Canto V

Over the utmost hill at length I sped,A snowy steep:--the moon was hanging lowOver the Asian mountains, and outspreadThe plain, the City, and the Camp below,Skirted the midnight Ocean's glimmering flow;The City's moonlit spires and myriad lamps,Like stars in a sublunar sky did glow,And fires blazed far amid the scattered camps,Like springs of flame, which burst where'er swift Earthquake stamps.

All slept but those in watchful arms who stood,And those who sate tending the beacon's light,And the few sounds from that vast multitudeMade silence more profound.--Oh, what a mightOf human thought was cradled in that night!How many hearts impenetrably veiledBeat underneath its shade, what secret fightEvil and good, in woven passions mailed,Waged through that silent throng--a war that never failed!

And now the Power of Good held victory.So, through the labyrinth of many a tent,Among the silent millions who did lieIn innocent sleep, exultingly I went;The moon had left Heaven desert now, but lentFrom eastern morn the first faint lustre showedAn armed youth--over his spear he bentHis downward face.--'A friend!' I cried aloud,And quickly common hopes made freemen understood.

I sate beside him while the morning beamCrept slowly over Heaven, and talked with himOf those immortal hopes, a glorious theme!Which led us forth, until the stars grew dim:And all the while, methought, his voice did swimAs if it drowned in remembrance wereOf thoughts which make the moist eyes overbrim:At last, when daylight 'gan to fill the air,He looked on me, and cried in wonder--'Thou art here!'

Then, suddenly, I knew it was the youthIn whom its earliest hopes my spirit found;But envious tongues had stained his spotless truth,And thoughtless pride his love in silence bound,And shame and sorrow mine in toils had wound,Whilst he was innocent, and I deluded;The truth now came upon me, on the groundTears of repenting joy, which fast intruded,Fell fast, and o'er its peace our mingling spirits brooded.

Thus, while with rapid lips and earnest eyesWe talked, a sound of sweeping conflict spreadAs from the earth did suddenly arise;From every tent roused by that clamour dread,Our bands outsprung and seized their arms--we spedTowards the sound: our tribes were gathering far.Those sanguine slaves amid ten thousand deadStabbed in their sleep, trampled in treacherous warThe gentle hearts whose power their lives had sought to spare.

Like rabid snakes, that sting some gentle childWho brings them food, when winter false and fairAllures them forth with its cold smiles, so wildThey rage among the camp;--they overbearThe patriot hosts--confusion, then despair,Descends like night--when 'Laon!' one did cry;Like a bright ghost from Heaven that shout did scareThe slaves, and widening through the vaulted sky,Seemed sent from Earth to Heaven in sign of victory.

In sudden panic those false murderers fled,Like insect tribes before the northern gale:But swifter still, our hosts encompassedTheir shattered ranks, and in a craggy vale,Where even their fierce despair might nought avail,Hemmed them around!--and then revenge and fearMade the high virtue of the patriots fail:One pointed on his foe the mortal spear--I rushed before its point, and cried 'Forbear, forbear!'

The spear transfixed my arm that was upliftedIn swift expostulation, and the bloodGushed round its point: I smiled, and--'Oh! thou giftedWith eloquence which shall not be withstood,Flow thus!' I cried in joy, 'thou vital flood,Until my heart be dry, ere thus the causeFor which thou wert aught worthy be subdued--Ah, ye are pale,--ye weep,--your passions pause,--'Tis well! ye feel the truth of love's benignant laws.

'Soldiers, our brethren and our friends are slain.Ye murdered them, I think, as they did sleep!Alas, what have ye done? the slightest painWhich ye might suffer, there were eyes to weep,But ye have quenched them--there were smiles to steepYour hearts in balm, but they are lost in woe;And those whom love did set his watch to keepAround your tents, truth's freedom to bestow,Ye stabbed as they did sleep--but they forgive ye now.

