Canto X

Was there a human spirit in the steed,That thus with his proud voice, ere night was gone,He broke our linked rest? or do indeedAll living things a common nature own,And thought erect an universal throne,Where many shapes one tribute ever bear?And Earth, their mutual mother, does she groanTo see her sons contend? and makes she bareHer breast, that all in peace its drainless stores may share?

I have heard friendly sounds from many a tongueWhich was not human--the lone nightingaleHas answered me with her most soothing song,Out of her ivy bower, when I sate paleWith grief, and sighed beneath; from many a daleThe antelopes who flocked for food have spokenWith happy sounds, and motions, that availLike man's own speech; and such was now the tokenOf waning night, whose calm by that proud neigh was broken.

Each night, that mighty steed bore me abroad,And I returned with food to our retreat,And dark intelligence; the blood which flowedOver the fields, had stained the courser's feet;Soon the dust drinks that bitter dew,--then meetThe vulture, and the wild dog, and the snake,The wolf, and the hyaena gray, and eatThe dead in horrid truce: their throngs did makeBehind the steed, a chasm like waves in a ship's wake.

For, from the utmost realms of earth came pouringThe banded slaves whom every despot sentAt that throned traitor's summons; like the roaringOf fire, whose floods the wild deer circumventIn the scorched pastures of the South; so bentThe armies of the leagued Kings aroundTheir files of steel and flame;--the continentTrembled, as with a zone of ruin bound,Beneath their feet, the sea shook with their Navies' sound.

From every nation of the earth they came,The multitude of moving heartless things,Whom slaves call men: obediently they came,Like sheep whom from the fold the shepherd bringsTo the stall, red with blood; their many kingsLed them, thus erring, from their native land;Tartar and Frank, and millions whom the wingsOf Indian breezes lull, and many a bandThe Arctic Anarch sent, and Idumea's sand,

Fertile in prodigies and lies;--so thereStrange natures made a brotherhood of ill.The desert savage ceased to grasp in fearHis Asian shield and bow, when, at the willOf Europe's subtler son, the bolt would killSome shepherd sitting on a rock secure;But smiles of wondering joy his face would fill,And savage sympathy: those slaves impure,Each one the other thus from ill to ill did lure.

For traitorously did that foul Tyrant robeHis countenance in lies,--even at the hourWhen he was snatched from death, then o'er the globe,With secret signs from many a mountain-tower,With smoke by day, and fire by night, the powerOf Kings and Priests, those dark conspirators,He called:--they knew his cause their own, and sworeLike wolves and serpents to their mutual warsStrange truce, with many a rite which Earth and Heaven abhors.

Myriads had come--millions were on their way;The Tyrant passed, surrounded by the steelOf hired assassins, through the public way,Choked with his country's dead:--his footsteps reelOn the fresh blood--he smiles. 'Ay, now I feelI am a King in truth!' he said, and tookHis royal seat, and bade the torturing wheelBe brought, and fire, and pincers, and the hook,And scorpions, that his soul on its revenge might look.

'But first, go slay the rebels--why returnThe victor bands?' he said, 'millions yet live,Of whom the weakest with one word might turnThe scales of victory yet;--let none surviveBut those within the walls--each fifth shall giveThe expiation for his brethren here.--Go forth, and waste and kill!'--'O king, forgiveMy speech,' a soldier answered--'but we fearThe spirits of the night, and morn is drawing near;

'For we were slaying still without remorse,And now that dreadful chief beneath my handDefenceless lay, when on a hell-black horse,An Angel bright as day, waving a brandWhich flashed among the stars, passed.'--'Dost thou standParleying with me, thou wretch?' the king replied;'Slaves, bind him to the wheel; and of this band,Whoso will drag that woman to his sideThat scared him thus, may burn his dearest foe beside;

'And gold and glory shall be his.--Go forth!'They rushed into the plain.--Loud was the roarOf their career: the horsemen shook the earth;The wheeled artillery's speed the pavement tore;The infantry, file after file, did pourTheir clouds on the utmost hills. Five days they slewAmong the wasted fields; the sixth saw goreStream through the city; on the seventh, the dewOf slaughter became stiff, and there was peace anew:

Peace in the desert fields and villages,Between the glutted beasts and mangled dead!Peace in the silent streets! save when the criesOf victims to their fiery judgement led,Made pale their voiceless lips who seemed to dreadEven in their dearest kindred, lest some tongueBe faithless to the fear yet unbetrayed;Peace in the Tyrant's palace, where the throngWaste the triumphal hours in festival and song!

