—of petty things!—
Where no transcendant triumph springs;
No marshalled Orbs,—no Thrones of might—
No Galaxies—that stream with light,—
No thronged Creations,—broad and fair,
No Majesties of Mystery there;
Nor stars—nor earths—nor pomps august,
Of countless Suns!—nought—nought but dust!
835
Oh!—mockery of the mighty Fame!
The outstretching thought,—the glorious mind,—
'Tis but with veriest shadows lined;
The unmeasured,—the profound, and vast,
Is but a wilderness—a waste!
CCLIII.
And boundless is that soul, in vain,If but the trivial, it contain!
In vain, that Soul,—spreads, wide as Space,
If but the worthless it embrace;
Yes!—all is little there, and low,
Where Vastness, proves but empty show,
No meaning deep, no method high,
To suit its sovereign dignity;
While Darkness shrouds, with shadowing wings,
That Boundlessness,—of trivial things!
All—all—is low and little there,
Where nought its own vast scope, would share,
Where nought, with answering worth, would fill,
'Tis vain—'tis but a vacuum still!
CCLIV.
And this, can but arouse our scorn,Thus weak and poor, thus lost and lorn!
This Soul,—with nought of Grand, endued,
Throughout Her Grand Infinitude!
Despite those dreams, that seemed so proud,
Till adverse fortunes, checked and bowed;
836
Till withered, by the blast of Fate;
Oh!—boundless is that Soul in vain,
If but the futile, it coutain;
CCLV.
Yet this, is all that shall be left,To thee,—unutterably bereft;
That soul, must be thine only sphere,—
The only Empire left thee here!
CCLVI.
While thus for thee—no power—no sway,—May there re-light thy darkened day!
No bright dominion there, shall bless,
With vast and growing happiness,
(Hast thou not blackened all within,
With fierce impiety and Sin?)
CCLVII.
No kingdoms of the Spirit Land,Shall, smiling, start at thy command;
But thoughts,—thy torturing tyrants still,
Shall madden thee, with endless Ill;
Thy Tyrants all, and Sovereigns these,
Shall leave nor rest, nor peace, nor ease;
And thine, shall thus be no controul,
Even in thine own unbounded Soul
837
CCLVIII.
Those thoughts, all turned to torments so,Shall waste thee, with a storm of woe;
And like a weight of Worlds, shall lie,
On thy crushed Spirit's agony;
Each asks an Empire,—and in vain,—
They rage for power,—they reap but pain;
CCLIX.
Yet, what a sphere,—and what a scene,That glorious Spirit, might have been!
Oh!—what a sun-enlightened space,
Where more than Worlds, should run their race!
Tremendous Being!—still arise!—
Still give that Spirit to the skies!
CCLX.
Up!—disappoint the Fiends that wait,To stamp thee, with Eternal Fate!
The Mountain of thy Mind hath gone,
Before thee!—Follow!—follow on!
Unknowing where 'twould reach, or tend,
It soared and spread, with all to blend;
Without a bright and settled aim,
It reared its dread Titanic Frame;
It heaved its awful pride on high,
Yet but to clash with yonder sky!
Faith!—Love,—must spread their hallowed wings,
To reach the hidden, heavenly springs.
838
CCLXI.
The Mountain Thoughts—the Mighty Dreams,Half way might meet, the Day's young beams,
Yet but conspicuously, to fail,
Nor pierce the deep eternal veil:
Haste!—let the heart,—love-touched, even now,
Its mightier powers and strength, but shew,
And 't will surpass them, as it flies,
'Twill smile upon them,—from the skies!
CCLXII.
Should that, remain still at the base,Of Heights of Thought, which towered through space?
Should that be thus content to stay,
(While worlds smile round it!—) in the clay?
And dwell,—from countless triumphs thrust,
In their great Shadow,—in the dust?
CCLXIII.