'Oh wherefore should ill ever flow from ill,And pain still keener pain for ever breed?We all are brethren--even the slaves who killFor hire, are men; and to avenge misdeedOn the misdoer, doth but Misery feedWith her own broken heart! O Earth, O Heaven!And thou, dread Nature, which to every deedAnd all that lives, or is, to be hath given,Even as to thee have these done ill, and are forgiven!

'Join then your hands and hearts, and let the pastBe as a grave which gives not up its deadTo evil thoughts.'--A film then overcastMy sense with dimness, for the wound, which bledFreshly, swift shadows o'er mine eyes had shed.When I awoke, I lay mid friends and foes,And earnest countenances on me shedThe light of questioning looks, whilst one did closeMy wound with balmiest herbs, and soothed me to repose;

And one whose spear had pierced me, leaned besideWith quivering lips and humid eyes;--and allSeemed like some brothers on a journey wideGone forth, whom now strange meeting did befallIn a strange land, round one whom they might callTheir friend, their chief, their father, for assayOf peril, which had saved them from the thrallOf death, now suffering. Thus the vast arrayOf those fraternal bands were reconciled that day.

Lifting the thunder of their acclamation,Towards the City then the multitude,And I among them, went in joy--a nationMade free by love;--a mighty brotherhoodLinked by a jealous interchange of good;A glorious pageant, more magnificentThan kingly slaves arrayed in gold and blood,When they return from carnage, and are sentIn triumph bright beneath the populous battlement.

Afar, the city-walls were thronged on high,And myriads on each giddy turret clung,And to each spire far lessening in the skyBright pennons on the idle winds were hung;As we approached, a shout of joyance sprungAt once from all the crowd, as if the vastAnd peopled Earth its boundless skies amongThe sudden clamour of delight had cast,When from before its face some general wreck had passed.

Our armies through the City's hundred gatesWere poured, like brooks which to the rocky lairOf some deep lake, whose silence them awaits,Throng from the mountains when the storms are thereAnd, as we passed through the calm sunny airA 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 contritionOf anger turned to love, from ill beguiled,And every one on them more gently smiled,Because they had done evil:--the sweet aweOf such mild looks made their own hearts grow mild,And did with soft attraction ever drawTheir spirits to the love of freedom's equal law.

And they, and all, in one loud symphonyMy name with Liberty commingling, lifted,'The friend and the preserver of the free!The parent of this joy!' and fair eyes giftedWith feelings, caught from one who had upliftedThe light of a great spirit, round me shone;And all the shapes of this grand scenery shiftedLike restless clouds before the steadfast sun,--Where was that Maid? I asked, but it was known of none.

Laone was the name her love had chosen,For she was nameless, and her birth none knew:Where was Laone now?--The words were frozenWithin my lips with fear; but to subdueSuch dreadful hope, to my great task was due,And when at length one brought reply, that sheTo-morrow would appear, I then withdrewTo 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 though that multitude was passing great,Since each one for the other did prepareAll kindly succour--Therefore to the gateOf the Imperial House, now desolate,I passed, and there was found aghast, alone,The fallen Tyrant!--Silently he sateUpon the footstool of his golden throne,Which, starred with sunny gems, in its own lustre shone.

Alone, but for one child, who led before himA graceful dance: the only living thingOf all the crowd, which thither to adore himFlocked yesterday, who solace sought to bringIn his abandonment!--She knew the KingHad praised her dance of yore, and now she woveIts circles, aye weeping and murmuringMid her sad task of unregarded love,That to no smiles it might his speechless sadness move.

She fled to him, and wildly clasped his feetWhen human steps were heard:--he moved nor spoke,Nor changed his hue, nor raised his looks to meetThe gaze of strangers--our loud entrance wokeThe echoes of the hall, which circling brokeThe calm of its recesses,--like a tombIts sculptured walls vacantly to the strokeOf footfalls answered, and the twilight's gloomLay 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 eyeLay beauty, which makes hearts that feed thereonSick with excess of sweetness; on the throneShe leaned;--the King, with gathered brow, and lipsWreathed by long scorn, did inly sneer and frownWith hue like that when some great painter dipsHis pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse.