Day after day the burning sun rolled onOver the death-polluted land--it cameOut of the east like fire, and fiercely shoneA lamp of Autumn, ripening with its flameThe few lone ears of corn;--the sky becameStagnate with heat, so that each cloud and blastLanguished and died,--the thirsting air did claimAll moisture, and a rotting vapour passedFrom the unburied dead, invisible and fast.

First Want, then Plague came on the beasts; their foodFailed, and they drew the breath of its decay.Millions on millions, whom the scent of bloodHad lured, or who, from regions far away,Had tracked the hosts in festival array,From their dark deserts; gaunt and wasting now,Stalked like fell shades among their perished prey;In their green eyes a strange disease did glow,They sank in hideous spasm, or pains severe and slow.

The fish were poisoned in the streams; the birdsIn the green woods perished; the insect raceWas withered up; the scattered flocks and herdsWho had survived the wild beasts' hungry chaseDied moaning, each upon the other's faceIn helpless agony gazing; round the CityAll night, the lean hyaenas their sad caseLike starving infants wailed; a woeful ditty!And many a mother wept, pierced with unnatural pity.

Amid the aereal minarets on high,The Ethiopian vultures fluttering fellFrom their long line of brethren in the sky,Startling the concourse of mankind.--Too wellThese signs the coming mischief did foretell:--Strange panic first, a deep and sickening dreadWithin each heart, like ice, did sink and dwell,A voiceless thought of evil, which did spreadWith the quick glance of eyes, like withering lightnings shed.

Day after day, when the year wanes, the frostsStrip its green crown of leaves, till all is bare;So on those strange and congregated hostsCame Famine, a swift shadow, and the airGroaned with the burden of a new despair;Famine, than whom Misrule no deadlier daughterFeeds from her thousand breasts, though sleeping thereWith lidless eyes, lie Faith, and Plague, and Slaughter,A ghastly brood; conceived of Lethe's sullen water.

There was no food, the corn was trampled down,The flocks and herds had perished; on the shoreThe dead and putrid fish were ever thrown;The deeps were foodless, and the winds no moreCreaked with the weight of birds, but, as beforeThose winged things sprang forth, were void of shade;The vines and orchards, Autumn's golden store,Were burned;--so that the meanest food was weighedWith gold, and Avarice died before the god it made.

There was no corn--in the wide market-placeAll loathliest things, even human flesh, was sold;They weighed it in small scales--and many a faceWas fixed in eager horror then: his goldThe miser brought; the tender maid, grown boldThrough hunger, bared her scorned charms in vain;The mother brought her eldest born, controlledBy instinct blind as love, but turned againAnd bade her infant suck, and died in silent pain.

Then fell blue Plague upon the race of man.'O, for the sheathed steel, so late which gaveOblivion to the dead, when the streets ranWith brothers' blood! O, that the earthquake's graveWould gape, or Ocean lift its stifling wave!'Vain cries--throughout the streets thousands pursuedEach by his fiery torture howl and rave,Or sit in frenzy's unimagined mood,Upon fresh heaps of dead; a ghastly multitude.

It was not hunger now, but thirst. Each wellWas choked with rotting corpses, and becameA cauldron of green mist made visibleAt sunrise. Thither still the myriads came,Seeking to quench the agony of the flame,Which raged like poison through their bursting veins;Naked they were from torture, without shame,Spotted with nameless scars and lurid blains,Childhood, and youth, and age, writhing in savage pains.

It was not thirst, but madness! Many sawTheir own lean image everywhere, it wentA ghastlier self beside them, till the aweOf that dread sight to self-destruction sentThose shrieking victims; some, ere life was spent,Sought, with a horrid sympathy, to shedContagion on the sound; and others rentTheir matted hair, and cried aloud, 'We treadOn fire! the avenging Power his hell on earth has spread!'

Sometimes the living by the dead were hid.Near the great fountain in the public square,Where corpses made a crumbling pyramidUnder the sun, was heard one stifled prayerFor life, in the hot silence of the air;And strange 'twas, amid that hideous heap to seeSome shrouded in their long and golden hair,As if not dead, but slumbering quietlyLike forms which sculptors carve, then love to agony.

Famine had spared the palace of the king:--He rioted in festival the while,He and his guards and priests; but Plague did flingOne shadow upon all. Famine can smileOn him who brings it food, and pass, with guileOf thankful falsehood, like a courtier gray,The house-dog of the throne; but many a mileComes Plague, a winged wolf, who loathes alwayThe garbage and the scum that strangers make her prey.