Mind,—Genius,—Thought,—have soared in pride,Now send the Spirit far and wide;
The Eternal Spirit—that shall stay—
When all besides is passed away;
That yet must last—that yet shall live,
And all resign—or all receive!
CCLXIV.
Let now the heart of faith and love,Straight, bear thee far, all heights above;
839
That fevered through thy restless brain,
And waken to the wider sense,
Of all the Exalted and Immense;
The might of even Thy Name of old,
Must fade, in what shall now unfold.
Let Faith the Meek, and Love the True,
Make all thy stormy nature, new!
CCLXV.
The dust—the worm—demand aloud,—Their part and portion, in the Proud;
Deny them, and defy them, now,
Wake yet the World's new wonder, Thou!
So long that hath her wonder been,
Trampler and Thunderer of the Scene;
And all the pride of thy past state,
Shall fade, in what thou may'st create!
Go learn to make thy fate,—and fall,
Sublimest of thy fortunes all!
CCLXVI.
Thou'st governed Earth, with strife and wrath,Loud thundering, o'er her shadowed path;
More glorious government be thine,
Even in thy wane, and thy decline;
She yet may hail thee, with remorse,
Of Admiration's mightiest force;
840
As yet, may deepening turn,—to Love!
CCLXVII.
If thou would'st wisely gain and win,Thy triumphs now, may well begin;
And let that loftiest triumph's light,
Make all the past, like gloom and night;—
Shine to thyself!—and be a Sun;—
A Sun indeed—a matchless One!
CCLXVIII.
Put on thee, all thy noblest strength,Now live, thy whole vast life, at length;
Come, towering to thine own great height,
Rise regally to thy true might;
Thy greatest self, at length display,
And blaze into thy perfect day,
Smile back Defeat—appal Dismay!
Thou'st yet but known the least, last part,
Of glorious mind,—and awful heart;
Teach Suffering all thine own deep will,
And let thy soul, be Sovereign still!
CCLXIX.
The Sovereign of those Kings of Earth,Who with her might and strength, make mirth;—
(All realms of Powers, that haughtiest are,
Their dread dominion passes far;)
841
And Pain, and Wrong, and Bitterness;
CCLXX.
Be Lord above these fearful Lords,And pierce them with thy thoughts, like swords,
So let them tremble—let them prove,
Whate'er thou will'st—and melt and move!—
Reign!—Reign!—and stretch thy wond'rous power,
Beyond the petty day and hour;
CCLXXI.
Let the pale Anguish, paler grow,When she would dare, to work thy woe,
Let the wild Terror, cower and fly
From thy august audacity!
Let Shame, that fain would bend thy head,
Blush, deep,—blush glowing, rosy red;
And let thine iron Destiny,
Be tempered,—and be taught by thee;
CCLXXII.
Take thy vast Fate within thine hand,And bend it to thy great command!
And mould,—and make it, to thy mind,
And with thine own strong fetters bind;
Uprear the uncrowned,—the soul-crowned brow,
Shew Earth, her new Napoleon,—now!
Yes!—rule in abdicating more,
Than ever thou hast ruled before!
842
CCLXXIII.
Thus,—rise in falling!—leave behind,Indeed, the world thou hast resigned!
With Admiration, breathless grown,
Till more than ever, made thine own;
(Yes, more than ever Thine,—though not
For thee, be left, one subject spot!)
Her mighty heart, to thee subdued,
In that admiring servitude;
CCLXXIV.
Let Conquest—fierce as comet wild,Be turned to glory, firm and mild;
Now put on Laurels—pale Defeat,—
For once, let Victory, kiss thy feet!
His soul hath lent such light to thee,
As fires thee, but too dazzlingly;
His soul,—that never dreamed before,
What semblance, mild Submission wore;
CCLXXV.
Vain thought!—the Conqueror falls, to shew,Man's greatness, is a dream below!
That meek Humility alone,
Can reach the threshold of the throne;
He falls, for ever falling on,—
Yet more and more disgraced—undone!
843
CCLXXVI.