She stood beside him like a rainbow braidedWithin some storm, when scarce its shadows vastFrom the blue paths of the swift sun have faded;A sweet and solemn smile, like Cythna's, castOne 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 passedWhich wrapped it, even as with a father's kissI pressed those softest eyes in trembling tenderness.

The sceptred wretch then from that solitudeI 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 hateGlared on me as a toothless snake might glare:Pity, not scorn I felt, though desolateThe desolator now, and unawareThe curses which he mocked had caught him by the hair.

I led him forth from that which now might seemA gorgeous grave: through portals sculptured deepWith imagery beautiful as dreamWe went, and left the shades which tend on sleepOver its unregarded gold to keepTheir silent watch.--The child trod faintingly,And as she went, the tears which she did weepGlanced in the starlight; 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 toneSuch as sick fancies in a new-made graveMight 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 heIn mingled pride and awe cowered near his throne,And she a nursling of captivityKnew nought beyond those walls, nor what such change might be.

And he was troubled at a charm withdrawnThus 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 hourThe past had come again; and the swift fallOf one so great and terrible of yore,To desolateness, in the hearts of allLike wonder stirred, who saw such awful change befall.

A mighty crowd, such as the wide land poursOnce in a thousand years, now gathered roundThe fallen tyrant;--like the rush of showersOf hail in spring, pattering along the ground,Their many footsteps fell, else came no soundFrom the wide multitude: that lonely manThen knew the burden of his change, and found,Concealing in the dust his visage wan,Refuge from the keen looks which through his bosom ran.

And he was faint withal: I sate beside himUpon the earth, and took that child so fairFrom his weak arms, that ill might none betide himOr her;--when food was brought to them, her shareTo his averted lips the child did bear,But, when she saw he had enough, she ateAnd wept the while;--the lonely man's despairHunger then overcame, and of his stateForgetful, on the dust as in a trance he sate.

Slowly the silence of the multitudesPassed, as when far is heard in some lone dellThe gathering of a wind among the woods--'And he is fallen!' they cry, 'he who did dwellLike famine or the plague, or aught more fellAmong our homes, is fallen! the murdererWho slaked his thirsting soul as from a wellOf blood and tears with ruin! he is here!Sunk in a gulf of scorn from which none may him rear!'

Then was heard--'He who judged let him be broughtTo judgement! blood for blood cries from the soilOn which his crimes have deep pollution wrought!Shall Othman only unavenged despoil?Shall they who by the stress of grinding toilWrest 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 shedThe blood of Othman?--if your hearts are triedIn the true love of freedom, cease to dreadThis one poor lonely man--beneath Heaven spreadIn purest light above us all, through earth--Maternal earth, who doth her sweet smiles shedFor all, let him go free; until the worthOf human nature win from these a second birth.

'What call ye "justice"? Is there one who ne'erIn secret thought has wished another's ill?--Are ye all pure? Let those stand forth who hearAnd tremble not. Shall they insult and kill,If such they be? their mild eyes can they fillWith the false anger of the hypocrite?Alas, such were not pure!--the chastened willOf virtue sees that justice is the lightOf 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 lyingShrouding his head, which now that infant fairClasped on her lap in silence;--through the airSobs were then heard, and many kissed my feetIn pity's madness, and to the despairOf him whom late they cursed, a solace sweetHis very victims brought--soft looks and speeches meet.

Then to a home for his repose assigned,Accompanied by the still throng, he wentIn silence, where, to soothe his rankling mind,Some likeness of his ancient state was lent;And if his heart could have been innocentAs those who pardoned him, he might have endedHis days in peace; but his straight lips were bent,Men said, into a smile which guile portended,A sight with which that child like hope with fear was blended.