So, near the throne, amid the gorgeous feast,Sheathed in resplendent arms, or loosely dightTo luxury, ere the mockery yet had ceasedThat lingered on his lips, the warrior's mightWas loosened, and a new and ghastlier nightIn dreams of frenzy lapped his eyes; he fellHeadlong, or with stiff eyeballs sate uprightAmong the guests, or raving mad did tellStrange truths; a dying seer of dark oppression's hell.

The Princes and the Priests were pale with terror;That monstrous faith wherewith they ruled mankind,Fell, like a shaft loosed by the bowman's error,On their own hearts: they sought and they could findNo refuge--'twas the blind who led the blind!So, through the desolate streets to the high fane,The many-tongued and endless armies windIn sad procession: each among the trainTo his own Idol lifts his supplications vain.

'O God!' they cried, 'we know our secret prideHas scorned thee, and thy worship, and thy name;Secure in human power we have defiedThy fearful might; we bend in fear and shameBefore thy presence; with the dust we claimKindred; be merciful, O King of Heaven!Most justly have we suffered for thy fameMade dim, but be at length our sins forgiven,Ere to despair and death thy worshippers be driven.

'O King of Glory! thou alone hast power!Who can resist thy will? who can restrainThy wrath, when on the guilty thou dost showerThe shafts of thy revenge, a blistering rain?Greatest and best, be merciful again!Have we not stabbed thine enemies, and madeThe Earth an altar, and the Heavens a fane,Where thou wert worshipped with their blood, and laidThose hearts in dust which would thy searchless works have weighed?

'Well didst thou loosen on this impious CityThine angels of revenge: recall them now;Thy worshippers, abased, here kneel for pity,And bind their souls by an immortal vow:We swear by thee! and to our oath do thouGive sanction, from thine hell of fiends and flame,That we will kill with fire and torments slow,The last of those who mocked thy holy name,And scorned the sacred laws thy prophets did proclaim.'

Thus they with trembling limbs and pallid lipsWorshipped their own hearts' image, dim and vast,Scared by the shade wherewith they would eclipseThe light of other minds;--troubled they passedFrom the great Temple;--fiercely still and fastThe arrows of the plague among them fell,And they on one another gazed aghast,And through the hosts contention wild befell,As each of his own god the wondrous works did tell.

And Oromaze, Joshua, and Mahomet,Moses, and Buddh, Zerdusht, and Brahm, and Foh,A tumult of strange names, which never metBefore, as watchwords of a single woe,Arose; each raging votary 'gan to throwAloft his armed hands, and each did howl'Our God alone is God!'--and slaughter nowWould have gone forth, when from beneath a cowlA voice came forth, which pierced like ice through every soul.

'Twas an Iberian Priest from whom it came,A zealous man, who led the legioned West,With words which faith and pride had steeped in flame,To quell the unbelievers; a dire guestEven to his friends was he, for in his breastDid hate and guile lie watchful, intertwined,Twin serpents in one deep and winding nest;He loathed all faith beside his own, and pinedTo wreak his fear of Heaven in vengeance on mankind.

But more he loathed and hated the clear lightOf wisdom and free thought, and more did fear,Lest, kindled once, its beams might pierce the night,Even where his Idol stood; for, far and nearDid many a heart in Europe leap to hearThat faith and tyranny were trampled down;Many a pale victim, doomed for truth to shareThe murderer's cell, or see, with helpless groan,The priests his children drag for slaves to serve their own.

He dared not kill the infidels with fireOr steel, in Europe; the slow agoniesOf legal torture mocked his keen desire:So he made truce with those who did despiseThe expiation, and the sacrifice,That, though detested, Islam's kindred creedMight crush for him those deadlier enemies;For fear of God did in his bosom breedA jealous hate of man, an unreposing need.

'Peace! Peace!' he cried, 'when we are dead, the DayOf Judgement comes, and all shall surely knowWhose God is God, each fearfully shall payThe errors of his faith in endless woe!But there is sent a mortal vengeance nowOn earth, because an impious race had spurnedHim whom we all adore,--a subtle foe,By whom for ye this dread reward was earned,And kingly thrones, which rest on faith, nigh overturned.

'Think ye, because ye weep, and kneel, and pray,That God will lull the pestilence? It roseEven from beneath his throne, where, many a day,His mercy soothed it to a dark repose:It walks upon the earth to judge his foes;And what are thou and I, that he should deignTo curb his ghastly minister, or closeThe gates of death, ere they receive the twainWho shook with mortal spells his undefended reign?