Since when the soul falls once, then,—then,It falls again,—and yet again;
No lowest and no last, there is,
For her depressed immensities;
She falls,—as she would rise, in sooth,
For ever, if her trust was truth!
CCLXXVII.
And this, Earth yet shall see and know,And reap her wisdom, from his woe,
All Woe!—Yes!—still all woe was thine,
From thy wild dawn,—to thy decline;
Ambition brought to thee, no bliss,
Thou never staid'st to taste of this;—
Thou could'st not pause upon thy path,
To snatch the dark delights of wrath;
While on, and onwards, rushing fast,
Thy gain was still left—with the Past!
CCLXXVIII.
And thus, but torturing Strife was thine,From thy fierce dawn,—to thy decline,
Proud miser of Success!—who still,
But sought thy greedy hands to fill;
Nor e'er enjoyed, or used the store,
Thou would'st but hoard up,—more and more;
844
CCLXXIX.
To him, a fearful task belonged,Himself, avenged the World he wronged;
Even on Himself, avenged it well,
And, groaned with griefs, no tongue shall tell;
True!—Earth, strange things shall learn, and know,
And reap her wisdom from his woe!
While still unchanged Her Seasons move
In Harmony, that springs from Love!
CCLXXX.
While still the stars, above Her shine,To draw Her thoughts, to things divine;
Whose light, like Heaven's own life and soul,
Makes all hearts bless them, as they roll,
(We bless them—as they burn and glow,
On fire with Godhead, as they go!
Like Heavens in Heaven, they smile,—so bright,
Beams their beatitude of Light!)
CCLXXXI.
Thy lesson lives, though thou art gone,Napoleon!—lost Napoleon!—
Forgetfulness shall never fling
Round that, her cold and shadowy wing,
In human strength was all thy trust,
And thy dominion was,—the dust!
845
The worm soon claimed a wider sway!
CCLXXXII.
Of powers misused, and gifts defiled,How speaks thy proud career, and wild,
And still we pause, and pondering think,
Hast thou but soared such heights,—to sink?—
More grand results were sure, designed,
When Nature teemed, with such a Mind!
How must thou oft have crushed,—o'erthrown,—
Sublime emotions of thine own!
(Emotions, that if not suppressed,
Had brightly changed, thy stormy breast;)
CCLXXXIII.
How must thou oft, when Feelings high,Sought—with fine instinct sought,—the sky,
To mingle with its majesty,
Have done them violence abhorred,
And stunned them, with thy tempest-word;
How torn them, from thy living soul,
With strange and terrible controul;
How strangled, in their glorious birth,
Great Thoughts,—that rose like suns o'er earth!
CCLXXXIV.
Illustrious thoughts!—that yet might well,Have challenged even, The Impossible!
846
Another Light to yon bright heaven!
And what was thy dark choice and will?
To make them Ministers of Ill!
Their Transit, through the arch of Time,
Was veiled with wrong,—and stained with crime;
CLXXXV.
Would'st Thou have Uncreator been,Of this fair world's triumphant scene!
Thou didst so desolate and blight,
And cloud her loveliness and light!
Her Hopes—Her Harmonies, destroy,
And trample, her last sparks of joy!
As though Her Happiness must be,
An outrage and a scourge to thee;
(Earth praised thee, through her pale distress,
Served,—feared,—obeyed,—now let her Bless!
Yea! thus Thyself, surpass,—exceed,
None,—none, but thee, could do such deed;)
Would'st crush all worlds, to build Thy Throne?
Napoleon!—Napoleon!—
CCLXXXVI.
Would'st thou have ruined all around,And Nature's starry zone unbound?
Unmaker,—would'st thou fain have proved?—
And Earth from her foundations moved?
847
Of that vast good, Heaven saw and blessed!
The Good,—the Beauty,—and the Love,
Fresh breathed, and blessed, from Him above!
'Twas but thyself, that was undone,
Napoleon!—Napoleon!—
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