'Twas midnight now, the eve of that great dayWhereon the many nations at whose callThe chains of earth like mist melted away,Decreed to hold a sacred Festival,A rite to attest the equality of allWho live. So to their homes, to dream or wakeAll went. The sleepless silence did recallLaone to my thoughts, with hopes that makeThe flood recede from which their thirst they seek to slake.

The dawn flowed forth, and from its purple fountainsI drank those hopes which make the spirit quail,As to the plain between the misty mountainsAnd the great City, with a countenance pale,I went:--it was a sight which might availTo make men weep exulting tears, for whomNow first from human power the reverend veilWas torn, to see Earth from her general wombPour forth her swarming sons to a fraternal doom:

To see, far glancing in the misty morning,The signs of that innumerable host;To hear one sound of many made, the warningOf Earth to Heaven from its free children tossed,While the eternal hills, and the sea lostIn wavering light, and, starring the blue skyThe city's myriad spires of gold, almostWith human joy made mute society--Its witnesses with men who must hereafter be.

To see, like some vast island from the Ocean,The Altar of the Federation rearIts pile i' the midst; a work, which the devotionOf millions in one night created there,Sudden as when the moonrise makes appearStrange clouds in the east; a marble pyramidDistinct with steps: that mighty shape did wearThe light of genius; its still shadow hidFar ships: to know its height the morning mists forbid!

To hear the restless multitudes for everAround the base of that great Altar flow,As on some mountain-islet burst and shiverAtlantic waves; and solemnly and slowAs the wind bore that tumult to and fro,To feel the dreamlike music, which did swimLike beams through floating clouds on waves belowFalling in pauses, from that Altar dim,As silver-sounding tongues breathed an aerial hymn.

To hear, to see, to live, was on that mornLethean joy! so that all those assembledCast off their memories of the past outworn;Two only bosoms with their own life trembled,And mine was one,--and we had both dissembled;So with a beating heart I went, and one,Who having much, covets yet more, resembled;A lost and dear possession, which not won,He walks in lonely gloom beneath the noonday sun.

To the great Pyramid I came: its stairWith female choirs was thronged: the loveliestAmong the free, grouped with its sculptures rare;As I approached, the morning's golden mist,Which now the wonder-stricken breezes kissedWith their cold lips, fled, and the summit shoneLike Athos seen from Samothracia, dressedIn earliest light, by vintagers, and oneSate there, a female Shape upon an ivory throne:

A Form most like the imagined habitantOf silver exhalations sprung from dawn,By winds which feed on sunrise woven, to enchantThe faiths of men: all mortal eyes were drawn,As famished mariners through strange seas goneGaze on a burning watch-tower, by the lightOf those divinest lineaments--aloneWith thoughts which none could share, from that fair sightI turned in sickness, for a veil shrouded her countenance bright.

And neither did I hear the acclamations,Which from brief silence bursting, filled the airWith her strange name and mine, from all the nationsWhich we, they said, in strength had gathered thereFrom the sleep of bondage; nor the vision fairOf that bright pageantry beheld,--but blindAnd silent, as a breathing corpse did fare,Leaning upon my friend, till like a windTo fevered cheeks, a voice flowed o'er my troubled mind.

Like music of some minstrel heavenly gifted,To one whom fiends enthral, this voice to me;Scarce did I wish her veil to be uplifted,I was so calm and joyous.--I could seeThe platform where we stood, the statues threeWhich kept their marble watch on that high shrine,The multitudes, the mountains, and the sea;As when eclipse hath passed, things sudden shineTo men's astonished eyes most clear and crystalline.

At first Laone spoke most tremulously:But soon her voice the calmness which it shedGathered, and--'Thou art whom I sought to see,And thou art our first votary here,' she said:'I had a dear friend once, but he is dead!--And of all those on the wide earth who breathe,Thou dost resemble him alone--I spreadThis veil between us two that thou beneathShouldst image one who may have been long lost in death.

