Our armies thro' the City's hundred gates
Were poured, like brooks which to the rocky lair
Of some deep lake, whose silence them awaits,
Throng from the mountains when the storms are there;
Ard, as we pass'd thro' the calm sunny air,
A thousand flower-inwoven crowns were shed,
The token flowers of truth and freedom fair,
And fairest hands bound them on many a head,
Those angels of love's heaven, that over all was spread
I trod as one tranced in some rapturous vision:
Those bloody bands so lately reconciled,
Were, ever as they went, by the contrition
Of anger turned to love from ill beguiled,
And every one on them more gently smiled,
Because they had done evil:-the sweet awe
Of such mild looks made their own hearts grow mild,
And did with soft attraction ever draw
Their spirits to the love of freedom's equal law.
And they, and all, in one loud symphony
My name with Liberty commingling, lifted,
"The friend and the preserver of the free.
The parent of this joy! and fair eyes, gifted
With feelings caught from one who had uplifted
The light of a great spirit, round me shone;
And all the shapes of this grand scenery shifted
Like restless clouds before the stedfast sun.-
Where was that Maid? I asked, but it was known of
Laone was the name her love had chosen,
For she was nameless, and her birth none knew:
Where was Laone now?-The words were frozen
Within my lips with fear; but to subdue
Such dreadful hope to my great task was due,
And, when at length one brought reply that she
To-morrow would appear, I then withdrew
To judge what need for that great throng might be,
For now the stars came thick over the twilight sea.
Yet need was none for rest or food to care,
Even tho' that multitude was passing great,
Since each one for the other did prepare
All kindly succour-Therefore to the gate
Of the Imperial House, now desolate,
I pass'd, and there was found aghast, alone,
The fallen Tyrant-Silently he sate
Upon the footstool of his golden throne,
Which, starred with sunny gems, in its own lustre shone
Alone, but for one child, who led before him
A graceful dance: the only living thing
Of all the crowd, which thither to adore him
Flocked yesterday, who solace sought to bring
In his abandonment!-She knew the King
Had praised her dance of yore, and now she wove
Its circles, aye weeping and murmuring
'Mid her sad task of unregarded love,
That to no smiles it might his speeches sadness move.
She fled to him, and wildly clasped his feet
When human steps were heard:-he moved nor spoke, Nor changed his hue, nor raised his looks to meet
The gaze of strangers.-Our loud entrance woke
The echoes of the hall, which circling broke
The calm of its recesses,-like a tomb
Its sculptured walls vacantly to the stroke
Of footfalls answered, and the twilight's gloom
Lay like a charnel's mist within the radiant dome.
The little child stood up when we came nigh;
Her lips and cheeks seemed very pale and wan,
But on her forehead and within her eye
Lay beauty, which makes hearts that feed thereon
Sick with excess of sweetness; -on the throne
She leaned. The King with gathered brow, and lips
Wreathed by long scorn, did inly sneer and frown
With hue like that when some great painter dips
His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse.
She stood beside him like a rainbow braided
Within some storm, when scarce its shadows vast
From the blue paths of the swift sun have faded,
A sweet and solemn smile, like Cythna's, cast
One moment's light, which made my heart beat fast
O'er that child's parted lips-a gleam of bliss,
A shade of vanished days.-as the tears past
Which wrapt it, even as with a father's kiss
I pressed those softest eyes in trembling tenderness.
The sceptered wretch then from that solitude
I drew, and of his change compassionate,
With words of sadness soothed his rugged mood
But he, while pride and fear held deep debate,
With sullen guile of ill-dissembled hate
Glared on me as a toothless snake might glare;
Pity, not scorn, I felt, tho' desolate
The desolator now, and unaware
The curses which he mocked had caught him by the hair.
I led him forth from that which now might seem
A gorgeous grave: thro' portals sculptured deep
With imagery beautiful as dream
We went, and left the shades which tend on sleep
Over its unregarded gold to keep
Their silent watch.-The child trod faintingly,
And, as she went, the tears which she did weep,
Glanced on the star light; wildered seemed she,
And when I spake, for sobs she could not answer me.
At last the tyrant cried, " She hungers, slave!
Stab her, or give her bread!"-It was a tone
Such as sick fancies in a new made grave
Might hear. I trembled, for the truth was known,
He with this child had thus been left alone,
And neither had gone forth for food,-but he
In mingled pride and awe cowered near his throne,
And she, a nursling of captivity.
Knew nought beyond those walls, nor what such change might be.
And he was troubled at a charm withdrawn
Thus suddenly; that sceptres ruled no more-
That even from gold the dreadful strength was gone
Which once made all things subject to its power-
Such wonder seized him, as if hour by hour
The past had come again; and the swift fall
Of one so great and terrible of yore
To desolateness, in the hearts of all
Like wonder stirred, who saw such awful change befal.
A mighty crowd, such as the wide land pours
Once in a thousand years, now gathered round
The fallen tyrant,-like the rush of showers
Of hail in spring, pattering along the ground,
Their many footsteps fell, else came no sound
From the wide multitude: that lonely man
Then knew the burthen of his change, and found,
Concealing in the dust his visage wan,
Refuge from the keen looks which thro' his bosom ran.
And he was faint withal. I sate beside him
Upon the earth, and took that child so fair
From his weak arms, that ill might none betide him
Or her: when food was brought to them, her share
To his averted lips the child did bear;
But, when she saw he had enough, she ate
And wept the while ;-the lonely man's despair
Hunger then overcame, and, of his state
Forgetful, on the dust as in a trance he sate.
Slowly the silence of the multitudes
Past, as when far is heard in some lone dell
The gathering of a wind among the woods-
And he is fallen! they cry; he who did dwell
Like famine or the plague, or aught more fell,
Among our homes, is fallen! the murderer
Who slaked his thirsting soul as from a well
Of blood and tears with ruin! He is here!
Sunk in a gulph of scorn from which none may him rear!
Then was heard-He who judged let him be brought
To judgment! Blood for blood cries from the soil
On which his crimes have deep pollution wrought!
Shall Othman only unavenged despoil?
Shall they, who by the stress of grinding toil
Wrest from the unwilling earth his luxuries,
Perish for crime, while his foul blood may boil
Or creep within his veins at will?-Arise!
And to high justice make her chosen sacrifice.
"What do ye seek? what fear ye ?" then I cried
Suddenly starting forth, "that ye should shed
The blood of Othman-if your hearts are tried
In the true love of freedom, cease to dread
This one poor lonely man-beneath Heaven shed
In purest light above us all, thro' earth,
Maternal earth, who doth her sweet smiles spread
For all, let him go free, until the worth
Of human nature win from these a second birth.
"What call ye justice? Is there one who ne'er
In secret thought has wished another's ill?-
Are ye all pure? Let those stand forth who hear,
And tremble not. Shall they insult and kill,
If such they be? their mild eyes can they fill
With the false anger of the hypocrite?
Alas, such were not pure-the chastened will
Of virtue sees that justice is the light
Of love, and not revenge, and terror and despite.'
The murmur of the people, slowly dying,
Paused as I spake; then those who near me were,
Cast gentle looks where the lone man was lying
Shrouding his head, which now that infant fair
Clasped on her lap in silence-thro' the air
Sobs were then heard, and many kissed my feet
In pity's madness, and, to the despair
Of him whom late they cursed, a solace sweet
victims brought-soft looks and speeches meet.
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