'Ay, there is famine in the gulf of hell,Its giant worms of fire for ever yawn.--Their lurid eyes are on us! those who fellBy the swift shafts of pestilence ere dawn,Are in their jaws! they hunger for the spawnOf Satan, their own brethren, who were sentTo make our souls their spoil. See! see! they fawnLike dogs, and they will sleep with luxury spent,When those detested hearts their iron fangs have rent!

'Our God may then lull Pestilence to sleep:--Pile high the pyre of expiation now,A forest's spoil of boughs, and on the heapPour venomous gums, which sullenly and slow,When touched by flame, shall burn, and melt, and flow,A stream of clinging fire,--and fix on highA net of iron, and spread forth belowA couch of snakes, and scorpions, and the fryOf centipedes and worms, earth's hellish progeny!

'Let Laon and Laone on that pyre,Linked tight with burning brass, perish!--then prayThat, with this sacrifice, the withering ireOf Heaven may be appeased.' He ceased, and theyA space stood silent, as far, far awayThe echoes of his voice among them died;And he knelt down upon the dust, alwayMuttering the curses of his speechless pride,Whilst shame, and fear, and awe, the armies did divide.

His voice was like a blast that burst the portalOf fabled hell; and as he spake, each oneSaw gape beneath the chasms of fire immortal,And Heaven above seemed cloven, where, on a throneGirt round with storms and shadows, sate aloneTheir King and Judge--fear killed in every breastAll natural pity then, a fear unknownBefore, and with an inward fire possessed,They raged like homeless beasts whom burning woods invest.

'Twas morn.--At noon the public crier went forth,Proclaiming through the living and the dead,'The Monarch saith, that his great Empire's worthIs set on Laon and Laone's head:He who but one yet living here can lead,Or who the life from both their hearts can wring,Shall be the kingdom's heir--a glorious meed!But he who both alive can hither bring,The Princess shall espouse, and reign an equal King.'

Ere night the pyre was piled, the net of ironWas spread above, the fearful couch below;It overtopped the towers that did environThat spacious square; for Fear is never slowTo build the thrones of Hate, her mate and foe;So, she scourged forth the maniac multitudeTo rear this pyramid--tottering and slow,Plague-stricken, foodless, like lean herds pursuedBy gadflies, they have piled the heath, and gums, and wood.

Night came, a starless and a moonless gloom.Until the dawn, those hosts of many a nationStood round that pile, as near one lover's tombTwo gentle sisters mourn their desolation;And in the silence of that expectation,Was heard on high the reptiles' hiss and crawl--It was so deep--save when the devastationOf the swift pest, with fearful interval,Marking its path with shrieks, among the crowd would fall.

Morn came,--among those sleepless multitudes,Madness, and Fear, and Plague, and Famine stillHeaped corpse on corpse, as in autumnal woodsThe frosts of many a wind with dead leaves fillEarth's cold and sullen brooks; in silence, stillThe pale survivors stood; ere noon, the fearOf Hell became a panic, which did killLike hunger or disease, with whispers drear,As 'Hush! hark! Come they yet?--Just Heaven! thine hour is near!'

And Priests rushed through their ranks, some counterfeitingThe rage they did inspire, some mad indeedWith their own lies; they said their god was waitingTo see his enemies writhe, and burn, and bleed,--And that, till then, the snakes of Hell had needOf human souls:--three hundred furnacesSoon blazed through the wide City, where, with speed,Men brought their infidel kindred to appeaseGod's wrath, and, while they burned, knelt round on quivering knees.

The noontide sun was darkened with that smoke,The winds of eve dispersed those ashes gray.The madness which these rites had lulled, awokeAgain at sunset.--Who shall dare to sayThe deeds which night and fear brought forth, or weighIn balance just the good and evil there?He might man's deep and searchless heart display,And cast a light on those dim labyrinths, whereHope, near imagined chasms, is struggling with despair.

'Tis said, a mother dragged three children then,To those fierce flames which roast the eyes in the head,And laughed, and died; and that unholy men,Feasting like fiends upon the infidel dead,Looked from their meal, and saw an Angel treadThe visible floor of Heaven, and it was she!And, on that night, one without doubt or dreadCame to the fire, and said, 'Stop, I am he!Kill me!'--They burned them both with hellish mockery.

And, one by one, that night, young maidens came,Beauteous and calm, like shapes of living stoneClothed in the light of dreams, and by the flameWhich shrank as overgorged, they laid them down,And sung a low sweet song, of which aloneOne word was heard, and that was Liberty;And that some kissed their marble feet, with moanLike love, and died; and then that they did dieWith happy smiles, which sunk in white tranquillity.