'For this wilt thou not henceforth pardon me?Yes, but those joys which silence well requiteForbid reply;--why men have chosen meTo be the Priestess of this holiest riteI scarcely know, but that the floods of lightWhich flow over the world, have borne me hitherTo meet thee, long most dear; and now uniteThine hand with mine, and may all comfort witherFrom both the hearts whose pulse in joy now beat together,

'If our own will as others' law we bind,If the foul worship trampled here we fear;If as ourselves we cease to love our kind!'--She paused, and pointed upwards--sculptured thereThree shapes around her ivory throne appear;One was a Giant, like a child asleepOn a loose rock, whose grasp crushed, as it wereIn dream, sceptres and crowns; and one did keepIts watchful eyes in doubt whether to smile or weep;

A Woman sitting on the sculptured diskOf the broad earth, and feeding from one breastA human babe and a young basilisk;Her looks were sweet as Heaven's when loveliestIn Autumn eves. The third Image was dressedIn white wings swift as clouds in winter skies;Beneath his feet, 'mongst ghastliest forms, repressedLay Faith, an obscene worm, who sought to rise,While calmly on the Sun he turned his diamond eyes.

Beside that Image then I sate, while sheStood, mid the throngs which ever ebbed and flowed,Like light amid the shadows of the seaCast from one cloudless star, and on the crowdThat touch which none who feels forgets, bestowed;And whilst the sun returned the steadfast gazeOf the great Image, as o'er Heaven it glode,That rite had place; it ceased when sunset's blazeBurned o'er the isles. All stood in joy and deep amaze----When in the silence of all spirits thereLaone's voice was felt, and through the airHer thrilling gestures spoke, most eloquently fair:--

'Calm art thou as yon sunset! swift and strongAs new-fledged Eagles, beautiful and young,That float among the blinding beams of morning;And underneath thy feet writhe Faith, and Folly,Custom, and Hell, and mortal Melancholy--Hark! the Earth starts to hear the mighty warningOf thy voice sublime and holy;Its free spirits here assembledSee thee, feel thee, know thee now,--To thy voice their hearts have trembledLike ten thousand clouds which flowWith one wide wind as it flies!--Wisdom! thy irresistible children riseTo hail thee, and the elements they chainAnd their own will, to swell the glory of thy train.

'O Spirit vast and deep as Night and Heaven!Mother and soul of all to which is givenThe light of life, the loveliness of being,Lo! thou dost re-ascend the human heart,Thy throne of power, almighty as thou wertIn dreams of Poets old grown pale by seeingThe shade of thee;--now, millions startTo feel thy lightnings through them burning:Nature, or God, or Love, or Pleasure,Or Sympathy the sad tears turningTo mutual smiles, a drainless treasure,Descends amidst us;--Scorn and Hate,Revenge and Selfishness are desolate--A hundred nations swear that there shall bePity and Peace and Love, among the good and free!

'Eldest of things, divine Equality!Wisdom and Love are but the slaves of thee,The Angels of thy sway, who pour around theeTreasures from all the cells of human thought,And from the Stars, and from the Ocean brought,And the last living heart whose beatings bound thee:The powerful and the wise had soughtThy coming, thou in light descendingO'er the wide land which is thine ownLike the Spring whose breath is blendingAll blasts of fragrance into one,Comest upon the paths of men!--Earth bares her general bosom to thy ken,And all her children here in glory meetTo feed upon thy smiles, and clasp thy sacred feet.

'My brethren, we are free! the plains and mountains,The gray sea-shore, the forests and the fountains,Are haunts of happiest dwellers;--man and woman,Their common bondage burst, may freely borrowFrom lawless love a solace for their sorrow;For oft we still must weep, since we are human.A stormy night's serenest morrow,Whose showers are pity's gentle tears,Whose clouds are smiles of those that dieLike infants without hopes or fears,And whose beams are joys that lieIn blended hearts, now holds dominion;The dawn of mind, which upwards on a pinionBorne, swift as sunrise, far illumines space,And clasps this barren world in its own bright embrace!

'My brethren, we are free! The fruits are glowingBeneath the stars, and the night-winds are flowingO'er the ripe corn, the birds and beasts are dreaming--Never again may blood of bird or beastStain with its venomous stream a human feast,To the pure skies in accusation steaming;Avenging poisons shall have ceasedTo feed disease and fear and madness,The dwellers of the earth and airShall throng around our steps in gladness,Seeking their food or refuge there.Our toil from thought all glorious forms shall cull,To make this Earth, our home, more beautiful,And Science, and her sister Poesy,Shall clothe in light the fields and cities of the free!

'Victory, Victory to the prostrate nations!Bear witness Night, and ye mute ConstellationsWho gaze on us from your crystalline cars!Thoughts have gone forth whose powers can sleep no more!Victory! Victory! Earth's remotest shore,Regions which groan beneath the Antarctic stars,The green lands cradled in the roarOf western waves, and wildernessesPeopled and vast, which skirt the oceansWhere morning dyes her golden tresses,Shall soon partake our high emotions:Kings shall turn pale! Almighty Fear,The Fiend-God, when our charmed name he hear,Shall fade like shadow from his thousand fanes,While Truth with Joy enthroned o'er his lost empire reigns!'

Ere she had ceased, the mists of night entwiningTheir dim woof, floated o'er the infinite throng;She, like a spirit through the darkness shining,In tones whose sweetness silence did prolong,As if to lingering winds they did belong,Poured forth her inmost soul: a passionate speechWith wild and thrilling pauses woven among,Which whoso heard was mute, for it could teachTo rapture like her own all listening hearts to reach.

Her voice was as a mountain stream which sweepsThe withered leaves of Autumn to the lake,And in some deep and narrow bay then sleepsIn the shadow of the shores; as dead leaves wake,Under the wave, in flowers and herbs which makeThose green depths beautiful when skies are blue,The multitude so moveless did partakeSuch living change, and kindling murmurs flewAs o'er that speechless calm delight and wonder grew.

Over the plain the throngs were scattered thenIn groups around the fires, which from the seaEven to the gorge of the first mountain-glenBlazed wide and far: the banquet of the freeWas spread beneath many a dark cypress-tree,Beneath whose spires, which swayed in the red flame,Reclining, as they ate, of Liberty,And Hope, and Justice, and Laone's name,Earth's children did a woof of happy converse frame.

Their feast was such as Earth, the general mother,Pours from her fairest bosom, when she smilesIn the embrace of Autumn;--to each otherAs when some parent fondly reconcilesHer warring children, she their wrath beguilesWith her own sustenance, they relenting weep:Such was this Festival, which from their islesAnd continents, and winds, and oceans deep,All shapes might throng to share, that fly, or walk or creep,--

Might share in peace and innocence, for goreOr poison none this festal did pollute,But, piled on high, an overflowing storeOf pomegranates and citrons, fairest fruit,Melons, and dates, and figs, and many a rootSweet and sustaining, and bright grapes ere yetAccursed fire their mild juice could transmuteInto a mortal bane, and brown corn setIn baskets; with pure streams their thirsting lips they wet.

Laone had descended from the shrine,And every deepest look and holiest mindFed on her form, though now those tones divineWere silent as she passed; she did unwindHer veil, as with the crowds of her own kindShe mixed; some impulse made my heart refrainFrom seeking her that night, so I reclinedAmidst a group, where on the utmost plainA festal watchfire burned beside the dusky main.

And joyous was our feast; pathetic talk,And wit, and harmony of choral strains,While far Orion o'er the waves did walkThat flow among the isles, held us in chainsOf sweet captivity which none disdainsWho feels; but when his zone grew dim in mistWhich clothes the Ocean's bosom, o'er the plainsThe multitudes went homeward, to their rest,Which that delightful day with its own shadow blessed.